The Harry Starke Series Books 4 -6: The Harry Starke Series Boxed Set 2 (The Harry Starke Novels - The Boxed Sets)

by Blair Howard

  Finally I gave it up, shook my head, turned, and walked a few steps back toward the small tower. By the end of it, I could hear Amanda breathing. She was having a tough time with the dust.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, walking toward her.

  She nodded, but I could tell she wasn’t. She had the lamp in both hands, arms outstretched, pointing down toward the ground which, as it turned out, was fortuitous, because it let me see a tiny glint of light, a reflection….

  I stepped forward, and there on the floor, tight against the stonework and partially covered with dust and dirt, I saw it again. The glint of the light shining on metal. I crouched and picked up what could only have been a mason’s pointing tool, although a very old one, a small piece of steel bent first one way and then the other. It was what they used to smooth cement between joints, between rows of bricks or blocks of stone. I stared at it for a moment, then held it up.

  “Now what,” I asked, “do you suppose this is doing here? Oh my God. Look at you.”

  Wide-eyed and covered with dust, in the greenish glow of the fluorescent light, she looked like the Wicked Witch of the West, and I began to laugh. Not just at the way she looked, although it was funny enough. No, I had strong feeling the little trowel was an important find, and it just felt good, and to laugh is to relieve stress, right?

  “What the hell are you laughing at?” she said as she took it from me. “You don’t look so hot yourself. What is it? It’s just a bent piece of metal.”

  “No, my love. It’s more than that. This,” I held it up to the light, “is what masons use to smooth down cement when they’re laying bricks or stones. God, if you’d been holding the light up, I wouldn’t have spotted it.”

  “So what does it mean?”

  “I dunno, yet. Let’s see, shall we?”

  “Harry. I need a drink of water. Can we take a break, please?”

  “Yes. No, you go. I’ll stay here. I want to take another look at this wall. Bring a bottle, yeah? Here,” I said, stretching out my hand, “leave the lamp with me. The light is on in the main tower.” And she did.

  I went back to the wall next to the small tower and began to examine it again, closely. Nothing.

  I took a couple of steps back. I held the lamp up high over my head and surveyed the whole wall. This time I wasn’t looking for irregularities­­ in the masonry­­, I was looking for… hell, I didn’t know.

  Then I noticed it. The courses didn’t quite line up. I looked closely, nodded to myself, then walked the fifteen feet to where the second wall joined the first. It was the same. Next, I walked the entire perimeter wall, returning eventually to where I’d started, and I smiled. I had it. I knew what Jonathan Miles had done.

  I met Amanda on the steps. She was heading back down with a large bottle of water. I turned her around, and we went back to the kitchen and sat down at the table. I uncapped the bottle and drank almost half of it, then sat back in my seat and smiled at them, Amanda and Strong.

  “What?” she asked. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. I think I may have cracked it. Art. What tools do you have? I need a pick, a heavy hammer, a chisel, and… a crowbar of some sort. A shovel would be handy too, and a wheelbarrow.”

  “I think I have most of that. You want it all down there?” He nodded in the direction of the basement door.

  “Yep. And… I’m going to need some help. Will you? Do you mind?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, then. You might want to change into some old clothes. It’s going to get messy down there. You, my love,” I said to her, “can stay up here, out of the dust.”

  “Not on your life, Harry Starke. If you’ve found something, I’m going to be there when you dig it out.”

  I grinned and shook my head. There was no use arguing with her. She would be there, no matter what I said.

  It took us thirty minutes to get all the tools downstairs—the wheelbarrow in particular was difficult to get down the steps. But we did it. Once the three of us stood in front of the fifteen-foot wall, I had Strong hand me the light.

  “Okay,” I said. “This is what I’m thinking. Look carefully. See where the back wall joins the tower? The courses don’t line up. Now look down there. The same. There’s something else too. The stone blocks, they’re smaller than those in the rest of the walls. I checked. What does that tell you?”

  For a moment, they stood in silence, then Amanda put her hand to her mouth and said, “Oh my god. The wall isn’t original.”

  “You got it. I think that whole wall, from here,” I walked it off, “to here, was added at a later date. Yes?” I looked at them. They both nodded, slowly.

  “All righty then,” I said, picking up the hammer and chisel. “Let’s see what we’ve got. Shine your light this way, so I can see what I’m doing. And stand back.”

  The cement around the stones was hard, and at first I made little headway. Finally, however, I had the first block out. The hole was small, but big enough for what I wanted.

  “Bring one of those flashlights. Let’s have a look inside.” I slid the lamp through the hole and let it dangle by its cord on the other side of the wall, and then I peered in after it. Yep. It was like I’d thought. It was a false wall, with a space behind it.

  But the angle was tight, and I couldn’t see much. Still, there was something. I needed a bigger hole. I pulled the cord back, reached through and grabbed the handle of the work light, and withdrew it. I handed it to Strong and picked up the hammer and chisel.

  “What is it? Amanda asked anxiously. “What’s in there?”

  “I dunno, yet. Something. Give me a couple more minutes and we’ll find out.”

  Now I was motivated, and soon I had a hole big enough to reveal a grinning skull set atop a dusty ribcage squeezed into a small space, maybe two feet wide, behind the wall.

  “My God, she’s in there. Well, someone is, and whoever it is, he or she’s not alone.” I grabbed the lamp from Strong and shoved it through the opening. I was right. There were more.

  The first one had its knees tucked up under its chin, the arms wrapped around the legs. The hands­­—bones now­­—were tied together in front. The clothing was rotted and hung in tatters. A thick layer of dust covered the bones. I shoved my head through the hole and saw that there were four of them, sitting side-by-side, empty eye sockets staring at the wall in front of them.

  Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back, out of the hole. It was Amanda.

  “Let me see,” she whispered.

  I started to push her away, but she wouldn’t have it.

  “Amanda—”

  “Please, Harry. I have to see.”

  Reluctantly, I moved aside. She stepped around me, took a step forward, and peered into the hole.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped, and staggered back. I caught her, just as it seemed she was about to fall.

  Strong stepped forward, and he too looked through the opening. He too stepped quickly back again. He said nothing, but even in the cold light shining out from behind the wall I could see his face was pale.

  If you’ve never seen a dead body, the first time you do can be an extraordinarily bad experience. So, imagine what the effect the sight of four skeletonized bodies had on those two. Me, I was…. No, you never get used to it. I’d become immune to it.

  I put my arms around Amanda and held her. She was shuddering.

  For a long moment we stood together in silence.

  “Who the hell are they?” Strong asked.

  “I don’t think we’ll ever know,” I said. “They’ve been in there a very long time.”

  “Harry,” Amanda whispered. “One of them is wearing a blue dress. I think it’s the one in the portrait. It’s Elizabeth.”

  “Yeah, well. Maybe. We’ll be able to find out for sure. We’ll run a DNA test. There should be enough viable material. If we can identify Elizabeth, we’ll have done well. The others… not a chance in hell.”

  �
��So what the hell do we do now?” Strong asked.

  “There’s no point in us doing anything more down here. The authorities will finish it up, and they’ll want to search the entire crypt, maybe even the rest of the house too. I suppose we’d better call the police,” I said. “I hope you can handle the publicity. It’s not every day someone finds four bodies in the basement. Should make for some heavy press coverage: not good for business. Although,” I said, and almost laughed, “if you go for the haunted house angle….”

  Chapter 18

  I was right. The police arrived in force. They came from as far away as Bangor. I was questioned at length, though all they wanted to know was how I figured it all out, and I was decidedly cagey about that. Amanda and Strong were questioned too, to a lesser degree. The police were joined by a forensic team and the local family practitioner, who doubled as the medical examiner, an occupation that took up all of two days a year.

  As I’d thought, the remains were far too old to be identified. DNA would be taken from all four bodies, and then they would be held at the local undertaker until we figured out which, if any, was Elizabeth.

  Amanda and I had no doubt that one wearing the blue dress was her, but mitochondrial DNA would prove that with certainty. MDNA is passed from mother to daughter, and the line between Elizabeth and Amanda was not in question. We’d know soon enough.

  And then it was over, all but a short conference between Amanda and Strong. They reached an agreement that he and his wife would stay on at least until Amanda decided what she wanted to do with the place. Each agreed to give the other three months’ notice, should either one decide it was time to leave or to sell.

  I called August that last morning, and he dispatched the Great White Shark, as he now called the Gulfstream, to get us. And so we packed our things, said our goodbyes, and began the journey back to Tennessee.

  “I understand about the portrait, and that the box was just a family heirloom, and all,” Strong said as we walked to the car that afternoon. “What I don’t understand is how you figured it all out. What did it all mean? How did you know she was in the cellars?”

  “The box?” I asked. “Yeah. That’s what it was, an heirloom. We did get it open, but what was in it, you’ll have to ask Amanda.” It wasn’t an answer, but I knew he couldn’t ask her­­—she was already in the car—so I was able to dodge the question. “I didn’t know she was in the cellars, though, not really. It was just a whim. She had to be somewhere. They say she ran away, but I didn’t think so. And I figured she couldn’t have gone off the cliffs. If she had, they would have found her body, and there would have been a report. So I figured she must still be in the house somewhere. The question then became, where? The cellar, basement, crypt, whatever, was simply the most logical place.” Again, all true.

  The Gulfstream was already there when we arrived at the airport. I dumped the rental at the National Car Rental drop off, and we made our way through security to the executive lounge. Joe, August’s pilot, was waiting for us.

  “Good timing, sir,” he said, offering me his hand.

  I shook it. “Come on, Joe, since when have I ever been ‘sir’? The new uniform and big white gone to your head, have they? It’s Harry. Okay?”

  He grinned, took Amanda’s rollaway suitcase from her, and led the way to the aircraft stairs. Then he stood back and grinned like a damned Cheshire cat as Amanda and I went up. I was looking back at him suspiciously when we walked into the cabin.

  “Surprise! Congratulations!” I almost fell back down the steps, and would have if Joe hadn’t rushed up to catch me. August, champagne bottle in hand, and my stepmother, Rose, were there waiting for us.

  That was one hell of a ride back to Chattanooga, I can tell you. By the time we touched down, August was three sheets in the wind and I wasn’t a whole lot better. Amanda? She was feeling no pain either. Rose, on the other hand… well, she always enjoys herself.

  A couple of nights after we returned home, Amanda and I were sitting together in my living room, enjoying the view. We hadn’t spoken much about it yet, but there was no doubt that the events of the past ten days were still at the forefront of our minds.

  As far as Amanda and I were concerned, the killings in Whitechapel, the mystery that had puzzled so many people for so many years, had finally been solved. It was bittersweet, because no one but we two would ever know about it. That was how it had to be, and I’m not sure anyone would believe the story anyway. Almost every year some nut job comes up with an off-the-wall new theory about who the Ripper was, and I was very happy we would not be joining them. Our children? Despite what I’d said before, we decided that they didn’t need to know either.

  “Here it is,” Amanda said, handing the box to me.

  “You sure you want to do this?” I asked.

  “I am. It’s for the best.”

  It was. We both knew that.

  I opened the box­­—I’d had that stupid rhyme running through my head ever since I’d first read it­­—and took out the contents. Then I placed the two journals and the nine folded pieces of paper in the fireplace, and lit them up with the gas lighter. We watched it all burn, and when the flames had gone out I stirred the ashes around with the poker.

  “There,” I said. “Our secret.” And I leaned over and kissed her.

  “So now do you believe in ghosts?” she asked, over the rim of her wine glass, looking up at me through her eyelashes.

  “Er. No. Not only no, but hell no.”

  “But what about… you know? You said you saw her looking at you.”

  “Autosuggestion, nothing more than that.” Prrrr…. Harry, are you absolutely sure about that? “We were both victims of the moment,” I continued, pushing the unwanted thought away. “The painting, I told you: a painter’s technique, nothing more. You thought you saw or heard something, and you got caught up in the moment too. Before we knew it, we were both in the grip of it. Autosuggestion. Happens all the time. It was the atmosphere of the old house is all. Come on, Amanda. In the cold light of day, you know that’s all it was.” Oh yeah, that’s what it was all right.

  And so the conversation continued, neither one of us quite convinced that what we were saying to each other was true. Me? I’m a detective. I know what I thought. But no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t get around the music. If Amanda could hear it, why the hell couldn’t I? No one, and I mean no one, could have pulled off a trick like that, not even David Copperfield.

  Okay, that’s my story. So what do you think?

  -----

  Six weeks later, we had the remains of Elizabeth Miles taken to Macon. Yes, the bones in the blue dress were indeed hers. Amanda’s DNA proved it beyond a doubt. We buried her in the little churchyard next to her daughter and Amanda’s grandmother. It was a sad little affair, just the two of us, the local pastor, and… Duckworthy. He made a fuss over Amanda, made small talk with me, and after the service bombarded her with questions about the Towers. He even asked us to go to lunch, but she was having none of it. Finally, she turned to face him.

  “Mr. Duckworthy. When we last met, you made me an offer for the Towers. You and I both know it was a joke. Most of the renovations the house needs are cosmetic. A quarter of a million should more than cover that.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Amanda was in no mood to fool with him, and her body language made it plain. “Go on,” he said eventually.

  “It appraised for $2.1 million. Correct?”

  He nodded.

  “Then here’s my counter offer, and it’s non-negotiable. I do not want the Towers, but you do. You do not want to pay the appraised value, and I want rid of it. You will pay me $1.45 million. That means you get it for $650,000 below appraisal. Deduct the cost of renovations from that and you are $400,000 to the good. Now. Do we have a deal?” She offered him her hand.

  He looked down at it, then into her eyes. “That’s more than double what I offered.”

  “Take it or leave it. I d
on’t care.”

  After a long moment, he nodded slowly. “Yes Ms. Cole, we have a deal.” He took her hand and shook it, just once.

  “I’ll draw up the papers and forward them to August for his approval. Congratulations, and goodbye, for now.”

  After another moment he nodded, turned, and walked away.

  “Where the hell did that come from?” I asked.

  “Oh, out of the blue. It came to me just a few minutes ago, while I was at the graveside, thinking about my grandmother. Maybe she gave me a nudge.” She looked slyly up at me.

  “Yeah, right,” I shook my head, smiling, then took her hand, and together we walked back to my car. Amanda was happy, and that was really all that mattered, at least to me.

  Thank You.

  Thank you for taking the time to read Family Matters. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review on Amazon (just a sentence will do). Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated. Thank you. Blair Howard.

  Reviews are so very important. I don't have the backing of a major New York publisher. I can't afford take out ads in the newspapers and on TV, but you can help get the word out.

  To those many of my readers who have already posted reviews to this and my other novels, thank you for your past and continued support.

  If you have comments or questions, you can contact me by email at blair@blairhoward.com, and you can visit my website http://www.blairhoward.com.

  Copyright Notice

  This Boxed Set of Harry Starke novels is Copyright © 2016 Blair Howard

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