The Harry Starke Series: Books 1-3: The Harry Starke Series Boxset

by Blair Howard

  Salvatore ‘Sal’ De Luca also knew me quite well. Sal was a shady character, part of Chattanooga’s burgeoning underworld, burgeoning since the arrival of big business –– Volkswagen, Amazon, Etc. – and the unions. He had, so it was rumored, connections, both in New York and Miami. He operated out of a small, but exclusive, Italian restaurant just off MLK. Perhaps that would be as good a place to start as any.

  I sat back in my chair and stared at the ceiling, my mind a whirlpool, a maelstrom of disjointed thoughts, fragments of ideas, and... not much else.

  Maybe I need someone to bounce it all off. Kate? Nah. Once upon a time, perhaps, but not anymore. Linda? Yup!

  I dialed the number. The phone at the other end rang interminably. I was just about to hang up when she answered.

  “Hello, Harry. Is it urgent? I’m kind of tied up.”

  “No. Not at all. I just wanted to touch base; see if everything was all right.”

  “Of course it is.... Harry, is everything all right with you? You sound a little out of sorts.”

  “Yes, everything’s fine... I just wanted to talk, that’s all, but if you don’t have time....”

  “Not right now, Harry. I’m just on my way into committee. Um... by the way, I’m not going to be able to make it this weekend after all. It’s gotten pretty hectic around here, and I have things I must do. Can I call you this evening? We can talk about it then, okay?”

  “Yes, of course. Anytime.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll talk to you then. Bye, Harry.”

  I lowered the phone, let my hand drop heavily on my desk.

  Damn. That’s what you get when you get yourself involved with a senator, I guess.

  Chapter 4

  I hadn’t been back in the office more than fifteen minutes when Kate called.

  “Hey. I have an interview with Gloria Sattler. You want to come?”

  “Sure. Should be interesting. Pick me up?”

  “Of course. You ready?” The door to my office opened and she walked in, grinning.

  Geez, twice in one day. I’m going to have to have a word with Jacque.

  Gloria Sattler lived in a home only slightly less grand than her dead ex-husband. In fact, it was in the same Mountain Shadows subdivision, and not more than a short walk away on Stony Mountain Drive.

  Kate parked the car out front and we walked to the front door; it opened before we reached the steps. Gloria Sattler was just as I remembered her, five-six, well put together but a little on the heavy side, dark roots showing through her dishwater blond hair. She was wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt, looked harassed, tired, and a little wary. She was not happy to see us.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Sattler. My name is Lieutenant Catherine Gazzara, and this is my associate Mr. Starke. Thank you for agreeing to see us at such short notice.”

  “Yes, well. I didn’t have much choice now, did I? You’d better come in.”

  She turned and walked away, leaving the door open and us standing in the porch. Kate looked at me, shrugged, and followed. I closed the door behind us.

  Stephanie, the eldest daughter, and the two youngsters Julie and Nicola were in the kitchen. The two children were seated at the kitchen table eating cookies and doing homework.

  “Let’s go in there where we can talk,” Gloria said, waving a hand at an open door that led into what obviously was the living room. She led the way. Stephanie followed her mother. Kate followed Stephanie, and I brought up the rear. I felt a little like an unwanted dog dragging along on the end of a leash.

  Kate and I sat together on the sofa, facing the two women who were both seated on high-backed dining chairs. I was kind of surprised by the set up; there were at least ten feet separating the two of them. Is that by design, or do they just not like each other?

  Gloria Sattler looked older than her forty-three years. The crow’s feet were sharply defined, her eyes were tired, her neck sagging a little. She was not aging well, nor did she have the sophistication of her eldest daughter. Yes, Tom Sattler had definitely married beneath himself.

  Stephanie Sattler I’d never met before. She obviously took after her father, five-nine, slim, large breasts that might or might not have been real, a heart-shaped face with enormous blue eyes and a smile that could light up a room. Her hair, a little lighter than her mother’s, was neatly trimmed to just above her shoulders. Her clothes were expensive, a white silk blouse, black slacks, and black, high-heeled shoes. The girl was a class act. She sat erect, her back stiff, feet to one side, crossed at the ankles, her hands clasped together in her lap.

  This girl is twenty-one going on thirty-five.

  I looked from one to the other, not quite sure what to make of either of them. They were an incongruous pair, to be sure.

  “Why are you here?” Stephanie said. “Dad committed suicide. That doesn’t warrant a police presence, surely.”

  “Until we get the official results of the autopsy,” Kate said, taking a small notebook and a pencil from her jacket pocket, “we have to treat his death as if it were a homicide.”

  Not quite a lie, Kate, but it should work.

  “This is just a routine enquiry,” Kate continued. “We won’t take up too much of your time. Now, if–”

  “I know you,” Stephanie Sattler interrupted her, looking at me. “I’ve seen you on TV. You’re not a police officer.”

  “You’re not with the police?” Gloria Sattler looked at me, puzzled.

  “No, Mrs. Sattler, I’m not. I’m a licensed private investigator and, yes, as your daughter said, once in a while I make the local news–”

  “Local news, my ass,” Stephanie interrupted. “You’re Harry Starke. You brought down Congressman Harper.”

  “That’s true, Miss Sattler,” Kate said. “He did, and he solved three murders at the same time. He is here with me as a consultant. I pick his brains whenever I need an out-of-the-box analysis. So, as I don’t want to intrude any longer than necessary, I’d like to ask you both some questions?”

  Neither one of them answered, so she continued.

  “How well did you all get along with your ex-husband, Mrs. Sattler?”

  I watched with interest as mother and daughter exchanged glances.

  “We didn’t get along... well, Stephanie got along with him okay. Tom and me... well, we didn’t see eye to eye on anything, especially money, or... Richard.”

  “Richard is...?”

  I smiled inwardly at Kate’s attempt to be diplomatic.

  “Richard Hollins is, as the English would say, Mom’s Toy Boy, her bit of rough.”

  “Stephanie! He’s no such thing. He’s... well, he’s my friend.”

  “Yeah, a friend with benefits, and he’s almost half your age. It’s disgusting! Hell, Mother, he’s only four years older than me.”

  Kate waited, but Gloria had no more to say on the subject, so she gave her a gentle push.

  “So... Richard. Where is he?”

  Gloria shrugged, looked away, and then said, “I sent him to the grocery store. We needed a few things.”

  So, you wanted him out of the way.

  “I’d like to talk to him,” Kate said, in a tone of voice that would brook no argument. “When would be a good time for me to do that?”

  “I... I... don’t know. You’ll have to call him, set something up. I can give you his cell phone number.”

  Kate made a note of the number. “So, Stephanie. You saw quite a bit of your father?”

  “Yes... I suppose so. I dropped by now and then. I had to pass the house going back and forth from here. Sometimes he was in, most times he wasn’t. When he was, depending upon my mood, I might stop off and say hello, have a cup of coffee. I also helped him with his business, not often, but some.” Her tone of voice was... a bit off; forced, maybe.

  “And your relationship with him, it was close?”

  “Not really. We had very little in common, and he was always wrapped up in his business. He never had much time for any of us.”


  An almost furtive glance passed between mother and daughter.

  Something’s going on between those two. I wonder what. Time I stuck my oar in the water.

  “And the two youngsters,” I asked Gloria, as I looked down at my notes, “Julie and Nicola. How did they get along with their dad?”

  Gloria shot Stephanie a somewhat nervous glance, then looked down and was about to answer when Stephanie answered for her.

  “Julie and Nicola loved our father.” It wasn’t what she said; it was how she said it. Her voice was cold, icy.

  I looked at Gloria. Her face was... I don’t know; expressionless would probably be the right word to describe it. She stared back at me, almost without blinking. Stephanie’s face was unreadable.

  The unasked question must have showed on my face, because Stephanie, with some feeling, said, “They loved their father. I loved him. He was a prick, but we, all three of us, loved him.”

  “Stephanie!” Gloria did her best to sound outraged at her daughter’s language, but it didn’t quite come off. I had a feeling that Mrs. Sattler had called her ex-husband a whole lot worse.

  “Well, it’s true, Mother. We did love him. Much as you wished we didn’t, we did, and he loved us. He did not love you, and he sure as hell hated Richard with a passion. There was no love lost on Richard’s side either. They couldn’t stand the sight of one another.”

  Gloria’s reaction to the outburst was not what I expected. She didn’t look at all upset, though she wouldn’t meet my eye, or Kate’s. It was beginning to cross my mind that the whole thing was being staged for us, had been rehearsed. Then again, maybe it was me; maybe I was looking for something that wasn’t there.

  Time to change the subject.

  “Miss Sattler,” I said. “Do you work?”

  “I have a part-time job, but I’m still in school, at UTC. I graduate in the spring with a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology. Why do you ask?”

  “Just background stuff. Where do you work?”

  “I work three afternoons a week, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, at Heather’s Boutique, from two until six. I also work there all day Saturday.”

  I looked at Kate. She shrugged. I guess she’d never heard of it either.

  Stephanie heaved a sigh and said, “It’s a high-end lady’s boutique. We sell beautiful clothing.”

  “How about you, Mrs. Sattler? Do you work?”

  “No. I am financially independent, thanks to my divorce settlement.”

  “And your ex-husband,” I said. “Was he wealthy?”

  “You could say that.” Stephanie answered the question. “I sometimes worked on his books. He earned two million a year in fees, sometimes more.”

  “Did he make a will? If so, who benefits?”

  “I don’t think he did," Gloria said. "There’s an insurance policy, though; $300,000. It benefits all three children equally. They are listed as his next of kin. His estate is probably worth several million, so I suppose they’ll get that, too.”

  “Hmmm, that’s not a large amount of insurance, considering his income.” Kate looked from one to the other. “Well, I think that about does it for now.” She started to get up then changed her mind.

  “There’s just one more thing,” she said. “Where were you both between 9:30 and 10:45 on Tuesday evening?”

  Gloria was about to answer, but before she could speak, Stephanie said, “We were both here. We watched Megyn Kelly on Fox, then Hannity. We heard the sirens, but thought nothing of it. I went to bed at just after eleven. I think you went a few minutes after I did, Mom. Someone woke us up early this morning, to tell us about Dad. That was the first we knew.” The answer came quickly, too quickly, as if she had been expecting the question.

  “And Richard?”

  “Richard came in just before one o’clock in the morning,” Gloria said. “I know because he woke me up.”

  “I bet he did. Horny little bastard,” Stephanie muttered to herself.

  Gloria glared at her, but then continued, “He’d been out with his friends, bar hopping, I think.”

  Kate looked at me. I made a slight nod. She wrote something on the pad, snapped it closed and slipped it into her pocket.

  “I also have a question,” I said, looking at both of them. “Did either of you know he owned a gun?”

  “Yes, of course. We both did,” Stephanie said. “He kept it in the living room, in one of the desk drawers. I wondered why he bothered. It wasn’t as if it was powerful enough to stop an intruder.”

  “It was powerful enough to kill him,” I said.

  There was no answer to that, just stony stares.

  “Well, okay, thank you both for your time,” Kate said, getting to her feet. “We may need to talk again. In fact, I’m sure we will. In the meantime, if you think of anything that might be helpful, anything at all, please give me a call.” She handed each of them one of her cards, and we left.

  “What’s going on between Stephanie and her mother, do you think?” I asked, as she pushed the starter button.

  “You caught it too, huh?”

  “So it wasn’t just me?” I said. “I had a distinct feeling that we were being led down the path.”

  She nodded, swung the car out of the driveway and headed back toward my office.

  “Yes, that alibi was a little too glib and a little too quick off the tongue,” she said. “I don’t think either of them are capable of murder, but you never know. The family is always the prime suspect, at least until we can rule them out, right? What about Hollins?”

  “I’d be inclined to believe that he was out with his friends. There was a little too much acid in Stephanie’s voice when she heard her mother say he woke her up. Yes?”

  “Yep,” she said, “but there’s no way to confirm either of their alibis, unless.... Maybe we should talk to the youngsters.”

  “My thought, too, but we’d have to be damned careful how we did it. Mom’s going to want to be present; you know that.”

  “Oh yeah,” she agreed. “Let’s give it some thought.”

  “Yeah, let’s do that. Then there’s the insurance policy; I don’t think it’s big enough to provide a motive. Sattler’s estate, though?

  “I agree,” she said, nodding. “If he earned as much as the girl said he did, I’d say it’s substantial. There’s the house, which must be worth... what? At least seven or eight hundred thousand, do you think? And there’s no telling what he has in the bank and investments. If there’s no will, it will all go to the next of kin, right? And that would be the three daughters.”

  “Yes. I’ll have Ronnie check into that,” I said, as she stopped the car in the lot by my office. “Kate, I need you to give me a call in the morning. I met with Amanda Cole earlier this afternoon, and she gave me some names of interest. I would have brought it with me, but when you barged into my office, I lost track of what I was thinking.”

  She grinned. “Okay, but why not now?”

  “Because I’m not going inside. I don’t want to get caught up in there, and because we need to discuss it, and because it will keep overnight.”

  “Tomorrow then. Bye, Harry. Have a good night.”

  Chapter 5

  I arrived at Amanda’s home in Hixson a few minutes early. She opened the door but obviously was not quite ready. She was dressed, but had a slightly harassed look about her.

  “Hello, Harry. I’m on the phone. I’ll be just a minute. Pour yourself a drink; they are over there.”

  “Take your time. No hurry.”

  She smiled, nodded, and went into what I assumed must be the bedroom and shut the door. I poured myself a very small scotch and soda, carried it over to the window, and looked out. There wasn’t much to see; the backyard was surrounded by shrubs and tall trees.

  Methinks the lady likes her privacy.

  “Well... don’t you look nice?” I hadn’t heard her come in. “It does make a change to see you in something other than a Tee and leather jacket.”

  I
turned and smiled at her. “Thank you.”

  I was wearing dark gray slacks, Gucci loafers, a pale blue shirt with a royal blue tie, and a navy blue blazer: my IBM look.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself.” In fact, she looked gorgeous. It wasn’t what she was wearing, it was how she filled it. A simple, sleeveless light gray woolen dress that came to just below her knees and black high heels. I say the dress was woolen, but don’t get the wrong idea. It was delicate, almost transparent, chic, and it clung to her body like a skin. The clutch she held matched it perfectly.

  “Why don’t you pour one for me, Harry? I’ll have a tiny vodka tonic, please.”

  I poured. She took it from me, turned, and walked to the sofa, sat down, and patted the cushion beside her. I looked at her, skeptically.

  “Oh, come on, Harry. I won’t bite.”

  “A bite, I could handle. It’s the knife in the back I’m worried about.”

  She laughed. I hadn’t meant it to be funny. I shrugged and sat down beside her anyway. She smelled intoxicating.

  “So where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “I always feel like a prize pony when I’m out in public with someone of your... shall we say, stature? So I thought we might go somewhere quiet. I made a reservation at the club for nine o’clock. It’s quite near, the food is good, and we won’t be bothered by gawkers. Is that okay? Oh, and it will be my treat.” I was being sarcastic, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  She laughed, quietly. It sounded like a mountain creek in the early morning. I was all but hypnotized.

  “Harry. You are, despite your sometimes weird appearance, a gentleman.” Now it was my turn to laugh.

  Over the next thirty minutes, I learned a great deal about the enigmatic Amanda Cole. Contrary to what I expected, she was quite engaging; disarming, might be a better word. I must admit I was a little perplexed. The hard-ass news reporter seemed to have disappeared, replaced by an attentive, witty, and often funny conversationalist. I had a feeling I was going to enjoy my evening. Wow! Amazing!