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

by Blair Howard

  We finished our drinks and drove to the club. Fortunately, on Wednesdays it’s very quiet. Of the half-dozen couples in the dining room, I recognized only two; all six of them recognized Amanda, but I’d known that was how it would be. With her celebrity in mind, when I made the reservation I had asked for us to be seated in the bay window overlooking the ninth green. Not that there was much to see, just a few lights of the homes along the ninth fairway. It was, however, quiet and out of sight of most of the rest of the dining room. Secluded? No, not quite.

  “What would you like to drink, Amanda?” I asked, when the wine waiter arrived.

  “I’ll have a dry martini, please, Joe, two olives.”

  Joe?

  “Gin and tonic for me, Bombay Sapphire. Amanda, do you have any wine preferences?”

  “I’ll leave that to you, Harry.”

  “Fine. We’ll have a bottle of the Leonetti Cabernet Sauvignon 2012. Thank you, Joe.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Starke.”

  “So, you’ve been here before," I said, "and quite often, too, it would seem.”

  She nodded. “Actually, Harry, I’m a member.”

  “You are? How come I haven’t seen you here before?”

  “I don’t come up here that often, and when I do it’s usually during the day, most often for lunch, and I mostly play tennis, but I play a little golf, too; I’m not very good.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Starke, Madam.”

  I looked up. “Hello, George. What do you recommend tonight?”

  “The swordfish with capers is excellent, Mr. Starke, and so is the lamb. Either one, you can’t go wrong.”

  I nodded. “What do you think, Amanda?”

  “George, I would like the filet, butterflied, but medium rare, with asparagus and a small portion of red potatoes, and I’ll have a small Caesar salad to begin with. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Madam. What about you, Mr. Starke?”

  “The lamb sounds good, and whatever comes with it will suit me fine, and I’ll have a Caesar salad, too.”

  The meal came and went and it was, as George had said, delicious. We ate, for the most part, in silence. Me? I was content just to sit and look at her, watch her eat. Her manners were impeccable. Having said that, however, she certainly wasn’t afraid to enjoy her food. She ate with relish, seemingly with little regard for calories or carbs. What was going through her mind was anybody’s guess.

  The plates were duly cleared away and we both ordered coffee. To this point, it had been a decidedly pleasant evening. I hoped it would continue, at least until I got her home.

  “So, Harry. What about it?”

  “What about what?”

  She sighed, looked down at her coffee, and then back up at me. The look was almost electric. I felt something stir deep inside me. Nope, it wasn’t what you’re thinking. It was like one of those sensations you get deep in the pit of your stomach when something unexpected happens. Inwardly, I shook it off. I looked her in the eyes and shrugged.

  “About us working together, you mean?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t know. I have Bob and Heather, and the rest of the crew, and I don’t know you–”

  “Oh, come on, Harry,” she interrupted. “I’m not asking for a job, dammit. I’m simply suggesting that we collaborate on the Sattler thing.”

  Shit. I just know I’m going to regret this.

  “Okay, Amanda. We’ll give it a shot, but there have to be some rules.”

  She smiled – it was devastating – and nodded. “That, Harry, goes both ways. What do you have in mind?”

  I looked her right in the eye. “Everything, and I do mean everything we do and learn is off the record until I decide otherwise. You will not broadcast anything without my approval. If you don’t agree to that, well, we can say goodbye right now.”

  She didn’t like it, I could tell, but she also knew she had no option.

  “I can go along with that, Harry, provided that it’s understood that I get exclusive rights to everything. If something leaks out, and I get scooped by one of the other stations, the deal is off. Agreed?”

  “Agreed, insofar that you understand I have no control over what the PD or the M.E. might deem to release. I will have a word with Kate, but I can’t promise anything. I’m not the most popular person in her book these days.”

  She smiled at that and shook her head knowingly. “I wonder why?”

  “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

  “Oh, I can guess. I’m sure Senator Michaels has something to do with it. Just how did you pull that one off, Harry? I’ve always wondered.”

  She smiled as she said it, but I had a feeling it was a serious question, one I wasn’t prepared to answer, ever.

  “So, tell me,” she said. “What do you have?”

  “What do I... oh, you mean the case. Well, for starters, Tom Sattler was murdered–”

  “Hah, I knew it,” she interrupted. “He screwed one too many, and I don’t mean between the sheets. Go on.”

  “His place had been searched, his computers wiped, his external hard drives, cell phones, tablets, are all missing. He called me last night, around nine-thirty. Said he needed to talk to me, needed help. He wouldn’t say anything else, which is why I went over there. I arrived not much more than an hour after the call. I found him in the living room: one shot to the head. The murder weapon was on the floor next to his hand. I thought he’d shot himself, but Doc Sheddon says it would have been impossible, and no, you can’t use any of that, not yet.”

  “Okay,” she said, reluctantly. “So what’s the next step?”

  “I added those names you gave me to the list of his known contacts and family members. We now have a list of fifteen people to interview. I’m not sure how you can help with that, you being who you are, but it has to be done. Kate and I will have to do it, with a little help from Lonnie Guest, and maybe others. By the way, I know one of those people on your list quite well.”

  “Let me guess... Sal De Luca.”

  “Yep, small town mob boss, big time creep. That’s one I’ll do myself. Have you tried talking to any of the others?”

  “Just one. Elsie Smith. She’s a widow, retired. She has her life savings tied up in Sattler’s fund, or whatever it is. Right now she’s living on her dead husband’s social security and his military service pension. It’s not much, but at least she can pay her bills. I don’t think there’s anything there, but you might want to talk to her, get a feel for her dealings with Sattler.”

  “I’ll do that, but it won’t be a priority. Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of right now, but if I can help in any way.... Look, Harry, my job takes up most of my days, and nights, but I’ll help where I can. I think I can be most useful doing what I do best. I’ll dig into Sattler’s fund. Can I use Ronnie, if I need to?”

  I nodded. “I’ve already put him on it. I’ll let him know that you’re in the loop, that it’s okay for him to work with you. Same with Tim. I’ll also need to put Jacque in the picture and... Kate Gazzara. You ready to go?”

  Somewhat reluctantly, I thought, she nodded, pushed what was left of her drink to one side, and then rose from the table. The drive home was short and, for the most part, silent. We arrived outside her house just a little after eleven-thirty.

  “Turn off the engine and come on in for nightcap.”

  “Better not. It’s late and I have a busy day tomorrow.”

  “Come on. Five minutes. One drink. Yes?”

  “Okay, but one cup of coffee, and no more than five minutes.”

  We got out of the car, she opened her front door, and breezed in ahead of me.

  Where does all that energy come from? I’m absolutely bushed.

  We sat in the kitchen, at least I did. Amanda made coffee and I watched. As I did, I couldn’t help thinking what an enigma the woman was. In less than eight hours, she had turned my utter dislike for her into something bordering on admiration.


  Weird.

  She set the two cups down on the breakfast bar and eased herself up onto the stool next to me. It was quite a performance, and she couldn’t help but giggle as she wiggled. Finally, she made it, picked up her cup, raised it to her lips, blew gently into the steam, and stared at me through her eyelashes. The effect was, well, startling. Her eyes seemed to shimmer in the steam, and what she was doing with her lips defies description.

  I drank my coffee, scalded my mouth, and then slid off the stool.

  “Time for me to go, Amanda.”

  She nodded, set her cup down, raised both arms high above her head, and said, “Help me down. I’ll see you out.”

  I smiled at her. It was after all, an alluring pose, and I thought I knew exactly what she was up to. I didn’t want to play, but she sat there, with her wings spread wide, her chin lowered, and a mocking smile on her lips. So I did. I stepped forward, put my hands under her armpits, lifted her off the stool, and set her gently on the floor. She was a lot lighter than I had thought, or was that the adrenaline?

  She stood in front of me, looked down at herself, adjusted her dress, stepped around me, and walked to the door. Yep, I was surprised. I followed her, and I couldn’t help but admire the way her hips rolled under the form-fitting dress as she walked.

  Now that, my old son, could get you into serious trouble.

  She reached the door, extended her hand toward the latch, and then hesitated. She turned, took a step forward, put both her arms around my neck and pulled me in close.

  You would have to experience that kiss, to understand the effect it had on me. I was, but I shouldn’t have been, taken totally by surprise. She put her heart and soul into it, full-bodied, lips parted, tongue probing; I couldn’t help myself. I responded in kind.

  Well, what the hell would you have done?

  She broke contact, leaned back in my arms, and smiled at me. Those pale green eyes were less than a foot from my own. Slowly, deliberately, she leaned in again, her breasts pressed hard against my chest, and she put her lips to mine. I was screwed, done for, beaten, and it had taken her less than sixty seconds. Resistance was useless, not that I resisted. How could I? She gently ground her hips against mine, and for several minutes, we stood there by the door. My head was spinning. I thought for a moment that it might have been the effects of the two bottles of wine and three gins? But it wasn’t.

  Finally, she released me. Her arms slipped from around my neck and she took a small step back. The look on her face was... well, she was no longer smiling. Her eyes were narrowed; her lips parted. I could see the tip of her tongue between them. She was breathing deeply and steadily and, for Christ’s sake, so was I.

  She took my hand, walked around me, and pulled. I didn’t move. She tugged a little harder. I stayed where I was.

  “What’s wrong, Harry?” I could barely hear it.

  “It’s not on, Amanda.”

  “Why not?’

  “Well. I’m sort of otherwise involved, and I’d like to keep a clear conscience.”

  “Hmmm. That would be Senator Michaels, I presume. That’s hard to compete with, Harry, even for me.”

  I smiled at her. She didn’t smile back. She wasn’t joking. For the first time in my life, I wondered if I was making a mistake. I hadn’t seen Linda in weeks, and we’d made no obligations to one another, she’d cancelled her weekend visit, and Amanda was.... Damn, she’s... beautiful.

  I inwardly shook the thoughts out of my head, leaned in close, and kissed her. Her lips parted. She tasted like sweet white wine, and she was just as intoxicating.

  “Goodnight, Amanda. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I turn the latch, opened the door, and walked out into the night.

  You don’t believe me? Neither do I, but that’s what I did.

  Chapter 6

  Early the next morning, Thursday, found me sitting alone at my desk gazing at the list of fifteen names, and I had no idea of where to begin. All I had was just the basic personal information, and that was precious little: name, date of birth, gender, address, phone number (several of those were missing), and occupation. I’d given copies to Ronnie and Tim, along with the name of Sattler’s company, New Vision Strategic Investments, Inc. Now they had that to work with, Ronnie would probably have something for me by the end of the day.

  Fifteen names, of which I was familiar with only one, and at this point, there was no indication that any of them were involved in Sattler’s murder. It looked like I was in for a long haul.

  At just after nine o’clock, my cell phone buzzed. I looked at the screen and flipped it with my thumb.

  “Hey, Kate. What’s up?”

  “I’ve officially been assigned the Sattler case, and I have the go ahead from Chief Johnston for you to consult. He wasn’t too happy about it, but I reminded him of your agency’s white-collar resources and your success in bringing down Congressman Harper. For some reason, I’m not sure why, I don’t think he likes you. Anyway, you’re in, if you want.”

  “I’m in, Johnston’s approval or not. That’s why I left the PD. So I can do what the hell I like, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember. Now, do you want to talk or not?”

  “Sure. You want to come here, to my office?”

  She did. In fact, she was already on the way, and she walked in less than five minutes later.

  Summer is a good time for Kate. She always looks lovely, but somehow the warm weather turns her into a swan. She had her hair piled on top of her head, no makeup other than a pale pink lipstick, tight, black jeans, a white Tee, and thin, pale green blazer she wore only to cover the baby Glock on her right hip. She was also carrying a tan briefcase, which she dumped on the front edge of my desk, and then flopped down into one of the two armchairs and draped her right leg over the arm.

  “So, Harry?”

  “So, Kate?” I said with a grin. “Where do we begin? Here, I suppose.” I picked up the list of names, waved it in the air, and then flipped it across the desk to her. She caught it just as it was about to slide off the edge.

  “It’s a copy,” I said. “Keep it. I have another one right here.”

  “Where did the extra names come from?”

  “Amanda Cole. Three of them are Sattler’s partners; the other six are disgruntled investors. Five of them contacted Charles Grove at Channel 7, panicking about their monthly dividend checks. One came from what she called one of her Cis.”

  “Amanda Cole? I thought you and she didn’t get along.”

  “We don’t, didn’t. But, well, she has some resources we don’t, and she was... persuasive.”

  “Yeah, I bet she was,” Kate said, as she scanned down the list of names.

  “I said I’d keep her in the loop, all off the record, but she gets “the exclusive. Any objections?

  She nodded, slowly. I don’t think she heard what I said, because then she slowly shook her head. She swung her leg off the arm of the chair, sat bolt upright, and looked up at me, her eyes wide.

  “De Luca?”

  “You noticed. Happy days are here again, at least for me, but maybe not so happy for him.”

  She nodded, excited. “De Luca. Geez. Now that’s what I’m talking about. I’ve been after him for... forever. If we could–”

  “Stop,” I interrupted. “From what you’ve told me, he has the Department in a net. Didn’t he go to the DA and complain that he was being harassed?”

  “Yeppy. That he did, but that was vice. He doesn’t know me. You’re right, though. He has friends in high places, and we were all warned off, unless there’s probable cause, which there never is. We have to get the DA’s okay before anyone can go within a mile of him.”

  “Right. You can’t touch him, or even go near him without probable cause, but I can.” I grinned at her.

  In return, she gifted me with a beautiful smile. “Now isn’t that exactly why I keep you around? You don’t have to follow all of those silly little rules that I do, now do you?”

  I ignore
d that; but the smile....

  “I don’t, and maybe De Luca is as good a place as any to start. In fact, I was already planning a visit–”

  “Awesome,” she interrupted, and started to get to her feet. “Let’s go.”

  “Whoa... not so fast. You can’t go with me.”

  “The hell you say. If you’re going, I’m going, DA be damned. I’ll stay back. Let you do the talking, but don’t think for a minute you’re going without me.”

  Sadly, I shook my head. I knew Kate too well to argue with her. If I wanted to continue working with her, it would have to be done her way.

  “Okay, fine, but for God’s sake do not even open your mouth. Sit down. We need to go over the rest of the list.”

  She smiled that smile again, nodded, and looked again at the list. For the next fifteen or twenty minutes we talked it over, but I could tell her attention was elsewhere. She has a one-track mind, does Kate.

  Finally, she put the list away and said, “What are you doing over the weekend? Maybe we could go visit some of the others. What do you think?”

  Oh hell, here we go!

  “I can’t. I have plans.”

  “Oh you do, do you? What plans?”

  “Private plans. I’m taking the weekend off.”

  “Ms. Michaels, I presume.”

  I didn’t answer. She didn’t press it, but the atmosphere in my office had gone chilly; no, it had gone cold, damn cold. It was time to get out of there. I got up and walked around the desk.

  “Let’s go. Let’s go see Sal.”

  She got up, grabbed her briefcase, and stalked out of my office and then the front door, with never a glance at my staff or at me. I sighed, shook my head, and followed her. The six faces in my outer office all were grinning at me.

  Okay, so she’s pissed again. What’s new?

  Chapter 7

  Il Sapore Roma is a grand name for a small but exclusive Italian restaurant just off MLK. A one-time small dry goods store, the dark, narrow interior had room enough only for two single rows of six booths with a central walkway from front to rear. At the far end, next to the kitchen and the restrooms, a small, semi-circular bar could seat six people, shoulder to shoulder, on tall stools.