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

by Blair Howard

  I nodded, tilted my head and looked at him sideways. Yeah, I bet he will.

  “Can’t say that I blame you,” I said. “That Sal De Luca is one nasty son of a bitch, especially if you steal his money.”

  “I didn’t steal it, goddamn it. Tom Sattler did.”

  “Well, unfortunately, Sattler’s not with us anymore; he took the easy way out.... That’s always an option, I guess,” I said, looking pointedly at him.

  “You mean... you mean I.... Screw you, you crazy bastard. I ain’t toppin’ myself.”

  “Just a thought, Marty, just a thought.”

  “Yeah, well, you can keep stupid thoughts like that to yourself.”

  “When did you last see Sattler, Marty?”

  Again, he gave me a wary kind of look, hesitated, then said, “I dunno; Tuesday lunchtime, I think. One o’clockish?”

  “Are you asking me, Marty? Think, friend. When was it?”

  “It was Tuesday. He asked me and Jessica to drop by for a drink; James, too, but he couldn’t make it. Tom wanted to talk about the fund; strategy; stuff like that.”

  “And?”

  “And what? We had a couple of drinks, for Christ’s sake. We talked, about the fund, and... what else I can’t remember. Just... stuff. Hell, Starke, he was worried about the state of the fund. We all were, but we’d already taken the necessary steps to put things right. It was no big deal, at least not then, when we still had the 350 million.”

  I could tell I wasn’t going to get anything else out of him. It was time to go. I had what I needed, well most of it. If I needed more, I could always come back. If Marty lived that long.

  I went out to my car. Cassell didn’t bother to see me out. I didn’t blame him. I did, however, take heed of his warning. I was willing to bet that even then he was on the phone to De Luca. So be it!

  I pulled out of the driveway and had started along Palisades Drive toward Signal Mountain Road when I noticed a black SUV sitting off the road in what once must been an access road to one of the demi-mansions on that side of the mountain. It was overgrown, long grass, maybe three feet tall; it was no place to park a late model expensive ride. As I drove past, I could see two shadowy figures in the front seats. I rounded the bend, turned off the lights, and slowed. Here they come.

  I hit the gas, slung the Maxima round one tight bend after another, and then slowed a little at the junction to let them see me turn left toward the town of Signal Mountain. My lights still off, I hit the gas hard, drifted round the tight bend, then slewed right onto Balmoral, hit the brakes, and made a tight left turn into a driveway twenty yards, or so, from the highway. I watched through my driver’s side window as they hurtled on by, heading north on Signal Mountain Boulevard. I made a quick reverse out of the driveway, turned left, and drove on down the mountain toward Chattanooga.

  Chapter 10

  It was already raining when I left Cassell’s house on Palisades. By the time I'd turned onto Balmoral, it was bucketing down. On Signal Mountain, that’s not a good thing. There are only two ways down from the top: Signal Mountain Road, and the ‘W.’ Knowing I was being followed, I considered taking the ‘W.’ In dry weather, I would have, but in those conditions, if you don’t know that road, it could kill you. For me, at that time of night, and in the rain and darkness, it wasn’t an option. The highway wasn’t a whole lot better. The rain had turned the twisting ribbon of black asphalt into a mountain river that threatened to wash the unwary driver off the road into God only knows what. The drop off in places was more than a hundred feet. Overhead, the clouds boiled and split, visible only when they were pierced by colossal spears of forked lightning. Thunder crackled, rumbled, and reverberated along the river gorge. It was not a night to be abroad.

  As I drove down the mountain, doing my best to make what speed I could, I kept my eyes on the rearview mirror. My mind was in a whirl, but I didn’t see the SUV again. I guess I must have lost them on the mountain.

  I made it off the final slope and swung right, heading west toward Highway 27. As I passed the Komatsu plant, I had a thought. Well, I had several – dozens, in fact – but there was something bugging me, had been all day. Something about the living room where I’d found Tom. I'd known it then, but couldn’t figure it out, and it was still bothering me. I needed another look at that living room. What the hell. Let’s go take a look.

  I didn’t have a key, but I did have my set of picks in the glove compartment. That would work. By the time I arrived at Tom Sattler’s house, at just after 10:30 that evening, the rain had dwindled almost to nothing. As I drove up Royal Mountain Drive, I saw a car parked some 100 yards or so before I reached his drive. I took no notice of it. In fact, it didn’t really register, except that it was a dark color, possibly black.

  There was a light on in what I figured was the kitchen. I parked beside the garage and, for some reason, I have no idea what, I walked back almost to the road, turned and surveyed the house. Except for the light in the kitchen, it was in blackness. I was just about to walk back to the garage door when I saw a flash of light in one of the rooms on the upper floor.

  The yellow crime scene tape was hanging loose; the garage door was unlocked. I have one of those little flashlights on my key ring. I turned it on and crept slowly through the house to the stairs.

  Carefully, trying not to make a sound, I stepped my way upward to the landing. At the far end, behind a closed door, I could see the beam of a flashlight flickering in the gap under the door. I put my ear to the door and listened; all was quiet. The light was gone. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it worth a damn.

  I took a step backward, took a deep breath, pulled the M&P9, worked the action, leaped at the door and hit it with my left shoulder. The frame splintered. The door flew open, and I landed on the floor, rolling, twisting, trying to see in the darkness.

  The ear-bursting explosion, the blistering flash of white fire, and the wind of the slug on my face, almost took me by surprise, almost. Before the light from the flash had subsided, I swung the nine and jerked the trigger, BAM! The gun bucked hard against the heel of my hand, and a voice across the room yelled. Something heavy hit the floor with a thud, followed immediately by a horrendous crash of broken glass. I rolled sideways, twice, and then brought the gun up, ready for another shot, but all was quiet. Nothing was moving.

  I lay there, great spots of white light rotating slowly in the blackness before my eyes, the result of the muzzle flashes, mine and his. I was bathed in sweat, the grip of the nine was slippery in my palm. I licked my lips, rolled slowly over onto my back.

  “Give it up, buddy,” I said. “I already hit you once. Don’t try me again. This is not a good time to die.” Nothing. All of a sudden, I had the idea I was alone in the room, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Give it up. Drop it and stand up.” Nothing. Now I was faced with two options. I could lie there and wait until daylight, or I could make a dash for it. I chose to dash.

  Head down, on hands and knees, I crept through the blackness toward where I thought was the door, listening intently for the slightest sound. Nothing.

  Okay then. He’s either dead or gone, or he’s waiting for me to give him a shot at me. Awe, what the hell.

  I felt for the doorframe, jumped to my feet, flipped the switch and turned on the lights. He was gone. On the floor by the open window was a broken vase and a scattering of wilted flowers. There were drops of blood on the carpet, and smears on the window ledge. I shined my tiny flashlight down onto the roof of the front porch; more drops of blood. In the distance, I heard the sounds of a car starting and then being driven away.

  I went back down to my car and called Kate Gazzara.

  It was twenty minutes before she arrived. When she did, she had Lonnie Guest with her.

  Well, if that doesn’t just make my friggin’ day.

  “Hello, Kate, Lonnie.”

  “What now, Harry?” Kate said. She was angry. “Why are you here?”

  Lonnie had t
hat stupid, halfwit grin on his face again.

  “Kate, I’ve been up to see Cassell. I was followed, probably by De Luca’s two goons. I managed to lose them, but something was bugging me. I needed another look at the room where I found Tom’s body. I didn’t think there was any point in dragging you out in this weather. I just wanted a quick look, okay?”

  “Why didn’t you call me first? You know better. The house was supposed to be locked down. How did you think you were going to get in?”

  I didn’t answer. She would have been even less pleased if I told her, so I changed the subject. I told her about my visit to Cassell.

  “I didn’t tell him he was murdered, but he seemed genuinely surprised to learn that Tom was dead, that he committed suicide, but that’s not all. He’s into De Luca for more than twelve million, and he’s scared out of his mind.”

  “You serious? Twelve million?”

  I nodded. “Yep, and Sal has given him a week to pay it back to him, or else.”

  “Not nice, that ‘or else.’ What’s he going to do? More to the point, where did De Luca get twelve mil?”

  “It has to be Mob money, Kate. Cassell must have been laundering it for him.”

  “Yeah, now it’s all been washed away, ha, ha.”

  I had to grin at her. Maybe now was a good time....

  “Kate, I think maybe whoever it was that broke in here, was looking for information about the transfer.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. The bigger question is… what were you looking for?”

  “I don’t know. I hope I’ll know it if I see it. I had a feeling I was missing something the other night, when I was calling you. Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t. Let’s take a look, yes?”

  We stood in the foyer, the three of us, looking into the room. The carpet over the bloodstain in front of the fireplace had been cut out, removed. The blood had spread, soaked into the particle board subfloor, dried, and turned into a dirty brown, crusty patch that was already beginning to smell. I closed my eyes, concentrated, and it all came flooding back.... I don’t have an eidetic memory, but what I do have is pretty damn good. I could see Tom lying in front of the fireplace; the room was tidy, undisturbed, nothing.... Ashes. There were ashes in the fireplace.

  It’s the middle of August, for God’s sake. It’s in the nineties out there. Why would there be ashes?

  I opened my eyes and walked to the fireplace. Nothing!

  “What?” Kate said.

  “Nothing. I thought there were ashes in here.”

  “There were. Someone had burned some papers. CSI took them away, what was left of them. They didn’t get anything, though. They were too far gone.”

  “Dammit, Kate. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t think it was important. There was virtually nothing left.”

  She could tell I wasn’t happy, but she just shrugged. “Get over it, Harry. It’s done and gone. Move on.”

  We went back outside. The CSI team was pulling into the driveway. Both sides of the street from one end to the other had lights on. Kate leaned against her car door and stuck out her hand.

  “Hand it over, Harry.”

  “Hand what over?”

  “Your weapon, of course. Shots fired. Someone was wounded. You know the drill. Hand it over.”

  Reluctantly, I did as she asked. She took it in her gloved hand, bagged it, wrote the label, and dropped it on the passenger seat of her car.

  “When do I get it back?”

  “You don’t, at least not for a while, a long while if the guy you shot dies, then maybe not at all. Now get out of here. Let me and CSI do our jobs. Lonnie, I’ll also need a statement from Harry before he leaves. Harry, I’ll call you if I need you. Lonnie, when you have his statement, you hang around out here. When the techs get done, get those tapes back up.”

  Lonnie didn’t look any happier than I was. Kate was turning into a hard ass.

  Chapter 11

  As always on Friday morning, I called the staff together for a breakdown of the progress of the week so far.

  Aside from the Sattler case, it was all routine, quickly dealt with and put aside. I went into the front office, poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, and settled back down at the conference table.

  “So, Tim,” I said. “What did you get from Sattler’s computers? Anything?”

  “Not much. I’d barely gotten started when the FBI charged in and snatched everything out from under my nose, including my personal thumb drives, and some of my own proprietary software. The SEC has frozen the fund, what’s left of it.”

  “Well, we should have known. The theft of $350 million from an investment fund was bound to get a quick response from the Feds. Were you able to get anything at all?”

  “Not really. Nothing I can show you, just what I can remember. The drives on both computers had been wiped, but they hadn’t been overwritten, so the information on them is recoverable, and there was a lot of it. I only got a peek at some of it before they swooped. I can tell you this, though. The wire transfer was made from Sattler’s laptop.”

  “His laptop, huh? Now that opens up a whole new set of possibilities. That laptop could have been anywhere when the transfer was made. Hell, Sattler could have disturbed the perp returning it. That is, if it ever left his home. What do you think, Tim?”

  “There’s no telling. It was wired at exactly 5:29. That gave the perp just about fifteen hours free from attention by the authorities. Only those people with direct access to the account, namely the partners, would know that the money was gone, and there’s absolutely no way of tracking it once it was streamed out of Dubai. It’s gone, Harry. Someone is suddenly very rich. It should be easy enough to find out who it was, though.”

  “Oh, and how do we do that?”

  “So, all we have to do is wait and see which one of them does a runner, right.”

  “Geez, Tim. Do you really think it will be that easy? Come on. What would you do?”

  “Me? I’d be long gone by now. I’d have made the transfer and headed straight on out. By now, I’d be on a tropical beach somewhere, surrounded by beautiful women.”

  Tim, old son, I don’t think even 350 mil could do that for you. You, my friend, are the epitome of the word Geek.

  “Well, that hasn’t happened, at least not yet. If it had, we’d have known it by now. Whoever it was is sitting tight. As far as I know, all the partners, and anyone else who might have had access, is still present.... Tim, could the account have been hacked by some outside entity?”

  “Nope. I don’t think so. I saw no sign of hacking on either of the two machines and, as I said, the laptop is the one in question.”

  “Well, it was just a thought. Anybody else have any thoughts?” I looked around the table. No one had, so I closed the meeting, grabbed another cup of coffee, and went to my office. It was time to make some more visits.

  Chapter 12

  I called James Westwood at his office at a little after nine o’clock that Friday morning. It came as no surprise that he didn’t answer. I called Kate.

  “Hey, it’s me. I just called Westwood. He’s not answering his phone. Can’t say I blame him. I’m going to head down to his office. You want to come? Your badge might get us inside.”

  “How about I meet you there, in say, thirty minutes?”

  I was there in twenty. The outer doors to the building were open. The door to Westwood’s office was locked, but the lights were on inside and a harassed-looking young woman was seated at a desk facing the door. Several people were seated in the lobby talking together. They didn’t look happy.

  The vultures are gathering.

  Kate walked in a couple of minutes later. As soon as I saw her, I could tell she was in one of her moods. I sometimes wonder if Kate has dual personalities. I know of at least two. One is the nice girl with the bright smile and easygoing attitude everyone loves; the other is the tough, intimidating no nonsense cop that nobody dares to fool with. Today, it was the
latter. Even so, she looked stunning. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she had on a sleeveless white top, a dark red skirt cut just above the knee, and black shoes with three-inch heels.

  She nodded to me as she walked to the office door, banged on it, and flashed her badge through the glass. The woman jumped to her feet, came to the door, flipped the lock, and opened it a crack. Behind us, I heard the seated folk all get to their feet.

  “Police,” Kate said, pushing the door open and walking through. I closed the door behind us and locked it. The folks outside sat down again.

  “Who are you?” Kate said, looking at the closed inner door. “We need to see James Westwood. Please tell him we’re here.”

  “I’m Jenna Forbes, Mr. Westwood’s PA. He’s not here. He didn’t come in this morning, and I haven’t heard from him. He’s not answering his cell phone.”

  Kate opened the inner door and looked inside, and then closed it again.

  “I’ll need his home address and his cell phone number.”

  “Well... I’m not supposed to....” Forbes looked at Kate’s face and knew there was no point arguing. “Oh well.” She sighed and shrugged. “I was looking for a job when I found this one. I can find another, I hope.” She turned to her desk, wrote a few lines on a notepad, tore off the page, and handed it to Kate.

  Kate punched the number into her iPhone and listened. After four rings, the call went to voicemail, and Kate cut it off.

  “He lives on Lookout Mountain, on West Brow. Let’s go. Oh, by the way,” she said, turning again to Forbes. “Where is Thomas Sattler’s office?”

  “It’s on East Brainerd Road. I have the address. He’s not there much, and he doesn’t have any staff.” She wrote it down and handed the paper to Kate, who thanked her, folded the paper, and put it in her jacket pocket.

  “Your car or mine?” she said as we walked out of the office building.

  I shrugged. “Mine, if you like. It’s just over there, and... you need to relax. Take a deep breath. Let’s enjoy the ride up the mountain.”