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

by Blair Howard

  “Tell me about New Vision, Jessica.”

  “Tell you what? It’s a private equity fund. There’s nothing complicated about it. People invest in the fund and in return are paid a dividend. In this case at an annual rate of eight percent.”

  “And that was the problem, wasn’t it, Jessica? The fund was not generating enough to make the monthly payouts. It was about to turn into a Ponzi, right?”

  “Absolutely not. The markets had collapsed, and we were behind on the dividends, which is why we decided to liquidate the bulk of the equity and reinvest it. Up until that point, we had not used a dime of old or new principal to pay dividends, which is why we were behind. We, none of us, broke the law. Nor did we ever have any intention of doing so.”

  “Talking of money,” I said. “How about you? How did the loss of the $350 million effect you?”

  “It didn’t. I am independently wealthy. My husband, John, left me quite well off. He was one of the Steiners, you know.”

  I didn’t, but what the hell. It sounded impressive.

  “This house is paid for,” she continued, “and apart from taxes, I’ve never spent a penny I earned from administrating the fund for the five years I was a partner. I’m a wealthy woman, Harry.” The way she said that last part could easily have been taken as another invitation, but to what?

  “Who do you think stole the money, Jessica?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea, but if I had to guess, it would be Marty, or James, or both.”

  “Did you steal it?”

  She laughed, quietly, a delightful, teasing chuckle. “Now why would I do that? I just told you, I’m a very wealthy woman.”

  “Wealthy or not,” I said. “For some people, more is better; much more is ideal. Where were you on Tuesday night, between nine-thirty and eleven?”

  “Let me see... oh yes. I was here. All by myself. I told you Tom called me. I was here from then until I went to bed, at around eleven o’clock.”

  She lay back on the lounger, shielded her eyes with her hands, and breathed slowly. Her chest rose and fell with a rhythm I would have been happy to sit and watch for the rest of the day, but it lasted only for a moment.

  “I’m hot,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’m going to swim. Are you sure you won’t join me?”

  As I watched her walk to the poolside, I have to admit it; I hesitated. From the back, she looked naked, and it was a beautiful sight. Her body shape was close to perfection, right up there with Kate, Linda and poor, dead Charlie Maxwell.

  I sat on the edge of the lounger and watched. She dived cleanly into the water, swam swiftly to the far end and back again and surged up and out of the water like a seal. She stood glistening in the sunlight, hands above her head, wringing the water from her hair, looking at me, smiling. Fat droplets of water coursed down her body, hundreds of tiny diamonds glittering against her bronze skin. She was breathing deeply, her chest rising and falling.

  Dammit. This is just too much. I gotta get outa here before I do something I’ll regret.

  I rose from the lounger, slipped into my rig, draped my jacket over my shoulder, placed one of my cards on the table, waved her goodbye, and then turned and walked away.

  “Harry, wait.”

  She trotted toward me. It was an exhibition of the very finest in human engineering.

  “You can’t get out, unless you climb the wall again. Here, give me your phone.” I gave it to her and watched as she punched in a number. “There, that’s my private cell number. Please, give me a call... anytime. Now. I’ll open the gate and let you out.”

  It was just after four o’clock when I got back to the office. To be honest, I’d had enough for the day, let alone the week. My time with Jessica Steiner had taken every bit of what little energy I had left. I waved at my staff, gave orders not to be disturbed, went into my office and poured myself a stiff shot of Laphroaig Quarter Cask Scotch Whiskey.

  I sat down at my desk, leaned back in the chair, closed my eyes, and let the world go away, at least for the moment. Then I leaned forward again, took out the pad with my notes in it, and flipped it open. I could now update it some. First though, I read it through, refresh my memory.

  Thursday, 6p.m.

  So, where do I go from here? Basics! Motive, opportunity, means. Okay, good. What’s the motive?

  Motive:

  1Financial - The money’s gone, so yes.

  2Revenge - Possibly: Sal? Nope. That would lose him his money. Anybody else? Unknown at this point.

  3Greed - Again, the money

  Opportunity:

  Who could have had the opportunity? Hmmmm.

  The three partners for sure: Cassell, Westwood and Steiner.

  The wife, Gloria? Yes, and the boyfriend, Richard. Can’t leave out the eldest daughter, either.

  Sattler’s girlfriend Wendy? Eeeee... don’t know, but doesn’t seem likely.

  Sal? Nope. He wouldn’t get his hands dirty. Gino or Tony? Yep.

  The investors? Yes, but unlikely, except for Sal.

  Means?

  Who out of the above could have had access to Tom’s gun? Geeze! Any one of them, or all of them, given the right circumstances.

  And those circumstances would be? Being alone with Tom between 9:30 and 10:30.

  Hmmmm. What about the computers? Who would have access to them? See all of the above, but that would not be tied to the time and date. It could have been anytime up to and including the hour when he died.

  Okay, so who would have had access to Tom’s access codes?

  The partners, family, girlfriend. That could mean as many as seven, maybe more, could have wired the money, but how many of them would know how? Shit. All seven could, and all seven could have had opportunity, and all seven could have had the means. Damn. This is going nowhere

  I don’t think Sal would have risked losing his twelve mil.

  Okay. We need to know more. A lot more, and we won’t until we’ve interviewed all the suspects, including the five disgruntled investors that we know of so far.

  I stared at the pages, flipped back and forth a couple of times, and stared some more; it made no more sense that it did when I wrote it. Okay, so now what?

  I began to write.

  Friday 5:30p.m.

  What's new? I tapped my teeth with the pen, and then began.

  Marty Cassell

  Sneaky piece of work. A liar. Knew Sattler’s codes. Had access to Sattler, gun, computers. Has the technical knowledge to make the transfer. Is deep in debt to Sal De Luca. Motive? Yes. He needed cash to pay De Luca. De Luca knew the fund was in trouble because dividends were late, and his request for liquidity had been ignored. He couldn’t get it without stealing it because the other partners would not authorize such a large payout. Right now, he’s our best bet for the wire transfer, and for killing Tom. It makes sense.

  James Westwood

  Slick, superficial, evasive, dirty, a liar, a crook. Knew Sattler’s codes, and he, too, had access to Sattler, gun, computers. Also has the technical knowledge to make the transfer. Motive? Unknown at this point.

  Jessica Steiner

  A rare one. Confident, smart, evasive, extremely wealthy. Is she a liar? I don’t know. Maybe. She’s hard to read. She doesn’t like Westwood. She doesn’t like Cassell either, but to a lesser degree. She thinks Wendy Brewer is a bimbo, and that Stephanie Sattler and the other two kids are spoiled rotten.

  She also knew Sattler’s codes, and she, too, had access to Sattler’s gun, computers. She, also, has the technical knowledge to make the transfer. Motive? Possibly, but what it would be, I have no idea. Greed? Power? Revenge? I don’t know. Opportunity? Yes. She has no alibi.

  Wendy Brewer

  A sad piece of work. Can’t see her killing her bankroll. Devastated. Know how? Yes. Opportunity? Possibly. Means? Yes, she had access to gun, laptop.

  Gloria Sattler.

  Know how? I don’t know. Means? Probably. Motive? Yes, revenge. Hatred.

 
Is there a will? The estate? Who benefits. Just the children - Stephanie Sattler.

  Stephanie Sattler? Wow, I have no idea. ????

  It looks like that, with the possible exception of Cassell, the partners are innocent of wrongdoing, at least as far as New Vision is concerned, but any one of them could have stolen the cash, and any one of them could have killed Sattler.

  Conclusions: None. I don’t know not nothin', dammit.

  Whew, it’s time I was out of here.

  I closed the legal pad, turned off my iPad, shoved back my chair, hesitated, then rolled the chair back up to the desk.

  I looked at the pad again, opened it, glanced at what I’d written, shook my head, closed it again, and slipped it into my briefcase. I was almost ready to leave, but first I had a call to make. I needed to go over it all with Kate, and we still had one more priority interview to complete.

  “Kate?”

  “Hi, Harry. I thought you be headed home by now.”

  “No. Not just yet. Listen, I have a few things we need to go over. I went to see Jessica Steiner today–”

  “Harry, no,” she interrupted. “Not tonight, pleeease. I need some time off. I was just about to leave the office and go home. Can we do it tomorrow morning? I’ll meet you somewhere. Will that work?”

  “Damn it, Kate. This is important, and we still have Hollins to see. I was planning on doing that tonight, and I was also hoping that you could come with me.”

  “Harry. I need some damned rest. I feel like I haven’t slept for days. Give me a break, will you, please? I’ll meet you tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay. How about this. Why don’t I drop by the Pizza Hut then come over to your place? We can eat and run through my notes.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then, quietly, “No, Harry. I don’t think that would be a good idea. I know you: pizza first, and then....”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Kate....”

  “Tomorrow, Harry. Tomorrow!”

  Okay. I guess that will have to do. What time? Where?”

  “Well, I don’t want to drag you too far away from home. Any ideas?”

  “Kate, cut the sarcasm. It doesn’t become you. Panera at Northgate. Ten o’clock. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can figure something out.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you at ten. Bye. Have a won...derful evening.”

  Sheesh. She can be a.... Can’t say I blame her.

  There was a time when... I thought I was in love with Kate, and she with me. We had been an item for as long as I could remember, until senator Linda Michaels came along that is. She’d forgiven me a lot of sins and transgressions over the years, but not that one.

  Oh well, maybe it’s for the best.

  Suddenly, my get up and go got up and went. I looked at my watch. It was well after six. Screw it. I’ll get me a pizza and go home. She ain’t the only one who needs some rest. Pizza, Blue Moon, sofa, quiet music... sounds like a plan.

  Chapter 15

  On the way home, I stopped by Food City, grabbed a six-pack of Blue Moon beer, then hit the drive through at the Pizza Hut. Ten minutes later, I was back on the road and heading home, a steaming hot Large Supreme on the passenger seat.

  I have a condo on the north side of the river, on Lakeshore Lane. I bought it five years ago. It cost me a small fortune, and another one to decorate and furnish. It truly was my home: comfortable, elegant, with a stunning view of the mighty Tennessee and, in the distance, the Thrasher Bridge. At night, the view from the great picture window was stunning, and to me worth every penny the condo had cost.

  It was just after seven o’clock when I arrived home, still light, and almost unbearably hot. I hit the garage door button and drove inside. I gathered up the pizza and the beer, struggled a little to get the door open, then backed inside and headed up the stairs to the kitchen.

  I dropped the pizza on the breakfast bar, slipped the beer into the refrigerator, then went into the bedroom, stripped and hopped into the shower.

  Ten minutes later, wearing only a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, I poured myself a beer and opened the pizza box... and then my iPhone rang.

  I flipped the lockscreen, looked at the name, and sighed.

  “Hello, Amanda.”

  “Harry. We need to talk. Where are you?”

  “I’m at home, done for the day, finished, it’s over until tomorrow, no more work until after eight in the morning. Got it? Sorry, Amanda.”

  “Don’t be silly. Where’s home? I’m already on the road.”

  “Amanda, I’m dressed ready for bed....” Ouch, wrong thing to say. “I’m about to eat. Can’t it wait?”

  Did she just chuckle?

  “No, Harry. Give me your address, please.”

  Whew, no peace for.... Well, I could make the best of it, I suppose.

  I gave her the address.

  “Wonderful. I know where that is. See you in a few minutes. Save some food for me.” She disconnected.

  I just had time to change into something a little more fitting, lightweight tan slacks, a black golf shirt, and loafers. I’d barely finished when she knocked at the door. When I saw her, I didn’t regret giving her my address one bit.

  “That was quick. You must have been quite close.”

  She grinned. “I cheated. I rang your office, but got the answering machine, so I figured you might be here. I already knew where you lived. I was on 153 when I called you. I have the night off.”

  Damn. Wow, look at her.

  The pale blue, soft leather clutch she carried perfectly matched the skimpy, strapless cotton sundress. Other than a pair of matching sandals, as far as I could tell, she wore little else. Amanda Cole is one of those rare women who looks good no matter what they wear.

  “So, what are we eating?” she said, as she sent the clutch spinning into one of the easy chairs in the living room and hoisted herself up onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

  “Er... not much. I grabbed a pizza and beer on the way home. You’re welcome–”

  “Perfect,” she interrupted. “I haven’t had pizza in years... well, weeks. Not so keen on beer, though. Do you have wine?”

  “Of course,” I said, as I laid two plates and a small pile of paper napkins on the bar top. “I have a nice Riesling, Pinot Noir, or Cabernet. Which do you prefer?”

  “Hmmm, why don’t you surprise me?”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  I’d had a half-dozen bottles of Niersteiner Spiegelberg Riesling in the cooler for a couple of months. It was about time I opened one of them, or maybe two. Okay, I admit it. I’d had that kiss I gave her on Wednesday evening on my mind almost ever since. I’d almost called her a couple of times, but then thought better of it. Now here she was, and the evening was, without doubt, full of promise.

  I poured a glass of the wine and set it in front of her, pushed the pizza box toward her, and then opened a bottle of beer for me. Then I sat down on the stool in front of her, on the same side of the breakfast bar. She had her feet on the crossbar of her stool, crossed at the ankles. The hem of her dress had ridden up and she was showing a generous expanse of what was perhaps the loveliest pair of thighs I’d seen since Linda left for Washington more than two months ago.

  She sipped her wine, lowered the glass, looked at the liquid, tilted her head, nodded, and said, “Nice.”

  “Yes, nice.” I wasn’t talking about the wine.

  She set the glass down, pushed her plate away, slid off the stool, stepped forward, slid her arms around my neck, leaned in close, and kissed me. It was a long, lingering kiss, lips slightly parted, her tongue timidly probing mine. She tasted of sweet white wine, her lips were cold, inviting.

  She held the kiss for what seemed to me like minutes. I was totally lost in the moment, and totally involved in it.

  She leaned back, her hands still clasped behind my neck, and looked into my eyes.

  Dammit, she’s laughing at me.

  “Harry. I’ve been wanting to do that for a
lmost a year, since long before you busted Congressman Harper.”

  “Wow,” I said, somewhat breathlessly, “I hope it was worth the wait.”

  “Oh, sweetie. It was, and then some. I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.”

  I nodded, groped for my bottle of beer, hooked it up under her arm, and took a huge mouthful. She laughed. Her breath washed over my face like a fresh, fragrant cloud, and then she broke her hold, stepped back, and remounted the stool. The remount was a stunning piece of performance art.

  How the hell do they do that?

  “Suddenly, Harry, I’m not very hungry. Can we go and sit on the sofa and look at the river?”

  We could, and we did. I tossed my empty bottle into the garbage can, poured two glasses of wine, grabbed them both, and the bottle and we headed for the sofa. She kicked off the sandals and sat down, drew her legs up underneath her, and settled back into the cushions like a great, tawny cat. She stared up at me, her pale green eyes half closed, and patted the spot beside her. I nodded, picked up the remote, and dimmed the lights.

  We sat, we talked, we enjoyed the view, she laid her head on my shoulder, and we drank what was left of the wine. I opened another bottle, and we drank that, too. I don’t know about her, but I was intoxicated, and not because of the wine. This woman was very special. I couldn’t believe that I’d been avoiding her for all these years.

  Yes, you can. Remember the hatchet job she did on you?

  And that thought brought me back to my senses, temporarily, at least.

  “Amanda.” I sat up and looked at her. She had what I could only assume was a contented smile on her face. “You didn’t come here because you needed to talk to me, did you?”

  “Harry... you men are so gullible. Of course I wanted to talk to you, but, well, the moment just seemed to take over. Suddenly what I had in mind didn’t seem so important anymore. Now, go get us some more wine and then come sit beside me.”

  Okay, so what the hell would you have done?

  I went and fetched the wine, poured two more glasses, and sat down beside her.

  “Harry.”

  “Mmmm?”

  “Talk dirty to me.”