The Harry Starke Series: Books 7-9 (The Harry Starke Series Boxed Set Book 3)

by Blair Howard

  “Stay here,” I said, and disentangled myself. “I need to find Bob.”

  I went back outside to look for him. I didn’t have to look far; he just rounding the north side of the house.

  “All clear,” he said. “And the cops are here.”

  I bent and lay Jacque’s gun on the floor, and raised my empty hands a little. Not in the “I’m guilty” position, just one in which they wouldn’t shoot me on sight.

  “Okay,” I said. “Bob, Jacque, lay your weapons on the floor and stand still. Keep your hands where they can see them.”

  They came in at the rush, weapons at the ready. The search they did of the house and grounds was quick, cursory, and once it was done, and the area declared all clear, they rounded everyone up into the dining room to wait for the detectives.

  What followed was more than an hour of interviews, during which they listened to our version of what had happened. Skeptical at first, they had no real option but to believe us. They couldn’t do much else. The evidence was laying around everywhere, on the patio, in the gardens, even the pool; the grounds were littered with spent casings, bodies, blood. Dozens of spent rounds could be seen lying on the bottom of the pool.

  For the next several hours the mountaintop around my home descended into chaos. Dozens of looky-loos on the road outside, jumping up and down, trying get a peek inside. The entire exterior of my home became a crime scene. The tape would stay up for days, but for now, the second Battle of Lookout Mountain was over.

  Did General Grant feel as relieved 150 years ago as I did that day? I sincerely doubt it.

  The police and crime scene techs tried to get us out of the house, but I was having none of it. Besides, I knew the Lookout Mountain chief, and he knew me. Better yet, he owed me. And so, reluctantly, he allowed us stay in the house; the grounds, though, were out of bounds until the techs could clear them. And that was okay by me. The gardens and pool, they could have; my home they could not.

  They found three bodies. Two of them were white, one was black. I didn’t know any of them. They also found two M16s, a damned AK47—can you believe that?—and a bevy of assorted hand guns. The bodies? The guy with the M16 that Bob knocked off at the pool was on the rocks below the retaining wall. They didn’t find the one I got right after him. Either his buddies had hauled him away, or he’d been wearing body armor. They found the one I downed at the north end of the pool, and also the one Jacque had saved me from. That girl had hit the man with all six shots, in a group I could have covered with my closed fist, and she’d done it at night, too. I was impressed, and I made sure she knew it.

  The cops ruined my beautifully landscaped gardens, climbing around all over them—that was something else the Greenes would have to pay for—removed the bodies, and confiscated our weapons. Yep, they did. It’s standard procedure to remove all weapons from an active scene. I lose more weapons that way….

  They also removed the bodies. There were no wounded. Well, there were, but they didn’t find them. I learned later that the crime scene techs found four sites where the amount of blood on the ground suggested that at least some of the invaders had suffered serious damage.

  I watched them at work under the floodlights, but I wasn’t really paying attention to what they were doing. I was having a really nasty flashback. I was thinking about that twig, the one that had snapped in the dark. If they’d been more careful, if they had been just a little more experienced…. If…. I shuddered at the thought of what might have been.

  It was just after two in the morning when we finally got to bed. But we didn’t go right to sleep. Amanda was a bag of nerves, frightened, and in need of comfort. Which was something I was only too pleased to provide.

  Chapter 9

  Wednesday Morning, Early

  Wednesday morning broke bright and sunny, not a cloud in the sky. I got out of bed around six, showered, and then dressed for success. Nope, no suit. By success, I mean action: Peter Miller gray linen pants, white T-shirt, Gucci loafers.

  I left Amanda in bed, asleep, snoring gently.

  Bob and Jacque were already in the kitchen, cooking breakfast together, talking quietly. I grabbed a double-sized cup of Dark Italian Roast and took a seat at the bar.

  “You all right?” I asked Jacque.

  She nodded, but didn’t look up from what she was doing.

  “You sure?”

  She glared at me, and all but snarled, “Dammit, Harry, yes. I’m fine. I only blew a hole in a man’s chest big enough to drive a truck through last night. Sure thing. I’m fine. Now leave it, please.”

  “You also saved my life,” I said quietly.

  She stayed over the stove with her head down and said nothing. I looked at Bob. He shook his head, and I knew I should leave her be.

  Where Rose and my dad were, I had no idea. Probably still sleeping it off.

  Amanda came into the kitchen just as Jacque was serving the scrambled eggs, and Bob was handing out toast. I was already on my second cup of coffee. For the first time ever, at least since I’d known her, Amanda looked like hell. Her face was drawn, her hair was a mess, and she wore no makeup. She sat down beside me, grabbed my coffee, cradled the cup in both hands, and began slurping it down.

  Who the hell is this woman?

  Finally, she put the cup down—empty—slipped her arms through mine, and laid her head on my shoulder.

  Who the hell cares—I love it!

  The mood in the kitchen that morning was beyond somber. Jacque, I could tell, was having trouble with what she’d done, but I knew that eventually she’d realize she’d had no other choices. Would she get over it? I doubted it, but knowing her as I did… I had a feeling she’d be okay, be able to live with it. Time, so they say, is a great healer.

  Amanda? No problems there, at least not in the cold light of day. She’d been under fire half a dozen times before.

  And Bob? Well Bob just loves it.

  No, it was my father I was worried about. He’d always known what I did for a living, and he also understood that sometimes things got a little hairy, out of hand even, but to have it rammed down his throat as it was last night…. That was way too much, and once again I shuddered when I thought of what could have happened if my instincts hadn’t kicked in, if I hadn’t gotten so damned lucky; if I hadn’t heard that twig snap….

  “I need to go find Dad,” I said finally, “see if he’s okay.”

  I found Rose still in bed. She’s hadn’t been awake long, but she was already crying. I could guess why. She’d probably awoken thinking about Henry, as had I several times that night.

  Dad was in the bathroom. I knocked on the door. “Hey, Dad. You okay?”

  “Yes, I’ll be out in a minute. I need coffee. Go get me some, would you, son? Make sure Rose gets some too.”

  I grinned. I should have known. The old coot never let a much bother him, in court or out. He was the original ice man.

  I went and fetched the coffee, as he’d asked, and when I returned I found him seated on the side of the bed beside Rose, holding her hand, trying to comfort her, and what a shock I got. Never in my lifetime, not even when I was a kid, had I ever seen him in his underwear. But that was not all. The man had aged ten years overnight.

  “It’s okay, son,” he said, catching my look. “I’m just tired. I’ll get over it. How about the rest of you? How’s Jacque doing? That was a hell of a thing she did last night. I’ll never forget it. Anything she ever needs, she’s got it; I mean it, anything.”

  He took the coffees from me, handed one to Rose, and kept the other for himself. He glanced up at me and almost rolled his eyes. “Oh for Christ’s sake, Harry, I’m all right; we’re all right. Now, get the hell out of here and let me look after my wife. We’ll be along shortly.”

  And then I did something I hadn’t done in a long time. I leaned over and kissed him on his forehead. “I love you, Dad. You too, Rose.” Then I left them alone, staring after me.

  Back in the kitchen I grabbed another
coffee, my third if you count the one Amanda had finished off, and sat down at the breakfast bar. But I was on edge, antsy, fidgety; I had to get out of there.

  “I need to go prowl the gardens,” I said, not to anyone in particular. “See what damage has been done. Anyone want to come with me?” Only Bob did.

  We went out through the broken glass door, past the pool house to the ornamental wall, and there we stopped and looked around. Crime scene tape was stretched around the property, everywhere, and a half dozen techs were still hard at work, some scouring the patio and lawns, others picking their way through landscaped gardens down the slope beyond the pool.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go take a look down there.”

  I headed for the stone steps to the right of the pool that led down from the patio.

  The lower gardens are one of my favorite features of the home. There are slightly less than two acres of rock gardens, flower beds, water features, and tiny paths that meander this way and that, from side to side and top to bottom, all surrounded by a six-foot high stone wall. And now I was definitely thinking about adding some cameras, too.

  “Bob,” I said as we negotiated the tiny pathways, “what the hell do you think has happened to Benny? I still haven’t heard from him.”

  “Maybe you should call him again.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I think I will.”

  I took the phone from my pants pocket, flipped the screen to recent calls, and hit dial.

  “The number you have reached is no longer in service.”

  Bob shrugged when I told him. “I wouldn’t worry. The little pig is probably using burners.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that must be it.” Jeez, I hope to hell it is.

  “Okay, Harry. What’s the plan?”

  We’d reached the lower perimeter wall. It was too high to see over, so we walked the half-dozen yards or so to the wrought iron gates; the lock and chain were still secure. Beyond the wall, two more techs were grubbing around in three feet of the nastiest undergrowth you could imagine. Better them than me.

  The view was nice, but not as nice as from the patio.

  “Yeah, the plan,” I said thoughtfully, as we turned and began the long hike back up the slope to the house.

  “I don’t have one. And I won’t until we find out where the hell Shady and his crew are holed up. Damn, I wish Benny would call.” I looked at my watch. It was just after eight; way too early to find anyone at the Sorbonne. I would have called Laura but, hell, I didn’t even know her last name. Then I had an idea.

  I took the phone from my pants pocket and called Kate.

  “Hello, Harry.” Jeez, I could feel the ice in her voice.

  Oh hell. I forgot to call her last night. “I suppose you heard.”

  “When did you learn to talk in understatements?” she asked. “Don’t answer. Doc Sheddon has a full shop. Four bodies, thanks to you.”

  “Four? They only hauled three away from here.”

  “Yeah, I know. A dog found the extra one on the side of the mountain half a mile from your home. He was gut shot, with a .45. Your doing or Bob’s?”

  “Uh, mine, I think.”

  “What the hell happened, Harry? Did the goddamn South rise again up there or what?”

  “Or what. That piece of shit lawyer, John Greene, put a contract out on me. I thought we’d handled that yesterday, but obviously we hadn’t. So they came to collect the fee, I guess. Look, Kate, can we do this later? I don’t have time for conversation.”

  “What is it you want, Harry?”

  “Do you know what Laura’s last name is?”

  “Laura? Laura who?”

  “If I knew that I wouldn’t need to ask you, now would I? Benny’s Laura, from the Sorbonne. I need her number.”

  “Oh her. Her name is Davis, Laura Davis. Hold on; I have it; I just have to find it. Okay, read?”

  She gave it to me, and I said goodbye. I wanted out of that conversation, but she was having none of it.

  “Hold on,” Kate said. “Don’t you dare hang up on me, Harry Starke. What the hell is going on up there? I want to know—right now.”

  “Absolutely nothing, at least not now. Well, the techs are still mooching about, but other than that….”

  “You ass. You know what I mean. What’s this about a damned contract? What are you doing about Henry? Why did you want Laura’s number? What the hell does any of it have to do with her, or Benny? Why are you not at work, and where the hell are Bob and Jacque? I stopped by your office yesterday and Heather was a damned clam. She wouldn’t say a word.”

  Good for Heather. So, Kate obviously knew nothing about Shady or the Greenes.

  “Wow, Kate. You have any more questions?”

  “Those will do for now. Now give.”

  And so I did. I told her about the visit from Benny, and what he’d told me about Tree, and I told her about our visit to the Greenes. She listened in silence, and then she was silent some more, and I thought for a minute that she’d hung up. She hadn’t.

  “You crazy son of a bitch,” she said finally. “You have Jacque involved in this mess? What the hell are you thinking? She’s a secretary, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Secretary she ain’t. Not anymore. Two days ago she might have been, but last night she saved my life. She put six in a man’s chest just as he was about to nail me.”

  “Oh my God. I don’t believe it. Is she all right? Wendy will pitch a fit.”

  “She’ll be okay. Look, I gotta go. I need to find Benny, and fast.”

  “Wait! Harry, I’m in. I’m on my way up there.”

  “Oh hell no,” I exploded. “You’ll lose your damned job, or worse.”

  “Nope. I’m in. I’ll fix it with the chief. He owes me—us—remember? Don’t even think about arguing. Henry’s murder is officially my case, so you have no choice. Now that we know what we know, I have cause, and I’m in, so shut the hell up. I’ll be there in thirty.” And she hung up.

  I looked at Bob. He was grinning like a fool.

  “I guess you caught most of that, right?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Oooh yeah.”

  Chapter 10

  Wednesday, Mid-Morning

  Bob and I negotiated the tiny pathways back to the house and found everyone still seated around the kitchen table.

  Amanda was back to her normal self: dressed in shorts and a white top, wearing light makeup, her hair no longer a wild nest but back to its usual, purposely tousled look. Had I not known better….

  I left Bob with them and went to the basement to what would eventually become my office. As it was, it was a somewhat sparsely furnished little room, not much more than a large closet.

  I dialed Laura’s number; she answered on the third ring.

  “Yeah? Who is this?”

  “Hey, Laura. It’s me. Harry Starke.”

  “Oh hell. I had a feeling I’d hear from you this morning. What’s up?”

  “Where the hell is Benny, Laura?”

  “Dunno. I heard from him earlier, about an hour ago. He wouldn’t tell me where he was. He’s hiding out somewhere…. Hey did you know there’s a contract out on you?”

  “Yes, Laura. I know that.”

  “They was in here last night. The bar was full of them, at least ten of ’em. Tough lookin’ mothers they was too. They was talkin’ about you, Harry. That’s why Benny high-tailed it outa here. He told me to tell you, if you called, that he’ll be in touch as soon as he knows something, that you ain’t to call him, not that you can. He don’t have a real phone anymore, an’—”

  “Laura, Laura, stop, I got it. Did he say where he was going, who he was going to see?”

  “Nope, nothin’ like that. He said he’d call you, Harry, an’ he will. He’s a son of a bitch, an’ a bit of a sloth, I know, but when he says he’ll do something, he’ll do it.”

  And that was it. I let her go. She was right. Benny was a strange little critter, but he could always be counted on to come up with the go
ods—if he was still alive.

  When I got back to the kitchen, Kate had arrived and was at the Breville making herself a latte. She heard me come in, looked around, glared at me, and then turned back to what she was doing.

  There was a Glock 26 at her waist, the holster slung over her hips and her jeans. Her gold badge was clipped to her belt. She wore black shoes with three-inch heels that pushed her five-eleven frame up to an awe-inspiring six two.

  We’d been friends and partners—and for a while more than partners—since she was a rookie cop. Now we were just good friends. We still work together sometimes though. I have a sort of semi-official standing as a consultant at the PD, both to Kate and, more recently, the chief.

  “I’ll have one too, please,” I said, but I got no reaction, nor did I get a latte. She was in one of her moods. She finished making her own latte, then took it to the table and sat down next to Bob, which pleased him greatly.

  I was beginning to think those two had a thing for each other.

  I sighed, made myself another cup of Dark Italian Roast—any more of that and I’d be wired like the damned national grid—and I sat down between Amanda and Jacque.

  “Talk to me, Harry,” Kate said, looking across the table.

  “About what? You know what happened up here last night. Besides, Rose and my father are—”

  “Forget that crap,” August said. “We want to know. Now answer the lady.”

  That was my dad, bless him. Never one to sugarcoat a situation.

  “There’s nothing to tell, not until I hear from Benny. I can’t make plans if I don’t know where those guys are. Look… oh shit.” I stood up, frustrated, shoved my chair back and headed for the Breville, and tossed what was left of my coffee into the kitchen sink. I could get my own damned latte.

  “Amanda, Rose,” I continued, “you really don’t need to be a part of this. Why don’t you go out and lie by… the… oh forget it.” The look Amanda was giving me would have turned a lesser man to stone; hell, even I felt a little stiff.