The Harry Starke Series Books 4 -6: The Harry Starke Series Boxed Set 2 (The Harry Starke Novels - The Boxed Sets)

by Blair Howard

  “Ms. Jones,” I started, but she interrupted me.

  “It’s Mason-Jones.” She gave me a tight smile.

  Now that pisses me off. Arrogant….

  “My apologies, ma’am. Ms. Mason-Jones. We know she was out with friends Saturday evening. We also know she hitched a ride back here with this woman.” I pulled up the image on my phone and handed it to her. “We’re told she’s a vet. Do you know her?”

  “Yes, of course. That’s Erika Padgett. She works with Dr. Jepson. There’s not much I can tell you about her, though, other than that she visits on a fairly regular basis. We have an equestrian center here, and a large number of horses.”

  I made a note of the name.

  “When we were here on Saturday,” I said looking her in the eye, “we ran into some very aggressive and uncooperative campus police officers. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought they were paramilitary.”

  She smiled. “Actually, they are not police per se. We are not a large enough facility to warrant having such a department. They are private security contractors. Our Captain Rösche is somewhat zealous in his approach, but he runs a tight ship, I’m pleased to say. He keeps us safe.” The smile was gone. “If he gives you any trouble, you may refer him to me.”

  “It seems a little excessive,” I said. “This is not Chicago; it’s a women’s college, and you’re not lacking law enforcement up here. You have the local Signal Mountain Police Department, as well as the sheriff’s department. Why would you need a bunch of heavies patrolling the campus?”

  She shrugged. “Why not? We are indeed a college for women, and I am charged with their safety, a responsibility I don’t take lightly. Now—” she looked again at her watch—“if there’s nothing else, I have a very busy schedule.” She rose to her feet and offered Kate her hand.

  “Please,” she said, “feel free to visit and explore the college as you see fit. Everyone, including Captain Rösche, will cooperate.”

  I had more questions, but I also had the feeling that I’d somehow stepped on her toes. She didn’t offer me her hand. Instead, she stepped to the door and opened it. We were getting academia’s version of the bum’s rush.

  Okay. That’s cool. I’ll getcha next time.

  “We’ll need your personal phone number; in case we need to contact you,” Kate said.

  “Of course. Here’s my card. It has my office number on it, but I’ll write my cell number on the back for you.”

  She handed the card to Kate, and we said our goodbyes.

  We collected the paperwork and visitor’s badges from Jones’ secretary and stepped out of the building into watery sunshine. The rain had stopped, and the sky was a fast-moving field of blue and white.

  They were there again, the same two security officers, Mirrors and Aviators, leaning casually against the side of their cruiser, arms folded across their chests.

  We walked down the steps, past the cruiser to my car. They said not a word. And they didn’t move.

  I opened the car door for Kate, and then got in behind the wheel.

  “Well. That went well,” she said.

  I nodded. “What is it with women like that? I got the distinct impression that, as far as she’s concerned, the rest of humanity is beneath her notice.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “That, I think, comes with the PhD. I hate academics, especially the high-minded ones.” She sighed. “What now?”

  “Now we go take a look at Emily’s room and, I hope, talk to Jessica Henderson. And what the hell is it with Hart and McLeish?”

  She shrugged. “You tell me. Might be for the best if they stay the hell out of the way.”

  I put the car in reverse, backed away from the cruiser, and then pulled out of the lot. Only then did the security guys get into their car and follow us.

  Chapter 10

  I pulled into the gravel parking area to the left of the Huddleston Building. The cruiser followed me in and parked some fifteen feet away.

  I turned off the engine, looked sideways at Kate. “Okay. Stay here. I need to handle this.”

  “Harry….”

  “I know, I know. I’ll be nice.”

  I got out of the car and walked across the lot to the passenger side of the car.

  “Good afternoon, boys. Is there a problem?”

  Aviators grinned up at me through the open window. “No sir.”

  “Then why are you following us?”

  “Boss’s orders. Told us to keep an eye you, is all.”

  “That would be Rösche, right?”

  “Captain Rösche. Yessir. That would be him.”

  “Then I suggest you head back to whatever sty he’s holed up in and tell him we’ll be around to see him as soon as we get done here. Go on. Off you go.”

  I walked back to my car. Kate was already halfway up the steps to the dorm, waiting.

  “What did you say to them?”

  “I just told them to let their boss know we’d be around to see him shortly.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just bet you did.”

  I grinned at her, and we entered the building. The cruiser hadn’t moved.

  Just beyond the front door and to the left, half a dozen young women occupied a large, somewhat sparsely furnished sitting room, most of them sitting cross-legged on sofas with books, laptops, or tablets open in their laps. To the right, opposite the sitting room door, a wide staircase led to the upper floors.

  Kate knocked on the doorframe. They all looked up; they all looked down again.

  “We’re looking for Jessica Henderson,” Kate said loudly.

  A young woman seated by the window looked up, closed her book, stood, and walked over to us. I recognized her immediately as one of the girls at the Sorbonne that night. She was of medium build, and her body was exquisite. She was wearing skin-tight yoga pants and a sports bra that left little the imagination. Her hair was curly, and dark brown, as were her eyes. Her face would have done justice to a Lancôme ad; in fact, she looked a little like Julia Roberts.

  “I’m Jessica. You… you must be the police. This is about Emily?” Her eyes were red. She’d obviously been crying.

  Kate nodded. “My name is Lieutenant Catherine Gazzara, Chattanooga Police. This is Harry Starke, my associate. We’d like a word in private.” She offered her ID.

  The girl looked at it. “We can go up to my room,” she said. “Lacy is at the farm.”

  Her room was a spacious apartment on the second floor. It was well-furnished, too, with a large dining table and four chairs, two armchairs, and a couple of sideboards, one of which supported a flat-screen TV. The large, living room window offered a view over the grounds to the east: a large meadow where maybe a couple dozen horses grazed contentedly on the wet grass. Beyond the meadow, dense woodland stretched away into the distance and to… the hidden lake on Wicker Road, where Emily had been found.

  “Please, sit down.” Jessica sat at the head of the table. Kate took a seat on one side of her, and I sat on the other.

  “If you don’t mind, Jessica,” Kate said gently, “we’d like to get a few personal details.” She set the recorder on the table in front of her. “Do you mind?”

  Jessica shook her head.

  “Good. Let’s begin with your full name, home address, and date of birth.”

  Kate made a note of the answers on her iPad, and then continued. “And when did you first meet Emily?”

  “We started school here together, in the fall of 2012. Will you tell me what happened to her? They didn’t give any details, the TV news.” She was starting to cry again.

  Kate shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jessica. We don’t have all the details yet.”

  “She was strangled,” I said suddenly. I watched her face. It went white. Kate glared at me from across the table. “We found her in the woods about a mile away. When did you last see her?”

  “Saturday night. We went out. We… we….” She sat there, head down, staring at the table.

  “She met so
meone.” I waited for her to answer. She didn’t.

  “Jessica. Emily met someone, at the Sorbonne.”

  “Erika,” she whispered. “She met Erika. They went home together, to Erika’s. That was the last time I saw her.”

  “Erika Padgett? The vet?”

  She nodded.

  “Jessica,” Kate said. “We know Emily was gay. Were they dating?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean by dating. They met a few times. They went out to eat a couple of times, and to the movies once, all over several months. I think it was casual. Not a steady relationship—” sniff—“if that’s what you mean. And they spent time together at the horse barn, but that was… well, I don’t know what it was. Emily spent most of her time studying, or with me.” She looked at my face, and then said sharply—too sharply?—“I’m not gay, but I do, did, love her. She was my best friend.” And with that, she dropped her head into her hands and burst into tears.

  We waited until she got ahold of herself, until she’d wiped her eyes on a paper towel, blown her nose, and looked up again. It was pathetic. She was devastated.

  “So,” I said gently. “If she wasn’t in a relationship with Ms. Padgett, was she dating anyone?”

  “No.” Sniff. “I don’t think so. Not that I know of.”

  “What about you, Jessica?”

  She looked at me with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Were you best friend friends, or were you…?”

  “No. I told you. I’m not gay. I have a boyfriend.” It was said with just a little too much angst. “She was my friend. She had a lot of friends.”

  “I understand. So, did she go out much?”

  “We all did. Mostly in the evenings, but sometimes on weekends. She stayed with her parents on the weekends, and she went to horse shows. They were always overnight things. Other than that….”

  “Tell me about your boyfriend, Jessica.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, you say you’re not gay, that you have a boyfriend. It’s just routine. I’m just filling in the gaps.”

  “His—his name is John.”

  Hmmm. How original.

  “And John’s last name is?”

  “I’m not going to tell you that. It’s… well he has nothing to do with anything. He didn’t even know Emily.”

  “Than why won’t you tell me his name?”

  “I….”

  “Jessica,” Kate said gently. “We’re not accusing you of anything, or John, but we have to know.”

  “John Parker,” she whispered.

  “And where does he live?”

  “On Valleywood Drive in Middle Valley.”

  “Phone number?”

  Kate made a note of it. “Thanks Jessica.”

  “So you’re sure Emily wasn’t in a relationship, then?” Kate asked.

  “No, I’m not sure. I just don’t know. She had a lot of friends; I told you.”

  “Okay, Jessica,” I said. “Not much more, I promise. Let’s talk about Saturday night. You left here at what time?”

  “It was at seven thirty. Autumn was designated driver.”

  “That would be your friend Autumn Leaf?” Jeez, how does the girl handle that?

  “Yes, there were the four of us: me, Emily, Lacy, and Autumn. We met up with Robin and Nick at the Mellow Mushroom around eight. We had a few drinks there, and then we went to the Big River Grill and had dinner. Then we went to the Sorbonne.”

  “And Erika was waiting for you?”

  “No, she was just… there. By herself. She wasn’t waiting for us.”

  “Could she have been waiting for Emily?”

  She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. Emily didn’t say anything about that, but she spotted her the minute we walked into the bar. She had a couple of drinks with us, then she went and had several more with Erika. I don’t think it was arranged.”

  “So. They met. They had a few drinks. And then what?”

  “Then we left. They were still there. I assumed they left together. And that’s it. That was the last time I saw her.” Again, she burst into tears.

  I waited until she calmed down, then I showed her the photos of the two boys they had been with at the Sorbonne. “Who are they, Jessica?”

  “That’s Robin Lucas, and that’s Nick—Nicholas—Kyper. They’re just friends. They run around with us sometimes.”

  “Okay, just one more thing, Jessica. Then we’ll leave you alone. When and where did they first meet?”

  “I…” sniff, “I don’t really know. At the horse barn? Months ago. I don’t know.”

  Kate turned off the recorder and slipped it into her pocket. I got up from the table, grabbed a fistful of paper towels from the roll in the kitchen, and handed them to her. “Here. Dry your eyes. We’re going to take a look at her room. Which one is it?”

  She wiped her eyes and looked up at me. They were red, bloodshot. I felt a rush of pity for her.

  “Next door. But it’s locked; you’ll need a key. You can have mine.”

  “I already have one.” But then I realized that I didn’t. “Nope, I left it home. If you wouldn’t mind?”

  She rose from the table and went to one of the sideboards, opened a drawer, took out a single key on a leather fob, and handed it to me.

  “I won’t need it anymore, will I.” More tears.

  -----

  Kate took a pair of latex gloves from her jacket pocket and put them on. I did the same and unlocked the door.

  “So what do you think?” Kate asked once we’d gotten inside Emily’s room.

  “About what?”

  “Jessica, of course.”

  “I think her love for Emily was a little stronger that just friendship. Maybe they had a thing for each other. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe Jessica had a thing for her but Emily didn’t know it.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. She sure as hell was upset.”

  “That or she’s one hell of an actress.”

  “Harry, you’re a cynic.”

  “Well, yeah. I make it a habit to be one. When did you ever meet a murderer that told the truth, or wasn’t a good actor? She was lying about the boyfriend. Friend, maybe. Boyfriend, no. She had her phone in her hand before we got out of the door. Give him a call. I bet he won’t answer.”

  “Okay, I will.” And she did. And I was right.

  “Busy,” she said dryly.

  “What she said about Emily staying weekends with her family, that wasn’t true either. Either Emily lied to her, or Jessica lied to us. Johnston told me he hadn’t seen her in at least five weeks.”

  “So you think she’s a suspect?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say that, but if they were lovers…. You know me. I like to keep an open mind. You do too.”

  She nodded, sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, then let it go and pursed her lips.

  “No comment?” I asked with a grin.

  She gave me a wry smile. “No comment.”

  Chapter 11

  Emily’s apartment was the twin of Jessica’s. The walls were decorated with large prints of showjumping stars, riders and horses. The view from the window was the same pastoral scene: meadow, horses, and woodland. There were two beds in the bedroom—one with only a bare mattress, the other with a purple bedspread— but it had an awful feeling of emptiness and abandonment. Maybe it was the unoccupied section of the room; maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, our voices seemed to echo off the walls and high ceiling.

  The table was bare, the four chairs arranged neatly around it. The kitchenette was tidy, sink empty, food in the refrigerator, countertops bare. The closet was full of clothes, obviously Emily’s. I checked the bathroom while Kate sorted through the clothing. The bathroom was almost bare except for several large towels, some shampoo, soap, and other toiletries—nothing of note. The top of Emily’s sideboard was also bare, except for the usual family photographs and a glass that contained several colored pencils and an
equal number of gel pens, also colored. One by one, I pulled the drawers out—two at the top and three more below, one above the other—and looked through the contents: underwear, sweaters, so on and so forth. I went to the other sideboard and looked through the drawers. All empty.

  “Kate, where is she?”

  “What? You know where she is.”

  “No, I mean, where’s all the stuff that made her what she was? You know, knickknacks, photos of her with friends, notes, jewelry. There’s not a single personal photo other than those of her family. That’s not usual. What about her computer? She had to have one. Phone? That’s still up here somewhere, but where? We need to find it. Hold on a minute. I’ll call her.”

  I took out my cell and made the call, and we listened: nothing. I disconnected.

  “It makes no sense,” I said. “Did she have an iPad or Kindle? I’ll bet she did. Someone’s been here and cleaned up, taken her stuff.”

  “You may be right, but if so, who?”

  I shook my head and, deep in thought, without thinking about what I was doing, I pulled open the top left drawer and sorted through the flimsy pieces, looking but not seeing, trying to make sense of it. I picked up a bra: white lace, wispy. One of the straps was caught on something. I pulled. It wouldn’t come. I pulled again. It was stuck. I moved the rest of the pieces aside and saw why. The end of the strap was caught between the wall of the drawer and the plywood bottom.

  “Hey. Come and look at this.” I took out my phone, held up the bra, and photographed it.

  She looked, then looked sideways at me. “False bottom?”

  I nodded. After she’d emptied the drawer and pulled it out, she turned it upside down. There was no bra strap sticking out of the bottom.

  “Let’s take a look at it.” I took the drawer from her and set it on the table. The bottom was a tight fit—no gaps anywhere, but there was a small hole at the rear, maybe an inch from the back wall. I tapped the plywood with my knuckles. It sounded hollow. I pulled the bra strap. It didn’t move, and neither did the bottom. If I pulled harder it would break; I was sure of it.