by Blair Howard
Wendy emerged a few minutes later, looking refreshed and more than a little wary.
“So,” she said as Jacque turned toward her. “First things first.”
Jacque nodded. She retrieved her clutch from the bed and took out a small stack of hundred-dollar bills, handed them over, then placed the clutch on the sideboard next to the camera.
Wendy counted the money carefully and, satisfied, placed it inside her own clutch.
“So.”
“So,” Jacque replied with a shy smile.
Wendy stepped forward, slipped her arms around Jacque’s waist, and pulled her gently to her. Jacque put her hands to Wendy’s neck and kissed her. It was a long, gentle and—so I thought—heartfelt kiss.
Finally, Jacque pushed her gently away.
“Give me just a minute, please?” she whispered, so low we could barely hear her.
She moved away. Then she took off the watch, slipped it into the clutch and closed it and, unobtrusively, turned the spy camera to face the wall.
“What the hell?” I asked, as the screen went blank. All was now quiet inside the room. The spy camera was not equipped with sound, video only, and the watch was inside the clutch.
Kate laughed, and looked over at me. “It looks like our girl intends to enjoy herself.”
Me? Oh I was pissed.
They didn’t surface until almost eight thirty the following morning; that according to Jacque, because we had left just before midnight.
Chapter 26
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” I asked as she walked in through the office door. It was almost ten o’clock.
“Your office, please, Mr. Starke,” she said, as she glared round at Tim and Heather. They were both smiling.
I followed her in. She stepped behind me and slammed the door, then turned to face me. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”
“What? Do what?”
“In front of the staff. You know what.”
I was so angry I didn’t trust myself to answer her, so I didn’t.
“What did I tink I was doing?” There was that accent again. “I was doin’ me damn job. The job you asked me to do. That’s what I was doin’.”
“But you turned off the sound, and the camera.”
“What did you expect, a bloody peep show? Shame on you, Harry Starke.”
“I… I…. Oh come on Jacque. I didn’t expect you to… well… you know!”
“No I don’t know, damn it. Tink about it, mon. I’d just handed her two tousand dollars. We both knew what that was for, so what the hell would she have thought if I’d not gone tru with it? Besides, I liked the bloody woman.” She almost shouted that last into my face. “In fact, I wanted her. She was beautiful, and gentle, and she treated me with love and respect, and I bloody well enjoyed it!”
Okay. I got it. But I sure as hell didn’t know what to do with it. I just stood there and stared at her. I’d always known she was gay, but somehow I’d never really put it together, not until then.
I turned away, gesturing for her to sit down, and I retreated to the safety of my own chair behind my desk.
We sat. We looked at each other. We sat some more, and we looked some more. Finally we both spoke, at the same time.
“Hush!” she said. “It’s all right.” She paused, then sighed. “Actually, I should say thank you. For one of the best nights of my life.”
Again, I was flummoxed. I just shook my head, shrugged, opened my mouth, and then closed it again.
“She’s been with Kalliste for three years,” she said.
I blinked at her.
“Don’t look so damned goofy,” she said. “I told you I was doing my job. I talked to her, right? Three years. During that time she’s met with only a handful of women. She doesn’t do it for a living. In fact, she’s a vice president at one of the local banks. She does it to fulfill a need. The money? 70 percent goes to Kalliste. She has no contact with the owners of the website other than by private e-mail within the system.”
“How come she told you all this?”
“Oh please. She’s not the only one that’s good at what she does.” She said it with a sly smile.
“Jeez, Jacque. Did she say anything about the owners, how she gives them the money, anything?”
“No, she didn’t, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to spook her. But don’t worry. I’ll find out. If not next time, then… well, whenever.”
“There’s going to be a next time?”
“That there is.”
“And how the hell much is that going to cost?”
“Not a thing. We hit it off. We made a date for tomorrow night. She’s… she’s… well, I think I’m in love. And, Harry, please don’t spoil it for me. I’m 99 percent certain she’s clean.”
I shook my head, exasperated. “Jeez, Jacque. What am I going to do with you? Go on, get out of here. Just keep me up to speed, okay?”
I stared at the closed door for a long time after Jacque had closed it behind her. I was worried about her. Yeah, I know, I know, she’s a big girl, but we’re close, always have been, and I love her like a sister. I hoped like hell she wasn’t getting in over her head.
I went to the break room for more coffee, returned, and flopped down in the chair again. I wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular, just staring at the ceiling, taking a quiet moment and drinking some good coffee.
Emily’s journal was on my desk. Idly, I picked it up and began to flip through the pages, not really looking for anything, just browsing the photos. She’d been a happy girl back in the day, and had obviously enjoyed some happy times. The girls, the Kalliste girls, Calliope, Persephone, Nemesis, and Apate. Beautiful, all of them, and more so now that I knew who they all were, except... Apate? No, I didn’t know her. I continued browsing. Apate… hmmm… Apate.
I flipped through the book and found her again. I opened my iPad and went to the Kalliste website. She was the last model on page three of the catalog images.
Apate, so said Wikipedia, was the goddess of deceit. Her mother was Nyx, the primordial goddess of night, her father Erebos, the god of darkness. Wow. I paged through the site to the end, clicked on the gold disc. She was dressed in a black, satin toga. Her shoulders were bare, as were her thighs. Her long black hair was interwoven with gold thread. She was lovely, and her message? The same as her companion goddesses—ladies only.
I closed the iPad and picked up the journal. I searched, but could find no connection between Emily and Apate. So why was the photo there? I could think of only one reason. More code: the name. Apate; she was the personification of deceit. Deceit… deception… the photo.
It’s the only one taped into the book.
All the other photographs were glued in place, and it looked to me like Apate’s might have been removed and replaced. More than once.
Okay, so let’s see.
Carefully, I lifted one corner of the adhesive tape. It came away quite easily. I lifted the photo clear of the page, and there it was. I grabbed my iPhone and photographed the page several times. I took images of the photo with the tape still adhered to it, and to the single piece of paper still in situ behind it. Secrets; deceit; Apate.
I took a pair of tweezers from my desk drawer and lifted the piece of paper from the page. It was folded twice. I laid it on my desk, slipped on a pair of latex gloves, and opened it to find more numbers and codes, just like those Tim had already deciphered. This time, though, there were only four listings.
I ran a copy of it, placed it back in the book, and replaced the photo and tape. Then I went to Tim and gave the copy to him.
He came to my office a few minutes later.
“Well, she must really have wanted to keep these contacts safe, and she tried hard, bless her,” he said, handing me the piece of paper. “They’re private iPhone numbers. The names and numbers were encoded twice. By that I mean she encoded them once then she encoded the code, and then she took it a step further and reverse
d it; she wrote the codes down backwards. Here you go.”
Knowing what I did, the first name on the list didn’t really surprise me: Victoria Mason-Jones. Numbers two, three, and four, however, hit me like I’d been kicked in the crotch by a horse: Conrad Rösche, Sheriff Hands, and Anthony Hart.
No, she couldn’t have been. She was gay, for Christ’s sake.
But there was no getting around it. She was either screwing them, or she was up to something else. What that could be I had no idea, unless…. Blackmail, maybe?
“Tim did you—”
“Check her cell phone records?”
Damn, the boy is even beginning to think like me.
“Yep. They don’t show that she made any calls to those four numbers, but if she followed the same pattern as the other girls, she would have been using a burner. If that’s the case, we’ll never know.”
He was right. I needed to talk to them, all three of them, but I had no jurisdiction over Hands or Hart, or even Rösche, and neither did Kate. I needed some heavy backup.
I leaned back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling. What I needed now was a heavy hitter. I had friends in the FBI, but as far as I knew, this wasn’t a federal crime, so that was out. Kidnapping? Emily had been missing for five days before she was killed, so that would apply, but she hadn’t been taken across state lines, so still no FBI. State, though, the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. Yep, that would work.
I flipped the lock screen on my iPhone and called Michael Condon.
“Deputy Director Condon. How may I help you?”
“Hello, Michael. It’s Harry Starke. I know it’s been a while.”
“Well, well. Harry Starke. You’re right. It has been a while. You must want something, and if you’re coming to me for it, it must be big.”
“It is, Michael. I have a situation. I don’t have standing here, and my contact at the Chattanooga PD doesn’t have jurisdiction. I’m looking into the death of Emily Johnston. She was found out in the county.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. Terrible. How is Kate, by the way?”
“She’s fine. I’m investigating at Johnston’s request. She’s been detached and is working with me. Can you help?”
“Hamilton County, or… well, what?”
“Hamilton, Signal Mountain.”
“That would be….” I heard his keyboard clicking. “Sheriff Israel Hands’ jurisdiction. Why not go to him?”
“It’s Hands and his deputy I wanted to question,” I told him, and then went on to explain the situation.
“No shit, Harry. The damned sheriff? I don’t know. You’re something else, my friend. I don’t know if what you have—just a couple of names in a dead girl’s journal—is probable cause. But… well, I never did like that son of a bitch.”
I could almost hear the wheels turning inside his head.
“Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You’ll need to have Chief Johnston make a formal request for aid directly to me. When he does that, I’ll assign an agent to work with Kate, and you. You should know this though, Harry: we, that is you, can investigate him, but Hands is under no obligation to talk or answer questions. If he chooses to, fine. If not… there’s nothing anyone can do, outside of the governor’s office. Hands is top dog in Hamilton County.”
“Good enough. Can you stay by your desk for a few minutes? I’ll have Johnston call you right away.” I could almost see him shaking his head in exasperation.
“Sure, Harry. I have all the time in the world.”
“Now, now, Michael. Sarcasm doesn’t become you. Call me back when you’re done with Johnston, okay?”
“Sure.”
I called the chief’s private cellphone, explained what I needed and why. And oh boy was he pissed when he learned that his daughter had been involved, one way or another, with the sheriff and at least one of his deputies. I managed to calm him down a little, and he assured me he’d make the call right away. It was maybe thirty minutes before Condon called me back. I’d almost given up on him when my iPhone began its dance across my desk.
“Hey, Michael,” I answered. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know about that. I did manage to sort things out with Wes Johnston. He wanted to go and take Hands apart. I managed to stop that, I think. I hope. If he goes off half-cocked he’s likely to end up in the county jail, and so are you, my friend. Do you have any idea how shaky the ground you’re walking on is? Friends in high places you might have, but they won’t do you any good when you take on the sheriff; he’s just about untouchable unless there’s hard evidence that he’s committed a crime.”
“Yeah, I know all that. I know the risks, but we have probable cause. Not that he’s actually committed a crime, but that he might be involved in something… well, that he might be abusing his power in some way.”
“Okay. Christ, okay. Here’s what I’ve done: I’ve just gotten off the phone with our Knoxville office. Kate will be contacted shorty by Special Agent Gordon Caster. Yeah yeah, I know, you’re leading the investigation, but this has to go through Kate as a sworn officer. You know that. He knows the routine; he’ll take the lead with Hands. Harry, this is a very sensitive situation. There’s no telling how Hands will react.”
“Fine, but will Caster cooperate?”
He was silent for a second, then said, “Christ, Harry, you’re something else. No, he will not cooperate. You and Kate will do the cooperating. When Johnston made the request, he effectively turned the investigation over to us. This thing has to be done right.”
I didn’t answer. I was pissed, and I didn’t want say something I’d regret.
“Harry?”
“I heard you Michael.”
“Now don’t get your panties in a wad. I gave Caster instructions to get in and get out, ask your questions, and then leave you to it, unless….”
Oh hell. Here it comes.
“If Caster finds evidence that Hands, or his deputy, committed a crime, you lose it. The state will take over. You sure you want us on board?”
Damn! Damn it. I thought about it, and the more I did, the more unsure I became. In the end, though, I didn’t have much of a choice. If I wanted to get to Hands, I had to get the state involved. There’s no evidence of any wrongdoing, just that he might be screwing around with very high-class hookers of questionable sexuality. If that were all it was….
“Yes, Michael. I want you on board.”
“Good, because the wheels are already turning. Stay in touch, Harry. My ass is on the line with you, and I don’t like it.”
Click.
He’d disconnected.
Damn and blast. I’d better call Kate.
She answered on the second ring. “What’s up, Harry?”
“You’d better get down here. We have a lot to talk about. When can you get here?”
“Thirty, maybe forty minutes. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”
“Good. Soon as you can.”
Chapter 27
There was more that needed to be done before Kate arrived. I needed to know more about that damned website, and I knew just who to turn to. He was at his oracle, typing like a man possessed; he didn’t even hear me walk in.
“Hey, Tim.” I put a hand on his shoulder, and he almost leaped out of his skin.
“Jeez, don’t do that. You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry, sorry. Look, we need to know who’s running the Kalliste website. Can you backdoor it?”
He looked up at me, one eyebrow raised. “Give me a couple of minutes.”
It took him forty-five. Kate arrived a few minutes before he finished, and we went to my office. I brought her up-to-date about my conversation with Condon. Most of it she already knew by virtue of a long conversation with Chief Johnston. Apparently the man was boiling. Ready to explode.
“I got it, boss.” Tim was talking as he walked, the open laptop in the crook of his arm.
“Okay,” I said. “Just hold on a minute while I get coffee. Kate,
you want some? Tim?”
They both shook their heads. I fetched one for myself, at least, and returned to my seat.
“Let’s have it, Tim.”
“The Kalliste website,” he said, cuddling the laptop in his left arm, “is running on a dedicated private server owned by a company called Artax Enterprises. Artax is an offshore shell corporation owned by Zeus and Associates, another shell company. The trail ends with Zeus. Exactly who is operating the website, I don’t know, and can’t find out; there are no principles or associates listed for Artax, which is not unusual for some shadow in a back room somewhere in the Bahamas. Zeus, however, is a different story. It’s part of a limited partnership, one we’ve run into before. It’s owned by Nickajack Investments, which is—”
“No way. The Harper Foundation. You’re kidding me.” I looked at Kate. Her eyes were wide; her mouth was open. She was as shocked as I was.
“No, I’m not. And there’s more, much more. The more I thought about all of the Kalliste connections to Belle Edmondson—especially Mason Jones…. Well, I ran an in-depth search of the companies listed under the Nickajack umbrella, and Nickajack also owns Destrex Security. Old man Harper used them extensively until he went down.”
Sheesh. Rösche. It made sense.
“How do they get paid?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Cash, I assume. There’s no record of credit card payments, or any other kind of payments.”
“Okay, Tim. Good work.”
“Now for the icing on the cake…. Oh you’re gonna like this.” He was grinning like a damn baboon. “Sheriff Hands is Little Billy Harper’s first cousin.”
“Get outta here.”
Two years before, I had been instrumental in putting Congressman Gordon “Little Billy” Harper away for fifteen years. The charges ranged from accessory to murder to political corruption to money laundering.
“So who’s running the foundation now that Little Billy’s out of circulation?” I asked.
“Out of circulation he might be; out of the William J. Harper Foundation? No sir. As far as I can tell, he’s still running things through his daughter, Kathryn Greene.”
“Kathryn Greene…? I think I know her. Check to see if she’s a member of the country club, Tim.”
