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

by Blair Howard

  “What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “The sheriff’s department is involved?”

  “Oh yeah,” she said bitterly. “Hands is an appropriate name for that nasty son of a bitch. Him, Detectives Hart, and McLeish, and the cockroach. There’s rarely a night goes by that they’re not screwing one of the girls. Hell, even some of the guards are getting in on it.” She shuddered, looked fearfully at Jacque. Jacque took her hand and squeezed it.

  “Don’t worry, Wendy,” she said to her quietly. “It won’t be for much longer.” Then she turned to look at me. “Will it, Harry.” There was ice in her voice.

  “No, not much longer.” I meant it. “Do you know of anyone else?”

  “Not for sure. Mason-Jones, Rösche, the sheriff, a few underlings, and the girls of course, but that’s about it. Oh, and there’s a lawyer, Greene, his name is. He’s been using some of the girls lately, so I’ve been told. He just hasn’t gotten around to me yet.”

  Well I’ll be damned. Why am I not surprised?

  “What about the money, Wendy? How do they get paid, and how do you get paid?”

  “Cash. Cash only. If you can’t afford cash, you can’t afford to play. They pay me in cash too. I get 30 percent of the fee. I deduct it from what the client pays. I put the remainder in a UPS Store drop box. Everything else is done by phone, disposable phones.”

  “And where would that drop box be?”

  She told me, and I made a note of the address and number.

  I’ll get Bob to check that out, I thought, and then, shit. No. How could I have forgotten?

  “How about your clients? Are they all local?” I knew the answer to that one, but I needed to hear it from her.

  “Local? Oh no. They come from all over the United States and Canada, some even further than that.”

  “Wendy,” I said. “Do you remember the two girls that went missing while you were at Belle Edmondson? Their names were Angela Young and Marcy Grove.”

  “Yes. I knew them both. They were sweet girls. Both of them were members of Kalliste. In fact, I knew Angela very well. I always wondered… what happened to them.”

  Well, that answers that question.

  “Mr. Starke,” Wendy said. She was now holding Jacque’s hand in both of her own. “Do you think I’ll ever be able to get out of this mess?”

  I pursed my lips, tightly, slowly nodded, and said, grimly, “You can count on it.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she wasn’t crying, she was smiling.

  “One thing, though, Wendy. I—that is, we—will need you to testify about what has happened to you, in court. Would you be willing to do that?”

  She nodded. “Damned right I will,” she said through her teeth. “I want to see that filthy animal behind bars for what he’s done to us; her too.”

  It didn’t take a whole lot of imagination to figure out who she was referring to.

  “Good,” I said. “Lieutenant Kate Gazzara will be in touch with you shortly. She’ll want you to make a statement and swear out a complaint. And that, I think will do it. At the very least, Mason-Jones is a pimp. But if this thing is interstate, if you girls are traveling across state lines…. Did you?”

  She nodded. “Only once, but some of the others travel all over. Florida, New York, Washington….”

  “That makes it federal. The law states that anyone who coerces anyone to travel interstate to engage in prostitution, or in any other sexual activity, can be fined and/or imprisoned for up to twenty years. That’s human trafficking, and these people are deep into that, and maybe murder too."

  I rose to my feet; they did too.

  “Thanks, Wendy. You’ve been a great help. We’ll get you out of it. I promise.”

  She took a step forward, wrapped her arms around my neck, and hugged me. Afterward Jacque stepped in and hugged me too.

  “I’m sorry, Harry,” she whispered. Another first.

  I hugged her back. “There no need for that,” I said. “Now get outta here. Take her home. And… congratulations. She’s lovely.”

  And they left, leaving me alone with my thoughts, wondering what the hell to do next.

  First things first: call Kate, and bring her up to speed about Wendy and what needed to be done with her. And then I had to get out of there. I was closing on the new house at five o’clock.

  Chapter 30

  It was a little after six thirty when I arrived home, and I was in one of those moods. Even after I’d talked to Kate, even after I’d closed on the house, something about that meeting with Jacque and Wendy was sticking with me. They seemed to be so much in in love, and after only a couple of days. How could that be? I’d heard about such things, of course, but….

  I thought about them, and then I thought about Amanda, and then I smiled to myself. I parked the Maxima next to hers in my garage, went up upstairs and found her in the kitchen, bottle of Laphroaig in hand. She smiled as I entered.

  “The garage door, right?” I smiled.

  She nodded and handed the glass to me. She’d poured a good three fingers and topped it off with a single cube of ice, just the way I like it. I took it, held it to my nose, breathed deeply, then closed my eyes and sipped. Life was good.

  “Hey,” I said. “Guess what. I closed on the house a few minutes ago.”

  She smiled, but didn’t answer. I sipped again, relished the scotch as it coursed down my throat, then I set the glass on the countertop, slipped my arms around her waist, and pulled her to me. I held her tightly for a moment, savoring every curve of her body pressed against mine: her thighs, the gentle mound of her belly, the firm swell of her breasts against my chest. I kissed her, gently, and for what seemed to be an eternity. I don’t think I’d ever felt the way I did in that moment: love? Maybe. Sadness? A little. Joy? Oh yes. I was a bucketful of mingled emotions. Even my damned eyes were watering.

  “Hey,” she whispered, pushing gently back and looking up into my eyes. “What’s wrong?” She laid the back of her forefinger against my eye and wiped away the moisture.

  “Not a thing. Not a damned thing. I’m taking the weekend off. Let’s go to bed.”

  “But, Harry. It’s not even seven o’clock…. Oh what the hell.” She disentangled herself from my arms, took my hand, and led me into the bedroom.

  -----

  We rose early the next morning and breakfasted lightly on scrambled eggs and toast, and then went to Erlanger to see Bob. I felt a whole lot better when we walked into his room and found him sitting up in bed.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, as Amanda leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Bob,” she said. “You look wonderful, but you need a shave in the worst way.”

  “Yeah, that I do,” he said rubbing his chin ruefully. “But it’s good to see you both. Sit yourselves down. Did you bring me anything to eat? One, no two, of those Hardies biscuits with egg and sausage would go down a treat right now. Do you guys know what they give us for breakfast in this sorry place?”

  “Bob, shut the hell up,” I said, grinning. “How you feeling, man?”

  “Like shit. I got shot, damn it. How d’you think I feel? Harry, see if you can find my clothes. I gotta get outta this damn place. They’re starving me to death.”

  “Can’t do it, Bob. You’re not ready yet. You need rest. Five or six more days and maybe—”

  “Six more days? Are you out of your mind? I won’t last that long.”

  “Yeah, you will. That tube has to stay in until your lung can stay inflated on its own. Another couple of days, maybe. Even then, you’ll need rest, and you have no one to…. Yeah, you do. You’ll come stay with me until you’re fit enough to be on your own. I have a spare room, if I can get Amanda to clear all her clothes out of it.”

  “Harry,” he said, “I can’t do that.”

  “Sure you can,” I said. “No arguments.”

  “I had Heart and Sole in here yesterday,” he said sleepily. “What a pair of assholes they
are. Wanted to question me, so they did. Nurse tossed ’em out on their ears. They’ll be back. Couple of damned rats is what they are.”

  He sighed and looked at Amanda, who smiled at him and nodded. He shrugged, settled back into the pillows, and closed his eyes. I guess the anesthetic was still in his system. We rose quietly to our feet.

  “Close the damned door on your way out,” he growled.

  -----

  We arrived at the club early that Saturday. Amanda and I had lunch with my father and stepmother, as we did most weekends.

  August Starke, my father, is one of those larger-than-life figures that dominate any room they happen to be in, be it a lounge or a courtroom, and it’s not just because of his looks, although even I have to admit he’s a handsome old man. He’s one of the country’s top lawyers, specializing in tort. He loves taking on the pharmaceutical companies. To date, he has won almost a billion dollars for his clients, and he takes his cut of that. He’s a very wealthy man. And that brings me to my stepmother. Rose is twenty years younger than he is, just three years older than me. She’s a very beautiful woman: tall, blond, perfect skin, perfect figure. She’s the quintessential “trophy wife,” but actually, she’s not. She a very caring person and loves my old man dearly, and I, in turn, love her for it.

  They arrived just a few minutes after we did. He was, as usual, full of piss and vinegar. She was smiling indulgently at the outrageous remarks he made to one and all.

  “Hello, you two,” he said, plonking himself down on the window seat next to Amanda and waving a hand in the general direction of the waiter, who was already hurrying over to him. “Has he asked you yet?”

  “Asked me what?” she asked, her face turning pink.

  “To marry him, of course, To marry him. No? Damned fool. Wish I was twenty years younger. Oops, sorry, dear.” Rose just smiled at him, winked at me, and leaned across the table and patted Amanda’s hand.

  “Take no notice of him. He’s just kidding.”

  “Kidding my ass. What the hell’s the matter with you, boy? Snap the girl up, before someone else does.”

  And then the moment passed, and he was off another tangent. One after another his friends stopped by our table, said hello, offered to buy him a drink, patted him on the shoulder, kissed Rose on the cheek.

  Lunch came and went, and finally he settled down a little. It was then that I asked him about the Greenes.

  The smile dropped away. “John and Kathryn Greene?” he asked. He stared at me for a long moment. “What about them?”

  “Come on, Dad. Give.”

  “If you know enough about them to ask me, you already know enough.”

  “What? What kind of an answer is that?”

  He shook his head. “She’s Billy Harper’s little girl, and a chip off the old block. No. Billy is nowhere near as devious as she is. John Greene is a snake. I’ve run up against him twice, beaten him both times—barely. He’ll shake your hand with his right and cut your throat with his left. Be careful, son. You’re good, but…. Well, I’ll be. Speak of the devil. Here they are.”

  “Hello, August,” John Greene said, offering his hand. August looked at it, then at his other hand—I smiled; the old man believed his own BS—and then he rose and shook his hand.

  “John, Kathryn.” He nodded at one then the other. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No, thank you, August. It was actually Harry I wanted a word with.” He turned to me. No handshake was offered.

  “I understand that you and Lieutenant Gazzara visited with my clients Victoria Mason-Jones and Conrad Rösche yesterday, and that Captain Rösche suffered actual bodily harm at the hands of the lieutenant. He won’t be pressing charges, but from now on I must ask that you refrain from talking to either of them unless I am there to represent them. Understood?”

  “Understood, Councilor. How are his nuts, by the way?”

  He blinked at me, and kept staring. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  I jumped to my feet. “Now listen to me, you piece of shit.”

  Kathryn stepped forward, but he held out his arm and stopped her. “You were saying?” he asked quietly.

  “First, it’s Mr. Starke to you. Only my friends call me Harry. Second, my friend here,” I waved a hand in Amanda’s direction, “had her blouse ripped from her body by one of Rösche’s goons, and third, one of my employees is lying half-dead in the hospital because that crazy bastard is running a private army up there. You tell that son of a bitch, and the bitch he works for, that they are going down, both of them, and I’m going to make sure that they do. Now get out of my face. You’re spoiling a good scotch whiskey with your presence.”

  He smiled. “You really are all they say you are, Harry. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon. Kathryn?” And they left.

  I sat down again; so did my father. His face was white.

  “Damn it, Harry,” he said. “Do you do that often?”

  I grinned at him. “Oh, just now and then, when the need arises.”

  I picked up my glass, sniffed, sipped, smiled. Not spoiled at all.

  One thing I was sure of, though: I wasn’t finished with the Greenes just yet. Not by a long shot.

  Chapter 31

  The rest of the weekend passed quickly, and when I woke Monday morning it was to a bright, cheery dawn, with a watery golden disc rising above the tree line to the east. It was going to be a beautiful day, and in more ways than one, so I hoped.

  The ride to the office was, as usual, something of a nightmare. Traffic on Thrasher Bridge was heavy, and downtown it was almost at a standstill.

  I arrived at the office at a little after eight thirty, tardy. Everyone was at their desks, working. Normally I would felt a little guilty, but not today. I had a feeling that things were about to break in a big way.

  I grabbed some coffee, called the hospital, and talked to Bob. That done, I felt even better. He was doing well.

  It must have been an hour later when my phone rang.

  “Harry,” Kate said. “I just heard from Caster. He’s on his way. I asked him to meet us at your office. He said he’d be there by noon.”

  I looked at my watch. It was almost ten o’clock.

  “That’s fine, but listen. I need you to come over here, and bring the burner phone we found in Emily’s hidey hole. Can you do that?”

  She said that she could. She arrived thirty minutes later. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail and was wearing lightweight black pants, black shoes with flat heels, and a maroon blazer over a white blouse. As always, she looked both professional and, well, gorgeous.

  “I interviewed Wendy Tanner on Saturday,” she said, as she sat down in one of the guest chairs in front of my desk. “She laid it all out: Rösche, Mason-Jones—and she implicated Hands, McLeish, and Hart. She also gave us a bonus. When I met with she had a friend with her. Aphrodite, or Alexa Rushton, as she’s known in real life. She also unloaded. Better yet, she has a voicemail the chancellor left on her iPhone making threats. I have copies of both of their statements, written and on camera. Those two, along with Jessica’s, should be enough to close them down and put them away.”

  I slipped the thumb drive into my laptop, and together we watched the interviews. She was right. Rösche and Jones were toast. Hands and his cronies, I wasn’t so sure about. Other than a cover-up and coerced sex, they didn’t seem to be involved in Kalliste. They were providing protection for some of the women, but that wasn’t a big deal. Most cops moonlight as security these days.

  Hands had demanded, and received, sex from all three women. So had the two detectives, and Rösche. Coercion? Maybe, but would it stand up? These women were, after all, technically hookers, and they weren’t crying rape.

  “Okay,” I said, when the videos were done running. “Rösche and Jones are a given. Hands and his crew… not so much. All three of them were screwing our three girls, and probably the rest of the population of Kalliste as well. What that gets us, I dunno.”

  “M
aybe so,” she said, “but I’d say that when this gets out, his chances at reelection are slim to none. I suppose you’ll hand it all over to Amanda, right?”

  “She almost got killed up there. She deserves a little pay back, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose, but you need to be careful. We don’t need to screw up this late in the game.”

  I just looked at her.

  “I know, I know,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “You know better than that. Just be careful, is all I’m saying.”

  I nodded. She was right. The Kalliste case was about done, but… we still were no closer to solving the two recent murders, much less the other two.

  “What about Emily, Kate? We still have nothing, and I don’t see how or why Jones or Rösche or anyone else connected to Kalliste could have killed her, or Padgett. It makes no sense. They’re all in it for the money. Why kill the golden geese?”

  She had no answers.

  I sighed, then asked, “Did you bring Emily’s burner?”

  She handed it to me, and I programed the four encoded numbers into it, and slipped it into my jacket pocket. She looked at me questioningly.

  “Just a thought. You’ll see.”

  They arrived right at noon: TBI’s finest. Special Agents Gordon Caster and Sergio Mendez.

  They were an impressive pair. Caster was typical of the brand. He could well have been FBI; he had it stamped all over him, from the dark gray suit to the heavy black shoes. Mendez was smaller by a couple of inches, and a little heavier, and dressed in jeans and a leather jacket.

  Introductions were made, coffee was poured, and Kate and I did our best to bring them up to speed. It took longer than I expected, and I was surprised to hear that they were already familiar with Kalliste and had, in fact, been investigating the site for more than a year. The TBI has a very active human trafficking unit. These two were part of it.

  They already knew about the connection to the college and to the Harper Foundation, and it was soon apparent that they had come down from Knoxville with every intention of taking the case away from us. My only question was why hadn’t they closed it all down long ago. The answer was simple: no solid evidence.