The Lolita Conspiracy: Harry Starke Genesis, #4

By Blair Howard

A chance encounter. A plea for help. A detective too tired to care.

 

Brandon Beck hung himself, or did he? Was it suicide or cold blooded murder?

 

On a cold dark night in February, Harry Starke runs into someone he hasn't seen in almost 25 years.

The man has a problem. He asks Harry for help. Harry turns him down, and thus becomes the last person to see Brandon Beck alive.

Did Beck hang himself? Was he murdered? Either way, why?

 

Harry Starke, now the prime suspect, vows to find out.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Howard
• Release date: Apr 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9798215720653

Blair Howard

Blair C. Howard is a Royal Air Force veteran, a retired journalist, and the best-selling author of more than 50 novels and 23 travel books. Blair lives in East Tennessee with his wife Jo, and Jack Russell Terrier, Sally.

Book preview

1

My name’s Harry Starke. I’ve been a Private Investigator for almost twelve years and, even if I do say so myself, I’m pretty good at it. I’m intuitive, successful—sometimes a little too smart for my own good—impulsive, and I never quit. Having said that, the job is not always everything you might think it is. So, I think it’s only fair to talk about the good times… and the bad. So here goes.

This all went down some seven years ago; it was February 2013. The year was starting out well, except…

Okay, so all really was going quite well and I had little to complain about. The agency was busy. I was busy, and I’d been doing the PI thing for a little more than five years. The agency had just successfully completed its biggest case to date—two international assassins with contracts to take out a local US senator had come to town, and for more than a month, all hell had broken loose. The FBI was involved, almost a dozen people died, two members of my team were badly wounded, and… well, let’s just say it all came out right in the end. And by that, I mean an acceptable solution.

It was a stressful time that really tested the team, me most of all. I’d like to tell you I’d handled the job well, but I hadn’t. I’d taken chances, gambled with the lives of those that mean the most to me, and I’d broken a lot of rules and made some new enemies.

In retrospect, maybe I wasn’t ready to handle international espionage and political in-fighting. Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t really matter. I did what I felt was right at the time and luckily, it all worked out. But here’s the thing: the results of what I’d done, of the chances I’d taken, weighed heavily on me. Maybe I was overthinking things—which is something I tend to do. Maybe I was suffering a massive wave of self-guilt. I didn’t know… and I still don’t know.

But it wasn’t just that: my fortieth birthday was fast approaching, and that wasn’t a whole lot of fun to look forward to either. It was inevitable, then, that I should begin to think about the future, my future. Was I headed in the right direction? Was this the way I wanted to spend the rest of my life? I think I believed so, but… Hell, so much death… So much pain. So much heartache. Everything I touched; everyone connected to me… Geez, Bob had almost died… and Tim, well, I’ll never forgive myself for that one. No, it wasn’t supposed to be like that.

These and other thoughts bounced around inside my head like ping pong balls as I drove toward my office that evening early in February 2013… a Wednesday, I think it was.

I’d called everyone earlier that afternoon and invited them to meet me in the conference room at my offices on Georgia Avenue. My birthday was still a few days away, but I knew they’d expect… something, so I got ahead of the curve and organized a little office party—thank God for Jacque, my amazing personal assistant.

I parked in the private lot at the side of my offices, noting that several of my employees’ and friends’ vehicles were already there. In fact, all nine of them were accounted for. I didn’t expect my father, August, to attend, even though I’d invited both him and Rose, which was understandable—he’s a busy guy.

I’ll admit, I was nervous, but also more determined than I had been when I left home. The short walk to the side door and the cold breeze cleared my head, and by the time I stepped inside my outer office, I was ready to go ahead with my plans.

He’s here! Bob called as soon as I stepped through the door. You’re late, man. Where the hell have you been?

I was ready with a cutting reply, but Bob Ryan’s my best friend as well as my chief investigator, and seeing his smiling face… well, I couldn’t do it.

I got sidetracked—

Yeah, I bet you were, Kate said, interrupting me.

I was still dating her at the time, and she danced over and kissed me on the cheek.

Anyone I know? she asked, laughing.

You have to know Kate Gazzara. She’s a captain now, and a brilliant cop, and still just as lovely as ever. But I digress. Back then she was a lieutenant with Major Crimes. Today, she runs her own Special Ops team.

That particular evening she was in one of those moods: bright, effusive, sweet. She was wearing one of her signature black dresses with an open back and an elegant silver belt that emphasized her slender figure. Her tawny blond hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she smelled of flowers, and for a moment I almost lost my resolve.

Looking good, I told her, as always.

She winked. Not too shabby yourself, tough guy.

I’m not a flashy dresser, but I do like to think I have a sense of style, so I’d opted for jeans, a simple dark-blue shirt—no tie—and a black leather jacket.

I slipped a hand around her waist and said, Thank y’all for coming.

You betcha, Jacque said, toasting me with a tall glass of champagne. Yes, that young lady has a tongue on her! I say young because back then she looked nineteen but was actually thirty. Today, at thirty-seven, she looks older, but she’s one of those lovely coffee-colored women that never seem to grow older with age—did I mention she’s Jamaican? Be that as it may, she’s amazing in every way—smart, funny, and the gray dress she wore that night made her every guy’s dream. Or gal’s, in this case, since Jacque’s gay.

I trust you have food and drinks? I asked, knowing full well that she’d taken care of it. They’d decorated the main office with colorful Happy 40th Birthday signs and balloons, and everyone had a glass in their hand. Even Tim, my tech guy and the youngest member of the team, who quickly adjusted his glasses when I looked at him. I smiled. The kid was… I’d say, almost adorable.

Everyone ready for a good time then, huh? I said and then suggested we move to the conference room, which had become a banquet hall for the night.

The long conference table overflowed with food and drinks, but I only picked at the food and drank water—no alcohol for me. We talked and moved around the room, chatting about this and that, about anything but work, which was fine by me.

It was getting on toward eight-thirty when someone said, Speech! and the next thing I knew, the whole room was looking at me, laughing, chanting and clapping.

Fine, fine! I said, a glass of water in my hand. Let’s see how this goes…

Several people giggled, but I was serious.

Thank you all once again for coming, I said. You’ve no idea how much it means to me. I know this is our office, and maybe we should have done this somewhere a little more special, but still—

Yeah, the Country Club would have been nice, said Ronnie Hall, my white-collar crimes investigator and long-time friend. He and I go way back. He was one of the first people to join me when I started the agency after leaving the PD.

I smiled and continued, We’ve been through a lot together over the last five years, haven’t we? Even longer than that, for some of us, huh? I smiled at Kate.

She nodded and smiled back.

We’ve been doing good work here, I think I can say: saving lives, helping people, paying the bills, too, which is always a good thing. I paused, looked down at my glass, then looked up again and said, I couldn’t have brought together a more amazing group of people but… I paused again, and then continued, You’ve always been there for me, helped me get through this tough, sometimes impossible… I paused again, looked down at my drink again, moved from one foot to the other, breathed deeply several times, my eyes, I could tell, were about to let me down. The room had gone deathly quiet.

Where’s this going, buddy? Bob said, half-serious.

I’m getting there… So, yeah, I’m proud to have you as my colleagues and friends, which is why I know that the agency will be in good hands while I take a leave of absence, a vacation.

They all stood stock-still, stared at me, unbelieving, even Kate. No, I hadn’t discussed it with her, something I was sure I was about to regret. They all knew, and today I’d tell you myself that the word vacation wasn’t in my vocabulary. My brain and skills had to be engaged at all times. So, I understood their confusion.

Say what? Bob said, finally.

That’s right. I need some downtime. I need to reboot.

How long are you thinking? Bob asked.

I shrugged. I don’t know, Bob. A week or two, a month?

Bob’s asking, Harry, because we kind of need you here, man, Ronnie said.

I could sense this wasn’t the news they’d expected. Too bad.

Well, I think it’s a good idea, Kate said brightly. We could all use a break sometimes, right?

I gave Kate a nod and a smile. The last thing I wanted was for the evening to go south, and in an effort to lighten things up, I tried to turn it into a toast and move on.

I appreciate your concern, guys, but you’ll be just fine without me for a little while, okay? Now, how about we drink to it and carry on with the night?

But Bob wasn’t having any of it. Hell, Harry. We just got back on the horse after the assassin case. We’re doing great, and now you want to jump ship?

He’d had a few drinks, and although he was usually collected, I could see emotion boiling in his eyes. And, as I remember it, I wasn’t handling the situation too well myself.

Remember how you spent a week in a wheelchair? I asked angrily. "Is that the kind of leadership you want? How many more of you are going to get hurt, maybe even killed, because of me? How d’you think I feel about that?"

People were exchanging nervous glances.

Shit happens, all right? Bob said. Wasn’t my first injury, it’s probably not gonna be my last. But you leaving now, when things are moving again? That’s a dick move, Harry.

I glanced at Kate; she shook her head.

You know what? I said. Thank y’all for the birthday wishes, but I’m going to call it a night. Feel free to finish your drinks.

I took a sip of my water, set my glass down on the table, turned around and started for the exit.

Kate followed me. At the front door, she put a hand on my shoulder.

Harry, stop.

I need some fresh air.

She followed me outside, and we stopped beside my car. It was cold. I offered her my jacket, but Kate Gazzara didn’t need such gestures, not then.

What’s going on with you? she asked.

Nothing much, I replied. You?

I’m serious. And she was.

I took a deep breath, sniffed the cold air, and said, I need a break, that’s all. I feel like… I’m losing it.

Losing what?

I shrugged. My instincts? My so-called second sight? Whatever. I’m scared, Kate. People died the last time I trusted my gut. That’s not okay. If this was the CPD, I’d be home on administrative leave, right?

Except, she said, this isn’t the CPD, Harry, and you’re your own boss. People rely on you for their livelihood. And anyway, wasn’t this the point of leaving the force?

Well, then, as my own boss, I’m putting myself on a leave. Just… give me some space tonight, okay? I said, and I turned to get into my car.

Meet you at your place? she asked.

Yeah. Later.

With that, I got into my car and drove away, leaving Kate and the agency behind me… or so I thought.

2

Needless to say, the evening hadn’t gone the way I’d expected. What the hell did I expect?

Okay, so I knew the team wouldn’t be thrilled, and damn, it wasn’t like I was retiring! Was I angry? Some. Frustrated? A little. Was I tired? Oh yeah, I was tired, tired and even feeling a little guilty, I suppose. But it was more than that. I’d screwed up badly during the Andrew Hawke case and people, my people, had gotten hurt. So yes, I was tired, and I had to believe that was a contributing factor to my screwing up. Whatever.

That evening after I left the office, all I wanted to do was get lost for the rest of the night, maybe several nights, and that’s just what I planned to do.

You’ll remember that I hadn’t been drinking at the office. That was because I knew I’d be driving to a club later, Cleo’s. I’d planned to take Kate with me, but I’d just blown that off, which was probably just as well.

Chattanooga’s nightlife isn’t… well, there’s not a whole lot of it, unless you know where to go and, well, when you’re me, you know places—nothing too fancy or illegal—just some good fun with some good company: that should have been Kate. Ah, dammit, you blew that one, Harry.

Mr. Starke. Good evening, the bouncer said as I approached the rear door at Cleo’s. He was a big guy, a half-a-foot taller than me—which made him at least six-eight—and he greeted me with a smile full of white teeth surrounded by a huge black beard.

Hey, Scotty. How’s it going?

Same as always. Trying to keep it tight, you know.

And I suspect he was having no trouble doing so; at two-hundred-eighty pounds, Scotty wasn’t the man you’d want to screw around with… ever.

We bumped fists, and I went inside. The place wasn’t exclusive, but going in through the rear door saved me the wait time at the front.

Cleo’s was one of those laid-back clubs you see on TV shows—inoffensive dance music, a bar lined with colorful bottles, long-legged servers in skimpy outfits, the occasional, high-class escort looking for a date… Like I said, nothing really illegal. Well, maybe the occasional stockbroker with his would-be-model girlfriend hitting a line or two in the restroom, but that’s a story for another time.

I looked around, took note of the clientele—as was my habit—made my way over to the bar and grabbed a stool. It was one of those set ’em up Joe kind of deals, for me at least. And, less than a minute later, I had a glass of Glenlivet on the rocks in my hand—yeah, I know you should never water the scotch, but you know what? I didn’t give a damn.

I tried to lose myself in the beat of some monotone tune and, two drinks later, I did. Alcohol is not a problem for me. I rarely ever drink enough to get drunk, but good scotch works wonders to relax my muscles, ease my mind, and help me forget the troubles of the world, my world, that is.

I ordered another drink and made my way to an empty corner booth where I kicked back and watched the dancers. I was feeling at peace for once. If this is what vacations are like… Yeah, I could get used to it.

Harry? Harry Starke?

Oh geez. What now?

Who wants to know? I said, nursing my glass with both hands on the table. Warily, I raised my eyes and saw a guy about my own age—40 already? Jesus…

He was tall, nicely dressed in chinos, a white dress shirt—no tie—and navy blazer. He was clean-shaven and looked vaguely familiar. He offered me a manicured hand.

Brandon Beck, remember me? his voice was soft, barely audible above the music. We were at McCallie together.

Wow, that was a lifetime ago. I graduated high school in 1991. Geez, how am I supposed to remember…

But I did vaguely remember Brandon Beck, but far differently from the man standing in front of me. Still, he seemed okay and, frankly, I was up for some friendly conversation.

Yes, I remember. Great to see you after all these years. Grab a seat, man, I said, as if I’d recognized him right away.

He slid into the booth opposite me and soon had a drink of his own, Campari would you believe? I hate that stuff. It tastes like medicine.

Haven’t seen you in years, have I? I asked. You moved away when you were what? Sixteen? I scrambled to remember the last time I’d seen him and managed to pull up a memory from some play we’d done together. I knew he hadn’t graduated with me, but that was about it.

Brandon nodded. In high school, yes. My family moved to Chicago. I was still in college when they moved back… He trailed off and then waved his hand, as if to say Doesn’t matter now, anyway.

I said, Good times, I hope?

He sipped his martini. Ups and downs, you know? The usual. I graduated high school, got a law degree from Chicago State, married, divorced… He smirked, showing perfect white teeth.

Oh yeah, I said. I hear you. Never did go that route myself, get married, I mean. It’s not an impossibility, though… And before I knew it, we were chatting about this and that, making conversation that neither of us was really interested in, but that’s what we do, right? Finally, I said, Well, you look good anyway. Eating healthy? Geez, how lame is that?

Trying to lay off dairy and sugar, but when’s that ever worked for anyone, am I right?

I toasted, smiled, and said, So, tell me: what brings you back to Chattanooga, then? Family?

Family, yeah, you could say that. Personal issues. Brandon finished his third Campari. How about you? Stayed here, I assume?

In vague terms, I told him about my PI work, gave him one of my business cards, and he seemed to brighten up a little. Oh, that’s good! We’re friends, right? Can I be honest with you, Harry?

I guess? What’s up?

He put his elbows on the table and leaned a little closer to me. Well, see, I’m actually here on a personal… something personal. I need to… I want to… He took a deep breath and said, I seem to remember that you were quite a brawler back in the day, Harry, weren’t you?

I shrugged. That was an understatement of the decade, as my high school years were full of playground tussles and late-night rendezvous behind the mall. It helped, of course, that my dad, August, was, is a lawyer.

I had my moments, I suppose. Why? Where the hell is this going?

I knew the answer before he said it: Can you do me a favor, then? I don’t know anyone else in the city, and I could really use some muscle to go with me.

I chuckled, sipped my drink, and said, laughing, You want me to kick someone’s ass for you? Sorry, but I’m—

I can pay you, he said, interrupting me, his eyes pleading.

Now, as you probably know, I don’t bother about money too much. Since my mother passed when I was a teenager, I’ve had all the cash I’ll ever need, and then some, not to mention a very successful business.

Not interested, buddy. I don’t do enforcement… muscle, as you call it.

Beck sulked, and suddenly I felt sorry for the guy and began to wonder what kind of trouble he was in. I also remembered the way I’d walked out on my friends earlier that evening.

I’ll give you some good advice, Brandon. Whoever it is you think you want to hurt, go talk to them instead. It’s been twenty-five years, man. Leave the past in the past, move on.

He glared at me and snapped, Twenty-four, actually. But you don’t get it, do you, Starke? I don’t need your crappy advice. He slid away from me and jumped up. You know what? You always were a smart-ass son of a bitch, Harry. Enjoy the rest of your night!

With that, he stormed off, leaving me with my hands up. Should I have retorted? Maybe. In retrospect, I probably should’ve said more, No, I should’ve stopped him and found out what the hell was wrong with him, but there you go, I’d screwed up yet again… made another bad decision. In the moment, though, I didn’t care. I was tired, and since no one had noticed the brief confrontation, I went back to my drink and my thoughts.