Liar Liar: Harry Starke Genesis, #8

By Blair Howard

Ten years ago, Bryce Manning committed suicide… or did he?

He left a note, but his body was never found.

What really happened to Bryce Manning?

In Liar Liar, Book 8 in the Harry Starke Genesis series, PI Harry Starke is tasked with solving the ten-year-old cold case of Bryce Manning, a 19-year-old university student whose death was declared a suicide by the police.

But Harry, skeptical at first, soon realizes that the case isn't as simple as it seems, and that the people closest to Brice may be hiding some dark secrets.

As he delves deeper, Harry uncovers a web of lies and deceit that will leave you on the edge of your seat.

With twists and turns at every corner, Liar Liar is a thrilling ride from start to finish.

Don't miss out on this latest mystery in Blair Howard's best-selling series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Howard
• Release date: Feb 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215562505

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

Chapter One

October 8, 2008

Detective Bulling was a busy man, and it was entirely his own fault. He was good at what he did. A homicide detective in the Tulsa PD, he was a closer on top of his game. He was a logical man, a man who could visualize events, scenarios, even his day-to-day duties in a well-thought-out list of priorities. Which was why Ariel, his assistant, interrupting him just before lunch threw him off.

Hell, doesn’t she know this is my time to crack into my cases, so they can marinate while I eat lunch? he thought.

Hi, she said sweetly, standing half inside the shared office space where he was currently alone. Sorry, detective, but the mail came early and I’m taking a half day, so…

Ariel was a petite girl. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty-five, and Bulling was a little sweet on her. Not in an inappropriate way; he had a wife at home, pregnant with their first child, but he recognized a sliver of innocence and insecurity in Ariel that made him feel protective of her. Having just found out he’d be having a daughter, Bulling was even more empathetic toward the young woman who was assistant to himself and the two other detectives in the office.

Of course, he said, trying not to sigh, pushing aside the most recent report from his CI. What looked to be a small drug ring just surfacing in Tulsa’s underbelly would have to wait. Leave it right there, please.

As she placed the small stack of mail in his desk bin, her black hair fell in a curtain around her face. Did you see this? she asked curiously, slipping a piece of paper out of the stack. It was folded into thirds, crisp and freshly printed. I think it’s interesting, don’t you?

Bulling took the paper, unfolded it, and stared at the black-and-white face of a young man.

MISSING, it read in bold font across the top of the page. Bulling’s eyes rested there, his mind going somewhere far away as he thought of the dozens of people missing in Tulsa just that year alone, and he shook his head. What kind of secrets were behind their disappearances…

He refolded the flyer and looked up at her. Bryce Manning, he said, frowning thoughtfully. I remember that case. It was solved several years ago, as I recall. The kid committed suicide. Why is it making the rounds again, I wonder? And who’s putting these flyers up, and why? he said, handing it back to her. It’s not for us, though. Stillwater’s outside of our jurisdiction.

She nodded and slipped back out the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again.

He shook his head and sighed. One of the things he quickly caught on to after becoming a police officer—and then a detective—was the need to let things go. Not every case in his world could be solved, and very few of them had a happy ending.

Bulling took a deep breath through his nose, his gaze dropping back to the report in front of him.

This one, though, I can solve, he thought, right here, right now. Maybe even by the end of the week if they’ll just leave me alone and let me get on with it.

He shook his head as if trying to forget an annoying song, but it was that grainy picture of Bryce Manning that was engrained in his mind.

Chapter Two

Wednesday, June 6, 2012, 7 a.m.

Watching Kate run was a thing of beauty. While I’d always been comfortable running due to years of conditioning, Kate was truly a natural; her tawny ponytail bounced and swung with each long stride, her feet hitting the asphalt in perfect rhythm.

As if the universe was trying to undo me that day, it also happened to be blissfully gorgeous outdoors: sunny, that perfect temp in the low 60s where we were sweating but not uncomfortable, and the afternoon sun made the river look like it was covered in jewels.

Six miles one way, six back the other. Kate was coming down to a cool-down pace as we neared the parking lot, and I caught up with her easily.

Not too bad, she said, breathing heartily and glancing down at her watch. About six minutes per mile.

I couldn’t help laughing, but there was a bit of a struggle behind it. You give me that extra motivation, Kate. Without you I’d still be back on mile ten or so.

She laughed, but it was true. As both a partner in work and life, Kate kept me on my toes. Most days she grounded me or, inspired me to keep pushing.

Our cars were parked side by side, and I leaned against mine as Kate switched out her hoodie and running shoes for more comfortable sneakers and a short-sleeved T-shirt. It was supposed to hit the upper 70s by four that afternoon.

You heading right on in? I asked.

She nodded, letting her hair down momentarily to style it back up into her signature high, tight ponytail. Yep, after I swing by the apartment to grab a quick shower and change clothes. It’ll be a long night if I don’t get cracking.

Kate filled me in, albeit a little vaguely, about a cross-over case she was currently dealing with involving VICE. Not her favorite department to work with, but it looked like several murders she’d been trying to tie up were connected to a small-time arms dealer for ex-cons.

It’s putting me a little too close to Finkle for comfort, she commented dryly, and my hackles rose at the mention of my ex-assistant-chief, but Johnston has my back on this one.

Good, I said. Well, you know you can always shoot me a call if you want to talk anything through. Or if you need someone to hold your badge while you beat the shit out of Finkle. I grinned at her, and she chuckled and shook her head.

What’ve you got going on? she asked, genuinely curious.

My move from the Chattanooga PD to running my own private investigation agency was always of interest to Kate. It’d spiced things up in a way that I didn’t realize we were lacking previously. Or maybe our jobs just got monotonous, as ridiculous as that seems; murder isn’t usually monotonous. But I’d needed a change of scenery, and I’d had enough of the bullshit and office politics at the PD. And the office down on Georgia Ave felt like home most days in a way it never really had at the PD. For ten years I was a cop, eight of them as a homicide detective, and a good one. I quit the force in ’08, and I hadn’t looked back.

I’m meeting a potential client, I said. According to Jacque, they weren’t big on details, but it’s a cold case from about a decade ago. A missing person.

Kate winced. We both knew those were tough, especially given the amount of time that had gone by.

An out-of-stater, I added, grinning as her wince deepened.

That’s rough, Harry. Any idea why they landed on you, then? Not that you aren’t amazing at what you do. She teased me with a smile, and I fought the urge to lean in and kiss her. Kissing Kate, though, could be dangerous, and make me late to the office, and my meeting. Luckily, she had more self-control than I did and was already digging her belt out of the back of the SUV.

Actually, the parents are from Chattanooga. The kid was attending a university out of state at the time… I trailed off, watching Kate as her brows knit together in a frown. I could practically see the gears in her head turning.

That sounds familiar, she said. Why does it ring a bell?

Well, you couldn’t have seen a file, I replied. It went down out in Oklahoma.

Her eyes narrowed further and that seemed to jog her memory. Maybe the Manning case? That wasn’t a missing person’s case, though. It was a suicide, as I remember it.

I shrugged, not wanting to get too deep into my own musings before I knew more. It had been only a week since I closed my last case, and my brain needed the downtime to decompress.

I didn’t get a name, I replied. It was actually a referral from an old friend so I’m going on faith here, but whatever it is, it should be interesting.

It should, she said. I’ll see you later tonight? Dinner?

My place or yours?

Hmm. How ’bout… yours?

Sounds good, I said. Mexican okay?

She laughed, but we both knew that what she’d said before was true. Kate often went in early and left late, so dinner often ended up being more of a midnight snack, but I didn’t mind as long as it meant we got to spend some time together. And who knew? By then, I might have something to run by her…

Chapter Three

Wednesday 8:30 a.m.

It wasn’t quite eight-thirty when I entered my office on Georgia Avenue. That morning, already, I could see that Jacque was busy, which meant something was up. Not that she wasn’t usually productive, but Jacque had an efficiency about her, and I was getting the impression that I was about to walk into something.

Hey, I said as I stepped into the outer office through the side door, dumping the duffle bag containing my running shorts and shoes, plus an empty water bottle I’d drained on the drive over. The healthy breakfast I had wasn’t quite filling enough, and I wanted to step out for something more satisfying, but the look on Jacque’s face told me the day had already started.

Morning, Harry. Your eight-forty-five is here. Mr. and Mrs. Manning.

I frowned and glanced at my watch. Really? They’re fifteen minutes early. I was hoping for a quick bite.

Jacque nodded.

I couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing that my potential clients were so uber-punctual, so I took it as a red flag that if I decided to take the case, they’d be intrusive, hounding me for updates. I’d seen it a hundred times before, and it was extremely difficult to work around. But I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Once you’re settled in, she said, I can run out to Maple Street and get you something.

I nodded. The restaurant had only been open a couple of weeks and I was already hooked on their biscuits. I nodded eagerly, straightened myself up, and took the folder from Jacque.

Wait till they’re gone, I replied. Can’t eat in front of them, right?

Coffee’s on your desk, she called quietly as I headed back to my office.

Manning? I thought, glancing at the jacket. That was the name Kate had mentioned. Hmm. I figured I’d have to let her know later that, as always, her instincts were somehow spot-on. She’d guessed the case before I’d even seen my clients.

The first thing that got my attention as I stepped in and closed the door behind me was the cup of steaming coffee on my desk and, in my mind, I blessed Jacque for the caring PA she was.

The second thing I noticed was, of course, the couple sitting in front of my desk.

I smiled politely as I entered and the man stood, followed closely by the woman, who I assumed was his wife.

Hello. I’m sorry you had to wait. I’m Harry Starke. And you are?

Wally Manning, the man replied. He sounded tired. He offered me his hand and I shook it. His grip was firm. I liked that.

The woman also offered me her hand. It was soft, delicate, and I nodded as she introduced herself: Brenda. Brenda Manning. Thank you for seeing us.

Her words came out in a rush, and she sat heavily, followed by her husband.

The Mannings looked upper-class, and they complimented each other perfectly.

Wally Manning was a big man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d played football back in the day. I figured him to be in his early fifties, balding, his brown hair going gray here and there, but he otherwise had a certain bulldog charm about him.

Brenda Manning, on the other hand, was petite. Her skin was so pale it looked almost translucent, and freckles dotted the bridge of her nose. Her strawberry-blonde hair was cut in a bob that complemented her dainty features, but she, too, looked tired. There were crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes and dark shadows beneath, as if she hadn’t been sleeping.

Can I get you anything? I asked. Some coffee, perhaps? Water?

No, thank you, Manning replied. Your secretary already offered. We’re fine, thank you.

I took a sip of my own almost scalding coffee and braced myself.

How can I help you, Mr. and Mrs. Manning?

Please, call me Wally. And thank you again for meeting with us, Mr. Starke. Jonah mentioned that you hadn’t spoken in several years, and he wasn’t sure you’d take us on.

He was talking about Jonah Bond, a guy I’d gone to the academy with. We’d even worked on the police force together before he took a deep cut from a kitchen knife during a domestic dispute and bowed out. I didn’t blame him at the time and still don’t, but it was good to know he was still thinking of me, and fondly at that. I decided it was about time I gave him a call.

Of course. And please, call me Harry. You’re right. Jonah and I sort of lost touch. His email was short on the details. So, please, tell me what’s on your minds.

They both shifted in their seats, exchanged glances, and I was expecting Wally to step up to the plate as he’d been the most vocal so far, and Brenda had practically folded in on herself, but he didn’t. It was she who launched into the explanation.

It’s about our son, Bryce. He’s been missing for more than eight years, and we’re hoping you can help us find him.

And it was then that Kate’s words echoed through my mind: That wasn’t a missing person’s though…

I wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but I knew, from the woman’s demeanor and obvious stress, that I’d have to tread carefully.

That’s a long time, I replied. Did he go missing here, in Chattanooga? Jonah mentioned something about it being out-of-state.

That’s correct, Brenda said. Bryce attended Oklahoma State University. So did his brother, Garrett, a few years before him. Wally is an alumnus, and we wanted the boys to attend too. They both got in, but Bryce was an early acceptance. The pride she took in her sons was obvious, and beside her, Wally’s chest puffed out slightly at the mention of Oklahoma State.

Wally and I both grew up in Piedmont, and that’s where we met, but once he graduated, we moved here to Chattanooga.

I’m the CEO of WireTech, Wally said, referencing one of the largest tech companies in the city.

I nodded, impressed, and continued to scrawl notes on my legal pad. Nothing was too small to note, and it was often surprising what little thing could create a connection, even something as nonconsequential as where and how the Mannings met.

So you say Bryce is missing. Let’s talk about that, I said. Tell me when he went missing and the circumstances.

They looked at each other, hesitated, and there suddenly seemed to be tension between them. I looked from one to the other, then mentally kicked myself for not checking the file Jacque had handed to me before I entered the room. It must have contained the case notes I’d asked Jonah to have them bring.

Bryce went missing in November 2005, Wally Manning said. November 16th, to be exact. We weren’t notified until two days later when Garrett called us to say he hadn’t seen Bryce and neither had Bryce’s roommate. We called the police right away, and they found…

Wally choked up a bit. I glanced at Brenda and saw her eyes were awash with tears.

Wally gestured to the file on the desk in front of me and said, It’s all in there. They found a note, and eventually the police ruled it a suicide, but we’ve never believed it. Bryce was happy. He would never have… His voice faltered. He quit talking and stared at me.

I nodded and glanced up at him before motioning to the file. D’you mind if I take a look?

He nodded but said nothing, and neither did his wife, so I opened it.

It did indeed contain the case notes. And they were very short. It looked to me as if it had been treated as an open-and-shut case. There were a few short paragraphs of notes taken by the investigating officer when he interviewed the roommate, one Dean Arnold, as well as interviews with a handful of others who appeared to be Bryce’s acquaintances. All telling the same story, that Bryce had simply disappeared.

After flipping through several pages, I found a photocopy of the note. I picked it up and glanced at the Mannings. They were quiet, watching me intently; Brenda was biting her lower lip.

The first few sentences read, Tell Mom and Dad I’m sorry. There’s been a lot of pressure lately and I don’t want to move back home, but I don’t know what else to do—

It was pretty grim to be reading it in front of the parents. My guess was they both had it memorized right down to the final period. I decided I’d study it later, on my own time, so I laid it back in the folder and turned my attention back to the Mannings, hoping they’d be able to provide more information. Preferably unbiased information, but it was a forlorn hope. They both had strong feelings about their son’s suicide/disappearance. As any parent would.

From what I’ve read here, I said, picking up the corner of the folder and laying it down again, he jumped into the Cimarron River.

Brenda Manning set her jaw, took a handkerchief from her purse, wiped beneath her eyes, composed herself and said, That’s what they said. That’s what the note said, too, but I don’t believe it. If you knew Bryce, you wouldn’t believe it either.

Where did they find the note? I said, glancing down at it. It looked odd to me. It had obviously been written on a computer and then printed out; even the one-word signature, Bryce. There was no handwriting on it at all. Not a signature, not a scrawled last-second note. It wasn’t unusual in suicide cases, but it wasn’t