Subterfuge: The Harry Starke Novels, #22

By Blair Howard

Harry, Kate, and Samson together again.

 

What happened to Gavin Glassdon?

 

A missing person, two murders, an enigmatic Irishman and a billion-dollar Ponzi scheme bring Harry Starke, Captain Kate Gazzara and her trusty K9 companion, Samson, together again in a bewildering detective thriller that takes them deep into the seedy side of New York City.

 

As usual, there's a twist in the tale you won't see coming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Howard
• Release date: Jan 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224186167

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

For David Scott, this was supposed to be an ordinary day. And it almost was. Except for that knock on his door at a little after one in the afternoon.

He’d been doing nothing really, a lot of it, and making quite good money. Ravern Solutions, the company he was basically the charming face of, was taking in money faster than he could count it. Faster than his team of accountants could either. Which was a good thing for David. The more that slipped through the cracks, the more that went mysteriously unaccounted for, the more that was immediately shunted off to an obstacle course of bank accounts and shell companies in various countries around the world, the less he had to worry about.

His desk was large; the polished mahogany shone in the light that came in through the two walls of windows on the top floor of a downtown building. It was his private office; his business office was in a strip mall in North Chattanooga. But this was where he felt at peace with the world. Granted, he didn’t own the whole building. He barely owned much more than this room, and even that was in another name. But when he was told he needed a legitimate address, he knew he had to buy the floor. It had been tricky, but being tricky was part of how he’d come to this position in the first place.

He smiled, leaning back in his chair. All he really had on his agenda for the day, shoot, for the week, had been taken care of, either by him or by one of his underlings in the shop on Cherokee Boulevard, and it was only Wednesday. It wasn’t always this easy; he did need to stay in the strip mall office during working hours, but what he did during those hours often wasn’t more than make a few phone calls, send a few emails, and watch the big screen TV that was mounted to the wall opposite his desk, above a pair of leather chairs and a crystal coffee table. Ravern Solutions had given him a lot and yet asked for so little. Just his charming smile and silver tongue. And, of course, his silence about certain technical and financial matters. He had everything he needed and a little bit more, so it felt like a more than fair deal.

He was just opening the drawer on the bottom right side of his desk, the one with the flask, the burner phone, and most importantly, the TV remote, when he heard the knock.

At first he thought he was wrong, that he’d mistaken one sound for another. After all, while many of Ravern Solutions employees were scattered across the globe in purposefully remote locations, none knowing what the other was doing, he did have a secretary outside. She had insisted on it. Legitimacy, David. He could hear her voice in his head still. As if he wouldn’t have thought of it himself.

But a knock on the door meant the secretary, Lisa, should have buzzed him already, letting him know he had a visitor. She should’ve told him which files to prepare.

With his hand still in the drawer, fingers brushing the remote, David’s heart rate picked up at the same moment his stomach dropped. Only one person could walk past Lisa without being announced.

He wanted to believe it was an error, that Lisa hadn’t been at her desk, that anything could’ve happened besides what he knew was about to occur.

Before he could get up from his seat, before he even found his voice to call come in, the door opened. And in walked an elegant, if slightly aging, elaborately dressed woman. Along with two bodyguards.

Hello, David, she said, coming across the room at a pace that somehow denoted ownership and disdain at the same time. It was strange, he thought. A walk shouldn’t really show either of those emotions, yet with her, it was as if she was sullying her thousand-dollar heels just by being in the office at all. And at the same time, it was, technically, if you followed the paper trail far enough anyway, hers.

Afternoon, he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again, straightening his tie and sitting up in his chair. What a pleasant surprise.

The woman laughed, waving a hand in the air. Surprise, I believe. Pleasant, though? Come now. I pay you to be a better liar than that.

He grinned, forcing his face into the position more so than feeling it. Thankfully, it was an expression he’d made a thousand times on a thousand occasions, and he didn’t mean it. His muscles remembered the pose.

It’s always a little unnerving when the boss drops in, he said. His eyes flicked to the two men standing one on either side of the door. Especially when she brings her guard dogs.

The woman rolled her eyes and sat down, her posture perfectly straight, in one of the chairs across the desk from him. They go everywhere with me. Surely you don’t think I came here to do you any harm.

The emphasis was strange. Maybe she was doing it on purpose. David knew he was smart, but that really only meant he was smart enough to know when he was the fool in the room.

Surely you don’t mean… He nodded toward the door, out toward Lisa’s office.

The woman laughed, looking up at the ceiling. Honestly, David. Sometimes I think you’re trying to lose this job. Lucky for you, you’re much too handsome. And I have too many plates in the air to try and explain why the head of Ravern was suddenly replaced.

He sighed a little in relief, but only a little. So… what can I do for you? This is unexpected.

I’m always unexpected, my dear. If people knew where I’d be, we both know where I’d end up. You as well.

This time the emphasis was crystal clear. He knew what he was involved with. He knew, at least partially, the types of deals and, more importantly, the types of people, this woman spent her time managing. Oh, yes, before she ever saw the inside of a cell, David would’ve been rotting in his own for years. She owned the lawyers, after all, and he couldn’t very well outbribe her.

This is with regard to Benny Hinkle, she said, leaning slightly forward. Her back was always ramrod straight, almost as if she’d had her spine fused. Then again, he thought, maybe she had. Outside of the lucrative deal and occasional directives, he knew very little about the woman sitting across from him.

Ah, he said, realizing that as she’d shifted forward, he’d involuntarily shifted back.

She tapped a red nail on the desktop, slowly, in a purposefully irritating way. It was one of the things he’d learned from her. How to find people’s buttons and know when and how to push them. The sound reminded him of his mother, and whether this woman knew the reason why or not, she certainly knew when to start tapping.

Hinkle was a… He searched for the word.

Tap. Tap. Yes, David? Come, now. You’re my spokesperson. You should never be at a loss for words.

He was…

Tap, tap, tap.

I swear to you right now, young man, if an ‘um’ comes out of that mouth of yours, you’ll spend the rest of your short days looking over your shoulder and realizing how you could’ve been more loquacious.

The word jarred him. Maybe she had done it on purpose, though it would’ve been almost merciful, which was hardly her style.

He was an error in communication. Some wires got crossed, as they say. Thankfully, at the end of the day, with a little extra elbow grease and the dedication of our… of your employees, we were able to accomplish our goal with the utmost success and a minimum of… For a frightening second, his mind blanked. He wanted to say collateral damage but the term had negative overtones, and he knew, especially when speaking about death, you should never actually speak about death.

The woman’s eyebrows were up. A minimum of what?

Nuisance or concern for the investors, he said quickly. In fact, we’re choosing to look at this as an opportunity to learn from new situations in order to prepare for the future.

The room was silent for a moment. The two men at the door may as well have been statues, which, as far as David was concerned, was perfectly fine. As long as neither moved a hand toward a pocket or concealed holster, he was still on the right side of things. But, he thought, that’s all it took to be on the wrong side. A few inches.

Then again, he’d just discussed the mildly, no, moderately botched murder of Benny Hinkle as if it was a coding error, a slip-up in the books, a case of poor penmanship. He was much farther than a few inches onto the wrong side of things.

He looked across his desk; all the bluster and pride he’d felt a few moments ago dissipated into the clear, purified air of the high-rise office.

The woman tapped her nail on the desk, then again, as if simply to prove she could. Very well put, David, she said after a moment. But you need to work on your spontaneity. We can’t have these kinds of hiccups when you’re representing Ravern.

He nodded. I understand and⁠⁠—

She held up a hand, cutting him off. I don’t need the spiel. You took care of the problem, and you seem to understand this will be the only time you can learn from it. I trust we have reiterated that fact by our presence today.

He nodded again. Yes, ma’am.

She laughed as she stood up. Don’t push it, David. Ma’am. This isn’t the forties.

Without another word, she walked out through the door, the two bodyguards falling in behind her without directive or apparent concern. And she was gone.

David leaned back in his chair. He wanted to call Lisa in and ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, not giving him a warning. He wanted to call up the guys who botched the Hinkle situation. Mostly, though, he thought as he stood up and walked to the window, he wanted to see that woman’s limo pull away from the curb. Then he could take a breath.

2

I closed the manila folder and stood up from my desk. It had been a long day, but then again, they’d all been long days lately at Starke Investigations. Not because they were overloaded, but because, to a certain extent, they were reminding me of my days on the force. Lots of paperwork, little action, and plenty of BS. Back then I was Detective Sergeant Harry Starke of the Chattanooga PD. Now, thankfully, I’m the owner of a top-rated private detective agency with a staff of eight.

In a way, I appreciated it, but there was always going to be that little part in the back of my brain that wanted to get out on the streets, knock on the doors, kick them down if need be. Lately we’d had routine cases—nothing that seemed to scratch that itch. They were good for business, but they were mostly open and shut. Even the folder in my hands attested to that.

We’d long since begun color-coding things, and a manila folder meant just about the least interesting type of case you could think of. I needed a red folder, whether I felt comfortable admitting that or not.

I opened the accordion-carrier I’d been taking home with me for the last few weeks, intending to put this file in it as well and head home to finish off the details, but the view of a dozen more manila tabs stacked on the corner of the desk took the heart out of me. I could sign papers, initial forms, check boxes, and send emails all day tomorrow. There was no pressing urgency to any of these little problems, and Jade and Amanda would probably appreciate a night where I didn’t sit at the kitchen table in front of my laptop until bedtime.

I walked over to the file cabinet, pulled open a drawer, and stuck the folder in the front. One of the first things I’d get to deal with tomorrow. Hooray.

But, I thought as I turned the key in the small, practically useless lock, I was at least putting my work away. If I didn’t have the papers where I could see them, they couldn’t distract me, and I’d been far too distracted lately. It was one thing when we were trying to find a missing person or solve a murder, but these rather mundane cases we’d been working lately did not in any way justify me taking time away from my family.

I grabbed my coat and walked out into the main office. Tim’s light was on down the hall, but the rest of the crew had gone home for the evening. Maybe that, more than anything, showed where we were at as an agency. Not that I was upset. Slow and steady wins the race, after all. But I didn’t recruit any of these people because they tended toward slow and steady, at least not when that wasn’t the smartest way to do it.

I thought about heading down the hall to tell Tim I was leaving, but thought better of it. The way you succeed is to hire a team of competent individuals and then stay out of their way. Whatever he was doing, I was sure it was important in some way or another. Whether I’d ever fully grasp it was doubtful, but that’s why he was there. He solved problems his way, we solved them ours, and between us, it seemed to be a pretty solid plan.

I pulled the outside door closed behind me and locked it before heading across the lot to my car. It was signal enough to Tim to let him know he was alone, but odds were, he wouldn’t even notice. We’d all be back in the morning and he’d either still be awake in front of his screens, or he’d be catching a few fleeting moments of sleep before diving back in.

The thing that really baffled me about it wasn’t the work ethic. We all had that, to a fault, probably. But it was his ability to dive into anything, no matter how mundane. The biggest case we’d pulled in the last week was about a photography business on the edge of town that may or may not have been a front for a porn studio. There was hardly any evidence supporting the claim, but it was something I didn’t want to let slide. People often think I take cases just for the cash, but it’s not true, and this type of thing I couldn’t let slide. And not just because I had a daughter of my own at home. There were a thousand different ways I was irritated by the idea of this happening in Chattanooga, but thankfully, it looked like I wasn’t going to have to worry about it for much longer.

I was trying to switch my brain away from the porn case, from any case really, and back to home, when I saw a young man coming towards me. I would’ve said walking, except he wasn’t, not really. It was that overly energetic, almost speed-walking kind of gait people take on when they have too much anxiety but still a modicum of self-restraint. It reminded me of guys I’d seen on coke; they’re always super jazzed about everything but sure that they can convince you everything is fine.

You’re Harry Starke, right? he called before he was even within fifteen feet of me.

His hands were in his pockets, and while that could’ve meant many different things, his body language and general presence made me wonder which way to answer the question. I stopped and kept my hands in clear view but began slow, methodical movements. I adjusted the strap of my laptop case. I pulled on the sides of my leather jacket, supposedly to get the zipper tighter. I wanted him to see my hands doing normal things, so when I reached back and put one on the grip of my CZ75, it seemed like yet another boring, ordinary movement. Tucking in the back of my shirt, maybe.

I am, I said as I tried to assess what had just walked up to me. Can I help you?

The young man ran a hand through his hair, which was already disheveled from what appeared to have been a very stressful day. If the kid had been walking out of a college final, the gesture would’ve been completely normal. In my parking lot, it was less so.

Nobody else has, so I guess that’s up to you, he said and almost tittered to himself. Feel like a challenge?

I wasn’t sure how to interpret the statement or the question, but I didn’t move back as he took a few steps closer. Instead, I watched his hands, his eyes. The kid wasn’t as much of a kid as I’d first thought. That in-between age, most likely. Out of college but not married and settled down yet. Late twenties, early thirties. Maybe.

I don’t know what you mean, I said, keeping my tone calm and even.

He laughed again, and for just a moment, I thought I heard something in the tone. It wasn’t the giggle of a drug addict; it sounded more like a person trying to keep everything in their head together. He could be a psych case, but he wasn’t giving me that feeling either. He seemed like a guy at the end of his rope, which was maybe even more dangerous.

I’ve been hearing that a lot lately, he said, rubbing his eyes. Which is funny. Or not funny, but weird, I guess. Because it’s not like I’m handing out riddles. He shook his head and rubbed his face again.

Just take a breath, I said. I’m listening.

Oh, everybody listens, he said, and this time there was no laugh, just a long sigh. Then they go on about their business. It’s easy to blow people off, y’know? Like, I get it. I’m not rich. I’m never going to be rich. But that doesn’t make me a bad person, right?

I cocked my head to the side. He wasn’t showing any real signs of threat, but he wasn’t completely setting me at ease either. I’ve known a lot of bad rich people and a lot of good poor ones, I replied.

See? Right? You get it.

He took a few steps toward me and I held out a hand for him to stop. I knew it was risky, but I also figured, in his state, he wouldn’t be hard to subdue. What’s on your mind? Or maybe we should start easier. What’s your name?

Whoa, hey. He put his hands up. Something about my posture seemed to shock him back to reality. Look, I’m not here for trouble. I’m sorry, I’m just… He let out a ragged breath and rubbed his face again. Can I start over? I know you’re probably going home and, he said and laughed a little, I already told you I’m broke so that probably isn’t really appealing to you. But I need help, and no one seems to be willing.

He looked up at me and I could see his eyes in the evening sunlight. The pupils were normal. There were no bloodshot lines. No white dust on the nose. His weight seemed healthy. I wasn’t dealing with an addict; I was dealing with a kid who’d run out of options and didn’t know what to do.

I’ll listen, I said again.

He took a deep breath, clearly trying to compose himself. "Mr. Starke, let me start over. This was the worst way to present myself, and