I woke to a bright, sunny morning… late, but still morning, the sound of my cell phone jangling in my ear. Geez, already? I have to change that damned ring tone.
“Starke.”
“Harry, it’s Kate. Where are you?”
“Still home. Why? What’s up?”
“Still home? Do you know what time it is?”
“Er… no. You woke me up. I don’t even know what day it is.”
“Harry, it’s Tuesday. It’s almost eleven.”
“Eleven? Damn. I overslept.”
“We need to meet. I have some news.”
I looked at my watch. “My office. Give me an hour. Noon? I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Okay, see you then.”
Damn! Eleven o’clock already. I’m going to have to quit with the booze… Nah.
I took one last look out over the river and hopped out of bed. In the kitchen, I hit the go button on the coffee maker for a large cup of coffee, then went back to my bedroom, stripped, and took a long cold shower.
Ten minutes later I was dressed and on my way downtown.
I run a private investigation agency in Chattanooga, with a small suite of offices just a couple of blocks from the Flatiron Building on Georgia Avenue. It’s close to the courts and law offices—a great location for what I do. I work for a whole range of clients, from lawyers to corporate entities to members of the general public.
I employ a staff of nine, including five investigators, two secretaries, an intern, and my personal assistant, Jacque Hale.
I know just about everyone who matters, not only in Chattanooga, but also in Atlanta, Birmingham, and Nashville, not the least of whom is my old man. It’s not what you know, but who you know, right?
My father, August Starke, is a lawyer, a very good one. He specializes in tort, which is a classy word for personal injury. You’ve probably seen him on TV. His ads run on most local stations almost every day. He made sure that I got the best education money could buy. I graduated McCallie in ’91—and so did most of the movers and shakers in this city of ours; not all in ’91 of course—and I have a master’s degree in forensic psychology from Fairleigh Dickinson.
My agency does a lot of work for my father. His latest claim to fame was his successful class action lawsuit against one of the big drug companies. He brought in millions in compensation for local victims of the birth control fiasco. Now he has his teeth into another case: some of the new high-tech blood thinners seem to be causing more problems than cures. We’re doing some work for him on that one, too.
It was right at noon when I walked into my office. I’m not usually that late. I make it a habit to be at my desk no later than seven thirty. The rest of the crew is expected in no later than eight, unless they’re on assignment.
Kate was already there when I arrived, seated in one of those leather chesterfield chairs that seem to be the obligatory norm in most professional offices. She was wearing jeans, a black sweater, and the same tan leather jacket she’d worn the night before. Her hair was pulled back and tied in a ponytail. She, and everyone else, looked up when I walked in. They all grinned.
“Okay, so I’m late, dammit.”
I rolled my eyes, beckoned for Kate to follow me, and went into my inner sanctum. I waited until she’d seated herself, then I poked my head out the door, caught Mike’s attention, pointed at the coffee pot, and raised two fingers.
Now, I have to tell you, there’s really only one place where I’m truly happy, other than my condo, and that’s my office. It’s as comfortable as I could possibly make it. It has all the trimmings: the big desk, leather chairs, computer, and all, but I also spent a lot of money on the decor. The walls are paneled with dark walnut; there are two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves; the ceiling itself is painted a soft magnolia color; the carpet is pure wool—dark red. The window is covered with ivory sheers accented with heavy drapes that match the carpet. The artwork, a half-dozen pieces, is original—local scenes by local artists—not worth a fortune, but costly enough. There’s also a small drinks cabinet where I keep my special goodies. The room had been designed by a master. Her intention was to instill in my clients a sense of opulence and success, and I think she succeeded. Kate laughingly calls it my man cave.
I didn’t take the seat behind my desk. Instead, I sat in the one next to Kate. Mike brought the coffee. Life was good.
Kate looked around the room. “Do you ever miss being a cop, Harry?”
“Nope. What about you? You need to get out of that rat race, too. Come work for me. You’ll make more money.”
“Hah, not a chance. And what the hell would you do without me on the inside if I did?”
“Good question. I’d work it out. Don’t I always? So tell me: what about the girl?”
“They found her an hour after we left. I saw her this morning. What a damn shame.”
I nodded, said nothing, and waited for her to continue.
“The name on the business card was correct. She is—was—Tabitha Willard. The phone number is disconnected.”
“It wasn’t at one o’clock this morning. I called it. A male answered. He hung up when I asked for her. Were you able to trace it?”
“Nope. It was probably a burner.”
“That doesn’t mean it can’t be traced. They have to be activated, right?”
She nodded.
“That will tell us where it was purchased. If it came from one of the big stores, they usually have security cameras, and that means photos. Photos can be identified. I’ll have Tim look into it.”
She nodded again and sipped her coffee.
“How did you identify her?”
“Her prints are on file. Shoplifting. A year ago.”
“So who is she? Where’s she from? Geez, Kate. Don’t make me drag it out of you.”
“She’s the daughter of Justin Willard. Ring any bells?”
“Not that I can think of. Who is he?”
“One of our best-loved plastic surgeons. If you need to get rid of the wrinkles? He’s the man. Need new tits? He’s the man. Need a new face? Well, you get the idea. He’s been around a long time. Impeccable reputation. Rich as Croesus.”
“That rich, huh? Okay. So, have you informed the family?”
“Oh yeah. I went up there myself, just before I came here. I also went and had a word with her sister Jessica and Charlotte Maxwell, Tabitha’s best friend. And, by the way, I told the good doctor to expect you.”
“Up there? On Lookout, right?”
“Yep! It’s on Cheatham Avenue. Nice place. Must be worth a couple of mil.”
“So?”
“Hell, Harry, they hadn’t even missed her. She lived in an apartment over the garage. Why would anyone want a six-car garage? It must have cost almost as much to build as the home. Harry, the man drives a Rolls Royce; he owns a damn jet, for God’s sake.”
“Hah, so does my father—own a jet, not a Rolls—and there are more than a few around here who own one of those, too. I think I’d like to have me one someday.”
She looked at me; her expression was priceless.
“Joking, Kate. Joking. What did he say when you told him I was coming to see him?”
“He said for you to call first to make sure he was home. If not, he said you can go by his office. Other than that, he didn’t seem bothered about you visiting. But maybe it didn’t register. He was kind of upset.” She leaned over the desk, grabbed a pen, and scribbled a number on the blotter. “That’s his home number. He wouldn’t give me his cell. His office number is in the book.”
I nodded. “Okay, so tell me about Tabitha.”
“There’s not much to tell. They found her less than a hundred yards from the bridge. Her neck was broken, probably from the fall. She was wearing a black dress, no shoes—you said she was wearing some when she went over so we’re assuming they came off in the water—a Rolex watch, a couple of gold bracelets, both eighteen karat, and…” She looked at me and then continued: “no underwear.”
I grinned at her. Nah, I smirked. “None?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, pervert, none at all. No bra, no panties, nothing.”
“She may have lost the panties when she hit the water.” I grinned at her. “I’ve lost my trunks more than once, making a splash.”
“True. That could be it. She was also wearing this.”
She handed me a thin gold chain with a pendant attached. The pendant was in the form of two serpents entwined, each swallowing the other’s tail. It was quite small, not much bigger than a quarter. It was unique. I’d never seen anything like it before.
“What is it, Kate?”
“Search me. It’s unusual, eighteen-karat gold, the chain, too, and expensive, like everything else about her. Her father said he hadn’t seen it before, so did her sister and her friend, which I thought was strange… Maybe you should check it out. Anyway, that’s about all I’ve got. Now you know more than I do. Let’s go get some lunch. Your treat.”
“Sure, as always.”
“Oh come on, Harry. You can afford it.”
“That I can, but it would be nice if you offered, just once.”
“Okay then. My treat. The Deli?”
I nodded. We both rose to our feet.
“Kate?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I borrow the pendant? Just for a day or two?”
She shook her head. “I’d rather not. It’s valuable, and I’d be in serious trouble if you lost it.”
I tilted my head sideways. “Okay, let me get a picture of it then.” She put it down on my desk, and I snapped a photo with my iPhone.
“That ought to do it. Let’s go.” I handed her the pendant, and we left the office.
“One more thing, Harry.” She reached into her jacket pocket, bringing out the key she’d taken from the girl’s pocket. “Here. Take it. I have no idea what it’s for. Neither did the old man or her sister, or her friend. Maybe it means something. Maybe it doesn’t.”
I nodded, slipped the key into the pocket of my jacket, and then followed her out onto the street. It’s always nice to follow Kate. She has some great assets.
The Flatiron Deli is housed in the building that bears the same name, just a couple of blocks away from my office, very handy, and the food is good, too. They make the best BLT in town. I ordered one of those with a cup of coffee. Kate had a Muffaletta, a Coke, and a loaded baked potato to go with it.
How does she eat all those calories and keep the weight off?
We sat opposite each other in a booth. We ate quietly for a while, then we both spoke at once.
I smiled at her. “Ladies first.”
“I was about to tell you that we found her car. It was parked in the multi-story near the aquarium. It was clean, Harry, and by clean I mean it had been wiped; it was spotless.”
“Hmmm.”
She nodded. “What about those two you saw her with in the bar? You said you’ve seen them before?”
I nodded and said, “I’ve seen them a couple of times. They were a weird pair. For some reason, they reminded me of Stimpy and Ren.” She smiled at that, and I continued, “One was a tall, well-built guy, black, with slicked back hair, arrogant. The smaller guy was clean-shaven, lighter skinned, assertive. I got the feeling that he was running the show. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but I could tell they were arguing. She was holding her own, though.”
I looked at my watch. It was almost two o’clock.
“Kate, I think I’ll head down that way, to the Sorbonne, see if I can get anything out of Benny Hinkle. He was running the bar last night. You done?”
She got up from the booth. “Good idea. Call me later. Let me know if you find anything. When do you expect to go see Willard?”
“I was thinking I’d head up that way early this evening. You want to go?”
“Can’t. Hot date. Don’t forget to call him first.” She leaned over, pecked me on the cheek, then walked quickly out of the Deli. You guessed it. She’d stiffed me for the tab, and the tip. I had to grin. She was a rare one. And then it hit me.
Hot date? What was that about? Kate never dates. Well, just me, I think.
I returned to my office, gave Tim the phone number on Tabitha Willard’s card, and asked him to see if he could track it down. I made a couple of calls, then headed out again.