Book 1
Jasmine
It was a dark day for me, that Friday in July 2008, and not just because it was raining. That was the day Harry Starke walked out of the police department for the last time. We’d been partners for almost eight years, but it was more than that. I was in love with the man, and he with me. Well, he was then. Now… no. We’re still friends, but I guess I’d just gotten too used to having him around—and shoving him around, which he loves, though he’ll never admit it.
He was always something of a loose cannon; he liked to do things his way, to be in control. But cops never are, not really. There’s always a procedure to follow, a superior officer to please… or not which is why he left the PD—that and his constant bickering with the chief… but I’m rambling. This isn’t about Harry.
We’d planned to spend the weekend together at Harry’s condo on Lakeshore Lane, but I was on call and, sure enough, that Sunday evening I landed my first murder case. Well, not my first, but my first as lead detective. A couple years before, I’d made sergeant in the Major Crimes Unit, Homicide Division. Until the day he left, I was Watson to Harry’s Holmes: his backup, sounding board, conscience, call it what you will. All of that left with him, and I was on my own.
We’d been to dinner at a fancy downtown restaurant and were out on the patio enjoying a glass of wine. Well, he was. I was on call, so I was drinking lemonade. We were watching the lights on the Thrasher Bridge and listening to something by Bach. The music seemed to suit his mood, and that of the quiet waters of the river.
It was a beautiful, relaxing evening until my iPhone buzzed at a little after ten o’clock.
“Damn!”
I didn’t have to look at the screen. I knew what it was. Nobody ever calls me at that time on a Sunday evening. I sighed, looked at Harry, and took the call.
“Kate Gazzara,”
I listened, then said, “Okay. Give me the exact address. Good. Thanks. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Harry just leaned back in his chair, watching, smiling at me, his eyes half-closed.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“Oh… I was just thinking of the good old days, when my phone used to ring at all hours of the day and night. But that’s all over now, thank God. I’ll see you… whenever?”
“D’you want me to come back tonight?”
He nodded, “You have a key. Whenever you get finished, just come on.”
“Okay. Don’t wait up.”
He just smiled mockingly. I rolled my eyes and left… Okay, maybe there was a little more swing in my step than usual. So sue me.
* * *
When I arrived at the address on Bonny Oaks Drive, there was little sign that anything was amiss. It was pitch dark, and I wondered if I was in the right place. Then I saw an iron gate set back maybe thirty feet from the road. It was wide open, manned by a uniformed officer I knew well. He logged me in and then waved me through, up the short drive to the old sand quarry. There, it was a different story.
The place, a one-time TDOT storage facility and quarry, had been abandoned for years, but now it was lit up like noontime by four portable light towers.
Oh, m’God, somebody’s on the ball.
That somebody was Mike Willis, our CSI supervisor. He was standing beside Doc Sheddon’s beat-up old Suburban. Doc was, and still is, Hamilton County’s chief medical examiner and he, too, was obviously on the ball, though there wasn’t much to be seen of him. He was teetering on top of a small metal step ladder, which was propped against a large section of concrete culvert set on end, its mouth open to the sky. All I could see of Doc was his white Tyvek-covered backside.
Doc’s not a big man, but he is a little overweight. The sight of him hanging over the rim of the pipe would, on any other day, have made me smile. That day? No!
He stood on tiptoe and leaned even further into the pipe. The ladder shook and I grabbed it, steadied it, and held on. He came down a moment or two later, puffing and blowing like an old steam engine.
“Hey, Kate,” he said, as he stepped off the bottom rung. “Where’s Harry?”
Oh boy. Please tell me this is not how it’s going to be from now on.
“It’s a long story,” I said, dodging the question. “This one’s all mine. What do we have?”
I thought for a second he was going to press me about Harry, but he didn’t.
“It’s a nasty one. Go on up and take a look while I catch my breath.”
I didn’t need to look to know what was in there; I could smell it. But I suited up, asked one of the uniforms to hold the ladder, and climbed on up to the rim of the pipe and peered in. Someone had set a mobile light tower close by, high enough that it shined down into the pipe.
At first, I couldn’t tell what I was looking at. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the shadows at the bottom, I could see her. She appeared to be fully dressed: dark blue shorts and what once had been a white crop top. She lay on the dirt at the bottom, curled up in the fetal position, curving around the inside of the pipe. I couldn’t see her face: it was covered by her hair, which appeared to be moving, undulating. Maggots. The stench inside the pipe was overpowering. From what I could see of her arms and legs, she’d been inside that pipe for several days.
I descended the ladder and turned to the officer holding it steady for me.
“Hey, Tom,” I said. “Who was first on the scene?”
“That would be me,” he replied. “Marty arrived a couple of minutes after me. The gate was chained. We had to use bolt cutters.”
I nodded, “Who called it in?”
“A kid. He wouldn’t give his name. There’s a bunch of ’em that use this place to ride mountain bikes. They noticed the smell and, being kids, they decided to investigate. They must have boosted one kid up to see down inside the pipe. That’s his puke there,” he pointed.
“Probably puked on the booster too,” I said.
Tom shrugged. “One of them made the call at eight-oh-seven. He just said there was a pipe with a dead body in it, and they were long gone by the time we got here. The only other pipes on the property are those two stacks of that black plastic drainage pipe over there,” he pointed to them. “They’re obviously too small, so it had to be one of these sections of culvert. There are twenty-eight of them scattered all over the site, all different sizes, some lying flat, some standing up. Wasn’t difficult to find her, though. The smell led us right to this one.”
Together, we stood and stared at it. Someone had marked the dimensions on the side: forty-eight-inch diameter, six feet tall.
“Better get the site properly secured,” I said. Then I had a thought, “How do they get onto the property? The kids?”
“The property’s fenced. The gate is the only point of access for vehicles, but the quarry is surrounded by houses with yards that back right up to it. Hell, Sergeant. You know kids. If there’s a way in, they’ll find it. If there’s not, they’ll make one, right?”
I nodded, “I need to talk to Doc Sheddon. I’ll check with you before I leave.”
I spotted Doc by his car, pulling off his coveralls. “Don’t even ask, Kate,” he said as I approached. “I couldn’t see a damn thing with her at the bottom of that pipe. She’s been there a while, though, six or seven days, and in this heat? Whew! Hey, Mike.”
Mike Willis joined us. He too was wearing white coveralls.
“You find anything, Mike?” I asked.
He looked at me like I’d just spit in his hand. “What do you think? I’ve been here maybe thirty minutes and it’s almost midnight, for God’s sake. I can’t do anything until daylight. I suggest you secure the scene, Sergeant, and I’ll get to it first thing tomorrow. You’ll be removing the body, right?” he said to Doc.
“Of course.” He looked at his watch. “The EMTs should be here any minute. We’ll do the postmortem tomorrow at 11.”
Mike was right. There was nothing to be done until the site had been processed, so I wrapped it up for the evening. I told Doc I’d see him in the morning, and then I too left the site.
* * *
I used my key to let myself into Harry’s condo and looked at the kitchen clock. It was just after one in the morning. I shuddered, thinking about the day yet to come, then I took a shower to wash the stink from my body.
I slipped naked under the covers and reached down for him.
Good old Harry. You’re always there when I need you.
“So,” he said, some thirty minutes later. Yes, he’s that good. “How bad was it?”
“Oh, it was good,” I said. “Very good.”
Harry smacked me lightly on the shoulder. “Not that, dammit. The call out.”
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, “It was pretty bad.”
I spent the next five minutes telling him about it, but he was asleep before I finished. I set the alarm on my phone for six o’clock.
I needn’t have bothered: Harry was up and out for his morning run by five-thirty. When he finally climbed out of the shower an hour later, I had coffee and bagels ready.
“Harry,” I said, watching him over the rim of my second cup of coffee. “What are your plans? What are you going to do now that you’re no longer a cop? You can’t just sit around and mope. You need to do something.”
He tilted his head slightly, smiled that annoying little smirk he affects when he thinks he knows something nobody else knows, and reached for his wallet.
This time he really did know something I didn’t know. He flipped a business card onto the table. It read “Harry Starke Investigations” along with an address on Georgia Avenue and several phone numbers.
“No!” I all but shouted the word. “You, a private investigator?” And I burst out laughing. Harry, that enigmatic little smile still on his lips, just sat there, looking at me.
I stopped laughing. I looked at him seriously, “You’re not kidding?”
“Nope.”
“How long…. You’ve been…. Harry, you must’ve been planning this for a while. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged, “I wasn’t sure about it. As you say, I need to do something. This… seems like it might work. The money won’t be great, but I don’t need a paycheck.”
Harry’s father, August Starke, was one of the wealthiest attorneys in the country. Harry was, even in those days, very well off in his own right. So, no, he didn’t need a paycheck.
“Look, Kate. I loved being a cop. I loved being an investigator. What I didn’t love was the politics, the back-stabbing… and the damn chief. It makes sense, the PI thing. I’ll be my own boss, hire my own people, find my own clients—which, by the way, I’ve already done. I have at least a couple dozen high-powered attorneys waiting in line, not to mention dear old dad. Now all I need is staff.”
He was silent for a moment, watching me.
He has the most intense blue eyes….
And then I realized:
You want me to work for you. Oh no. I love you, Harry, but no way in hell.
“It’s not going to happen, Harry.”
“Why not? We get along, we work well together, we always have. We make a great team.”
I looked at my watch. It was almost eight: time I wasn’t there. Fortunately, I didn’t have to go home. I kept a change of clothes at Harry’s condo—well, more than one, actually—so all I had to do was drive to the PD on Amnicola and check in.
“Let’s talk about it later, okay?”
He shrugged. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. I’ve always hated that.
I kissed him, pinched his cheek, and said I’d call him later. I left him staring into the depths of his cup.
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