Duplicity: The Harry Starke Novels, #23

By Blair Howard

Sometimes, a city needs a ruthless detective willing to cross the line.

Recommended for fans of Davenport, Hammer, and Bosch.
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Mystery woman, Morrigan Doyle, is in prison.

Finn Doyle, her son, has ties to the Irish mob in New York. He became acquainted with Harry Starke when Harry was investigating his mother's billion-dollar Ponzi scheme. But Finn has a life of his own and wants to hire Harry to "find a friend," Matteo Rossi.

Rossi, a low level thug, a soldier in the Irish mob, is missing. Finn is worried, thinking someone has "offed him", and he wants to know who.

Initially, Harry turns Finn down. But, as they say, curiosity kills the cat, and Harry, ever the curious one, does a little digging on his own and finds that Matteo's mother and girlfriend are also looking for him.

Finn, however, is nothing if not persistent and, taking into account the new information, Harry reluctantly agrees to take the case, for a fee, of course.

Thus Harry and his team embark on an investigation that takes him back to New York, following Matteo, a trail of bodies and a litany of misinformation until… Well, as always, there's a twist in the tale; more than one, in fact.

Get your copy of duplicity now and be among the first to read Blair Howard's gripping new mystery thriller.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Howard Books
• Release date: Jun 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224518340

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

The late-night knock on her door didn’t come as a surprise to Isabella Rossi. Having sons who were involved in New York City’s underworld came with a price, and at that moment, the late-night visitor was the least of her worries. In fact, she was hoping they might, by some rare chance, be of some help.

She limped to the front of the house, the arthritis in her knee acting up again. She’d never been a fan of living in the Bay Ridge area of Brooklyn, and when she’d moved into the small house on Shore Drive, she told herself it would be temporary… But that was almost twenty years ago now, and the only thing that had changed was the ever-increasing rent.

One day, I’ll make it back to Staten Island, she thought.

Pushing the longing thoughts aside, Isabella peered through the peephole, and recognizing the face, she turned the knob and pulled the heavy door open a little.

Why’re you here? she asked, peeking out, looking around to make sure he’d brought no one with him.

I’m here ’cause you said you wanted to talk, Izzy. His voice was rough, much like the rest of him. He couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, but Izzy wasn’t sure he had even that many years under his belt. His tussled dark hair hung damply around his face, the waves framing his high cheekbones and penetrating brown eyes. He was of Italian descent—she knew that—but she wasn’t sure which family he was connected to.

Not that she cared. You got anyone with you? she snapped.

Nope. He popped the p on the word. You gonna make me stand out here in the rain, or what?

She pursed her lips, stepped to the side, and nodded for him to come in. You got anything for me? The number he left me didn’t have no names with it. So I’m assuming that’s why you’re here, right?

The young man sighed. Yeah, and like I told you, maybe it’s better that we just let him be. If he ain’t around, it’s probably for good reason.

"He’s my son, Isabella replied, narrowing her eyes. And when we talked on the phone, you promised you were gonna help me find him. He’s got a kid. He’s got a girlfriend. He didn’t just decide to take a vacation." Frustration laced her words, but there was also a sadness with them as well. She didn’t want to raise her grandson without him. She’d already done that with her own boys.

Look, Izzy, I’m not saying I’m not going to help you find him. He pulled out one of the chairs at the small table in the space just off the kitchen. It wasn’t big enough to call a dining room, but it was something, and that small table had been packed with friends and family many times.

Izzy raked her fingers through her thick, dark hair and then pulled out a chair across from him. "There has to be something you can tell me. Please. I know Matty didn’t just disappear into thin air. Somebody did something to him, I know it."

You don’t know it, he snapped back at her. "You don’t know nothin’ about him, Izzy. All you know is the cute little Matty that came to you for family dinners and holidays. I know the real Matty, and if something happened to him… well, I don’t know that I wanna go poking my nose in it. I don’t got a death wish."

I’m not… She trailed off. Was she asking him to put his life on the line to locate her son? Maybe. Maybe she was, and maybe that was asking too much. I’ll go start digging and knocking on doors myself if I have to.

No. He was fast to stop her, holding up a hand. No, you don’t wanna do that. You’d be walking into a den of vipers, Izzy. You’re gonna have to trust me.

"I don’t trust anyone, Lake." She used his nickname because that was the only name she had for him. Neither he nor Matty had ever offered anything other than Lake.

Good, you shouldn’t. He leaned toward her, his dark eyes intense, giving her an unsettled feeling. And for the record, Izzy, I don’t trust no one either; not even Matty.

Anger nipped at her. "I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but you better not badmouth my son in my house."

He chuckled, the sardonic sound filling the small house. You don’t know what you’re getting into, Izzy. And the truth is, I don’t think he wants you poking around.

You say that like you’ve talked to him, Izzy snapped, her anger now tempered with a glimmer of hope. If… if he’s just hiding out ’cause he’s in some trouble, just tell me. I won’t keep searching for him. I’ll call off the hounds.

Lake’s thin lips turned downward. Izzy… I really wish I could tell you I knew something, but I don’t. I don’t know where he went—or why—but I know he wouldn’t have taken off if he didn’t have a good reason. Matty Junior’s his entire world. He ain’t gonna leave his kid. Or Catherine. Or you.

She wanted to believe him, but the changes she’d seen in Matty lately made her second guess his loyalty to his family. He’d become paranoid and had acted strange, missing dinners and panicking if the blinds were left open. Something had been amiss, and before she could ask him what it was, he’d disappeared into thin air. At first, she thought maybe it was drugs, but everyone swore he was clean…

The silence hung heavy in the room as Isabella pondered the next step. She wanted to go to the police, but she was worried about the consequences it could have if she did. Matty’s life was complicated, and the last thing she wanted to do was put a target on his back.

I’m looking for him, Lake said quietly. "I swear, I am, Izzy. I don’t know where he’s at, and ain’t no one talking right now."

Her heart fluttered. She sucked in a ragged breath. It’s bad, isn’t it? Just tell me the truth. Do you think I’m gonna have to bury my son before his thirtieth birthday?

Lake was quiet for what seemed like an eternity, then said, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t have any answers right now. I came to see you because I know that’s what Matty would’ve wanted me to do. I hope you don’t gotta bury him. That would mean I’d have to bury him, too, but…

But this is the way it is, working for the families, Isabella said softly, so softly she wasn’t sure if Lake even heard her. I hate it. I wanted better for my sons.

We all want better for ourselves, Lake said, his expression growing distant as he stared over her head, his eyes fixed on the old clock. "I still tell myself sometimes that this isn’t it for me, that there has to be something more. But… He paused, locked eyes with her, then continued, I don’t think I’ll ever get out of this city. And if I do, my guess is it’s gonna be in a body bag."

Don’t say that, Isabella scolded him, her voice heavy with emotion. You all got so much life left, and all you have to do is choose to walk away and start over.

Lake laughed, shaking his head. Right, and you know what happens when one of us tries to pull something like that? We end up in pieces at the bottom of the bay, Izzy.

Her heart sank at the thought of Matty ending up like that—maybe he already had. I just need to know where my son is, she said, and you know I’m not too timid to knock on the doors myself.

Lake’s face contorted with concern. "You can’t do that. Matty wouldn’t want you to, either. It’s gonna get ya killed. Then, who’s Matty supposed to come home to, huh? Catherine? We both know they ain’t gonna make it. Catherine doesn’t give a rat’s ass about Matty."

Yes, she does. Isabella couldn’t help but argue. She and her son’s girlfriend had their differences, sure, but she thought Catherine was reacting the way any woman would whose significant other was involved in… Well, seedy business endeavors was putting it mildly. She’s taking care of Matty Junior all on her own, you know.

Yeah, okay, Lake muttered, pushing himself back from the table. I told ya, and I’ll tell ya again, I’m doing the best I can. Don’t go knocking on no doors, and don’t go to the police. I’m working on it, and I’ll keep working on it. I won’t let you go down, too. He wouldn’t want that.

Isabella nodded, choosing not to get up from the worn-out table. She’d told herself that she’d get a new one many times, but now, she wasn’t intending on ever getting rid of it. Matty had sat at that table the last time Isabella had seen him, and she hoped that, like some sort of lucky charm, it would bring him back to it.

I gotta get moving, Lake said, his voice gruff. It grated on her nerves to listen to him speak like that. He was always the quiet one of the two, and now he was the only one. I’ll let you know when I know something, but don’t expect any answers to come quick.

I won’t, but… She looked up at him. At some point, I’m gonna go to the cops, Lake. I won’t sit around and wait for someone else to do my job as a mother.

His eyes darkened. Then may God keep you safe. The more you poke the bear, Izzy, the more likely it is to strike back.

2

Finn Doyle

I never expected the Irish mobster to show up in my office, nor did I particularly want him there. I wanted to put Morrigan Doyle and her Ponzi scheme far behind me. It had been one hell of a case, and I had no intention of getting involved any further with her family.

Look, Harry, I don’t expect ya to loik me, Finn grunted, placing his large hands on his knees.

I’m not usually one to pay attention to someone’s hands, but this man’s were larger than most and covered in long, jagged scars.

I don’t even want to know what caused those, I thought.

I’m not taking any new cases right now, I said, which was the truth. I rarely offered my services to anyone unless they were Kate Gazzara. Most of the time, the people who came to us seeking help came by referral, and then we were picky about the ones we took.

But it was more than that. I did not want to get involved with another Doyle.

Ah, but see, now, dis is different, Finn said earnestly in his thick Irish accent, digging into the pocket of his leather jacket. Dis is something personal to me. He pulled out a worn leather wallet and then fished out a picture. "This is my friend, Matteo Rossi."

I watched the crinkled photograph as he slid it across my desk. I scrutinized the young man in the photo. There was nothing about him that was out of the ordinary. He had dark chocolate-colored hair and matching eyes. A light shading of facial hair graced a square jaw, and though the picture was only from his shoulders up, I could tell by the thick neck he was a brute of a man. Probably a gym rat, and he had the look of Italian descent about him.

He’s a good friend of mine, Doyle continued, and he’s been missing for nearly a month. He tapped the picture. I looked up at him. I just want to find him and make sure he’s okay. He’s got a family, so he has. His kid needs him, Harry.

I pursed my lips, waiting on my gut feeling to tell me one thing or the other, but it stayed quiet. Finn appeared to be genuine, but there were plenty of people who appeared to be a lot of things they were not. And so I decided to give him a chance. Lay it out for me, Mr. Doyle.

The man’s face brightened. All right then. So I will. Well, y’see, his girlfriend, Catherine, she said he didn’t come home a month ago today, so, uh, July twenty-seventh would be the date.

I nodded, grabbing a pen and notepad and scribbling down the date. Even though I wasn’t planning to take the case, especially as it was an obviously iffy missing person case. I also make a point to write down information I don’t need versus not writing down something I might need later. Sounds a bit convoluted, doesn’t it? But I’m sure you get the idea.

He didn’t show up for a meeting we had planned last Friday, either, Finn continued, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. "And that’s not like him. He always shows up. He’s a punctual kind of guy. And that’s when I really began to worry."

You don’t think he just needed a break? People do that, you know? It was a counter card everyone in law enforcement had said many times, and it was something every person who reported a missing person—other than a young child—had heard.

The irritation showed on Finn Doyle’s face. "I think you’d be the kind of investigator that didn’t play off a man’s worry wantin’ to search for his friend."

What about his family? I ignored the jab. Why hasn’t his family reported him missing?

Finn’s upper lip twitched. Because maybe they don’t have the funds to fly to Chattanooga to speak with a private investigator that may or may not even take the case. Not everyone has such wealth at their fingertips.

I narrowed my eyes at his cheeky response. The local police would’ve been a good choice. Or they could’ve called me or found an investigator in New York.

That gets nothing accomplished, and you know it, Mr. Starke, Finn shot back at me, his green eyes bright. "The police see him as a grown adult. They’re not interested. So, I took the time to fly down here to meet with you. It wasn’t some simple endeavor, either. And don’t you underestimate me, sir. I’m willing to beg for your services if I have to." The man was clearly easily agitated, and I harbored my amusement internally.

I’m listening to you, Mr. Doyle, I responded patiently. I’m simply stating the obvious. What else do you have for me? Other than the picture, of course.

Finn Doyle relaxed, albeit subtly. Well, that’s the problem. I don’t have much of anything. It seems as though he just vanished into thin air. He even left his cell phone and wallet at his girlfriend’s place.

Odd, I muttered. Anything else?

I don’t have the wherewithal or the capabilities to hunt him down the way you might think. Sure, we have our connections, but they’re not nearly as extensive as yours. I do have a couple of addresses, though. That’s the best I can do.

I didn’t believe a word of it, but I kept that to myself. "I would have thought your organization would’ve been able to come up with something," I said, leaning back in my chair and folding my arms.

Do I have to repeat m’self? His upper lip twitched again. "I can’t find him. It’s truly as though the man dissipated into thin air. He’s frickin’ vanished, so he has, and Oi’m concerned."

I took a deep breath, looked again at the photo and said, "Is your friend involved in the same business as you?"

Finn shifted in his seat, narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips, then said, "He… Well, yes, he is. He paused for a moment as if to gauge my reaction; I didn’t give him one. He’s involved in my organization, and before you put two and two together, yes, he is Italian. He’s an odd man out, which is why I’m so worried about him."

Ah, I see. I don’t need to get involved in this mess, I thought, but for some reason, I still felt compelled to dig. Did he have enemies, anyone who would want to hurt him? I had the feeling it would be a long list, but it was a question that needed to be asked. And I was pretty sure the answer depended on where Matteo Rossi fell on the Irish mob’s pay scale.

Now, you’re not going to believe this, Mr. Starke, but I don’t really know. Finn Doyle’s shoulders dropped. He was just a low-level employee. Not a man predisposed to startin’ a foight, if y’get me meanin’—though he wouldn’t be averse to finishin’ ’em if he had to. He was a talker. That’s for sure, but I can’t think of anyone that he truly pissed off.

But you have rivals, I said. So, assuming he really is missing and has not just taken off somewhere, could it be business-related?

Finn shook his head. I don’t think so. We’ve not had any issues with our Italian rivals for quoit a while. We have our territory; they have theirs. Matteo didn’t get involved in any of the higher-up stuff. Knocking him off wouldn’t have accomplished anything.

Maybe it was done to get at you? I reasoned. As you said, he is your friend.

I don’t think so. He seemed certain, his tone firm and demanding. "I don’t know what happened, or why, but I want to find him. And besides, when a rival takes out one of your men, it’s always a power move, or it’s done to get your attention. That doesn’t happen when someone just disappears. When that happens, it’s usually to make a statement. The body may not show up, but something always does."

I nodded, hating the idea of wading into the gray territory of the mafia, Irish or Italian. I’ll have to talk this over with my partner. I don’t believe it’s something she’ll want to take on… or me, for that matter.

Foine. His voice was sharper now. But turning me down would be a mistake.

Of course, it would. You might come for me in my sleep, and it wouldn’t be the first time. I pushed back from my desk and stood up, ignoring the comment. Being threatened after decades in law enforcement was nothing new. Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, the threats were empty; the rest of the time, I survived.

I’ll speak with Jacque and then get back to you, I said with a smile. I didn’t play into his attempts at intimidation. To me, it was just another day at the office.

If you’ll give me a moment⁠—

I left my office and went to find Jacque.

You want to take on a missing mobster? I asked, peeking my head through the open doorway.

Jacque looked up from her computer, her brows raised. So that’s what Mr. Doyle wanted, huh? Strange request.

He says the guy’s a friend, and he thinks something bad’s happened to him.

Wouldn’t be surprising given the line of work he’s in, Jacque said, straightening up in her chair. "In fact, if something did happen to him and they don’t want us to find out, it could be hell to pay for us."

Ah, now, don’t act like we haven’t encountered adversity before, I teased, smiling at her. "It’s more of a headache than a danger, I think. The guy went missing in New York City. Quite