Voices of the dead

“Ain’t spendin’ nothin’ on no two-timin’ bitches is what I’m doin’.” He slammed the phone down. Called M’shell and Tifany. No answer. Nobody happy to see him. Leave town for two months, everyone forget about you. He called room service, ordered fried chicken, the whole dinner with yams and cornbread and two Courvoisier and cokes, feeling better, like his shit was comin’ back together now.

“Way I see it you’ve got a couple major obstacles,” Stark said. “Number one, he killed your daughter, so you’re going to be perceived as a distraught father out for revenge.”

“I told you about the woman, the other survivor.”

“What’s her name?”

“Joyce Cantor.” Harry picked up his Stroh’s and drank from the bottle.

“She credible?”

“I’ve never talked to her but from what I’ve heard her story’s accurate, believable. She was there.”

“You better get her on the phone, tell her what’s going on.”

“I’ve tried. Her number isn’t listed.”

“Where’s she live?”

“Palm Beach.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

They were at the Lindell AC having lunch, burgers and fries, Harry glancing occasionally at the Detroit sports memorabilia on the walls. It was crowded and loud. Jimmy Butsicaris, the owner, making his rounds, talking to four guys in suits a couple tables away.

Stark wiped his mouth with a napkin, took his cigarettes out, tapped one out of the pack and lighted it and left the pack on the table. Benson amp; Hedges 100s.

“My biggest concern from a legal point of view,” Stark said, blowing out smoke, “you bring charges against Hess, a solid citizen, politician, successful businessman, Huber could tie you to the three neo-Nazis you shot. And he’s got the murder weapon.” Stark placed his cigarette on the edge of the glass ashtray.

“How do you know they found the bodies? And what connects them to the gun?” Harry said.

“That’s the chance you take.”

“What about the mass grave?”

“How do you put Hess at the scene?”

“Joyce and me.”

“It’s been thirty years. How can you be sure he’s the right guy?” Stark picked up his hamburger and took a bite.

“I remember him.”

“But you didn’t recognize him when the DC cop gave you the mug shot,” Stark chewing while he talked. Stuck his finger in his mouth and dislodged a piece of hamburger, looked at it and put it on his plate. “And you didn’t recognize him in the restaurant, sitting at the table.”

“I was distracted,” Harry said. “Had a few things on my mind.”

“You went to Munich to the man’s house and didn’t recognize him,” Stark said. “When did this light bulb of recognition go on?”

“There was something familiar about him, but I didn’t put it together till I saw him in a Nazi uniform.”

“I have to tell you, it doesn’t sound very persuasive.” Stark put his napkin over what was left of the hamburger and picked up his cigarette. “And since we’re on the subject, here’s another concern. Hess is a war criminal. He’s supposedly killed or had killed anyone with a connection to his past. Am I right? You think he’s just going to forget about you?”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

“I hope so.”

Harry brought the Colt Python out and laid it on the table next to his plate.

“Jesus, put that away. Are you fucking nuts?”

He picked up the gun, slid it back in his sport-coat pocket. “Here’s something I didn’t tell you. The night Sara was killed a Jewish couple were murdered in Georgetown, shot in the back of the head. I saw photographs on Taggart’s desk. Martz and Lisa were killed the same way. Nine-millimeter Parabellum shell casings next to the bodies. Fired from a Luger.”

“What’re you saying, Harry?”

“Hang on, it gets better. Before Hess hit Sara he’d been at a strip joint called Archibald’s. Dancer named Coco said she was sitting next to him, touched his leg.”

“Probably copping his joint,” Stark cut in.

“Hess had blood on the front of his pants.”

“Spatter from the Georgetown couple?”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You tell Taggart?”

“Yeah. He thinks I’m crazy.”

“I can see why.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. Hess has diplomatic immunity.”

A waitress came and took their plates, asked if they wanted anything else, another beer? Stark shook his head. “Just the check,” Harry said. “It’s on me.”

“Okay, big spender, thanks.” Stark lit another cigarette. “Were the Georgetown couple survivors?”

“Taggart didn’t know.”

“How old were they?”

“He was forty-five. She was thirty-six.”

“Maybe the parents crossed paths with Hess at one time. Knows their names?”

“Why would he go after the son or daughter? Doesn’t make sense.”

“When did it happen?” Stark said, flicking his cigarette ash.

“August 2nd, the night Sara was killed.”

“All right. Let me see what I can find out.”

Stark called him at the scrap yard the next day. “The Georgetown couple are Mitchell Goldman and Sherri Shore. He was a dentist, successful practice, recently divorced and engaged. She was his fiancee and former receptionist.”

“Why would he get remarried so fast?”