by John Holt
This case was just getting more and more un-predictable. And more and more mystifying. Blackmail that maybe wasn’t blackmail, a murder suspect murdered. Nothing was what it seemed. And I was as much in the dark as I was at the start.
* * *
Jerry’s Bar was fairly busy when I arrived at just after seven. I’d planned on going to the 51 Club later tonight, so when Jerry suggested that I be there between seven and eight that sounded perfect. “I’ll be there,” I said, and hung up.
Jerry saw me as I entered. He gave a wave, and then looked towards the corner booth. He pointed and nodded. I waved back and walked over to the table. “Mr. Chandler?” I asked.
The man looked up at me, and nodded. “Bob, will be just fine,” he replied. “Have a seat.” He pointed. Then he looked over at Jerry, raised his hand and did a circling motion. Jerry nodded.
I sat down. “So Mr. Chandler, Bob, I understand that you were in here a few months ago, this same seat, and just behind me there were two women chatting.” I pointed to the booth behind me.
Chandler nodded. “That murdered woman you mean, and her friend.”
“The very same,” I replied.
“So what’s it to you?” he asked. “And more to the point, what’s in it for me?”
I smiled. There’s always got to be a reason, I thought, an angle. No one does nothing for nobody, for nothing, anymore. There’s always got to be a payoff. Mr. Chandler was no different to thousands of other guys I guess. Perhaps I couldn’t really blame him anyway. Sadly it was the way of the world.
At that moment Jerry arrived with our drinks. “On the house,” he said. I thanked him, and he walked back to the bar. I took a drink. “Jerry told you I was a private detective I guess.”
Chandler nodded, and took a drink.
“In the past few days there have been two murders,” I began. “That woman in the paper, the one who was here, she was the first.” I paused and took another drink. “The second person killed was the husband of the other woman.” I paused again. Chandler said nothing. “We think both murders were connected, and carried out by the same person.”
“Okay I get all that,” Chandler replied, as he drained his glass. “But why you, why not the regular cops.”
I nodded, and looked over at Jerry, and indicated another round. “That’s simple,” I replied. “The murdered woman was my client, she also happened to have been blackmailing the murdered man.”
Jerry walked over with the drinks. “Hope you two are getting along,” he said. “All nice and friendly like.” He smiled, turned and then left.
I looked over at Bob and smiled. “Sure, all nice and friendly,” I said. “So Bob, what do you say?”
“I’m still waiting to hear what’s in it for me?” he replied.
I had to admit that I didn’t know if there was anything in it for him. “You might be in line for a small reward I guess, if your information led to a conviction,” I suggested. “Of course on the other hand it is a felony to withhold relevant information.”
Bob started to rub his chin, weighing up his options.
“Now let’s cut this shall we, and get to the point,” I said. “So what can you tell me?”
“What’s the chance of me getting a reward?” he asked.
I started to laugh. “Oh I don’t know. From very little to absolute zero I’d guess,” I replied. “But just think you’ll be doing your public duty. Come on now.”
He shook his head. “There’s really not that much to tell,” he said “I was sitting here, minding my own business. Checking the race results you know. I had a dead cert in the five o’clock at Hylands, Lady Grey, a nice four to one. They were sitting there, right behind you, just talking.”
“So what were they talking about?” I asked.
He shook his head, and smiled. “Oh just a lot of nonsense at first,” he replied. “Old times you know. Did you remember someone or other, or how about when such and such happened.”
“So they were old friends,” I suggested.
“I guess,” Rob replied. “At least they both went to school together, upstate somewhere, a place called Richmond.” He paused and took a drink. “Then they started talking about different things. It seems that one of them, the murdered woman, had just got out of prison.”
“Prison,” I repeated. “Do you know what she was in for?”
He shook his head. “No, but she was certainly in need of money. The other woman said something about she might be able to help.” He paused and shook his head once again. “I don’t know how.”
“Did you get a name?” I asked.
Chandler nodded. “Oh yeah I got her name,” he replied. “It was Bradley. Susan Bradley.”
“You’re sure it was Bradley,” I said. “Not Brady?”
“It was Bradley,” Chandler repeated.
“So what else?” I asked.
“Then they get to talking about husbands, well at least the other woman does,” Chandler continued. “Seems her husband is playing around, and she wants to teach him a lesson.”
“She said that, her exact words?”
“Yeah, that’s what she said,” Chandler replied. “Then the other woman says something like suppose I blackmail him, cool as you like.”
“She actually said blackmail?”
“She sure did,” Chandler replied.
“And the other lady what did she say?” I asked. “Did she go along with the idea?”
“Go along with it,” Chandler repeated, and started to laugh. “She actively encouraged it.”
I shook my head and heaved a sigh. “And you never mentioned this to anyone, I mean like the police?” I asked.
Chandler shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, at the time, I figured they weren’t serious,” he replied. “They were just playing around you know, laughing and joking. And then when I heard about the murder. You know the police and me we don’t exactly get on, if you know what I mean.”
I knew what he meant. “So why tell me now?”
Chandler rubbed his chin, and then took a drink. He looked over to the bar. “Jerry said that you were a friend of his,” he replied. “He said that I could trust you.” He paused for a few moments, and then looked back at me. “He also said that there might be something in it for me.”
I smiled. “As I said there might be a small reward, but I can’t guarantee anything.” I picked up my glass and drank the remainder of my scotch. I stood up.
“You’ve been very helpful Mr. Chandler ….”
“Bob, remember.”
“Yes Bob, I remember, by the way, Lady Grey, how did she do?”
He started to laugh. “Seventh out of twelve.”
I smiled. It’s always the same, I thought, the Bob Chandlers of this world never get a break. Nothing ever goes to plan for them. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, there would be a little something in it, just for him.
“I’ll be seeing you.” I waved across to Jerry and walked towards the exit.
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
You Gon' Be Sorry
At last I was getting some answers. And not just more questions. At last things were becoming clearer. It was about time. You know sometimes things just seem so unreal, that even when you know they’re real, you doubt them. Sometimes things are just so fantastic you shake your head, and you reject them. Nah, that couldn’t happen like that. Or I wasn’t expecting that. And things aren’t always what they seem. Have you ever noticed that? Well that’s how it was with this case. From the very first, I was taken in. You would have been as well I’m telling you, so I don’t feel too bad about it. I guess anyone would have been deceived. The whole plan was just so well done.
Should I have seen it coming? Maybe, with hindsight, but I doubt it. We can always be wise after the event can’t we? Horse bolting, and shut stable doors, do you know that one? Life will always throw you a wobbly, a curved ball, when you least expect it. We see only what we expect to see, and sometimes we could be in for a
big surprise.
* * *
For the past ten minutes I’d been on the phone to Bates. I had been telling him all about my visit to Jerry’s Bar, and my conversation with a certain Mr. Chandler.
“Mrs. Walker and that woman Susan had been in Jerry’s three or four months ago,” I started to explain. “This guy, Bob, he was sitting in the next booth to them. He heard them talking. He didn’t hear everything clearly you understand, but he heard most of it.”
“Go on, I’m listening,” said Bates.
“Well first of all, Susan Brady was actually Susan Bradley,” I explained. “So not surprising you couldn’t find out anything about her.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” said Bates. “Carry on with your story.”
“Well it’s pretty clear that Amanda Walker had planned the whole thing from the very beginning,” I continued. “I don’t think that she was really looking for a divorce though, divorce was only a side issue, the basis of the whole plan. She knew that Walker would never agree to one, so she decided to get rid of him in another way.”
“To kill him you mean,” suggested Bates.
“Precisely,” I replied. “She renews her friendship with Bradley, after she came out of prison the last time, and they met up in Jerry’s Bar.”
“They were friends?” said Bates.
“They went to school together, in Richmond,” I replied. “Amanda Jackson, that was Mrs. Walker’s name before she married, and Bradley were great friends, and had kept in touch after leaving school, right up until the time Bradley went to prison the first time. Amanda was just fifteen years old, when she met up with Susan Bradley. They were Year of 1982.” I paused for a moment. “I guess Amanda was rated the girl most likely to marry a rich man. Meanwhile poor old Susan was the one most likely to serve time in prison.”
“Do you know why she was in prison?” asked Bates.
I had to admit that I didn’t know. “I don’t really know, but I’m guessing blackmail would have featured somewhere,” I replied. “Anyway, they get to talk about this and that, you know old times. Then they somehow get on to the subject of husbands, Amanda’s husband to be exact. Amanda lets slip that her husband is playing around. Gradually she spells out her plan to teach Walker a lesson. Bradley needs money, and actually suggests blackmailing him. They agree and Amanda tells Bradley all about The Hotel Carlton and Walker’s lady friend Miss. Terri Franklin. So the blackmail plot is hatched, but they need evidence, photographs, dates, that sort of thing. That’s where I came in, to my shame.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Bates. “This blackmailing thing, it was all Bradley’s idea. Is that right?”
I hesitated for a moment. “Well, according to Chandler, it was her suggestion, but Walker jumped on it. It was a brilliant idea, and she thought that it was essential that people believed that Walker was being blackmailed. It was so easy, especially when it was a stranger doing the blackmailing, and she wasn’t involved at all. And I had supplied the necessary evidence.”
“But then Bradley is murdered,” said Bates. “Do we know why?”
I nodded. “We know why. Bradley had to be eliminated, she had served her usefulness, now she has to be killed, and evidence has to be planted to make it seem that Walker was the murderer.”
Bates shook his head. “She took a bit of a risk didn’t she?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I was convinced that Denis Walker had killed Bradley. I had no doubts whatsoever. It seemed obvious, she was blackmailing him, she got greedy, and he killed her. Then the evidence started to come in. The murder site in those woods close to their home, the cuff link; the missing shoe. It all helped to convince me of his guilt. Remember our conversations?”
“I remember them,” replied Bates. “You were convinced.”
“You know she actually came to see me, asking how the investigation was going,” I continued. “All that she really wanted though, was to find out if she was a suspect. Of course at that stage she wasn’t. She was well in the clear.”
“But why go to those lengths,” asked Bates. “I mean that kind of evidence wouldn’t have been enough to convict anybody.”
“She didn’t care whether he was convicted or not,” I said. “It was all to do with adding to the blackmail idea. To keep it going, so that when Walker was eventually murdered suspicion would fall on the unknown would be blackmailer.”
“So why did she kill him?” Bates asked.
“It was always her intention to kill him, right from day one,” I replied. “To be rid of him so that she would be free, and pay him back for his cheating. I’m guessing that he simply found out about her plan, and threatened to go to the police. She couldn’t have that could she?”
Bates heaved a sigh. “I guess you’re right, but if she don’t talk we’ll never know the whole truth.”
“I suppose we could talk about it from now to kingdom come,” I said. “We’ll never know will we.”
Bates was right. If she didn’t want to talk she didn’t have to. She had the right to remain silent, but there was always Bob Chandler. His evidence would certainly count for something wouldn’t it? Or would it be a case of her word against his.
“I’ll be seeing you Daniels,” Bates said. “We should meet up for a drink sometime.”
“Are you paying?” I asked.
There was no answer, Bates had hung up.
* * *
So that was that. You know she had everything that you could ever want. She had class, style, security, money, lots of money. But it wasn’t enough for her. She wanted more, much more, and she was prepared to go to any lengths to get it, including murder. Well she was certainly going to live to regret that for a long, long, time to come. I’m guessing if convicted she was facing twenty to life.
Mississippi Fred McDowell had a suitable comment to make about that:
Lord, you gon' be sorry
Ever done me wrong
Gon' be sorry
Lord, ya ever done me wrong
Talking about the blues, if I hurried I could get a pizza down at Mama Dells, and then on to the 51 Club. Arthur ‘Big Boy’ Curtis and his Blues Band were going to perform tonight. Don’t know if they are any good, or not. I’ve never seen them before, but Buddy, the club owner, seems to rate them. Worth a try I guess. I’ve nothing else planned have I?
I’ll let you know what I thought. Next time.
* * *
Kendall could just see the television screen. There was a photograph of Governor Frank Reynolds. Across the bottom of the screen the ticker tape announced in large black letters 'Governor Reynolds Murdered'. The voice over was filling in whatever detail was available. Apparently his body had been discovered earlier that morning. He had been found lying in his garage. He had been shot twice. One shot to the upper chest, the other hitting his shoulder. 'Police believe that the weapon used was a 38 mm caliber revolver,' the reporter said. Kendall froze. Anthony Shaw had also been killed by a 38 mm bullet. Kendall was not quite sure of what it all meant. What connection was there between Anthony Shaw, and the State Governor, and the business mogul, Ian Duncan? And what about Senator Mackenzie? Where did he fit in? And who or what was Latimer? Only a short while ago Kendall was a small time private detective, a Private Eye, investigating an insignificant little murder with no clues, no witnesses, and no motive. In fact, no nothing. Now he had so many pieces of a puzzle he didn't know how they fitted together. He didn't even know if they all came from the same puzzle.
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The Marinski Affair began as a dull mundane case involving a missing husband. Okay, so he was a rich missing husband, but he was nonetheless, still only a missing husband. The case soon developed into one involving robbery, kidnapping, blackmail and murder. But was there really a kidnapping? And exactly who is blackmailing who? Who actually carried out the robbery? Who committ
ed the murders? Who can you trust? Who can you believe? Is anyone actually telling the truth? What have they got to hide? And what connection was there with a jewel theft that occurred four years previously? All is not as it seems. Tom Kendall, private detective, had the task of solving the mystery. He was usually pretty good at solving puzzles, but this one was different, somehow. It wasn’t that he didn’t have any of the pieces. Oh no, he wasn’t short of clues. It was just that none of the pieces seemed to fit together.
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Tom Kendall, a down to earth private detective, is asked to investigate the death of a young newspaper reporter. The evidence shows quite clearly that it was an accident: a simple, dreadful accident. That is the finding of the coroner and the local police. Furthermore, there were two witnesses. They saw the whole thing. But was it an accident, or was it something more sinister? Against a backdrop of a viral epidemic slowly spreading from Central America, a simple case soon places Kendall up against one of the largest drug companies in the country.
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‘To make a killing in the City’ is a phrase often used within the financial world, to indicate making a large profit on investments, or through dealings on the stock market - the bigger the profit, the bigger the killing. However, Tom Kendall, a private detective, on holiday in London, has a different kind of killing in mind when he hears about the death of one of his fellow passengers who travelled with him on the plane from Miami. It was suicide apparently, a simple overdose of prescribed tablets. Kendall immediately offers his help to Scotland Yard. He is shocked when he is told his services will not be required. They can manage perfectly well without him, thank you.
