by John Holt
“Yes, Chief Inspector,” said Kendall. “You wanted to say something.”
The Chief inspector sighed once again. “Well to be perfectly honest, Mr. Kendall, I find that I am in need of your services.”
Kendall looked puzzled for a moment. “You in need of a private detective, I don’t believe it.”
Kendall smiled. He thought back to the first meeting that they had had with the Inspector, just a few months ago. He remembered the conversation almost word for word. It should be said that the Inspector wasn’t exactly impressed with Private Detectives at that time. In fact he had rather a negative view about them.
* * *
“So you’re a Private detective, eh,” Whittaker had said. “That’s what’s written down here.” He tapped the paper that he was holding. “It’s all there.” He paused for a moment. “That’s what it says. You are a Private Detective in Miami.” He placed the paper back on to the desk, and shook his head. “What’s that then? Some kind of Philip Marlowe are we?” He shrugged, and looked up at the ceiling. “You know I’ve seen all of those films. Humphrey Bogart, Robert Mitchum. The lot of them.” He started to laugh. “The Big Sleep. The Maltese Falcon. You name it.”
Kendall began to wonder what all of this had to do with the death of Bob Andrews. “Inspector I wonder …” he started to speak.
“Enjoyable in their own way I suppose, but it’s all fantasy of course,” Whittaker continued. “None of its real you know.” He shrugged once again, and looked at Kendall. “I mean there’s absolutely no way that they would really solve a crime is there?” He shook his head. “I mean a real crime that is, not one of those pretend things on the films.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Hollywood. Fiction. That’s all it is. Fairy tales. It’s all staged. Clever mind you, very clever. And very entertaining I admit. But I mean.” He shook his head and started to smile. “Stands to reason,” he continued, looking up at the ceiling, and leaning back in his chair. “Oh no, I’m talking about a proper crime. You know, real life. Things aren’t quite so easy in reality are they? They are far more complex, more involved.” He shrugged his shoulders once again, and sat up straight.
He looked at Kendall. “You need a real professional for that. Someone with the knowledge, and the experience. The skill. Someone who knows what they are talking about. Someone who can recognise the important things. To sift through the clues, and arrive at a logical, well thought out conclusion based upon the facts.” He paused for a moment. “It’s all to do with deduction you see,” he continued. “Deduction and logic.”
* * *
“But I thought that you said that we only had limited value,” said Kendall mockingly. “Like checking up on a husband who is playing around, or an unfaithful wife. That kind of thing. The odd insurance claim perhaps, or maybe checking up on a benefit cheat.”
“Alright Kendall, alright, you win. So I was wrong,” the Chief Inspector protested. “I have to admit that Private Detectives do have some uses, occasionally. How’s that? Better?”
Kendall smiled and nodded. “Go on, Chief Inspector, I’m listening.”
“Well the thing is, I was actually hoping to employ you,” the Chief Inspector started to explain.
“You were hoping to employ me?” replied Kendall disbelievingly, and trying hard not to laugh. “Am I hearing right.”
Kendall suddenly felt a sharp pain in his left calf. He looked at Mollie. She simply smiled sweetly, and nodded. Kendall looked back at Whittaker. “You were saying.”
“Perhaps we could get a drink somewhere and I’ll explain further,” said Whittaker. “There’s a pub just around the corner. How does that sound to you?”
A drink sounded like a good idea and Kendall did not need to be asked twice.
* * *
Ten minutes later the drinks had been ordered, and the three were seated at a corner table of the “Wig and Pen” public house. Although it was only four o’clock in the afternoon it was very busy.
“They are nearly all legal people in here,” Whittaker explained, as he looked around. “Barristers in between cases, that sort of thing. Lawyer’s Clerks. Oh, and of course we can’t forget the press can we?” He looked over to the far side of the room. “Daily Express boys,” he said indicating a group. “And just behind them we have the Daily Mail reporters.” He gave a cursory wave.
Kendall wasn’t really interested in the tour. “All right, Chief Inspector, so we know who’s who.” He paused for a moment, and looked over at the reporters. He smiled, and turned back to face Whittaker. “So tell me, what’s this all about?”
Whittaker was about to say something when a young lady arrived with their drinks. “Ah, here’s our drinks,” he said as they were placed on the table. “That’s a scotch for you, Mr. Kendall, and ….”
“Kendall, will do just fine,” said Kendall.
“Pardon me,” said Whittaker.
“The name is Tom Kendall, right,” Kendall started to explain. “The trouble is back in the department, the NYPD, there were four of us. Four Toms. Every time someone called out Tom, half the office looked around. The four Toms looked to see which Tom was actually wanted, the rest looked around to see if they had won their bet.”
Whittaker looked perplexed. “I don’t understand.”
Kendall smiled. “The office would lay bets as to which of us would be called next,” Kendall replied. “We even had odds quoted.” He paused as he remembered how things had been. “Anyway it got so bad the four of us decided to make some changes. We would no longer be called Tom. So there was Baker, Woods, and Young. I became Kendall, and that’s how it’s been ever since.”
“But you can call him, Tom,” said Mollie.
“Yes, right, you can call me Tom, I guess,” said Kendall. “As long as you don’t need to call it out loud.”
“Oh, right you are …. Tom,” Whittaker replied. “Well a scotch for …. Tom, and a martini for you Miss … Mollie. And that’s mine, a pint of Worthingtons.” He took a long drink, and looked at Kendall. He smiled. “Shouldn’t really you know. Drinking on duty so to speak.”
Kendall smiled. “It’s alright I won’t say a word.”
“Nor me, Chief Inspector,” said Mollie quickly. “Your secret is safe with me.”
The Chief Inspector looked back at the newspaper men. “Not so sure about that lot though,” he smiled and raised his glass. The reporters smiled and returned the gesture. “They’ll print anything for a decent front page.” He took a long deliberate drink. “I can see it now, Inspector Drunk In Charge.” He then turned back to face Kendall. “Now about this, er job,” he said. “Incidentally, what are your fees?”
“We’ll get to that later shall we?” said Kendall. “Now, how about the job you mentioned?”
Whittaker nodded and took another drink. “Yes, the job.” He nodded slowly and clicked his teeth. “I have a cousin,” he said. “Son of my mother’s sister actually. A few years younger than me though. Quite a few in fact. Thirty eight he is.” He paused and took another drink. “Well anyway he is over in Ireland, over on the west side, a little place called Killmacud. Have you ever been there?”
Kendall shook his head. “No, I haven’t,” he replied. He looked at Mollie. “We were going to Ireland if you remember, but well our plans got overtaken by events.”
The Chief Inspector nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “Right, well it’s a nice place, a small town you know the kind of thing, everyone knows everyone else.”
Being New York born and raised Kendall had to admit that he did not know anything about small towns. The thought of everyone knowing everyone else horrified him.
“So what about your cousin?” Kendall asked. “Can we maybe start with a name?”
“Brian Charters,” Whittaker replied.
“Is he Irish?” asked Mollie.
Whittaker shook his head. “Oh no, he’s English. Actually born in London, not very far from where we are now sitting in fact.”
“So does he live ove
r there, in Ireland?” Kendall asked. “In, where did you say?”
Whittaker shook his head. “Killmacud,” he replied. “He’s over there on a job.”
“A job?” said Mollie. “What kind of a job?”
Whittaker looked over to the group of reporters. “He’s one of those,” he replied pointing towards the group. He looked back at Mollie. “He works for the Daily Express, he is an investigative reporter.”
“Go on, I’m listening,” said Kendall, still wondering what the job was all about, and whether Whittaker would actually get to the point.
“Well it’s all a bit cloak and dagger, if you know what I mean,” Whittaker continued.
Kendall shook his head. He didn’t know what he meant. “I’m still listening” he replied, and took a long drink.
Whittaker drained his glass, and looked over at the bar. Catching the eye of the barman he indicated another round of drinks. He turned back to face Kendall. “Brian has been over there for about nine or ten months now,” he explained. “Originally he was staying in Killarney, but then about three months ago he moved a few miles south to Killmacud.” The Chief Inspector paused for a moment. “He has been investigating smuggling.”
“Smuggling,” repeated Mollie.
* * *
Chapter Four
A Case Of Murder
“That’s right, smuggling,” replied Whittaker. “There’s a lot of illegal drugs coming into Ireland. Once there, it’s a simple matter to get them over to Britain.”
“Is he working with anyone, or is he completely alone?” asked Mollie.
“No, he’s not alone,” replied Whittaker. “There’s somebody else working with him.”
Kendall nodded. He looked at Whittaker for a few moments. “Do you have a name?” he asked.
“Oh,” replied Whittaker suddenly realising. He shook his head. “No sorry, I don’t have a name.”
Kendall sighed. A name could have been useful. “Pity, but never mind, it probably doesn’t matter anyway. Carry on with your story.”
Whittaker was about to continue when the waitress arrived with their drinks. She placed the glasses down on the table, turned and walked back to the bar.
Whittaker passed the drinks over, and took a drink. “Anyway, it seems that he’s got himself into a bit of bother,” he continued. “A very serious bit of bother.”
“Bother?” repeated Kendall.
Whittaker heaved a sigh. “Yes you know,” he replied. “Trouble.”
Kendall nodded. “Oh trouble, I get you,” he said. “So what sort of bother are we talking about?”
Whittaker took another drink. “Well it’s a case of murder I’m afraid.”
“Murder,” repeated Mollie. Whittaker said nothing, but simply nodded agreement.
Another murder, thought Kendall. Just what I need. “Just stop right there, for a moment, and re-wind will you,” he said. “Then let’s have it from the top, slowly.”
Whittaker nodded and took a drink. “Well about three months ago he was out walking his dog, you know,” he started to explain. “Along the beach, at a place called Carrick Cove. It’s about seven in the evening. The sun’s going down, and it’s beginning to get dark, but it’s still bright enough. Anyway the dog goes wandering off for a while. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact it’s quite normal.” Whittaker paused for a moment and took another drink. “She’s a good dog, she don’t go far. She knows what side her bread is buttered on. If you get my drift.”
If pressed Kendall would have to admit that he didn’t get Whittaker’s drift, and furthermore what this had to do with buttering some bread was a total mystery to him.
“So what about the dog, Inspector?” said Kendall. “She’s gone wandering somewhere.”
“Ah yes, the dog. Katy. That’s the name of the dog,” Whittaker explained.
“Nice name,” suggested Mollie. “What kind of a dog is she?”
Kendall sighed loudly. “Does it matter?” he asked. “I mean is it ….”
Whittaker shook his head. “I don’t know I’m afraid,” he replied. “A bitser, you know.”
Kendall wondered what a ‘bitser’ was, but decided not to ask. “Katy, okay, so the dog’s name is Katy, and she’s a bitser,” he interrupted. “And she’s still wandering around the beach. Carry on.”
Whittaker looked at Kendall and nodded. “Well Brian finds the dog down by the shore line. He calls out but the dog doesn’t budge. Odd thinks Brian, Katy was usually ….”
“I know,” said Kendall. “She was usually such a good dog, and liked her bread buttered.”
Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his left calf. He guessed correctly that the pain was directly connected to Mollie’s right foot hitting him, and hitting hard.
The Inspector was totally oblivious to what was happening. “Anyway, Brian walks down towards the shore line,” he continued. “Suddenly he realises that the dog is standing next to a dark shape, a heap on the ground. He can’t tell what it is until he gets closer, and then he sees that it is the body of a man lying in the sand.”
“A dead body, I’m guessing,” said Kendall.
“Oh yes, quite dead,” replied Whittaker. Brian initially thought that the person must have fallen overboard from some ship, drowned, and had then got washed up on to the shore.” He paused and took a drink. “He bends down to take a closer look, and then noticed that the man had been stabbed, the knife is lying on the ground next to the body. He foolishly picks it up and as he is standing there an officer from the local Garda arrives.”
“Garda?” repeated Kendall. “What exactly is Garda?”
“Garda is what they call the local police,” Whittaker explained.
“Quite a co-incidence wasn’t it,” said Kendall. “Turning up right at that moment.”
Molly looked at Kendall. She knew exactly what Kendall thought of co-incidence. He didn’t believe in it.
The Chief inspector rubbed his chin. “Never gave that any thought, to be honest,” he said. “But seeing as you mentioned it, it does seem a bit odd I must say.”
“Understatement,” murmured Kendall.
“As I said they turn up, and see Brian standing there,” Whittaker continues. “They make some enquiries. It seems that the man was a certain Abel Nadir, who came from Turkey. Anyway they carry out a post mortem. He hadn’t drowned, there was no sea water in his body. He had died from three knife wounds. One to the chest, and two to the back, presumably as the man staggered, and fell to the ground. And they’ve charged Brian with the murder.”
“Charged him,” said Kendall smiling. “He is standing there, next to a dead body and he’s holding a knife, and they’ve charged him.” Kendall paused and took a drink. “It isn’t really that surprising is it?”
“I suppose not,” the Chief Inspector reluctantly agreed.
“It’s quite possible that you would have come to the same conclusion,” said Kendall.
Once again Whittaker reluctantly agreed. “In those exact circumstances, I have to say that you are probably right.”
“So tell me, can they prove it?” asked Kendall. “I mean, okay so they can put him at the scene of the crime, and maybe he had the opportunity, but what was the possible motive?”
“I’m not sure really. I mean I guess they think they can prove it,” replied Whittaker. “As for a motive, well robbery was suggested, but they found nothing on Brian. Nothing of any value.”
“I suppose he could have hidden whatever it was, couldn’t he?” suggested Mollie.
“He could have,” said the Chief Inspector. “But he didn’t. Brian wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Kendall shook his head. “I’ve heard that one before Chief Inspector, and I suspect you have too.”
“Correct, I have many times, but in this case it happens to be true, Tom.”
“Were you there?” asked Kendall. “I mean were you an eye witness. You saw the whole thing.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry to be so harsh but you never saw it,
so you can’t possibly know.”
The Chief Inspector drained his glass, and started to smile. “I hear what you say, Tom, and you are right. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see anything, but I know he didn’t do it.”
Now it was Kendall’s turn to smile. “How do you know?” he asked. “How are you so sure?”
“That’s simple, Tom,” Whittaker replied. “Brian told me, and I believe him.”
Kendall shook his head. “If I’d had a dime for every guilty guy who insisted that they were innocent, I’d be a wealthy guy, and I wouldn’t need to work.”
The Chief Inspector smiled. “But I know Brian, you see,” he said. “He didn’t do it.”
“You know, Chief Inspector, I would have expected you to say something just like that,” Kendall replied. “So no surprises there.”
The Chief Inspector smiled. “Okay, I understand that, but really I do know him, and he couldn’t have done it.”
Kendall was unsure, hesitant. “Maybe, maybe not. But why me?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” asked the Chief Inspector.
“Why me, it’s simple enough,” Kendall replied. He suddenly felt another sharp pain in his calf where Mollie had just kicked him once again. He glared at her and she smiled back.
“The Chief Inspector needs our help,” she said quite simply. “So why not you.”
“Why not just speak to the Irish police, said Kendall, ignoring Mollie’s comment. “The, what did you call them, the Garda. Why not let them deal with it. They do that kind of thing, and they won’t charge you a fee.”
The Inspector nodded. “Oh I see,” he replied and smiled at Mollie. “Well the truth of the matter, is that I don’t altogether trust them. The local police officer, Police Constable Seamus Donovan, is probably alright, but he is young and very inexperienced. I need someone independent. Someone who could investigate the matter without any strings attached. Someone like ….”
“In other words, someone like me,” said Kendall. “A private detective.”
“That’s right,” said Whittaker, smiling. “Someone like you, Tom. I would like you to go over to Ireland, to Killmacud, and see what you can find out, please.”
