by John Holt
“What was in the envelope?” Kendall asked.
The police officer shook his head. “We never found anything,” he replied. “But we are certain that there is some connection between the dead man, and Anglo-Irish Commodities, but what that connection was we have no idea.”
“Anglo-Irish Commodities,” repeated Kendall. “Do you know anything about them?”
The officer heaved a sigh. “Nothing much, I’m afraid. A small import export business based in Dublin, run by a man named Alex Peterson.”
“Have you spoken with him?” asked Kendall.
The officer shrugged. “A couple of detectives paid him a visit a few days after the murder,” Donovan replied. “He was most apologetic, but really he knew nothing about the dead man. As for the envelope, he was guessing, but it was probably just a circular letter that had been sent out. Nothing important.”
Kendall shook his head, and heaved a sigh. “So why would Abel whatever his name was, bother to keep an empty envelope?”
“That’s a good question, Mr. Kendall,” the officer said. “We wondered the same thing.” He paused for a moment. “We believe Abel kept it for that address.”
“Some kind of contact point, you mean,” suggested Kendall. “Work maybe, or perhaps Mr. Nadir was one of the imports that Mr. Peterson had brought in.”
“Precisely what we had thought,” replied Donovan. “But without any proof we were unable to make any progress.”
Kendall nodded. “I can see that,” he replied. “One last thing Constable. I wonder if I might be allowed to visit Mr. Charters?”
The officer nodded. “I don’t see why not,” he replied. “He has been taken to Cork Jail awaiting his trial. It’s about eighty miles away. We didn’t have the necessary facilities here you understand.” He paused for a moment and closed his file. “I’ll see what I can do, sir. You’re staying at O’Rourke’s I understand.”
“That’s right,” said Kendall.
“When would you like to go?”
“How about Thursday?” Kendall replied. “That’s three days from now.”
“Should be alright. It’ll give me enough time to make the arrangements,” Donovan replied. “I’ll be in touch.”
Kendall stood up, and started towards the door. “By the way, when is the trial?”
Donovan walked to the door and held it open. “It’s due in six months’ time, I believe,” he replied. “I’ll check the exact date and let you know.”
“Much obliged,” replied Kendall. “In the meantime I think I’ll pay a visit to Megan Duffy.” He held out his hand. “Thank you Constable, you have been very helpful. I shall certainly mention you to the Chief Inspector.”
* * *
Chapter Twelve
Megan Duffy
It was just a few minutes after three o’clock when Kendall’s rented car pulled up outside Rose Cottage, home to Megan Duffy. Kendall switched off the engine, but continued just to sit for a while, admiring the building.
Dating from the middle of the seventeenth century the cottage was small, but neat. It was the traditional “chocolate-box” cottage loved by tourists, with its leaded light windows, and it’s perfectly manicured thatched roof, with not a reed out of place. The structural timber beams were painted black; and the infill plaster panels were a pastel shade of pink. The trellised archway over the front door was covered with clematis. The front garden was a mass of rose plants of every colour imaginable. Clearly Megan Duffy loved her garden.
Kendall looked at his watch. Five minutes after three. He was very early, and wasn’t actually expected until three thirty. But just sitting there, and looking, wasn’t such a bad way to kill a few minutes of time was it? In fact it was quite pleasant. The sun was shining, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Pity he hadn’t brought along a flask of coffee, and a few chocolate cookies, he thought. That would have been perfect. But there you couldn’t have everything could you – mores the pity.
* * *
Kendall had telephoned Mrs. Duffy earlier that day. It was more than obvious that she wasn’t happy about meeting with him. Oh, she was more than willing to help in any way she could, but she was doubtful that she could add anything to what she had already told the police. So there really wasn’t any point was there?
“Such a shocking thing to happen,” she had said. “This is normally such a quiet peaceful village. You don’t expect anything like that. I mean somebody actually getting murdered on your doorstep as it were.” She paused for a moment. Was she crying, Kendall wondered.
“But I’ve already told that young police officer Constable Donovan all I know,” she continued. “Such a nice young man, and so clever.” She raised a handkerchief to her eye. “They have already arrested someone anyway haven’t they?”
Kendall had to admit that someone had already been arrested, and had actually been charged with the murder. “That’s right,” he said. “But you know I’m not entirely convinced that the person had actually carried out the crime.”
Mrs. Duffy clearly wasn’t too impressed. “Well, Constable Donovan thinks he did it. He said so,” she replied. “So he must be right, mustn’t he?”
Kendall heaved a sigh. “Maybe he is right,” he agreed reluctantly. “But if you could spare me a little of your time, it would be appreciated. There’s just a few things I’d like to go over.”
Mrs. Duffy was still unimpressed. A few things to go over, indeed. What did that mean? Besides it had all been said hadn’t it? What more was required? She hated everything to do with the whole affair. She didn’t really want to talk about it. She just wanted to put it out of her mind. It was just too terrible. A man had been killed, murdered. That kind of thing never happened before, not here, not in Killmacud. The most newsworthy thing to happen previously was Maurice King winning the Church bazaar flower show for the sixth time; or possibly it was Mary Dowd receiving first prize for her fruit cakes, three years in a row. But murder, it didn’t bear thinking about.
She couldn’t think of the last time that a crime had been committed in the village, if ever. She wondered if the speeding ticket that was given to Mr. Quinn three years ago, counted as a crime, or was it the time that old Mr. Mulligan had got drunk, and broke a window at O’Rourke’s. Surely they didn’t count. But this was altogether different, this was a murder. She shook her head trying to shake all thoughts of the dead man from her mind, but to no avail. She had witnessed the whole thing. At least she had heard the two men arguing, their voices raised in anger. Then she had seen the struggle start. A struggle that had ended with the death of one of the men. She had actually seen the man fall to the ground.
She had told the police everything she knew hadn’t she, and now some stranger wanted to go over it all again. Why? Bringing it all up once again. She didn’t need that. It was all very upsetting.
“No,” she said finally, trying to sound forceful. “I don’t really think so, there’s no point.” She paused for a moment. “I’m sorry.”
It was a big mistake to apologise. It showed a weakness, a chink in the armour, and Kendall leapt at the opportunity. “There’s no need to apologise, I understand completely,” he said almost in a whisper. “I know that it must be very hard for you, but ....” his voice trailed away, and he heaved a deep sigh.
“I’ve already told the police everything that I ....” she started to say.
“Yes, you have, and I’m sure that you have been more than helpful, and that the police are very appreciative,” Kendall interrupted. “It’s just that we need to be very sure that we have the right man in custody. We don’t want to make a mistake do we? We don’t want the wrong person locked up do we? You do see that don’t you?”
Mrs. Duffy admitted that yes she did see that, but she was sure that there had been no mistake. “Constable Donovan was so sure, though.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” said Kendall. “And you are perfectly correct. The police certainly think they have the right man, and maybe they have, but
if you could just spare me a few minutes of your time ....”
Mrs. Duffy heaved a sigh. It was clear that this stranger was not going to give up in a hurry. She looked at the clock on the mantelshelf. It was ten minutes to eleven. She had to attend a meeting at the church, and she was going to be late.
“All right, all right,” she announced. “You may come along if you like, but I don’t think it will do much good. Anyway, half past three, this afternoon. The address is Rose Cottage, on the Coast Road. Anyone will tell you how to get there. But I really must go now, I’m already late.”
She hung up, put on her hat and coat and hurried out. She was already regretting her decision. It would be a total waste of time, but she had agreed, and she would keep her word. It’s what the Reverend Trevor Smith would expect.
* * *
Kendall looked at his watch. It was almost three thirty. He got out of the car, and walked towards the front door. He was just about to knock when the door opened.
“Mr. Kendall, you are certainly very punctual, right on time.” Mrs. Duffy stood back and beckoned Kendall in. “Do go in,” she said pointing to the room on her left. “Make yourself at home. I’ll make some tea.” She turned around and made her way to the kitchen.
The room was bright, and airy. Everywhere Kendall looked there were bright coloured flowers, all freshly cut. Bright floral curtaining hung at the windows. To either side of the brick inglenook fireplace, were bookcases containing porcelain figurines, and a number of photographs in silver frames. On one of the high backed chairs Kendall noticed recently discarded embroidery. He picked it up, and smiled. She would much rather be doing that, than meeting up with me, he thought, as he carefully returned it to its place. On the coffee table lay a copy of the local Church magazine. Kendall idly picked it up, and flicked through the pages. He then replaced it on to the table, and walked over to the french doors which lead out onto the garden. He stepped out on to the paved patio area. Everything was so green and lush, following the recent rain. He looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. Then he heard a noise behind him. Mrs. Duffy had returned.
“Here we are Mr. Kendall. I wasn’t long was I,” she said, as she placed a tray on to a side table. “I hope you like chocolate biscuits.”
Kendall walked over to where she was standing, and sat down. “I love chocolate biscuits.”
She smiled and passed him a cup. “Hope you like tea. Help yourself to the biscuits,” she said, as she sat down in a chair opposite. “Now what can I do for you?”
Kendall picked up a biscuit, dunked it into his tea and took a bite. “If we could start at the beginning,” he replied. “I understand that you were on your way home that night, is that right?”
Mrs. Duffy took a drink of tea, and nodded. “That’s right,” she replied. “There had been a church meeting.” She paused for a moment and took another drink. “I’m on the flower committee you understand. It’s our responsibility to make sure that the Church is properly prepared for the services. The Vicar likes it just so, he’s very particular like that. Anyway, we had been talking about decorations for the Sunday service. It was going to be a special day you see, and things had to be just right.”
Kendall didn’t see, but nodded anyway. “So you left the Church at what time?” he asked.
Mrs. Duffy thought for a few moments. “It was twenty five to seven. I looked at the church clock as I passed by.”
Kendall picked up another biscuit. Once again he dunked into his tea. “These are good,” he said, as he started to chew. “So what time was it when you reached the cove?”
“It was about ten minutes to seven, something like that. Maybe a few minutes before,” she replied. “It’s not too far from the Church, but I’m not very fast on my legs these days, I’m afraid. Arthritis, you know.”
Kendall smiled sympathetically. “So you arrived at the cove, and you saw two men fighting,” he said.
Mrs. Duffy shook her head. “They were just talking at first,” she started to explain. “They were both smoking. I saw the flare of the match, as they lit their cigarettes, and then I saw the glow from their cigarettes. It all seemed very friendly.”
“Could you see their faces?” Kendall asked.
She shook her head. “Not really, they were so far away, and it was getting dark you understand. And my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”
“So you couldn’t positively say that one of the men was Mr. Charters,” Kendall continued.
She nodded. “Constable Donovan said that it was Mr. Charters,” she replied. “So it must have been him mustn’t it? I mean who else could it have been?”
Kendall heaved a sigh. “I’m puzzled,” he said.
Mrs. Duffy looked at him. “What is it?” she asked.
Kendall took a drink. “You said that you saw Mr. Charters at about ten minutes to seven.” Mrs. Duffy nodded.
Kendall shook his head. “It couldn’t have been Mr. Charters then. The Constable told me that Charters took that same route every night, walking his dog, and always at about seven o’clock.”
Mrs. Duffy smiled, and reached for the tea pot. “Well he must have been early that night,” she replied. “Perhaps he had an appointment with the man. Who knows?”
That was certainly possible, Kendall thought, although far from convinced. Didn’t Donovan say that Mrs. Mulvy had seen Charters a few minutes to seven, crossing the road heading towards the cove? He decided to say nothing more for the time being.
“More tea?” Mrs. Duffy asked.
Kendall smiled and nodded. “That would be very nice, thank you.”
She poured the tea and handed the cup to Kendall. “I really should get some new glasses,” she said holding up her spectacles. “These are a few years old now,” she continued. “But it’s such a bother you know, and they can be very expensive.”
Kendall smiled at her. “I understand,” he replied, and took a drink.
“How’s the tea?” she asked.
“Well, I’m not usually a tea drinker,” Kendall started to explain. “Us Americans tend to prefer our coffee, but I have to say that this is very, very, nice.”
Mrs. Duffy smiled. “Have some more of the biscuits, please,” she said as she pointed to the plate.
“Okay, so the two men were talking,” Kendall continued, helping himself to another chocolate biscuit. “Go on, what happened next?”
“Well I don’t really know what happened, but suddenly the talking became louder. Then they were arguing,” she explained. “They were shouting at each other. I don’t know why.”
“Were you able to tell what they were arguing about?” Kendall asked.
She shook her head again. “As I told the Constable, I don’t know what they were saying,” she replied. “There was just a lot of shouting, but I couldn’t hear what they were actually saying. My hearing isn’t so good these days.”
Kendall smiled. Her legs, her eyes, and her hearing. What else, he wondered. “What happened next?”
“Then the fighting started,” she replied. “I saw one man fall to the ground. That’s when I decided to come back here to telephone for the police.”
“So you never saw anything after the man fell?” said Kendall.
Mrs. Duffy shook her head and smiled. “How could I, if I was here?”
Kendall had to admit that clearly she couldn’t see anything else. “So you never saw the man actually killed?”
She shook her head. “I saw a man fall to the ground that’s all,” she replied. “If only I had called the police sooner, then maybe that man would still be alive today.”
Kendall shook his head. “There’s no point thinking like that,” he said. “You called them as soon as you could. You couldn’t do any more than that. Nobody could.”
She heaved a sigh. “I should have ran home sooner, but instead I stood and watched the fighting. Then the man fell to the ground. I shouldn’t have waited, I ....”
Kendall smiled, as he imagined her actually
running, especially with her arthritis. “But that cannot be right,” he interrupted. “Think about it. If you hadn’t waited then you wouldn’t have seen the man fall would you?”
Mrs. Duffy had to agree that was true.
“So you wouldn’t have had any reason to ring the police would you?” Kendall continued.
She nodded. “No, that’s right,” she replied, taking another drink of tea.
“So you rang the police,” said Kendall. “What time was that?”
Mrs. Duffy thought for a few moments. “It was a few minutes to seven,” she replied. “I had just got in and I went straight to the telephone.” She smiled and shook her head. “But I’ve already told the police ….”
“And the police arrived at about seven, I understand,” Kendall interrupted. He heaved a sigh. “So for almost ten minutes the man who fell was still there, lying on the ground, badly hurt maybe, or even dead at that time, and the possible murderer just stands there waiting.” He paused, and took a drink. “Doesn’t seem very likely to me.”
Mrs. Duffy heaved a sigh. “Maybe, maybe not,” she replied. “I really couldn’t say. But I do know that Constable Donovan arrived, and found Mr. Charters on the beach, and that he has been charged with the murder.”
Kendall nodded. “Yes, that’s right, he has been charged,” he agreed. “Did you know him?”
Mrs. Duffy started to smile, and Kendall noticed a sparkle in her eyes. “Mr. Charters you mean? Oh, yes I know him. Not well though, you understand” she replied. “He was friendly enough, but never had much to say. A bit shy I’d say. Kept himself to himself.”
“So do you think he would be capable of such a thing?” asked Kendall.
“To kill someone you mean?”
Kendall nodded.
She shook her head. “Well I would never have thought it, I must say, but the police think he did it. And they must know mustn’t they?”
The police must know, thought Kendall. He shook his head. How many times had he heard that, and how many times had it been proved wrong. “Maybe,” he said. He then drank the rest of his tea, and stood up.
