Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  “No, I don’t think so,” Duncan replied quickly. A brief pause, then he continued, though much slower now. “Mr. Kendall, I am absolutely certain that Frank had nothing to hide or to be ashamed of. I knew Frank Reynolds for only a very short time, a little over two years, in fact. I first met him shortly after he first became Governor. I was invited to one of those business functions, you know the sort of thing. There was to have been another of those functions only a day or two after his death. In fact preparations were to take place the day after his death. There was to be a large marquee set up in the grounds. Quite a few people were expected.” He suddenly fell silent, staring at the far wall.

  “Mr. Duncan,” Kendall coaxed.

  Duncan suddenly looked up. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking back, day dreaming.” Duncan shook himself. “Where was I? Oh yes.” He looked directly at Kendall, and continued. “I have to say that there was not a finer, more just, upright man than Frank Reynolds.”

  Kendall glanced back at the papers. He wasn’t good at mathematics, but he knew that something didn’t quite add up. If there were no truth in the blackmailer’s claims, then why would you bother paying up? Why not just ignore it, call their bluff? Why not go to the Police?

  “About this blackmailer,” Kendall said. “You said that you thought that you had put a stop to it. What did you mean by that? Had you found out who it was?”

  Duncan shook his head. No he had not actually found the blackmailer. But he had arranged to pay him off once and for all, or so he thought. “A drop off was actually arranged to make the payment,” he explained. “I think I actually saw somebody, although not clear enough to identify whoever it was. Anyway the money was picked up, and that was that. That’s how we got the documents back. We had actually set up a plan to catch the person that evening. Sadly the plan hadn’t worked, and they got away. But we had the documents, and I had thought that it was all over there and then. As far as I was aware there was no further contact. I certainly never heard anymore.” He paused once again. “But there must have been, Frank just never told me, that’s all. Obviously the blackmailer wasn’t satisfied, and had kept copies. Maybe he asked for more money. I’m not really sure Mr. Kendall. This is all conjecture you understand.”

  “Oh sure, I understand,” said Kendall. Something else that doesn’t add up, Kendall thought. If the blackmailer had been paid off, and the documents retrieved, why did Duncan still have them? There was something decidedly odd about this blackmail thing.

  “Mr. Duncan, could I keep hold of these for a while?” he asked, indicating the papers in his hand.

  Duncan moved forward, closer to Kendall. “Oh no, no,” he replied, taking hold of the papers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do that. It’s out of the question.”

  “Mr. Duncan if you have any evidence, no matter how small it is, it could just be enough,” Kendall said. “A tiny shred of information, it could be the missing piece that leads us to the killer. And I’m sure that you want us to find his murderer don’t you?”

  “Of course I do”, Duncan quickly responded. He looked at the papers in his hand for a few moments, and then he handed them back to Kendall. “If you think they might help, here you are,” he said.

  “I’m sure that they will be most useful,” said Kendall.

  “If I think of anything else,” Duncan continued. “I’ll let you know. Where can I reach you?”

  Kendall gave Duncan the details of his address and telephone number.

  “I hope that I have been of some use, Mr. Kendall”, he said. “Although I fear that I have told you nothing of any real consequence.”

  “Let me be the judge of that,” Kendall said. He was sure that Duncan had actually told him a great deal, without realizing it. He stood up and started to leave. Duncan followed a short distance behind. As he reached the doorway, Kendall stopped, and turned to face Duncan. “One thing puzzles me though, Mr. Duncan”, he said slowly.

  “What is that Mr. Kendall?” Duncan asked.

  “If it was a deliberate murder, as you seem to be suggesting,” Kendall said. “How was the murderer so sure that Governor Reynolds would be going out to the garage that night, at that particular time?” He looked at Duncan for a while. Duncan looked puzzled, and said nothing. “I mean, Reynolds only went out there to find your wallet, didn’t he? If you hadn’t telephoned he would not have stirred would he? You see the problem I have don’t you?”

  “Perhaps it was just a coincidence after all,” Duncan said. “Perhaps Frank was going out there to meet somebody anyway. Perhaps it was nothing to do with my wallet.”

  “Coincidence?” repeated Kendall. “I don’t think so.” He paused for a few moments. “I have another little problem.”

  “Yes, go on,” said Duncan.

  “I understand that normally, when you visited the Governor, you usually stayed quite late. Twelve thirty, one, maybe later. Is that right?” Duncan nodded. “And yet on that particular evening you left fairly early. Why was that?”

  “I wasn’t feeling very well. Aches and pains. A chill,” Duncan responded. “That’s all. No great mystery.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that Mr. Duncan,” said Kendall. “I hope that you are all right now. The thing is though, why would the Governor arrange to meet someone at eleven thirty, when he fully expected that you would still be there possibly until one o’clock in the morning.”

  Duncan said nothing.

  “No whoever committed this crime they knew that Reynolds would be there, at that precise time, in the garage. They knew with absolute certainty. Nothing was left to chance.” Kendall held the bundle of papers up above his head. “Thank you for your help,” he called out. “I’ll return these as soon as I can.” He then turned and quickly walked out of the room.

  * * *

  Duncan closed the door and walked over to his desk. He sat down staring at the far wall. Suddenly he lunged out with his right arm sending the remainder of his drink crashing to the floor. He formed his hands into fists and raised them into the air. He then brought them down hitting the desk hard. He lunged out once more. This time the stationery tray hit the floor. His breathing became rapid. He started to drum his fingers on the desktop.

  There was a tap on the door, the butler entered. He looked at Duncan, and then he looked at the floor by the desk. “I heard a noise, sir,” he said nervously. “Can I get you anything?”

  Duncan looked up. “No,” he replied angrily. “Now get out.” The butler did not need to be told twice. Duncan stared at the door until it was completely closed. He then reached for the telephone. He quickly dialed the number, and sat back in his chair. The call was answered after a few moments.

  “Brady,” he asked. “Kendall has just been here, asking a lot of questions.” He paused for a moment. “Brady, are you still there?” Brady was still there. “Kendall knows something but exactly what I am not sure.”

  “Do you want me to dispose of him?” asked Brady.

  “No not yet,” Duncan replied. “I need to know exactly what he knows, and who he has spoken to.” He paused for a few moments. “Pick him up and find out what he knows. Once we get the information out of him, then you can dispose of him.” He put the telephone down.

  * * *

  Chapter 27

  Senator John Thaddeus Mackenzie

  Kendall had telephoned Senator Mackenzie a few hours earlier that day, in the hope of making an appointment. Mackenzie had been most reluctant at first. He could see no reason to meet up with a Private Detective. Besides he had already told the police everything he could think of. There was nothing more to be said. So there really was nothing to be gained.

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Kendall, I really cannot see any purpose in having a meeting with you,” he had said. “I am sure that the police are doing all that they can with regard to the death of Governor Reynolds, let us leave it to them shall we?”

  Kendall had not been put off. “I’m sure that they are doing a fine job, sir,” he had said, althou
gh he was far from sure. In fact he wasn’t sure at all. “And maybe you are right. Maybe there is no point in our meeting. But it’s just possible that you could be of some assistance to me. You would be doing me a great favor, sir. You never know you might be surprised. You might just be a big help.”

  “I can be of no help to you Mr. Kendall,” Mackenzie had said quite emphatically, cutting Kendall short. “The police say it was an intruder, and that is an end to it, as far as I’m concerned. I have nothing more to add. I’m sorry, but there it is.”

  Kendall said that he fully understood the Senator’s point of view, and agreed with him completely. “You’re right, I’m quite sure. The police know what they are doing, no question. But if you could just spare me a few minutes of your time,” he pleaded. “Just ten minutes, that’s all. Ten minutes, five. I would be most grateful.”

  Mackenzie had finally given in, much against his better judgment. “All right Mr. Kendall, come along today at three o’clock,” he had said reluctantly. “I’ll spare you ten minutes, and that’s the limit, not a second more. But I really cannot see that it will be of very much use to you. In fact I know that it will be a waste of time. Yours and, most importantly, mine.”

  “Let me be the judge of that, sir,” Kendall responded eagerly. “I’ll see you at three o’clock then. And thank you, Senator, thank you very much.”

  * * *

  Exactly at the stroke of three o’clock, Kendall arrived at Senator Mackenzie’s home. It was a large house, constructed sometime in the 1930s, he guessed. It wasn’t pretentious, but it was okay. Actually, it was more than okay. It was impressive, but simple and elegant at the same time. It would do, he decided.

  A Secret Service agent greeted him at the front door, and, after checking his identification, admitted him to the foyer and then showed him into the formal living room, leaving him almost immediately. The Senator was seated on an upholstered loveseat at the far side of the room, over by a pair of French doors. As Kendall entered the room, Mackenzie stood up and started to walk across the room to greet him.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Kendall,” he said, as he glanced at the clock on the mantle. “I see that you are prompt, as well as being persistent—and dare I say it, insistent.” He paused for a moment. “That’s three out of three! At the very least it indicates that you appreciate the value and importance of time.” Kendall said nothing. “Do come and sit down,” Mackenzie continued, pointing to an overstuffed armchair.

  “Senator, it’s really very good of you to see me at such short notice,” Kendall replied as he shook the Senators outstretched hand.

  “You gave me very little choice if I remember correctly,” replied the Senator.

  “I won’t keep you too long, I know that you are a busy man,” said Kendall. “Incidentally, can I offer you my congratulations on your nomination, sir?” Congratulations indeed. If this guy ever actually gets to be President, I’m leaving the country.

  “Thank you, Mr. Kendall,” Mackenzie replied. “I hope that I can rely on your vote come November.” Kendall did not reply, but coughed loudly. Mackenzie merely smiled. Obviously he could not rely upon Mr. Kendall’s vote. “Do sit down,” he said. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or perhaps you would prefer something a little stronger?”

  Kendall would certainly have preferred something a little stronger, but it was too early in the day, even for him. “Coffee will be just fine, sir,” he replied.

  Mackenzie picked up the handset on the intercom. When it was answered he ordered the coffee. He replaced the handset, and turned to face Kendall. “Please, please do sit down,” he said. “The coffee won’t be long.” Kendall thanked Mackenzie, and sat down. Mackenzie never took his eyes off of Kendall. He wondered what this was all about. Certainly he knew that Kendall was a private detective, and certainly he knew that it was about the murder of Frank Reynolds. But he also knew that Kendall had no authority in connection with that case. So why was he here? What did he want? Mackenzie sat down and looked at his watch. “Nine minutes left, Mr. Kendall,” he said. “What exactly can I do for you?”

  Kendall was looking through the French windows, out on to the garden. He turned to face Mackenzie. “That sure is a beautiful garden, sir,” he said, as he glanced back through the windows. “Do you do it yourself?” He mentally kicked himself. Of course he doesn’t do it himself. What a dumb question, Kendall.

  “Oh I wish I had the time, Mr. Kendall. Sadly I don’t,” Mackenzie replied. “I love gardening, but these days it has to be done for me.” He looked out of the window. “I have a whole team of gardeners. It is all their doing. They decide what to plant and where. They decide what to prune, and when. I can take no credit for it whatsoever,” he said, turning to face Kendall once again. “What about you Mr. Kendall, do you have a garden?”

  “No, afraid not,” Kendall replied. “I have two window boxes back home. One with red flowers in, the other with purple flowers, I don’t even know what type they are,” he continued wistfully. “I’d really love a garden like that one, though.” He turned and looked out at the garden once more.

  “I’m so glad that you like it, Mr. Kendall,” Mackenzie replied, as he too glanced through the window once again. “Perhaps one day you will have a garden like that. In the meantime, however, I am afraid that your time is passing rather quickly. Eight minutes left. What is it that you want?”

  Kendall checked his watch, and looked towards Mackenzie. “I really am sorry to disturb you like this,” he said. “I know that you are a busy man, but this could be very important to me. I just have a few questions …”

  Kendall was interrupted by a gentle tapping on the door. A few moments later the door opened and the coffee was brought in, and the tray placed upon the table. “Thank you,” Mackenzie said. “That will be all. If I need anything I’ll call.”

  The servant turned around and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Mackenzie moved over to the table. “Cream and sugar Mr. Kendall?”

  Kendall was staring out of the French windows once again. Mackenzie poured the coffee and placed it upon the table close to where Kendall was seated. Next to the coffee cup was a small bone china plate, with a gold rim. On the plate were three cookies. Kendall was disappointed to note that they were plain cookies, and not the chocolate ones that he was so fond of.

  “Please help yourself to the cookies,” Mackenzie invited.

  Kendall looked at the plate. Three cookies, he thought, three. Times must be hard. He wondered if Mackenzie could spare them all. He then looked at the coffee cups, white bone china with a gold rim. They looked quite expensive, it was no wonder Mackenzie couldn’t afford too many cookies. The cups were certainly fancy though, very fancy indeed, but they were so small. Kendall wondered if there was actually enough room for the coffee, the cream and the sugar, all at the same time.

  He thought of his coffee cups back at the office. They were also white, but that was where the similarity ended. They certainly were not fancy. They were, however, serviceable, with plenty of room for coffee, and a good helping of whiskey on top. He looked at the small cup once again. He was beginning to wish that he had gone for the something stronger after all.

  “Now Mr. Kendall,” Mackenzie continued. “Where were we?”

  Kendall picked up a cookie and tried to dunk it into the cup. The cup was either too small, or the cookie too large. It didn’t matter either way. He picked up his cup, petrified that he would drop it. He had visions of smashed bone china all over the carpet, the coffee seeping into the plush pile. He drained the coffee in one, and placed the cup safely back on to the saucer. He took a bite at the cookie, and then laid it back on the plate.

  “I would just like to ask a few questions concerning Governor Reynolds’ death.” He looked down at the table, and noticed there were crumbs on the linen tablecloth. He casually tried to brush them away. He stopped abruptly as he sensed Mackenzie watching him. “His murder, I should say.”

  “Yes, a te
rrible, terrible, thing, Mr. Kendall,” Mackenzie replied. He looked at Kendall. There were now crumbs all over the carpet. “It was such a shock, that such a thing could happen. It’s too dreadful to think about. It’s a terrible thing normally, but when it is a friend.”

  Kendall picked up the cookie once again and started to eat it, wishing that he had more coffee. More crumbs fell on to his shirtfront. He brushed them on to the table. “What can you tell me about that night?” he asked quite simply.

  “I have already told the police everything I could think of,” Mackenzie replied. “With all due respect, I fail to see why I need to answer the same questions to you.”

  Kendall looked straight at Mackenzie. “Senator, I have been asked to investigate the murder of Anthony Shaw.”

  The Senator looked up quickly, both surprised and shocked. “I thought that we were talking about Frank’s murder,” he said.

  “We are, Sir,” Kendall replied. “I don’t know how, or why, but I believe that the murder of Anthony Shaw and the murder of Governor Reynolds are connected in some way. Any help that you can offer me, anything at all, would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Mr. Kendall, I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I can help you at all,” Mackenzie replied. “I know nothing whatsoever about the death of Mr. Shaw. Nothing that could possibly help that is.”

  Kendall looked at him. He was disappointed, but not surprised. Shaw’s murder had prompted nothing more than a brief item on the local radio, together with a paragraph on page ten of the local newspaper. It didn’t even rate a mention in the national press. It was not surprising that Mackenzie knew nothing about it. “Senator,” he said quietly. “I’m desperate. I need help. It’s as simple as that. I just need help. Any help.” He paused, looking directly at Mackenzie. “If there is anything that you can tell me about the Governor’s death, anything at all, it might just provide the link with the death of Anthony Shaw that I am looking for.”