by John Holt
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.
* * *
“THE CANDY MAN”
Jack Daniels P.I. Novella #1
The name’s Daniels, Jack Daniels – just like the whiskey you know. I’m a Private Detective. And I can’t help butting my nose into other people’s business. It’s what I do. You get used to it. It becomes a way of life almost. After a while it comes natural to you, automatic, like breathing, or eating, although not quite as enjoyable. It’s a habit that I just can’t break. I just can’t help it.
But sometimes it can lead you into trouble .....
“A DEAD CERTAINTY”
Jack Daniels P.I. Novella #2
I’m not a gambling man. I mean life’s one big gamble ain’t it. The odds are stacked against you, you just can’t win.
You know there are some people who will do anything to make sure that they win, even if it means eliminating anyone or anything that stands in your way.
They only bet on a sure thing .... A DEAD CERTAINTY.
Kendall
Chapter One
Victor Lowry
Throughout its one hundred and eighty year history the Virginia Sentinel had been no stranger to controversy and slander, ranging from bribery and corruption of local politicians during the election campaign of Theodore Roosevelt; to deliberately
misleading the public regarding the Cuban Missile crisis. It could be said that the newspaper almost invited disagreement, and argument. Some said that it actually thrived on confrontation.
Continually changing which side to support, the worst period in its history was possibly at the height of the Civil War, when, seemingly, it couldn’t make up its mind whether to support the Confederacy, or to throw its weight behind President Abraham Lincoln.
* * *
At the present time the Sentinel, along with several other newspapers, was embroiled in a scandal centered on allegations relating to phone hacking. Not just phone hacking, but accessing private emails, and voicemails. Allegations vehemently denied by the newspaper, and equally vehemently alleged by a number of celebrities. There had been no other news for weeks. Each day that passed more and more so-called A-listers came forward with stories of their privacy being invaded. Stories that, generally, received little sympathy, if any, or were dismissed out of hand. After all celebrities courted publicity didn’t they? Besides they were in the public eye, and as such they had no privacy. More recently, and more disturbingly however, there were allegations that the phones of ordinary members of the general public were also being hacked, especially those involved in high profile criminal investigations.
Still the newspaper continued to deny any knowledge or involvement, and condemned such activity out of hand. The Sentinel would never stoop to such action merely to get a story. The very idea was un-thinkable. Besides phone hacking was a criminal offence wasn’t it?
Then there came allegations of payments being made by the newspapers, to police officials for news items. Once again these allegations were denied both by the police, and by the media. Nonetheless, the allegations continued unabated.
* * *
A growing group of Senators and a senior Republican congressman have been calling for the authorities to investigate the allegations. Democratic Senator Robert Menendez, who wrote to the attorney general to urge an investigation, said that the claims that newspapers sought to "exploit information about... personal tragedies for profit" needed to be probed.
Recently there had been a major development, and the Government had announced the setting up of a public enquiry, to be headed by Senator Dan Warwick, chairman of the Senate Media Committee. The first hearings were due to start in a little over a month’s time, although what powers it would have were still to be determined, and several newspapers were skeptical. As were the general public.
“A waste of time,” was one view.
“A waste of money,” was another. “And that’s our money!”
“You’ll see it’ll make no difference anyway,” was a third.
Many people considered that it was un-necessary. There were already rules and regulations in place designed to safeguard the general public. Codes of practice had been drawn up long ago by the media, as a means of self regulation. Furthermore there were laws relating to phone tapping, phone hacking, and invasion of privacy. Many people considered that instead of setting up an enquiry the newspapers involved should just be taken to Court. After all phone hacking was an illegal activity wasn’t it? Let the law deal with them.
This type of enquiry very rarely achieved anything worthwhile anyway. It would take months and months to reach a conclusion, and put forward any recommendations. Even then it was most unlikely that any newspaper would feel bound by those findings and recommendations. Lip service that’s all it would be, nothing but words. An act, a show put on by the Government to say look we are doing something.
* * *
Victor James Lowry had been CEO and Chairman of the newspaper for just over ten years. He had built the business up into a vast media empire.
He knew that sooner or later he would be called to give evidence at the Warwick enquiry. He also knew that all he had to do was to deny all knowledge of phone hacking, or accessing emails, and keep on denying it. In that regard he was well practiced, he had been doing that for at least the past ten months since the first allegations had surfaced.
He knew nothing about such activities. His newspaper knew nothing about such activities. His newspaper would never contemplate such action. He would never sanction such action. The allegations were untrue, un-founded, and malicious.
He looked at the newspaper lying on his desk. The headline in three inch thick black type said it all. ‘The Sentinel Denies Phone Hacking.’ The news item continued to explain that further allegations had come to light, and that irrefutable evidence had been handed to the police, together with names of particular reporters allegedly involved, including two on the editorial staff of the Sentinel itself. Once again all allegations were being strenuously denied.
Lowry pushed the newspaper to one side. He would think about that later, much later. Right now he had other things to think about. Things like ‘The Man of the Year’ presentation which he was due to give in a few days time.
Lowry sat back in his chair and pushed himself away from the desk. He started to stroke his chin. Just how had he been selected for the title, ‘Man of the Year’? His wealth perhaps; or maybe his position; or perhaps it was his power. He smiled. Certainly all three would have been enough, but he knew that it was more than that. At the end of the day it came down to one thing, and one thing only -fear. They were all afraid of him. The old saying came to mind – if you can’t beat them, join them. It was as simple as that. They were afraid of him, and thought by showing favor they would somehow be safe. They were safe alright, for the time being at least. He looked across to the corner of the room, to a metal filing cabinet. Inside were a number of files, files containing information on various people. They were his insurance policies.
He looked back at the desk and picked up the papers lying in front of him. He heaved a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. For the past couple of hours he had been working on a speech that he was due to deliver in a little over a week’s time.
“The Man of the Year,” he nodded, and started to smile. A fitting tribute he thought. It was going to be one of the events of the year. Many of his friends would be there, and many of his enemies as well. What did they say about friends and enemies? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
Friends did he say. He shook his head. He didn’t have friends. He had no use for them. He didn’t need them. He had power, and he had control, what more did he need. People who claimed to be friends were only out for what they could get, and were only friends for as long as it suited their purpose.
So he didn’t have friends, but he certainly had enemies. There were many who were jealous of his business empire, and frightened of his power. There had been those, the foolhardy, who had tried vainly to bring him down. There were those who had tried to compete against him in business. They lacked his foresight, his vision, his aggression. They lacked his drive. He ran roughshod over everyone and anyone who stood in his way. If people got hurt what did that matter to him. If you don’t want to get burnt then stay out of the kitchen was Lowry’s watchword.
He started to read:
“Thank you all for being here today, to help me celebrate this award, Man of the Year. I am deeply honored, and it’s all thanks to you. After all I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you. I couldn’t have done it without you. You have helped me more than you know.”
He paused and started to smile. A true statement if ever there was one. It had all been down to them, or at the very least how he had made use of them. They would never know exactly what they had done, or how they had been used. They had been so gullible, so easy to manipulate, to bend to his will, like taking candy from a baby, except that in this instance it was a lot more than just a few sweets.
So how was he to actually start his speech? He could hardly address his assembled audience as “my friends”, because clearly they weren’t. “My enemies” could prove awkward. He decided to leave it as it was, suitably vague. He looked back at the paper, and continued reading:
“It is just over ten years since
I took over the helm at The Sentinel. In that short time it has evolved into the most influential newspaper in the eastern United States. But that growth has meant a lot of hard work, a lot of dedication, and ....”
“A lot of manipulation of very weak people,” he thought. Power, that’s what it came down to, power, and control. He started to smile. It had all been so easy.
“…dedication, and co-operation from my colleagues, and I thank them most sincerely. But we must not be complacent for now we face the greatest threat to the integrity of the press. The recent specter of phone hacking has brought into question the whole matter of the freedom of the press. The Sentinel is wholeheartedly against phone hacking, and welcomes the Warwick Enquiry and will co-operate fully. We must ….”
Then he began to wonder who would actually be attending the occasion. Lionel Harford, his one-time boss would certainly be there. As would Greg Tyler, and David Franklin, they would be too afraid not to attend. Then there was Tony Fletcher? Would he be there? Lowry shook his head. That was an unknown. You could never tell with Fletcher. He was unpredictable at the best of times. He would not wish to appear to be supportive by attending, but at the same time he would be curious enough to know what was being said about him. What about Martin Gardiner, would he attend? Most unlikely thought Lowry, especially after their last meeting just a day or two ago.
* * *
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.
