Kendall (Kendall Book 5)

by John Holt

  Lowry smiled. He knew different. Not only was what had happened predictable, but it had been deliberately, and meticulously, planned. He thought that he knew who had carried out the plan, but wasn’t absolutely sure. But what he did know was that he had lost money that day, a considerable sum of money.

  He wanted it back.

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  New York Police Department

  Tom Kendall, Detective second class, had been sitting staring at his desk for almost forty minutes, staring in utter disbelief and amazement. He had never seen the desk so clear, so empty. There wasn’t a thing on it. No files, no papers, no documents of any kind, not even one of those irritating Post-it stickers that he so hated.

  “Bill called ten oh five.” Bill who? So he called what about it? Is he going to ring back, or am I expected to guess his phone number and ring him? Or maybe I should just guess what he wanted, and save the phone call.

  “The captain wants you.” When? Where? Why?

  “See you at six.” Who wants to see me at six? Do they mean today? Where? Why?

  For as long as he could remember that desk had been constantly full to overflowing with files, hand written notes, statements, papers of all kinds, diagrams, photographs, newspapers, you name it. Today there was nothing. Nothing that is, apart from the coffee stains, and those dark circles that had been left behind from the endless mugs of coffee that had passed across its surface. The telephone was still there but it would ring no longer, not for him at any rate. He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. “Detective Kendall is no longer here,” he said to no one in particular. He sighed and replaced the handset. No longer here, he repeated almost in a whisper.

  Kendall had cleared his last case two days previously. It was a particularly nasty case of blackmail. The guy had been caught at the pay off. The reports were all written up, the evidence gathered and labeled, and the case file closed. Of course, he would be required to attend the trial as a witness, but that wouldn’t happen for at least ten or twelve months, maybe even longer.

  Casually he started to trace the circles with his finger. Round and round and round. First he went one way, and then the other. Then he began to tap the desk. How many mugs of coffee had there been anyway? He stopped tapping, and thought for a few moments. He calculated that there had been six to eight mugs a day, at least. Let’s say an average of seven. Three hundred and sixty five days, less holidays and weekends. That’s three hundred and …. No. That’s two hundred and fifty something days. So that’s …. seventeen hundred and …

  He shook his head, he couldn’t work it out, but it was a considerable amount that much was certain. What was more to the point, however, was how many calories did that amount to? He had no idea, but whatever the number, that coffee had certainly had an effect on his weight. When he had started at the department he was five feet seven tall, and weighed a hundred and ten pounds. Now he was edging one sixty. Okay, so it wasn’t all the coffee’s fault. The pizzas, fries and burgers hadn’t helped had they? Nonetheless there was no doubt that the coffee had played a significant role.

  Another thought suddenly came into his mind. What if all of those mugs had been perched on top of each other, how far would they have reached? He thought for a few moments, and then shook his head. He didn’t know that either. Who cares anyway, he announced to no one in particular. It was a stupid question. After six or seven they would probably have simply toppled over spilling hot coffee everywhere.

  He slowly swept his hand across the surface of the desk. It felt smooth, and cold. If that desk could only talk, what stories it would tell! He heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. ‘My Life In Crime’ by a desk.

  Talking of mugs, he whispered as he looked at the empty chair at the side of the desk, and suddenly thought of all the people who had sat there.

  “Saunders,” he said in a hushed voice. “Dan Saunders. There was a real charmer if ever there was one. Killed his girlfriend for no reason, he just felt like it.”

  Kendall sighed once again, and then nodded his head. “Carter. Jack Carter, a born killer. A knife, gun or a rope, even poison, it didn’t matter to him. He enjoyed it. No question about that. He killed two people in a bank robbery that went horribly wrong. Then he went on to kill five others just for spite. He was currently serving ninety-nine years with no chance of parole.”

  Kendall looked up and stared across the room for a few moments. “Ron Stryker, now there was a real professional crook. He was into everything. You name it he did it, robbery, drugs, homicide. It was all the same to him as long as it paid well, sentenced to one hundred and twenty-five years in San Quentin.”

  He looked back at the chair, and shrugged. There had been every kind of low-life imaginable sat in that chair, blackmailers, murderers, and drug dealers. From professional gangsters, to second rate hoodlums, tough guys who knew their way around, except that sooner or later they would slip up and be put behind bars where they belonged.

  He went back to tracing the circles. That’s it then. It’s all over. He was yesterday’s news, obsolete, no longer required, of no further use. Finished, just like that. He snapped his fingers. Finito, gone, done, over, complete. Ten years, he murmured. Well nine years, ten months, two weeks and four days to be precise. He looked over at the wall clock. And two hours and twenty three minutes. Where had the time gone? Just what had he done with it? What had he achieved? How many of those low-lives had he taken off the streets? One hundred maybe, perhaps two, he wasn’t sure.

  * * *

  “Today’s the day, then Kendall,” a voice cheerfully called out from behind him, and a hand slapped him hard on the back. Both the voice and the hand belonged to Detective First Class Alan Mills.

  Kendall looked around, a puzzled frown on his forehead. “Sorry Alan, what did you say?” he asked.

  “I said today’s the day,” Mills repeated. “Your last day, you know. Your parole finally came through. You’ve served your time. They’re setting you free.”

  Kendall nodded. “Oh yes, sure. My last day” he replied less than enthusiastically.

  It almost sounded as though it really was his very last day. He nodded once again, and tried to smile. He failed spectacularly. This was certainly his last day. There was no doubt of that. After almost ten years, he was finally leaving the New York Police Department. Had he made his mark, he wondered, a lasting impression. Would he be remembered favorably, or just be forgotten like yesterday’s news.

  But this was the day he had been looking forward to for some while. The day he had planned for. The day his life was going to change. However, instead of feeling elated, he somehow felt like the condemned man lined up against the wall, waiting to be shot. He shook his head trying to shake away the feeling. It didn’t work. Somehow he could not shift the feeling of utter depression. He looked across at his soon to be ex-colleagues, and his firing squad. There was Simpson, Taylor, his partner Jefferson. They saw him looking and waved. Who would be the first to aim and fire, he wondered.

  Were there any last wishes, he heard a distant voice whisper. Would you like a blind fold? No he didn’t want a blind fold. Maybe he would like a last cigarette? He shook his head. No, he didn’t want a last cigarette. Besides he didn’t smoke. It was bad for your health. And where was the hearty breakfast that was generally offered to the condemned man anyway?

  He did have a last wish though, several in fact. Number one, he didn’t want this to be his last day. Number two, he didn’t want to be stood against a wall and shot. And most importantly number three, he didn’t want to be set free.

  He wanted things to be as they had been a few short months ago.

  * * *

  He hadn’t felt that way six months ago though when he had handed in his notice. Then he had been excited, and looking forward to a new role in life. A new direction he had said, a new year, and a new career. It had, however, come as something of a surprise to the Captain.

  * * *

  The
Captain read the letter slowly for the third time. He looked up at Kendall, and lay the paper down. He shook his head in disbelief. “Are you sure about this Kendall? I mean really sure. This is serious stuff you know.”

  Kendall nodded. “I’m absolutely sure Chief.”

  The Captain shook his head once again. “But why, I just don’t understand. Haven’t you been happy here?”

  Kendall nodded. “Yes sir, sure I’ve been happy,” he replied. “It’s been great.”

  “Then why?” said the Captain. “Why leave? I mean here you have security, your colleagues, your pension, a gold watch to look forward to, you know.”

  Kendall smiled and shook his head. “I know that Captain,” he replied. “But ……..”

  * * *

  Policing was in Kendall’s family. His father had been a Police Sergeant with the 22nd Precinct, and so had his grandfather before him. Even his uncle had been a police officer in Chicago. After going from one dead end job after the other, Kendall joined up, he was twenty-seven.

  He had been a reasonably good police officer, although in truth he hadn’t progressed very high up the chain of command during his time. In fact he had barely progressed at all. There wasn’t a problem regarding his abilities. They were fine, slightly above average in fact. He was considered to be a fairly good cop, who had a pretty good record. He was just too easy going, that was the opinion of the review board. He was too laid back, too casual. He lacked leadership qualities. No drive. No get up and go.

  NYPD Precinct

  For his part Kendall felt somehow restricted by the police force. No, not the police force exactly. It was the procedures. He felt that they were holding him back, hampering his full potential. There were far too many rules and regulations, and too much paperwork to deal with. Not like in his father’s time. Then it had been much simpler. Then you just got on with the job of fighting crime. Then you were out there cracking heads. Now, you spent too much time filling out forms, instead of being out on the street catching criminals, slapping them around a little to get them to talk. Now you didn’t dare harm the criminals, they would more than likely sue you for compensation for damages, or claim that their human rights were being infringed.

  There were too many people who thought they knew better, telling him what to do, and how to do it. Now life was harder, more stressful. There was just too much pressure, with people just waiting for you to make a mistake, ready to pounce. People constantly on his back, do this or do that. He didn’t need that. He thought that he could do a whole lot better being his own boss. In fact he knew he could do better.

  At least he couldn’t do any worse, could he?

  * * *

  “It’s been a long while, Captain, and I feel that I need a change, that’s all,” Kendall replied. “You know in a few months time we go into a new year.” He paused for a moment. “A new year and a new start, I just fancy a new career.”

  The Captain heaved a sign. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, in such a way as to imply that Kendall really hadn’t got a clue what he was doing.

  Kendall looked at the Captain for a few moments. Did he know, he wondered. Really know that is. He shook his head. He wasn’t sure, but he had to give it a go.

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a long while now, sir,” he replied. He smiled. Thinking about it is one thing, but knowing, that was an entirely different thing altogether. “I’m sure that it’s the right thing to do.”

  The Captain shook his head once again. “I think you’re wrong Tom, but it’s your decision. What are you planning on doing exactly?” he asked.

  Kendall started to smile. “I’m going to start my own detective agency,” he replied. “I’m going to be a Private Investigator.”

  “You’re kidding, right,” said the Captain. “You want to be a private investigator?” How many times had he heard that before? “Why? What makes you think you’ll succeed where dozens of others had failed.”

  * * *

  Kendall shook his head. He wasn’t kidding. He had wanted to be a Private Investigator for some time now. Although he would never admit it he had been greatly influenced by the old detective movies starring Humphrey Bogart, and Robert Mitchum. Not that he would be anything like the characters that they portrayed. He wasn’t the tough guy type like Sam Spade, or Philip Marlowe. He didn’t have the build for it, or the strength. He had never been that good at boxing, even at school. In fact if the truth be known he wasn’t that good at any sport. Furthermore, despite the training in the Department he was just no good with a revolver. If he actually hit the target it was because he was aiming at something completely different.

  So be it. He would just have to rely on brains wouldn’t he? Some people had said that he should have just given up on the whole idea at that point.

  Whatever could be said about Kendall, one thing was certainly true. He was stubborn. Once he had an idea in his head, he just never let go. Like a dog with a bone. He was determined to be a private investigator and that was that. Nothing was going to change his mind.

  * * *

  The Captain had heard it all before. Several police officers had left to start up their own agency. They all had grand ideas, to work for themselves and be their own boss. They had all failed and most of them had returned to the department.

  “Do you remember Logan?” he asked. Kendall nodded. Yes, he remembered Logan. “He had the same idea didn’t he? He went up to Boston, or somewhere.”

  “It was Detroit, sir,” corrected Kendall.

  “Okay so it was Detroit,” the Captain agreed. “Wherever, who cares, six months afterwards he was begging for his old job back. Remember?”

  Kendall nodded. “That’s right I remember,” he replied. “But he hadn’t worked it out properly had he?” The Captain looked puzzled. “I won’t make the same mistake. I’ve thought about it long and hard. And I know exactly what I have to do.”

  The Captain shook his head. “And precisely what is that?” he asked.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Grandiose Ideas

  Kendall knew exactly what he had to do. He had grandiose ideas. He was going to be the best there was, as simple as that. Of that there were no doubts in his mind. No question about it. It was going to be a small pool, sure enough. He knew that, but that didn’t matter because he was going to be the big fish. And it would be his pool, with nobody else swimming around, and dirtying the water for him. His pool, and his rules, and things would be done in his way.

  There would be nobody telling him what to do, or how he should do it. If he didn’t want to do something, then he wouldn’t do it, and who was there to say anything different. Okay so if there were any mistakes made, they would be his mistakes, his fault. Nobody else to blame, but the rewards would be his, and his alone. Any kudos that was going would go to him.

  He would soon be swapping his five hundred dollars a week for five hundred dollars a day, five hundred plus expenses. He would handle only the big time cases, the expensive ones. He wasn’t interested in just any old case. He would leave those to the others, the lesser outfits. He would take his pick, and only take the cases that he wanted. The important cases where the stakes were high and so were the rewards. Cases that involved important people, influential people, people who could be of use to him. The missing heiress and the huge reward offered, or the millionaire being blackmailed or held to ransom. He knew exactly the kind of case that he wanted. Anything else would simply not do, and it would just be turned down, flat. No question.

  * * *

  “You have to choose the right client it’s as simple as that,” Kendall replied. “You want the clients who were willing, and able, to pay the high fees.” Kendall shook his head. “There’ll be no small time jobs for me. Oh no. I’ll take on nothing but the more important ones, the ones that pay good money.” He paused for a moment or two. “You know it takes just as long to do a cheap job as it does an expensive one. Believe me expensive is better. No,
take my word for it. I know exactly what I want.”

  Once again the Captain shook his head. “Kendall you’ll be dealing with missing husbands, unfaithful wives, and insurance claims, and that’s it.” He paused and smiled. “I know it and you know it.”

  Kendall shook his head. “You’ll see.”

  “And the inevitable surveillance,” the Captain continued. “Spying on some two timing husband, you’ll see.”

  Kendall shook his head once again. “Not a chance, believe me,” he replied.

  “Whatever you say, Kendall,” the Captain replied. “Either way, it will be hard work with little payoff. You’re too laid back, you know that. And you’ll be on your own, with no back up. Any problems you will have to solve them alone, there’ll be no one to help. It’ll be tough going. You’ll crack in a week.”

  Kendall shook his head. Oh sure, the captain was right, he was laid back. It was one thing that had always been against when it came to the chance of promotion. But he certainly wasn’t lazy. He wasn’t afraid of hard work. “It’ll be hard work I grant you sir, but I’ll be handling big important cases, and charging high fees.”

  The Captain smiled. “You’ll be begging for your old job in no time,” he said.

  Kendall shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  The Captain shook his head. “You’ll be back, mark my words.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” Kendall replied. “I’ll only need two or three big jobs a year. I’ll be fine.” He paused for a few moments. “Besides I’m sure that I can always ring you guys. You wouldn’t refuse to help me would you?”