by John Holt
“A professional service at reasonable rates,” she suggested.
Kendall nodded. It sounded alright to him. He repeated the words as he wrote them down. This was looking good, very good.
“Finished yet?” asked Mollie.
“Oh almost,” Kendall replied. “I just need something to finish with and that’s it.”
“I suggest that you put our telephone number, and an invitation to give us a call,” Mollie replied.
“An invitation to give us a call,” Kendall repeated. “What do you mean?”
Mollie shook her head. “Simple put Please Call, and the telephone number.”
Kendall nodded. “That’s what I thought. I was about to do that,” he said, as he wrote down exactly what Mollie had said. He looked at the sheet of paper, and smiled. “That looks pretty good to me,” he said. “I think I did a pretty professional job there.”
He handed the paper to Mollie. “What do you think?” he asked.
She glanced at the paper and handed it back. “It’s really quite brilliant. I couldn’t have done better myself,” she said making a face at him.
* * *
A few days later the advertisement appeared in the Freeport Times, a free local newspaper, and the Virginia Sentinel.
* * *
Days went by and there was nothing. The advertisement had produced no results. He continued to scan the newspapers looking for anything that might have been of interest. But it was always the same. There was nothing except more and more cases of phone hacking.
“There’s nothing happening here,” Kendall said. “You might as well go home.”
Mollie looked up from the magazine that she was reading. She looked at him and smiled. “And the minute I go out that door, and then the phone rings, then what?”
Kendall shook his head. “There’s nothing happening I tell you. You’re just wasting your time.”
She shook her head. “Well I’m staying anyway. Just in case. Besides it’s my time.”
Kendall shook his head once again. “But I can’t afford to pay you,” he said.
“Oh,” she said. “That’s what this is all about.” She paused for a moment, and slowly closed the magazine. “Fine, so you can’t pay me anything. Right, take me on as your partner then.”
Kendall looked puzzled. “Partner?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she replied. “Partner, that’s what I said.”
Kendall shook his head. “You can’t be a partner.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you why not,” Kendall replied. “You know nothing about detective work, that’s why not.”
“What’s to know?” she asked. “Besides you’re the detective, not me. I’ll just be a sleeping partner.” She paused for a moment. “Look, it’s obvious to me that all of this is all new to you. It certainly is to me. So on that basis we are equal wouldn’t you agree?”
Kendall didn’t know whether to agree or not, but she did have a point.
“If I were your partner you wouldn’t need to pay me if there was no work would you?” she continued.
Kendall nodded, that sounded good he had to admit. “Partner,” repeated Kendall almost choking.
“That’s right,” said Mollie. “Partner, you know it will be to your benefit, you do see that don’t you?”
Kendall wasn’t too sure of what he saw, but somehow he was being talked into something. He nodded his head slowly. “I suppose,” he replied hesitantly.
“Well there you are then,” she said. “It makes perfect sense to me to take me on as a partner.” She smiled at him. “Deal,” she said holding her hand out
Kendall sighed and took a deep breath. He had to admit that she made a good point, and the idea of not paying her certainly sounded attractive. Besides in the present circumstances this time next week he would be looking to Social Security for a handout, so it hardly mattered did it. “Have it your way,” he said. He took her hand and shook it.
She smiled and nodded her head. “Can I have that in writing?”
Kendall gave a deep sigh. “I’ve been in business a few short weeks, and I have a partner already.”
Mollie wasn’t listening. She was busy writing something. “There that should do it,” she said. She handed the document to Kendall. “You should sign that at the bottom,” she said.
Kendall took hold of the paper, and was about to sign.
“Read it first,” she yelled.
Kendall shook his head. He read it through slowly. “So you are to receive fifty percent of the income, is that right?”
“Fifty percent of the profits,” she corrected him. “That’s what happens when you take on a partner.”
“Fifty percent,” Kendall murmured. He shrugged. So be it. Fifty percent of nothing didn’t sound too onerous. He signed the document. “You seem to have covered everything,” he said, as he handed the paper back to her.
Mollie looked at him. “Thank you, that’s fine,” she said. “Now we need to get organized. First we need a filing system.”
Kendall smiled. “But there’s nothing to file.”
She shook her head. “Oh yes there is,” she said. “There’s this agreement that you just signed for a start. I’ll make a copy for the file.”
Kendall smiled. “Fine, whatever you say.”
“What about your books?” she asked.
“Books?” said Kendall. “What books?”
“Your accounts,” she explained.
Once again Kendall sighed and shook his head. “It may have escaped your attention but we haven’t made any money yet,” he said wearily. “So there are no accounts.”
“But you still have expenses don’t you?” Mollie said. “I mean there’s the rent, and the electricity. There’s the stationery, and the coffee.” She smiled. “Don’t forget the chocolate cookies. It’s all part of running the business, and all has to be paid for.”
Kendall thought for a few moments. “Well I received a small settlement from the Department,” he explained. “It wasn’t a huge sum, but it will finance the business for a while. It won’t last long, maybe nine months, a year at the most.”
“Well there you are then,” Mollie said. “It all needs to be recorded. We’ll start now. All I need is a book to enter the details, and a file. Later I’ll put it all on the computer. So where are the receipts?”
“Receipts?” repeated Kendall. “What receipts?”
She shook her head. This was going to be harder than she thought. “The receipts for the things that you’ve bought,” she replied. “The coffee, the cookies, your rent, you know.”
Kendall nodded. “Well I didn’t actually keep everything you know.”
“Let me have what you’ve got,” she said. “And from now on you keep receipts for everything, and I mean everything. Right, even to the packet of chocolate cookies we have.”
* * *
“So tell me, just exactly what does a private detective do?” Mollie asked.
Kendall looked at her, and frowned. “Well, er, we investigate things,” he replied.
“Don’t you follow people around?” Mollie asked.
“Some do,” replied Kendall.
“And you spy on people don’t you?”
“It’s not spying, it’s now called surveillance,” Kendall corrected.
Surveillance, that was the modern word for it, Kendall explained. “The nice word, the Hi-Tech word, but in reality its plain old fashion snooping. Poking around where you weren’t wanted. Butting your nose in, following people around, tailing them wherever they went, asking questions, that kind of thing. Anything, in fact, that was considered necessary in order to find out information, and discover any hidden little secrets, or indiscretions.”
It was a bit like this phone hacking he thought. To find any scrap of information. Perhaps it was information involving the wayward wife, or maybe the unfaithful husband. “It’s all pretty mundane stuff,” he continued. “Usually it’s pretty dull, and borin
g, and it’s always routine.”
“It’s spying whatever fancy name you give it,” said Mollie. “Do you do that kind of thing?”
Kendall shook his head. “Only if absolutely necessary,” he replied. “It’s not the kind of thing I have in mind.”
Mollie nodded. “Oh I see. But can you really afford to be choosy? I mean you do need some work to pay the bills.”
Kendall shook his head. “Oh don’t you worry about that. That’s small time. We’ll get something, something big. You mark my words.”
“So what about missing people?” she asked. “Would that be okay?”
“You mean the missing husband, things like that?”
“That’s right,” Mollie replied.
Kendall smiled and shook his head. “They’ll be no missing husbands, I tell you that straight. Here and now.”
* * *
Chapter
Nine
The Missing Husband
Apart from more and more evidence of phone hacking, reports were beginning to come in alleging that the Sentinel had hacked into the voicemails of a number of victims of crime, including the young school boy Peter Jobson. According to the reports the owner of the newspaper, Victor Lowry had strongly denied all knowledge, but had also indicated that a full internal investigation would be carried out.
* * *
Kendall shook his head, and placed the newspaper on to the desk. He wasn’t really that interested in this phone hacking business. He was getting just ever so slightly bored with the whole thing. There had been no other news for longer than he cared to remember. There was nothing he could do about it anyway, and besides he was becoming increasingly worried at the lack of an income. He had been scanning the newspaper for the past twenty minutes in the hope of finding something that might have been of interest, and might possibly lead to a job, but to no avail.
“There’s nothing here,” he murmured angrily. “Nothing at all only more of this phone hacking. The Sentinel is promising a full internal investigation, whitewash more like.” Kendall pushed the newspaper aside.
Mollie looked up. “Well I think it’s disgraceful, and the Government should do something about it. I just can’t believe that it was going on and that guy Lowry says he knew nothing about it. He was in charge. He should have known.”
“He knew all right,” said Kendall. “He must have known.” He took one more glance at the paper and heaved a sigh. “Hope we find something soon, much longer and we won’t even be able to afford to buy the newspaper.”
“We will, don’t worry, something will turn up,” said Mollie reassuringly. “How about a coffee?”
“Can we afford it?” Kendall asked.
“We can cut down on the sugar,” said Mollie.
“Okay let’s go for it,” said Kendall as he leaned back in his chair, and put his feet up on the desk, and closed his eyes.
Just as Mollie reached the kitchen there was a knock on the door. Mollie stopped, and turned. There was a second knock. Kendall opened his eyes, looked towards Mollie and nodded. He stood up, took a few buff colored folders off of a shelf, and scattered them casually on to his desk. There was a third knock. He sat back down, opened one of the files, and started to read. “Right, open it,” he whispered
Mollie opened the door. Standing in the doorway was a young lady, perhaps in her early thirties. Good looking, and smartly dressed. Smartly dressed was hardly the right term for someone who worn Versace as every day clothes, and Harry Winstone jewelry like anyone else wore a sweater.
Kendall stood up. “Can I help you,” he asked. “Do come in.”
The lady walked into the room as though she owned it and sat down in the chair opposite Kendall.
“Mollie, could you bring some coffee please?” Kendall said. A thought suddenly came into his mind. I hope she uses the good crockery. I wonder if we actually have enough cups.
“Mr. Kendall, my name is Fletcher, Miranda Fletcher,” she said. “My husband is Tony Fletcher the industrialist.” She paused for a moment watching Kendall closely. “You may have heard of him.”
Kendall shook his head. He had to admit that he had never heard of Tony Fletcher the industrialist, or indeed any other Tony Fletcher for that matter. “Sorry never heard of him,” he replied. “But there again he’s probably never heard of me.”
She stared back at him, puzzled.
Kendall shook his head. “Skip it,” he said. “So what can I do for you?”
“My husband left home a couple of weeks ago,” she began explaining. “There has been no word from him since. I want you to find him.”
Kendall’s heart sank. Oh no not a missing husband case. His worst nightmare was coming true. This was the very kind of case that he had vowed to steer clear of. He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t usually take on cases like that. Maybe that agency a few blocks away would take it.” He paused for a few moments. “Churchill, that’s the name. Maurice Churchill. Try him.”
Mrs. Fletcher smiled and shook her head. “They sent me to you.”
Kendall heaved a sigh, and thought for a few moments. Then he started to smile. “Try Armes and Stanley, they are on Howbridge Drive, about halfway down. They are very good with the missing husbands. It’s their specialty.”
She shook her head. “I went there. It’s more like three quarters the way incidentally.” She smiled. “They told me that I would be much better coming to you.”
Kendall looked puzzled. “They did?” he said. “Why on earth would they say that I wonder?”
“They said that you had no work, nothing at all,” she said. “They thought that in the circumstances you could devote all of your time to me. I would, therefore, get a much better service, and most probably at a competitive rate.”
Kendall nodded. That made sense he supposed, but his worst nightmare just got worse. With such a recommendation how could he possibly refuse her? Easily, that’s how. “A competitive rate?” he repeated.
“They actually said that I could probably get you dirt cheap,” Mrs. Fletcher explained.
“They actually used those words?” said Kendall.
“The very same,” said Mrs. Fletcher.
Kendall shook his head. “I’m sorry. It really isn’t my kind of case,” he said. “You really should try elsewhere.” He paused for a moment as he saw Mollie standing by the kitchen door, shaking her head.
“Take it,” she mouthed silently.
Kendall shook his head and looked back at Mrs. Fletcher. “You’d would be better off believe me,” he continued. “Try Jim Shivas over on Elm, he’s pretty good so I hear.”
“I did,” she replied. “Unfortunately they are so busy they couldn’t possibly take my case for at least six months. So you see I really am stuck.”
Kendall shook his head once again. If she was trying to win him over that was not the way. Phrases like dirt cheap and stuck were way off the mark. “I really am sorry,” he said. “It isn’t my …”
“I’m willing to pay one hundred dollars per day, plus expenses.”
Kendall looked at her. “One hundred dollars,” he repeated slowly.
“Plus expenses,” she replied. “And there will be a minimum payment of five thousand dollars.”
“We’ll take it,” Mollie suddenly announced to everyone’s surprise, as she walked back into the room. “As a special case, as a favor if you like, especially for you. And our fee is a hundred and fifty per day, plus expenses, one thousand dollars in advance.”
Kendall looked at Mollie and sighed. She smiled at him, and returned to the kitchen area. “I’ll get some coffee then.”
Kendall looked back at Mrs. Fletcher. “Yes, yes we’ll take it,” he said hardly believing what he was saying. “Please forgive me Mrs. Fletcher, my manners.” He smiled. “Now tell me everything.”
“Well as I said he left home two weeks ago. I’ve heard nothing from him since.”
Kendall nodded. “All right, Mrs. Fletcher, can we get some basi
c details.” He reached for his pad. “Firstly, where is home?”
“Melrose Avenue,” she replied. “221 Melrose.”
Kendall wrote the address down. Melrose, or Millionaires Row as it was known by the peasants. He could have doubled the fee easily. “Now can you describe your husband?”
She thought for a few moments. “I’m not good at that kind of thing,” she said. “But he is about five seven I think, and about one hundred and seventy pounds.”
Kendall wrote the information down. “Color of eyes?”
She shook her head. “Oh a greenish-blue I think,” she replied. “I don’t really know how to describe them.”
Kendall shrugged. “Right, greenish-blue, what about his hair?”
“Brown,” she replied quickly. “Dark brown and it’s quite wavy.”
Kendall made some more notes. “How old is he?”
“Oh Tony he’s just fifty seven,” she replied. “About six weeks ago.”
Kendall nodded, as he made more notes. “What else can you tell me?” he asked.
She heaved a sigh, and opened her handbag. “I have a photograph,” she said. “It’s not a recent one. That is it was taken two or three years ago.”
She handed the photograph to Kendall. He looked at it for a few moments. “Can I keep this?” he asked tapping the photograph.
“Certainly,” she replied.
“Do you know where it was taken,” asked Kendall.
She shook her head. “No idea I’m afraid. Is it important?”
No it wasn’t important, thought Kendall. I just enjoy wasting my time asking stupid questions. “Probably not,” he replied. “Curious that’s all.”
At that moment Mollie returned with the coffee and cookies. Kendall looked up, and smiled. She had, indeed, used the good crockery.
She placed the coffee on to the desk, and passed a cup to Mrs. Fletcher, and one to Kendall. “Help yourself to the cookies,” she said as she sat down.
Kendall passed his notes to Mollie. She quickly glanced at them, and then looked up. “What was your husband wearing the last time that you saw him?” she asked. Kendall smiled and nodded.