by John Holt
Detective Sergeant Evans had quit smoking just a few days ago. He was actually getting very good at quitting. This was his eighth time in a little over two years. He had managed to last two days four hours and forty two minutes without a cigarette. For him that was a record.
He looked at the man sitting at the table, the light shining directly into his eyes. He shrugged and took a deep breath. One day he would beat that record, he thought. One day he would actually go three days without a cigarette. In the meantime however he needed a cigarette, needed one badly.
He took one long last drag, and stubbed the cigarette out. Then he took another from the packet lying on the table in front of him, and lit it. One day, he murmured, but not today. Today he had a murderer to convict.
“All right Gardiner, why did you kill him?” he asked as he slowly walked around the table, blowing large billows of smoke into the air, adding to the stuffiness of the room.
“Come on Gardiner,” said Officer Byrne, striking the table hard. “Why’d you do it?”
“I never killed him,” the man replied. “Why would I kill him?”
Evans ignored the question. He looked at his watch. Seven ten. He shook his head. That ball game was starting at eight. He felt the side pocket of his jacket. In there are two tickets for that match. Much good they were to him. They had already spent five hours questioning the guy. Five hours and twenty-six minutes. They were getting nowhere.
“Gardiner, you were there, at the apartment, “Evans said. “We know that. We have witnesses. Your fingerprints were everywhere.”
“So you might as well tell us everything,” added Byrne.
The man looked up at the officer, shielding his eyes from the glare. He nodded. “Sure I was there, I don’t deny it.” He shook his head. “I’ve been to his apartment several times before.”
I’m not worried about the other times, Gardiner,” said the detective. I’m only concerned with yesterday.”
Gardiner nodded. “I don’t deny it,” he said. “I was there that afternoon, the afternoon he died.” He paused for a moment. “It was about four, or just a little after.”
“So why were you there?” the detective asked.
“I had an appointment,” Gardiner answered.
“You had an appointment?” repeated Evans disbelievingly.
“That’s right,” Gardiner insisted. “Mr. Lowry had sent me a note asking me to come round.”
“Seems highly unlikely,” said the detective. “Especially after you threatened him like that, just a few days ago.”
Gardiner heaved a sigh. “Well maybe but we had an appointment none the less.”
“Do you know what he wanted?” asked Byrne.
“I worked for him.” He shook his head, and looked down at the table top. “Used to work for him I should say. I was hoping that our, shall I say, unpleasantness could be sorted out, and he would offer me my job back that’s all.”
“Why had you been fired?” asked Byrne.
“Why had I been fired?” repeated Gardiner, shaking his head. “That’s a good question. It was a few days before the Man of the Year thing. He called me into his office. I knew was it was about I had requested a meeting, but I never expected what was to come. That was a real shocker.”
* * *
“Mr. Gardiner, you can go in,” said the young lady.
Gardiner looked up. She smiled at him and pointed to the door. “Mr. Lowry will see you now.”
Gardiner looked at the door and took a deep breath. His heart was pounding, and he noticed that his hands were shaking. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Perhaps he should come back another day. Perhaps he should just forget it completely.
“Go on,” said the girl. “Mr. Lowry doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Gardiner nodded and tried to smile. He stood up and walked slowly to the door. As he reached the door he stopped. He turned around and looked at the girl.
“Go on,” she said pointing at the door.
The door suddenly opened. “Martin, don’t just stand there,” said Victor Lowry. “Come on in.”
Gardiner entered the room, and sat down.
Lowry closed the door and followed. “Now Martin what can I do for you?”
Gardiner took another deep breath, trying to control the shaking.
“Well what is?” said Lowry. “I haven’t got all day.”
Gardiner swallowed hard. “Well sir, it’s about the hacking,” he replied. “The phone hacking.”
Lowry looked at him for a few moments. “What about the hacking?” he asked.
Gardiner took another deep breath. “It’s like this Mr. Lowry. I’m sorry but I’m not prepared to do it anymore.”
Lowry put his hands together and started to tap his fingers. “Let me understand you correctly,” he said slowly. “You’re not prepared to work here anymore. Is that right?”
Gardiner shook his head. “No sir, that’s not what I said. I said that I wasn’t prepared to do the phone hacking anymore.”
Lowry smiled. “It’s the same thing, Martin.” He reached across the desk and pressed the intercom button. “Julie, Mr. Gardiner will be leaving us today,” he said. “Please make up his salary. Oh and add two weeks extra pay in lieu of notice.” He flipped the off switch, and looked at Gardiner.
“That’s all,” he said. “Close the door on your way out.” He looked back at his desk and took up his pen. “I shall see to it that you never work again. Good bye.”
* * *
“Why had you been fired?” Byrne asked again.
“I had refused to do something,” said Gardiner. “Refused to continue doing something to be precise, and so he fired me.”
“And you just thought you would make a nice friendly visit and you would get your job back,” said Evans. “As easy as that.”
Gardiner took a deep breath. “Well I didn’t think it would be easy, no. But he had asked me to come.”
“So where’s the letter?” asked Evans. “The invitation?”
Gardiner looked down and heaved a sigh. “I don’t have it.”
“You don’t have it,” repeated Byrne. “Odd wouldn’t you say?”
Gardiner made no reply.
“I don’t think there ever was such a letter,” said Byrne.
“There was a letter,” protested Gardiner.
“You just thought you would threaten him a little, that’s right isn’t it,” said Evans.
“No it wasn’t like that,” said Gardiner shaking his head.
The officer shook his head and placed an envelope on to the table in front of Gardiner. “Ever seen that before?” he asked.
Gardiner looked at the envelope, but said nothing.
“There’s a letter inside,” Evans continued. “A threatening letter.”
Gardiner continued to stare at the envelope but still said nothing.
“It’s a letter from you,” the officer explained. “Recognize it now?”
Gardiner shook his head and pushed the letter aside. “No,” he replied. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Makes interesting reading,” said Byrne, ignoring Gardiner’s denial.
“Should I perhaps read some of it to you?” suggested Evans. “It might refresh your memory.” He picked up the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. He smiled. “It’s quite short, and to the point.” He looked at Gardiner, and then looked back at the letter. “It seems that our Mr. Lowry was not altogether an upright citizen.” He looked back at Gardiner. “Is that right?”
Gardiner nodded. “His company was involved in phone hacking if that’s what you mean.”
Evans nodded slowly. “And you threatened to expose him is that right.”
“No, that’s not right,” protested Gardiner. “I never wrote that letter. I’ve never seen that letter.”
“Admit it, Gardiner, you wrote that letter didn’t you,” Evans insisted.
Gardiner shook his head. “I tell you I never wrote that letter.”
“I wanted my job back that’s right,” Gardiner agreed. “But that’s all I wanted.”
“So why did you kill him?” asked Evans
“I didn’t kill him I tell you,” Gardiner cried out. “You’ve got to believe me.”
The officer tapped the envelope. “This letter suggests something different.” He smiled. “Now, I’ll ask the question once again. Why did you kill him?”
“I didn’t kill him,” Gardiner repeated, thumping the table hard. “I didn’t write that letter.”
“You threatened to kill him,” said Byrne. “At the dinner the other night, isn’t that true?”
“It was just talk,” said Gardiner shaking his head. “The talk of a drunken angry man that’s all.”
“Oh you were angry all right,” said Evans. “I’ll give you that. We figure you threatened him. It got out of hand and you shot him.”
Gardiner shook his head. “That’s not true,” he said. “There was an argument, a heated argument. I wanted my job back. He was angry, and just laughed at me. He told me that I would never work again. He said that if ever I tried to contact him again he would call in the police. In the meantime he said that I should just get out, and he never wanted to see me again.”
“So you killed him?” said Byrne.
“No, I never killed him,” Gardiner insisted. “I tried once more to get him to see reason, and he pushed me away. There was a struggle. Lowry fell and hit his head on the coffee table. He just lay there, unconscious. I wasn’t going to hang around so I left. And that’s all there was to it.”
“Come on, Gardiner admit it,” said Evans. “You killed him. You could say it was self defense. The Court will go easy on you.”
“Twenty years maybe,” suggested Byrne.
“I never killed him,” Gardiner repeated.
“What time did you leave his apartment?” asked Evans, in a sudden change of direction.
“About four thirty I think,” said Gardiner. “Not really sure.”
“It was just after six,” corrected Byrne. “A neighbor heard you.”
“I left at four thirty,” Gardiner repeated.
“Joe the security guard saw you go,” said Evans. “He called out to you.”
“It wasn’t me,” protested Gardiner. “It must have been the real killer.”
Evans shrugged and shook his head. “The time of death according to the doctor was between five and six.”
“He was alive when I left,” Gardiner replied. “He was unconscious, but still alive.”
“What did you do with the gun?” asked Byrne.
“Gun?” said Gardiner. “I don’t have a gun. I’ve never had a gun.”
Evans stood up and shook his head. He looked at the wall clock. Seven thirty. If he hurried he might just make the game. He looked at Gardiner. “You were there Gardiner, we know that,” he said. “You’ve admitted as much. You had the motive, and the opportunity. You killed him. Book him.”
“Martin Gardiner you are charged with the murder of Victor Lowry on the afternoon of 4th July,” said Byrne slowly and formally.
“Don’t forget to read him his rights,” Evans said as he walked out of the room.
“Will do, don’t worry,” said Byrne, clearing his throat. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you do not have an attorney one will be appointed for you by the Court.” The detective looked up from the document that he had been reading. “Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”
Gardiner gave a slight nod. “I understand,” he replied. “But you are making a big mistake. I did not murder Victor Lowry.”
* * *
Chapter Sixteen
The Gresham
The Gresham Gentleman’s Club located at the corner of Forest and Pine, was formed in May 1912. In its entire one hundred years plus history it had been a completely male domain. Women were strictly forbidden, especially wives. That was the rule and it was vigorously enforced, despite a number of equality law suits that had recently been fought, and lost. No women, that was the rule, and that’s how it had been, except of course for the team of cleaning ladies who came in during the night. They didn’t count.
Originally, the club had been intended for military gentlemen, admirals, generals, and other high ranking officers. A short time later, politicians were allowed to join. Then, in the late twenties, membership was opened up to captains of industry, the railroad entrepreneurs; shipping magnates, transport bosses, newspaper proprietors. Then in more recent times membership had been offered to anyone who had wealth and power. Tony Fletcher complied on both counts.
* * *
“Can I help you sir,” a voice called out as Kendall walked across the entrance lobby, his shoes echoing loudly on the marble floor.
Kendall looked over at the voice. “Well I certainly hope so,” he replied as he proudly showed his Private Detective badge, all shiny and brand new. The receptionist was not impressed. “Are you a member, sir?” the voice asked.
“No, I’m not a member,” Kendall replied, putting the badge away.
That much was blatantly obvious thought the receptionist. He heaved a sigh. He really didn’t need these interruptions. It was near the end of the month and he had his report to get done. “What can I do for you …. sir?” he asked sounding quite bored.
“I’m making enquiries about a certain Mr. Tony Fletcher,” he replied.
“Mr. Tony Fletcher?” the receptionist replied.
“Yes I understand he is a member of the club.”
“Possibly,” replied the receptionist. “What if he is, what concern is that of yours?”
Kendall hadn’t expected this to be easy, but he hadn’t quite considered that it would be quite so difficult either. “Is he here?” he asked.
“I repeat, what concern is that of yours?”
Kendall heaved a sigh. “I’ve been engaged to find him,” he started to explain.
“Find him?” the receptionist replied. “Why is he lost?”
“Look Mr. er whatever your name is ….”
“It’s Peters, Colin Peters,” the voice replied haughtily.
“Right you are, Mr. Peters, I don’t have all day,” Kendall replied becoming more and more impatient. “His wife has asked me to locate him it’s as simple as that. Now is he here?”
“It may seem that simple to you,” the receptionist replied. “But I am not at liberty to divulge any, repeat any, information about our members.”
“So he is a member then?” said Kendall. “At last we are getting somewhere.”
The receptionist shook his head. “I never said that he was.”
Kendall heaved another sigh. He was getting nowhere very fast. “And you never said that he wasn’t did you,” Kendall replied. He looked around and over to a set of double doors. He guessed that through those doors was the lounge area. He decided that was where he needed to be. Without further delay he turned and hurried towards the doors.
“Stop,” cried the receptionist, coming round from the counter. “You can’t go in there.”
Ignoring the cries, Kendall pushed through the doors and entered a large lounge area. Thirty pairs of eyes looked up at the noise. One minute previously those same eyes had been sound asleep, or engrossed in the newspaper. As Kendall entered the room he was approached by a smartly dressed waiter.
The Gresham
“Sir, are you a member?” he said.
Kendall freely admitted that he was not a member of the club. Indeed this was his first and almost certainly last visit. Furthermore he was very sorry for any disturbance he may have caused. “I’m looking for a Mr. Tony Fletcher,” he explained. “He is a member I understand.”
The waiter nodded. “Yes sir,
he is a member,” he replied. “But I haven’t seen him for some weeks now.” He paused and glanced around the room. “Maybe the major could help you,” he continued, pointing to the far side of the room.
“The major?” Kendall repeated.
“Major Donaldson,” the waiter explained. “There he is, over in the far corner. He’ll be able to help I’m sure, he and Mr. Fletcher play bridge together.”
Kendall started to move toward the far corner. “Stop right there,” a voice called out. Kendall stopped and turned. It was Peters, the receptionist. “I’m sorry but you will have to leave.”
Here we go again, Kendall thought. “If I could just have a word with the Major,” he protested. “Major Donaldson, it would be very much appreciated. Ten minutes that’s all I ask.”
The receptionist hesitated.
“Five minutes,” said Kendall. Without waiting for a response Kendall turned and continued across the room, trying not to disturb the members who had, by now, returned to their nap, or their newspaper.
“Major, Major Donaldson, sir, I’m sorry to disturb you,” Kendall said as he approached the leather armchair where the Major was seated, engrossed in his newspaper.
The Major looked up at the sound. “What on earth is going on?” he asked. “Can’t a fellow enjoy a quiet read of his paper? Who is causing all that commotion?”
“I’m sorry, Major,” replied Kendall. “That was me I’m afraid.”
The Major looked at Kendall, and then glanced around the room. “Well you seem to have woken up a few people,” he said. “At least it proves that they still alive and kicking.” He started to laugh at his own attempt at humor. “So what is it that you want?”
“Well I’m hoping that you can help me,” Kendall started to explain. “I’m making enquiries ….”
“I said that you had to leave,” a voice behind him interrupted.
Kendall turned. It was the man from the reception desk. “You said that I could have five minutes.”
The receptionist shook his head. “No, you asked for five minutes. I never actually agreed,” he replied. “You have to go, now, or do I need to ring security?”