by John Holt
“Might be worth a visit,” suggested Mollie. “You could maybe have a drink while you were there.”
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Blue Orchid
It was just after four thirty when Kendall arrived at the corner of Tredegar, and Morcroft. He had planned to get to the bar at the exact time that Gardiner had said he had arrived. The Blue Orchid was notable for one thing and one thing only. It was spectacularly unimpressive. It may have been fashionable at one time, although exactly when isn’t known, perhaps during Prohibition. But now the place was drab, and dismal. If it weren’t for the neon sign declaring ‘Bar’ it had all the appearance of a derelict warehouse. The heavy rain did nothing to brighten the building. A coat of paint might have helped, although total demolition and a rebuild would have been a better option. As far as Kendall could see there were no flowers in sight, and certainly there were no indications of an orchid colored blue, or indeed in any other color.
Kendall heaved a sigh and entered. At least it provided shelter from the rain, if nothing else. Business was slow, and there were less than a dozen people inside as far as Kendall could tell. Why was he not surprised?
He made his way towards the bar. The barkeeper was busy stacking glasses. As Kendall approached, the barkeeper turned. “What can I get you?” he asked.
“It’s Budweiser is it?” said Kendall mischievously pointing to the label on the barman’s tee shirt. “Your name I mean?” He smiled.
The barman was obviously not amused. “The name’s George,” he snarled. “What can I get you?”
Kendall looked at his watch. It was four thirty-five. It was a little early he thought, but he guessed that allowing for the drink to be prepared, and poured into a glass, and then placed on to the counter it would be near to four forty by the time the drink arrived. In those circumstances a drink sounded like a good idea.
“A scotch and water,” Kendall replied. “Not too much water.”
The barman poured out the drink and then turned back to stacking the glasses.
“George,” Kendall called out. “I wonder if you can help me?”
George turned back to face Kendall. “Look I’m a barman, I serve drinks, and sometimes I do food, not often. Maybe some chips, or nuts, you know, but mainly its drinks. I don’t do conversations. I have no interest in the current ball game, I have no political views one way or the other, and I don’t listen to guys spouting about their troubles with women. I am not now, or have ever been, an information bureau. So if you want another drink fine, but if not I’ve work to do.”
Kendall laid a photograph on the counter. “I just wondered if you had ever seen that guy before.” He pointed to the photograph. He quickly drained his glass and pushed it towards George. As he did so he showed his NYPD badge. “And I’ll take that other drink you mentioned.”
George stared at the badge for a few moments. The police that’s all he needed. Hadn’t he had enough of cops coming round and asking a lot of fool questions just a few short weeks ago? He looked at the badge again and heaved a sigh.
“Okay what do you want to know?” he asked.
“Have you ever seen that guy before?” Kendall asked.
George looked at the photograph and shook his head. “Who is he?”
“Name’s Martin Gardiner,” Kendall replied. “Have you heard of him?”
George nodded. “Isn’t he the guy who murdered that newspaper guy, what’s his name?”
“Lowry, Victor Lowry, he’s the newspaper man,” explained Kendall. “And Gardiner has been charged with the murder, but he says that he was in here at the time of the murder.”
“But that was weeks ago,” protested George.
“Try,” said Kendall.
George shook his head and took a deep breath. “Look I’ve already spoken to the police,” he said. “I thought I was done with all that.”
“Yes I know, and it’s a pain for me, as well as you, but you know I have to do this, but hey it’s a living, know what I mean,” Kendall replied.
“How do you expect me to remember one guy? I see hundreds every day.”
“I understand that,” replied Kendall, as he glanced around the room, and tried to visualize the place filled with hundreds of people instead of the handful that were actually present. He failed miserably. He just could not imagine the place being that popular, unless the drinks were being given away.
“Humor me will you. You might have overlooked something, you never know.”
“All right,” replied George. “I’ll tell you exactly what I told them.”
“I’d appreciate that,” said Kendall.
“You asked for it,” said George. He picked up the photograph, and examined it. “I’m sorry but I don’t remember him at all.” He paused and handed the photograph back to Kendall. “Now I ain’t saying he wasn’t here, and I ain’t saying that he was. I’m saying I just don’t remember seeing him.”
Kendall returned the photograph to his wallet, and took a drink. “Was anyone else on duty that day, between four and six?”
“Jim didn’t come on until seven, seven thirty,” George explained. “Until then it was just me.”
“Okay, so you can’t positively say that you saw him that day.”
George shook his head. “Correct.”
“Alright, but can you positively say that you didn’t see him,” Kendall continued.
George looked puzzled, wondering where the conversation was leading. “Guess not,” he finally replied. “But I don’t see how that helps you at all.”
Kendall shrugged. “Maybe you’re right,” he replied. “Let me have another scotch will you? And where are those chips you mentioned?”
George poured another drink and placed it on the counter. “There’s the chips help yourself. I better get on. I’ve got to get ready for when the office boys drop in.”
“So when do you expect them?”
George looked over at the clock on the wall. It was twenty minutes past five. “Any time now,” he replied. “Russell will be in soon now. He’s a regular every day. He might remember your man.”
Kendall wasn’t at all convinced, but he had nothing else to do for the next hour or so. A little more time in a bar wasn’t the worst thing that could happen was it. Another drink or two might be pleasant. “Maybe,” he replied. “It just might be worth taking a chance.”
* * *
Kendall began to wonder if there was really any point waiting for this mystery person, this guy Russell. The chances are he would be of no help anyway. After all it was pretty clear that Martin Gardiner was guilty as charged. He reached for his glass, and then he began to smile. I wonder if the whiskey could be tax deductible. After all he was working wasn’t he? It could be classed as a legitimate business expense couldn’t it? He idly wondered how much the allowance would be. Was it measured in dollars, or the number of drinks? He wondered whether the Internal Revenue Service had a limit for that kind of thing. Had he already exceeded it, or was there still more allowed. He drained his glass. How many had he had anyway? He would certainly need a receipt of some kind. The IRS always wanted receipts. He started to count.
“Here he comes now,” said a voice, interrupting Kendall’s calculations. A plate of sandwiches was placed on the counter. “Right on time, never fails.”
George pointed towards the door as a smartly dressed young man entered. “That’s Russell, works at the bank around the corner,” explained George. “He’s a regular, every day at this time.”
Kendall looked at the doorway, and then looked back at the sandwiches. George smiled. “I told you I did food, and Russell pays over the odds for my pastrami on rye.”
Kendall nodded and wondered if his sandwiches might be tax deductible as well. He decided that they were. “I don’t suppose I could er ….”
George looked at the plate, and then looked at Kendall. “Oh I guess I could get you something.” He turned around. “I won’t be long. By the way Russell
drinks Budweiser.” Then he was gone.
“Where’s George off to then?” Russell asked as he reached the counter.
“Oh he won’t be long,” replied Kendall. “He’s just gone to get me some of those.” He pointed towards the plate. “They’re yours I understand.”
Russell sat down a few chairs from Kendall. “He knows how to look after me. George I mean.”
Kendall nodded and took a drink. “You’re Russell I believe.”
“That’s right,” replied the young man. “How did you know?”
“Oh I know a lot about you,” replied Kendall. “You work for Morgan Stanley, and you are a regular in here.”
“Correct,” was the simple reply.
“And you drink Budweiser,” Kendall continued.
The young man nodded. “Okay so how do you know all …”
“Because I told him,” said George returning with a plate of sandwiches. “There you are, enjoy,” he continued as he placed the plate in front of Kendall. Then he turned to face Russell. “A Bud coming right up. Incidentally this gentleman is a cop and he .…”
“Actually I’m not a cop,” Kendall explained, taking a bite of one of the sandwiches. “I used to be a cop, NYPD. But … hey these are good.” He took another bite. “I’m now a private detective.”
“Private detective,” repeated George. “Somehow I didn’t think you were a cop. Either way he has a few questions he’d like to ask.”
“So what is it that you want?” asked Russell looking puzzled.
Kendall wiped some crumbs away from his shirt, and took a drink. He took the photograph from his pocket. “I’m investigating the murder of Victor Lowry, the newspaper man.”
“Good riddance to him,” said Russell, not attempting to hide the venom in his voice. “Whoever killed him deserves a medal.”
“I gather you didn’t like him,” said Kendall.
“He was a parasite who made money on the suffering of others,” said Russell. “And one who would stop at nothing to get a story, even lying.”
“You mean the phone hacking?” said Kendall.
“Yes the phone hacking, and the phone tapping, and accessing personal emails, and any other underhanded activity he could think of.”
“You weren’t affected personally were you?” Kendall asked.
Russell shook his head. “No I wasn’t,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh it’s just because you sounded so angry with your answer just then.”
“That’s simple,” Russell replied. “A couple of my friends at the bank had their phones hacked. Lowry was trying to obtain evidence in an alleged share fraud.”
Kendall placed the photograph on the counter in front of Russell. “Have you ever seen that man before?”
Russell picked up the photograph and examined it. “Who is it?” he asked.
“It’s actually Martin Gardiner,” replied Kendall.
Russell looked at Kendall. “The guy who committed the murder you mean.”
“No, I mean the guy who has been charged with the murder,” corrected Kendall.
“Same thing,” said Russell dismissively. “The police don’t go around arresting people, and charging them without good cause. No smoke without fire.”
“Well I have to say that during my time with the New York Police Department we did on occasion make a mistake and arrest the wrong person,” said Kendall. “Fairly often in fact, so it doesn’t always follow.”
“Maybe so,” agreed Russell. “But in this case there’s no error is there. He was seen at Lowry’s apartment block, and he was heard to threaten the guy a few days before. Oh he did it alright.”
“Well the thing is he says that he was here, in this bar, at the time of the murder,” Kendall explained. “So I was wondering if you could say that you had actually seen him on that day.”
Russell looked at Kendall for a few more seconds, and then looked back at the photograph. “You know there would have been a few people in the bar at that time, and of course it was a few weeks ago don’t forget.”
Kendall hadn’t forgotten. Nothing came easy that was for sure, but you had to take any and every chance. You won some and you lost some. Kendall looked at Russell, who was slowly shaking his head.
“Sorry Mr. Kendall I really couldn’t say with any certainty that he was here that afternoon.” He handed the photograph back.
Kendall replaced the photograph into his wallet. “Not a problem,” he said trying not to sound disappointed. “I knew it was a long shot, but I had to take it.”
“No luck then, Mr. Kendall,” said George, busily wiping the counter.
Kendall heaved a sign. “To be honest I hadn’t really expected anything different.”
“That’s how it goes sometimes. That’s how the cookie crumbles,” replied George philosophically. “Can I get you another drink? On the house?”
Kendall smiled. He could not believe what he was about to reply. “That’s very nice of you, but I better get going. Perhaps I can take a rain-check.”
“Anytime Mr. Kendall,” replied George. “Anytime.”
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Five
Onslow Mansions
Onslow Mansions were constructed at the turn of the century. Constructed in brickwork rendered with stucco plasterwork, marbled hallways and brass plaques on the doors, the block is four storys high and comprises twenty six fully serviced apartments.
Onslow Mansions
Not that he expected anything earth shattering, Kendall had nonetheless decided to pay a visit on Victor Lowry’s neighbors.
It was a little after four o’clock as Kendall pulled up and parked a short distance from the block. As he did so his car was immediately surrounded by a group of young boys.
“New York plates,” said one of the boys who appeared to be the leader. “See there, the Statue of Liberty. UB93 8ZS, write it down.”
“A Ford” said one of the others.
Kendall got out of his car, and locked the door.
“What kind is it?” a voice called out. Kendall looked around. It was the leader of the group. “The car,” he explained. “I know it’s a Ford, but what kind?”
Kendall looked at the boy, and then he looked at his car. “It’s a Ford Escort,” he replied trying to sound knowledgeable.
“Kinda old ain’t it,” called one of the other boys unimpressed by Kendall’s answer.
Kendall looked at the boy for a few moments. He judged that the boy was maybe ten years old, eleven at a push. Why they weren’t at school he wasn’t sure. It couldn’t be another holiday surely. It seemed that they were always on holiday these days. It hadn’t been like that when he had been at school. Miss Lacey of Brook Street would never have allowed it. She was small, but she was tough, and a real stickler for discipline. Even on holidays there was always more than enough school work to do. There would never be time for just roaming the street like these kids.
Kendall looked over at the car. He had to admit that the kid was right, the car was pretty old, and had seen better days, like himself “It’s probably about your age I would guess,” he replied, and quickly continued on his way.
A few minutes later he entered the reception lobby of Onslow Mansions. “Can I help you?” a voice called out.
Kendall took out his NYPD badge, flashed it quickly and just as fast returned it to his pocket. “I’m here in connection with the death of Mr. Lowry,” he explained.
“His murder you mean,” said the receptionist.
“Sure his murder,” agreed Kendall.
The receptionist heaved a sigh, and folded his newspaper. “You guys you never stop do you?” he said. “I’ve already told them everything I knew a couple of days ago. I mean what do you expect from me? I’m hardly going to change my story am I?”
Kendall had to admit that he didn’t know what to expect, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. “I’m sure that you have done your civic duty and have been more than helpful,” he said.
The receptionist looked up and a smile started to spread across his face. “Well you have to don’t you. I mean we’re here to help after all…”
“Sure,” said Kendall interrupting him. “And I’m sure that your information has been much appreciated. In fact I know that the guys down at the department were more than pleased with your information.”
The smile suddenly got larger. Much appreciated, he thought. But it was far more than that. He had actually identified the murderer. His information had resulted in his capture, and the guy was now in prison awaiting trial. “Ah it was nothing, I’m only glad you caught the guy,” he said. “So what can I do for you?”
Kendall took out his notepad, and flipped through the pages. “Just a few loose ends,” he replied. “I need to speak to Mr. Lowry’s neighbors.”
“Oh so you don’t need me then,” the receptionist sounded disappointed almost.
“Oh no I’m sure you can help me,” replied Kendall hurriedly. “After I’ve seen the neighbors I’ve got a few questions for you as well, don’t worry.”
The receptionist brightened. He pointed over to the elevator. “You’ll want the third floor,” he said. “That’s where Mr. Lowry lived.”
* * *
A few moments later Kendall got out of the elevator. He turned into a spacious corridor. Thick carpet covered the floor, and soft uplights illuminated the pastel shaded walls. He paused for a moment, listening. There was the gentle hiss of the air conditioning, and the soft hum coming from a television that was on in one of the apartments, number thirty-two. Directly opposite thirty-three, the Lowry apartment still had the Police Crime Scene tape across the doorway.
“Good a place as any,” Kendall murmured, as he rang the bell.
The door was answered almost straight away. “Joe said you’d be coming, he just called up,” said an elderly man, peering from behind the door. “We have already told the police all we know.”
“Yes I know that,” said Kendall. “I have seen the reports,” he lied.
“Well then,” said the man, nodding his head.