Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  “All right, we’ll sort it out, don’t worry.” Duncan said. “I want every document that is relevant. Any letters, papers, photographs. Anything you understand? I want everything, now.”

  “Sure thing,” said Reynolds nervously. He reached down to the drawer in the desk, and unlocked it. He withdrew a small bundle of papers, and handed them to Duncan. He then took out an envelope containing a number of photographs. He handed the envelope to Duncan. “There you are,” he said. “That’s everything I can think of.” He sat silently thinking for a few more moments. “That’s it, there’s nothing else.”

  “Are you absolutely certain, Frank?” Duncan asked. “I don’t want anything held back. When I say I want everything, then I want everything.” He looked at Reynolds for a few moments, and then turned away. “You do understand don’t you Frank?”

  Frank said nothing. Yes he understood. He stood up and walked over to a bureau in the corner. Duncan turned and watched him closely. Somehow he knew that there was something more to come. Reynolds unlocked the drawer, opened it, and withdrew a slim file. He looked at it for a few moments and then placed it on top of the bureau. He locked the drawer, picked up the file, and started back towards the desk. As he reached the desk, he handed the file to Duncan. “You better have this,” he said. “That’s everything, now.”

  “Good,” said Duncan. “Now I want every detail that you have about the person. The blackmailer,” he said. “Where did you make the payments? And how were they made? How often? What days?”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later Reynolds had told Duncan everything that he knew. It wasn’t much. “I’m sorry that I can’t be more helpful,” he said. “But I never actually saw the person you understand. I only ever dealt with a box number. I would make the delivery, as instructed, and just place the envelope into the allocated box. It was as simple as that. Not much help to you I’m afraid.”

  Duncan stared at the documents in his hand. “All right,” he said. “We’ll just have to manage with what we have.” He picked up his glass and drained it, and placed it on the desk. “You’ll hear from me soon, Frank.” Without any further comment he turned and quickly walked to the door. He stopped at the door, and turned to face Reynolds. He held the documents high in the air. “And don’t worry about it. We’ll sort it out,” he said. “And don’t say a word to anyone else.” He then hurried from the room.

  At that moment Duncan knew that he now had full control over Governor Frank Reynolds. One down and one to go.

  * * *

  Four days later a small package was delivered to the Governor’s Mansion. Inside were a number of letters, and documents, together with a bundle of photographs. Attached to them was a short note. “Matter dealt with. You won’t be troubled again.” It was simply signed D.

  “Duncan,” whispered Reynolds as he opened the package. He took out the papers. He glanced at them and slowly tore them into small pieces. He then threw them onto the fire, and watched as they burned. His troubles were over. He was in the clear. He wouldn’t be able to thank Duncan enough.

  He watched the flames flickering until the last ember had died down. As the last documents were being consumed, he looked up. The room had suddenly got dark. He looked at his watch. It was later than he had realized. As the fire died down he shivered involuntarily. He walked over to the door. He turned and looked back at the fire. Some ashes had fallen out of the grate, into the hearth. He would get Jarvis to clean that up later. He opened the door and left the room.

  * * *

  Duncan had first known John Mackenzie almost thirty years ago, when they were both at college. Mackenzie was in the class a year or two below Duncan. He had been very much an average student, of no apparent academic ability. He did not stand out, and showed no real aptitude for anything. He was, however, reasonably good in the debating society, but he had no real flair, no charisma. Easily forgotten one college tutor wrote. Lacks sparkle, wrote another. He won’t amount to much, said a third.

  Quite often Duncan wondered how Mackenzie had ever got in to the college. Then he found out. Mackenzie came from a reasonably wealthy family who had a firm belief that if you wanted anything badly enough, you just went out and bought it. Whether it was a packet of sugar or a high level position, it was all the same to them.

  Duncan’s interest in Mackenzie had been re-kindled a few years ago. Mackenzie had become Senator for one of the eastern States. Had that position been bought as well? Duncan wondered. Probably, he decided. Nonetheless, he followed Mackenzie’s career with mild interest. As expected Mackenzie was still only average, and had made very little impression. Then, almost overnight his fortunes began to change. His popularity began to increase. More spending by the family, Duncan had surmised. Then the shock announcement came. Senator John T. Mackenzie had put his name forward as candidate for the forthcoming Presidential elections.

  Duncan’s brain went into overdrive. He read the newspaper article once more. Mackenzie was seeking his Party’s nomination. He was one of four runners. Duncan could not believe it. Mackenzie had nothing to offer. Who in their right mind would put him forward for such a position? Once again it was clear that money talked.

  Almost two years later with the Primaries finished, and the Party Convention over, against all the odds Senator John Thaddeus Mackenzie was the front runner for the Democratic Party. He named his running mate as Senator Ted Forrest, representative of Utah, and hit the campaign trail.

  It was at this point that Duncan decided to renew his acquaintance with his old friend from college. This could lead to the second of his objectives. With his help Duncan thought that it was just possible that Mackenzie could make it, and attain the highest office in the land. Nothing could be easier, especially if he could discredit the other candidates. It was amazing what money could do.

  * * *

  There was a tap on the door, and then it slowly opened. His two very important visitors had arrived, at last. Duncan stood up as they entered the room, and glanced casually at the clock. “Do come in, gentlemen. So good to see you both, and only an hour late,” he said smiling. “Please sit down, and we’ll get right down to business, shall we?”

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  Rosemont Valley

  The town of Rosemont was small. But Bill Clancy liked it that way. His wife and children liked it that way. His neighbors liked it that way. It was compact, neat, and comfortable. That was a very apt description. It was comfortable. Just like an old favorite sweater. Although old and worn, it fitted perfectly.

  Just as important, the town was convenient. It had everything you needed, with none of the hassle associated with the larger towns. With the opening of the shopping mall a few years ago, the town now had a good variety of shops for everyday. It had two junior schools, and four nurseries. The high school was approximately twenty miles away, but there was an excellent county bus service provided. There were two churches, one Baptist, the other Presbyterian. There were a number of offices, a couple of small factories on the outskirts, and a cinema.

  The town was served by a number of local buses, and then there was the railroad. What else did you need, Clancy asked of nobody in particular. He couldn’t think of a thing. He certainly didn’t want one of those busy and noisy towns, where you couldn’t hear yourself think. No Rosemont suited him very well.

  * * *

  The Clancy family had lived in Rosemont for many years. Bill was third generation at least. Maybe fourth, he wasn’t too sure. Certainly his father had lived there, and so had his grandfather. He thought his great grandfather had also lived there, but his information in that regard was a little scant to say the least. He had tried several times to research the family history, but he had never got back beyond his grandfather.

  * * *

  Today was market day. It wasn’t quite the affair that it used to be twenty or thirty years ago. At that time the old stockyards would be full of livestock for sale. The cattle would be brought in from mi
les around. The market square would be full of local produce. There would be vegetables of every kind; fruits; dairy produce, all fresh and ready for sale direct to the public. That no longer happened. Now it was more than likely that the produce was purchased in bulk by the supermarkets. That’s progress for you. Probably inevitable Bill had to admit, but he still longed for the old days.

  * * *

  Bill and his family had arrived just about mid morning. It was a beautiful warm spring day. The sun was shining, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It made a change from all the rain they had the past few days. The clock tower to the old Court House was just striking the quarter past the hour as they passed by. As always, Clancy looked up at the clock face. He then looked at his watch. It was a little slow, showing twelve minutes after ten. He never questioned the clock. It was always his watch that was incorrect. He turned the winder a fraction, to adjust the hands. When he was satisfied that the time was now correct, he pressed the winder back into place, and looked back up at the clock tower.

  Clancy had some business to attend to at the bank. He wanted to arrange a small loan so that he could get his main barn repaired. It had been badly neglected over the past few years, and was going to cost a lot of money to put it right. He had already spoken to Ben Johnson, and the works had started. Just get on with it, he told himself. Bite the bullet.

  After that he wanted to go on to the feed store. He had to finalize his summer order. His wife, Nancy, had some shopping to do. She was looking for a new summer coat, and some new shoes. Then there were a few things required for the children. Bill just knew that he was in for an expensive afternoon. So be it, he wasn’t really that concerned. He knew that she was sensible enough when it came to shopping. She wasn’t one for wasting money. And she had an eye for a bargain. Unlike himself, he had to admit. She was the pacifying influence in their family. He tendered to act in haste. She was the one who would slow things down, and think things out calmly and rationally. The loan for the barn was her idea. She knew exactly how it would be financed. A cut here and there; a bit of economizing; careful planning and budgeting, and it would be paid off in no time.

  * * *

  As usual on any Saturday morning the town was quite busy. On a market day it was busier than ever. The Clancy family made their way along Main Street. At the corner of Main Street, and Sepia Drive, they stopped. Nancy headed down Sepia towards the Shopping Mall, and the market. He carried on down Main Street, and headed towards the town square.

  A few minutes later he had reached the town square. It looked as though it hadn’t really changed that much since the town had first been established in 1856. In fact the whole town hadn’t changed much, except for the coming of the railroad in 1887, and the shopping mall built in 1982. Over on his left he could see the railroad station, and close by were the old stockyards, now no longer used. Opposite were the Town Hall, and the small library building.

  Clancy stopped for a few moments, and looked at the library building. Originally there had been an ornate brick wall in front of the building, with elaborate pillars every few yards. The wall didn’t look very ornate now. In fact, it had been badly neglected over recent years. The Town Council had planned to carry out repair works on several occasions, but nothing had happened. There were cracks in several places, and the top section was missing from a number of the pillars. Just to the left hand side, there was a large gap in the wall. It had been that way for many years.

  It was where that dreadful accident had occurred, Clancy remembered. He had been a young boy, at the time. He had seen the whole thing, and remembered it quite vividly. A car had sped out from the side street, and ran right in front of an oncoming vehicle. Clancy looked back along the main road. He could visualize the car quite clearly. It had swerved violently and had driven straight into the brick wall, demolishing it completely. The car had then burst into flames, and the two people inside had died. Clancy shook his head, trying to remove the scene from his mind. The other car had merely driven on, completely oblivious to what had happened. Clancy looked over at the wall. You could still see scorch marks on a section of the remaining wall.

  Next to the Library was a small parade of shops – Davies Hardware Store; next there was the Drugstore, and then the General Store, still run by old Jamie Linton. At the corner was Jack Carter’s feed store. Jack had died some fifteen years previously, and the store was now owned by Randolph Dean, but it was still known as Carter’s feed store, probably always would be. Dean had tried and tried to get things changed, without success. He had now given up on the idea. He reasoned that as long as the store was known, it didn’t matter what name it was known by. Clancy planned to call in as soon as he had finished with the bank.

  Clancy continued on his way until he came to Martha’s Bakery. The smell of the fresh bread always brought back memories, wonderful memories. Martha had always kept some small cakes to one side, to give to the town children. Every Saturday morning his mother had sent him to buy the bread. He would run as fast as he could, so that he could get the pick of those cookies. It seemed so long ago. He walked past the store, glancing inside as he did so. It hadn’t changed in all that time. The jar of cookies was still there, on the side of the counter. Martha herself had sadly died several years ago. It had then been taken over by her daughter, who kept things pretty much the way they had always been.

  On the opposite side of the square was the Post Office, and next to it was Pete’s Garage. Further along the street, at the corner, was the newspaper office, the Gazette – “We campaign for freedom and justice”, the slogan was emblazoned across the large shop window. Mighty big words for such a small paper, but then George Egan, the owner of the paper, had always aimed high. As he passed by, on the opposite side of the street, he saw Michael Cole coming out of the office. Cole worked for the newspaper, as their political reporter. Clancy had known him for many years. He saw Clancy on the other side of the street. He waved enthusiastically, and crossed over.

  “Hi Bill. Good to see you,” he said. “How’s the family?”

  “We’re all fine”, Clancy replied. “And how’s the Gazette?”

  Cole laughed. The Gazette was doing fine. “Oh, you know. Ticking over,” he replied. “Incidentally have you heard anything about the recent goings on up at the Ridges?”

  Clancy looked puzzled. He had to admit that he hadn’t heard a thing. The Ridges was an area of rolling hills on the lower slopes of Mount Ross, on the outskirts of the town. They were ten miles from where he lived. He hardly ever went up there. “Heard anything? Like what?” he asked.

  “I don’t really know anything myself,” Cole said. “But there has certainly been a lot of activity up there in the last few days. You know comings and goings. I don’t exactly know what.”

  “Well if the Gazette doesn’t know, what hope is there for the rest of us? We are lost,” Clancy said mockingly. “If the Gazette doesn’t know, then it’s probably not worth knowing.”

  “Yes, right,” Cole replied. “Anyway, just lately somebody has been using dynamite up there, close to the old tin mines. Only small explosions, so far, nothing major.”

  The tin deposits had run out over fifty years ago, and the mines had been abandoned. So who on earth would be interested in that area now. Maybe they were going to re-open the mines. Dynamite, explosives, maybe they had found another seam. “I suppose you have investigated,” Clancy asked. “I mean in your official capacity that is.”

  Cole laughed again. “Sure we’ve been up there,” he said. “But you can’t get anywhere near the place. There is a fence all around, and the road is closed. Then the place is littered with warning signs everywhere you look.”

  “Warning signs,” Clancy repeated. “Saying what?”

  “Oh you know, keep out. Private Property, United States Government, Danger,” Cole answered. “Things like that.”

  “United States Government,” Clancy repeated. “Well surely Governor Reynolds can help you. I mean, if anyone knows th
en he should. Stands to reason?”

  “You would think so, I agree” Cole replied. “But he’s not saying anything, other than keep away.”

  “I suppose we’ll know soon enough,” Clancy said unconvinced. “The Gazette will get to the bottom of things. I’m sure of that. They will uncover the truth.”

  “You can rely on it,” Cole replied mockingly. He looked at his watch. “Is that the time. I better get going. To seek out more injustices, and to right more wrongs. A Crusader’s work is never done.” He turned to cross back over to the office, dodging and weaving through the traffic. When he reached the other side, he turned back to face Clancy. “See you at the County Fair,” he shouted.

  “Sure I’ll be there,” answered Clancy. “Incidentally is it true that Reynolds will be performing the opening ceremony?”

  “That’s right,” Cole shouted back. “The Mayor will also be there. It promises to be a big affair.”

  “Can’t miss that then can we.” Bill said sarcastically.

  So Governor Reynolds would be there, trying to improve his popularity ranking no doubt. He’ll need to do a lot more than open a County Fair to boost his popularity with me, Clancy thought as he hurried on. Over the past two years, since Reynolds had come into office, he had introduced a number of measures that had cost the small farmer dearly. At the same time it seemed that those same ideas had been extremely beneficial to certain others. People like Ian Duncan, the industrialist, or Senator John Mackenzie, a Presidential candidate no less. All personal friends of the Governor and all doing very well thank you. Perhaps I’m getting cynical in my old age, thought Clancy. Perhaps it is just a coincidence.

  Chapter 4

  The Ridges

  The sun was beginning to set on what had been a glorious day. Bill Clancy stood on his back porch watching as the last rays of the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Spring had come at last and the blossoms were magnificent. Over to his left the rolling hills ran down towards the river, which twisted and turned along the side of the meadows. To his right the land sloped sharply upwards, the land being covered with conifer trees.