Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  Chapter 5

  Tom Kendall – Private Detective

  Tom Kendall had been a private eye for almost ten years. Before that he had been a detective with the 32nd Precinct, New York Police Department. He was of average height, five feet seven and a half. He had dark brown wavy hair, slightly graying at the sides. Okay, so the sides seemed to be extending a little, and almost meeting at the top of his head these days. It was due to stress, he said, constant worry and anxiety.

  Besides he did a lot of thinking, brainwork, that kind of thing. The resulting stimulation to the brain cells caused electrical activity, which, in turn, affected the hair chemistry. Everybody knew that. Didn’t they? It was common knowledge. It was certainly nothing whatsoever to do with his age. He was still on the right side of forty. All right, it was only just. To be absolutely accurate, he was thirty-eight. He considered himself to be in great shape. He was slim, athletic. At least that was his opinion. But he had to admit that just lately he had added a pound or two. Okay, so he was a little out of condition. Okay, so he was a little overweight. Nonetheless, he considered that he was probably at the optimum weight taking into account his height, and age. Well, if he wasn’t, then he wasn’t that far off. Well, all right, he was a long way off. But he was working at it.

  Even so he still took good care of himself. He didn’t smoke. He didn’t drink, well, not what you would call excessively. A glass or two of red wine, perhaps, maybe the odd whiskey, or three. He did enjoy a whiskey, occasionally. Anyway, the odd libation was supposed to be good for you wasn’t it? Good for the heart. He was careful about what he ate, and watched his diet. He had salads, fresh fruit, and vegetables, that sort of thing, occasionally. The recommended amount was five portions of vegetables per day. He usually managed one portion every five days, or thereabouts.

  Maybe there would be the odd burger, or two, just for the variety you understand. Not too many fries though. He had certainly cut those down. No more than once a week, or maybe twice, certainly not more than three times. Unless, of course, he was in a hurry, or was short of time, then he had no choice did he?

  Nonetheless, he did not overeat. That was one thing you could not accuse him of. He was very careful in that regard. Moderation was his key word. Maybe there would be a light breakfast to start the day. At lunch time perhaps a tuna sandwich, with a small side salad. The side order of potato chips was only meant to provide a bit of a crunch, nothing more. Then in the evening there would be a good dinner, a small piece of grilled chicken maybe, and another salad. A few fries just for the taste, not too many.

  “Anyway I’ve cut out the salad cream.”

  A well balanced diet was the key. Perhaps a curry or a Chinese take away, maybe a pizza. Well, he had to eat something didn’t he? The odd snacks in between didn’t really count, did they? They were just to keep his strength up between meals. He kept himself in trim, muscles nicely toned. Well there was a slight sagging, but not too noticeable.

  He vowed that as soon as it was possible, and time allowed, he would take up jogging, and some kind of sport. Squash maybe or perhaps tennis. “If only I had the time.” He worked out at the gymnasium two or three times every week. Well, that is to say, he used to work out at the gymnasium two or three times every week. Well, once a week anyway. Until recently that is. However, he had to give it a miss these days. Certainly in the last three or four months, that is. “Sadly I just don’t have the time,” he would say. “I’m far too busy.”

  Far too broke, was nearer the truth. His membership of the club had sadly lapsed.

  * * *

  Kendall had been a reasonably good police officer, although he hadn’t progressed very high up the chain of command during his years of service. 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. It was just a lack of opportunity for promotion that was all. The positions just never came available. Furthermore, he was also considered too laid back, too easy going.

  He felt somehow restricted by the police force. He felt that it was holding him back, hampering his full potential. There were far too many rules and regulations, and too much paperwork. He spent too much time filling out forms, when he should have been out on the street catching criminals. There were too many people who thought they knew better, telling him what to do, and how to do it. There was too much pressure. People constantly on his back demanding that he do this or do that. He didn’t need that. He could do a whole lot better being his own boss.

  * * *

  After leaving the New York Police Department he had moved away from New York. He had headed south, to Virginia, and had set up his office in a small town close to the State border. He had grand ideas then. He was going to be the best there was, as simple as that. There were no doubts in his mind. No question about it. It was going to be a small pool, sure. He knew that. It didn’t matter though, 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. There would be nobody telling him how he should do things.

  He would handle only the big time cases, the expensive ones. He wasn’t interested in just any old case. He would be able to take his pick. 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 perhaps, or the millionaire who was being blackmailed. He knew exactly the kind of case that he wanted. Anything else would not do, and it would just be turned down, flat. No question.

  * * *

  Things hadn’t quite worked out the way that he had intended. He had never had what you might call a major case. There had been nothing of any real importance, nothing of any consequence. There had been nothing of any real interest, nothing extraordinary. The big time case always seemed to elude him, to be just out of reach. No prestigious cases ever came his way, nothing to be proud of.

  There had been plenty of the mundane, run of the mill, cases. Gathering information maybe, surveillance was the modern word for it, the nice word - the Hi-Tech word. But in reality it was plain old fashioned spying. 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, to discover any hidden little secrets, or indiscretions. To find any scrap of information. Perhaps it was information involving the wayward wife, or maybe the unfaithful husband. Usually it was dull, and boring, and always routine. There was nothing that you would consider exciting. Nothing you could really get your teeth into.

  Perhaps looking for a missing husband, only he wasn’t really missing, he was merely in hiding, keeping out of sight. She was paying Kendall $100 a day to find him. The husband was paying $150 a day to stay hidden. He had his reasons. That was of no concern to Kendall. It wasn’t his business. He never enquired. He didn’t need to know. It was highly lucrative while it lasted, but then she had found out and threatened to report Kendall to the authorities, and get his license revoked. Things looked bad. It was touch and go for a while. Then the husband gave up, and came out of hiding. Then he made it up to her. There was a small present, a little gift, a peace offering. Just a little trinket, that was all, nothing fancy you understand, just a fifty thousand dollar diamond necklace. All was forgiven, and soon forgotten. Nothing more was said.

  * * *

  There had been the Fletcher case certainly, the dreaded missing husband case. That had been fairly high profile, but due to the fact that he was involved in a small matter of a murder, Kendall hadn’t earned a fee. Okay so he had managed to scrap a living since, but nothing more. For the past three months there had been nothing coming in. There had been no calls. There had been no visitors. There had been no enquiries. There had been no new cases. Not even a dull boring one. Nothing had come h
is way. Nothing except for the bills, which were mounting daily.

  He hadn’t been able to pay Mollie, his secretary, for about six weeks now. She didn’t seem to mind though, and she still came in, regular as clockwork, and sat at her desk.

  “But there’s nothing for you to do,” Kendall would say. “You might as well go home.”

  She would merely smile, and get up. She would then go into the small kitchen area, returning a few minutes later with some coffee. “I can make the coffee can’t I?”

  What could he do? He couldn’t throw her out could he? He couldn’t force her to leave. Show her the door and physically eject her. He knew when he was beaten.

  He hadn’t paid the rent for two months now. Sure the landlord was okay about it. There were no problems, no threats of eviction, nothing. But for how much longer, Kendall wondered. The phone company was threatening to cut him off for non-payment. The electricity company was threatening court action for arrears. On top of all of that there were the outstanding garage bills for major repairs on his car. It was a ten years old Ford. It had served him well, but it was now becoming a little unreliable. It was constantly breaking down. These days it seemed that it was in the garage more than it was on the road.

  “Saves on the parking fines, I suppose,” he commented ruefully. “And fuel bills.”

  He really needed a new vehicle, but that was definitely out of the question. Kendall’s reserves were fast disappearing. Soon he wouldn’t be able to afford to eat. Things were beginning to look bleak, he needed something, anything. And he needed it in a hurry.

  Kendall’s office was located in a small office block on Freeport Street. Four blocks to the west it became Freeport Drive. Here was located the fashionable, smart, and expensive business and commercial district of the town. In this section were the designer shops. Armani, Gucci, Chanel, Harry Winstone. They were all there. Further west the road became Freeport Avenue, a luxury residential area complete with all the trimmings, the swimming pools, the tennis courts and the security gates. Here were the imported Bentleys, and Rolls Royce’s. The Jaguars, the Mercedes. The Cadillac. The area just oozed class, the kind of class that only came with money, lots and lots of money.

  Where Kendall’s office was located it was just plain old Freeport Street, a million miles away, and altogether vastly different. This was the poor section of town, the run down and neglected section. It was not very fancy, but at least it was cheap. The building was an old Victorian building, six stories high with a basement. Probably it had never been what you might call an attractive building. Now it looked positively ugly. It was run down, shabby, and neglected. The brickwork was grimy, with dirt from the traffic in the street below. A number of damp patches were clearly evident in the main walls. Several cracks could be seen in the brickwork. Substantial repairs were required almost everywhere. It was badly in need of a coat of paint as a bare minimum.

  Kendall’s office was on the third floor, at the corner of the building. It wasn’t exactly a large office. In fact it was quite small. Compact, the landlord had said when Kendall agreed to take it on. Convenient, manageable, they were the main selling features. There was a main office area, a small kitchen, and a storeroom. The office area didn’t just need freshening up, it needed a complete refurbishment. Kendall had tried to brighten it up a little by laying a bright red carpet on the floor. It wasn’t enough.

  “A fresh coat of paint will work wonders,” the landlord had said. “Really give the place a face lift.” Kendall agreed that it would certainly make a tremendous difference. Kendall was still waiting.

  * * *

  The office was sparsely furnished. Over by the window was Kendall’s desk. A second desk was located opposite, close to the door. Along one wall was shelving containing several dusty files, many of them stamped NYPD. There were also a number of old books, generally relating to crime, law and order, and court cases. It was obvious that none of the books had ever been taken down from the shelf. They were so dusty you could barely read the titles. Emblazoned on the window were the words Tom Kendall Private Detective. The same words appeared on the glazed panel to the entrance door.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  “The Next President of the

  United States Of America”

  The Veterans Community Hall, on Sycamore Street, is a red brick structure, with a slated roof, set behind a parapet wall at the front. The building had originally been constructed in the early part of the nineteenth century. It had been a lot smaller then, consisting of just one small hall and an entrance foyer. Towards the end of 1850 the hall had been enlarged, and a number of side rooms were added. Some ten years later much of the building was destroyed in a fire. The hall had been re-built in 1866. It was at that time that it got its name. It had almost trebled in size, and the second floor was added.

  The original hall had been built as a meeting hall for the newly formed Town Council. Since the early part of the eighteen seventies it has been used as a Public Hall. As such it has seen every kind of function imaginable, from theatrical productions to Vaudeville; from Shakespeare, to Houdini; from classical concerts, to Jazz; from conferences to public talks. Sometime in the nineteen forties it had actually been altered so that it could show movies.

  On this particular evening it was due to host a political rally. Something it had done on numerous occasions over its long history. In that connection it had shown neither grace nor favor. It had no particular allegiance, or affinity to any one group, and gave the same level of support to all and any of the different parties.

  * * *

  The hall was already packed. Every available seat had been taken since just before seven o’clock that evening. Now there was standing room only, and there wasn’t very much of that left either. And still the people kept coming in. Ian Duncan stood at the side of the foyer, close to the entrance into the hall, and watched as they noisily entered. Pushing their way through, they clambered up the central staircase leading to the upper gallery, or made their way directly into the main hall.

  Duncan walked over to the main doors leading into the hall. Standing to one side, he glanced in through the open doors, watching as the crowd moved slowly along. He recognized many of the people as they passed by. Many of them were involved in the local community. Many of them were politicians, mainly provincial or local. However, there were several who came from the State legislature.

  One or two of them saw him, and looked over. He gave a cursory wave back. “Hi Roger,” he called to one. “Good to see you, Gary,” he said to another. “Glad you could make it,” to a third.

  He checked his watch. It was ten minutes to eight. He moved to the front of the foyer, and over to the main entrance doors. He opened the doors and stepped out into the street. It was dull and overcast and it had just started to rain. He glanced down the street. There were still a few stragglers making their way to the hall. The rainfall was gradually increasing. Then suddenly there was a loud crack of thunder. Then a flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by torrential rainfall.

  “Quickly,” Duncan called out, as he looked up at the sky. “Please hurry.” The last of them hurried into the foyer, shaking the rain off of their coats. “Hurry inside,” Duncan said indicating the main hall. “Inside everybody now, quickly,” he called out. “He’ll be coming in soon.”

  He stood back and watched a little while longer, as the last few quickly made their way into the hall, or started to climb the stairs to the upper floor.

  There was a tap on his shoulder. It was Jeff Randall, the Chairman of the local Chamber of Commerce. Duncan took the outstretched hand and shook it vigorously. “Good to see you, Jeff”, he said enthusiastically. “There’s a good turn out,” as he watched the last person disappear into the hall, and the doors slowly close behind them.

  “Yes indeed,” replied Randall. He paused for a few moments. “I wanted to catch you before this evening actually got started, before you got too busy. I tried to get you earlier,
at your office. They said you had left for the day. I tried your home, but all I got there was the answering machine. I hate those things you know. It’s ridiculous I know, but I never could get used to speaking to a machine.”

  Duncan knew what was coming. Randall had telephoned several times earlier that day, and had left a number of messages. “Yes, Jeff,” he said. “I’m really sorry that I haven’t got back to you before, but, as you can imagine, it’s been quite hectic.” He held up his arms, and looked around. “I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail.”

  “Oh no, Ian,” Randall replied quickly. “I quite understand. This is real important.” He paused, and looked around. “I’m glad it’s all going so well for you.” He looked down to the ground.

  “So Jeff, I’m here now,” Duncan continued. “You have my complete and undivided attention.” He held his arms open. “What exactly can I do for you?”

  Randall looked up, and took a deep breath. Why was he suddenly feeling nervous, afraid almost? What was he afraid of? He was just being foolish. Snap out of it, he told himself. Pull yourself together. Ian’s not going to eat you.

  He cleared his throat. “I would like,” he stumbled, his voice faltering. He cleared his throat once again. “I would like a word with you afterwards,” he said quickly. “I need your help, it’s a personal problem.”

  Duncan said nothing, but merely grinned. Randall placed his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Can I call round tomorrow morning?” he asked hesitantly. “About ten?”

  “Ten will be fine,” said Duncan.

  “See you tomorrow then,” said Randall. He then turned and hurried towards the auditorium.

  Duncan watched as he walked away. There goes a man with power. A man I could make very good use of. There also goes a man who wants something. That’s good, very good. That’s what I like. A man looking for a favor is a man who can be manipulated, a man who can be controlled. A man who wants something badly enough is a man who will pay dearly for what he wants. The more he wants, the higher the price he will have to pay.