Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  He placed the papers back into the folder. He then placed the folder into the bottom drawer of his desk, and locked it.

  * * *

  The telephone rang again. It was Duncan once again. This time it was to remind him of another function that he had to attend later that afternoon. “Yes Ian, thank you,” responded Mackenzie, nervously. “I hadn’t forgotten about it. I’ll be there, no problem.” He hadn’t forgotten the possibility of being visited by some of Duncan’s friends either.

  “Just stick to what I told you this time,” Duncan said abruptly. “None of your own little ideas, do you understand?”

  Mackenzie understood perfectly. Ian demanded, and expected, absolute obedience. He wanted certain things done, and he wanted them done in a certain way, his way.

  “Yes Ian, I understand. Don’t worry,” he replied. “I know what to do.” He paused, hesitant, unsure. Yes he knew what to do all right. The only problem was how to do it, and how successful would he be.

  Chapter 8

  Duncan Makes His Plans Known

  It was still early, and there was a slight chill in the air. The sun was just beginning to rise above the horizon, and the sky was quite hazy. Heavy dew lay on the grass and on the leaves on the trees. Hovering over the surface of the lake was a light mist floating eerily just a few feet above the water. There had been a slight frost during the night, and it was still quite cool. It would be a little while yet before there was any strength in the sun. A light breeze was beginning to stir, blowing in from the west, rustling the leaves, and causing the trees to sway gently.

  Governor Frank Reynolds had already been up for hours, and was seated outside on the terrace. He sat impassively, staring at the lawn stretched out in front of him, as it gradually swept down towards the lake. The neatly formed stripes in the lawn seemed to make a series of pathways all leading down to the water’s edge. He stared at the regular lines, his eyes being constantly, involuntarily, drawn straight down to the lakeshore.

  The surface of the lake was flat and calm, with barely a ripple. Along the edge of the lake, on the far shore, were a number of tall slender trees, graceful and majestic. To both sides of the lawn were formal gardens. Shrub beds extended down towards the lake, and merged with the bull rushes and reeds growing around the lake perimeter. To one side were a number of weeping willows, their branches trailing into the water. Beyond the gardens were several more trees, just visible in the haze. Reynolds raised his head slightly and looked out beyond the lake. There in the far distance, in the early morning mist, he could just make out the rolling hills that lay just above the valley.

  It was early springtime, but the blossoms were already beginning to form on the trees. In the flower beds the daffodils and tulips were already in full flower. It had been a very mild winter, and there was already a blaze of vibrant color everywhere you looked. A hint of what was to come. Beautiful though it was, it meant very little to Reynolds. Indeed, it meant nothing at all to Reynolds. In fact, just lately nothing meant much to the Governor. He had far too many other things on his mind. There were too many worries to be concerned about. He was pre-occupied with far more important things, far more serious matters. A few brightly colored flowers were of no interest to him whatsoever.

  His breakfast had just been served, but he realized that he really wasn’t that hungry. He had said as much, but Jarvis had insisted that he had something to eat, and he had reluctantly agreed.

  Jarvis had brought him a full breakfast. “You must eat that, sir,” Jarvis had said. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  Reynolds knew that Jarvis was right, but it made no difference. He had tried his best, but he really could not eat anything. It was far too early. But it wasn’t just that. Reynolds was a worried man, very worried. He pushed the plate to one side, and poured himself another cup of coffee. He tried to stifle a yawn.

  He glanced at his watch. It was just a few minutes after seven. He had been awake for hours. He felt dreadful. He was so tired. But he wasn’t just tired. It was something much more than that. He actually felt physically sick. His head was pounding. He had difficulty in breathing, and now there was a pain in his chest. He knew, however, that it wasn’t an illness, not in the true sense of the word. A couple of aspirin was not going to solve his problems. A course of antibiotics would have no positive effect. Not in this case. He knew that. It was stress, certainly, and definitely it was anxiety. Of course he was anxious. Who wouldn’t be? But that was such an understatement, and in no way adequately described how he felt.

  He lay back in his chair, and rubbed his eyes. Then he closed them. If only I could just sleep, just for a few minutes. If he could sleep, maybe he would wake up to find that it had all been a dream, a bad dream. But he knew that it wasn’t a dream. It was all too real. He knew that he would not sleep. In fact he hadn’t slept the whole night. He had just lain on his bed just staring up at the ceiling. Now he stared out at the lake. It was so quiet, so peaceful, and so still.

  A stillness that was momentarily disturbed by a fish as it rose to the surface for air, or perhaps to catch an insect. There was the gentle rustle of the trees, as the wind strengthened momentarily, and then died back down. Over in the long grass could be heard the crickets chirping. Nearby, a frog croaked, and splashed into the lake. Overhead a small flock of geese flew by heading for the far side of the lake. Gradually they flew lower and lower, until they eventually landed close to the shore. A rabbit suddenly ran out from the undergrowth, into the middle of the lawn. It sat quite still for a few moments, and then turned around and hurried back. Reynolds was oblivious to all of this activity. He noticed nothing, and just continued to stare at the lake.

  * * *

  Reynolds was still thinking about what Duncan had said the previous night. He went over the conversation again and again. Was he serious? Reynolds wondered. I mean really serious. Did Duncan really mean what he had said, or was it just idle conversation? Was it just talk, and nothing more? Was it just Duncan doing his thing, and trying to sound important, as always? It was just too fantastic, too ridiculous.

  It was quite incredible and so unlike Duncan. He couldn’t possibly have meant anything. He was just rambling. Did he realize what he was actually saying? Did he really think that it would be that easy? A simple change to the zoning designation, just like that. He snapped his fingers, as easy as falling of a log.

  He started to laugh, that saying made about as much sense as Duncan’s ramblings.

  “He couldn’t be that naïve, that stupid. He just couldn’t be. Does he really think I’m that powerful? All I have to do is merely snap my fingers. And people will come rushing out from all around, just to do my bidding, no matter what. He had to admit that it was certainly a nice thought, but things didn’t happen that way.

  It just couldn’t happen, at least not the way Duncan had said. A quick signature on a piece of paper, then just pass out a few dollars here, a few more dollars there, job done. What a joke. Nobody would allow it to take place. Not just like that. That’s not how these things worked. It was far more involved, far more complex. There was a laid down procedure to follow. There were laws to apply, rules to comply with. There would be no end of questions, no end of obstacles to overcome.

  Besides the decision wasn’t his alone. Far too many other people would be involved. Committee members, public officials, the Mayor’s office, the local Chamber of Commerce, they would all want their say. What about The Land Registry, he wondered. Would they be involved? He didn’t know the answer to that, but thought that probably they would. He was beginning to lose count now.

  “Then there would be the Town Council, the County officials. Oh, and of course, you couldn’t forget the Opposition Party. They would certainly want to express their views.” Reynolds knew that they would have a field day if they ever discovered that anything underhand had taken place. They could hardly wait. They would only be looking for some kind of irregularity, any kind. Then just watch them, as they
pounced. They would chew him up, and spit out the pieces, if there was anything left, that is. It would be just like Christmas, Thanksgiving and July the fourth, all rolled into one.

  The list was endless, a hundred and one others. For something so important, it was obvious that a public enquiry would be an absolute certainty. Then there would be the local newspaper butting their nose in, and having their say. Reynolds wasn’t exactly the most popular personality as far as the local paper was concerned. He could imagine the headlines. They wouldn’t be favorable, anything but. The local radio station would certainly be interested. They didn’t like him either. Maybe the networks would get in on the act.

  The whole thing was bureaucratic, certainly. There was no doubt about that. Unnecessary? Perhaps. Cumbersome? Absolutely. Involved? Definitely. But that was the system. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, perhaps it could be improved, but at the end of the day that’s how it was. That’s how it worked. The procedure was well established. He hadn’t made the rules, they weren’t his idea. Duncan had casually, nonchalantly, brushed everything aside. Not important, he had said. Don’t be concerned. Don’t worry about it.

  “Duncan doesn’t fully appreciate what is involved. He couldn’t possibly,” Reynolds murmured. “It doesn’t matter, though. It was just talk after all.” Reynolds decided. When Duncan wakes up today he will realize how foolish he had sounded. How ridiculous it all was, and it will all be forgotten. He’ll ring me, and tell me that he’d been an idiot. “Forget all about it.”

  “Just talk,” Reynolds repeated. “And it was nothing to be concerned about.” It was just a big joke that was all. So how come I’m not laughing. The smile began to fade, and Reynolds shook his head violently. “What did I say earlier? It was incredible, so unlike Duncan. That’s what I said.”

  In that instant his worse fears were confirmed. “No, it’s not a joke. Ian doesn’t have a sense of humor.” Duncan was far from being naïve, far from being stupid. “And he is certainly not crazy.”

  The smile had now completely disappeared. Reynolds knew instinctively that it was not just talk. It wasn’t just idle conversation. That was not Duncan’s way. He never wasted time with meaningless talk. Time was too precious for that. It was far too valuable. Time was money. He had meant it all right. He had meant every single word.

  Reynolds shivered involuntarily. He looked at the trees beyond the lake. The breeze seemed to be increasing in strength. He looked up at the sky. It was clouding over, dull and overcast. The sun had all but disappeared. In the distance there was a sudden flash of lightning, quickly followed by a loud clap of thunder. Reynolds suddenly felt cold, and shivered again. He pulled his coat closer to him.

  * * *

  “Rosemont Valley is prime land,” Duncan had said. It was the perfect location, the ideal spot. It had everything going for it. Great scenery, it was convenient to the city, and to the coast, it was well served with transport links. What potential it offered. It was just waiting to be developed. It was crying out for it. “Then just watch the value of the land soar.”

  How had the conversation actually started? Reynolds wondered. How did we ever get on to this subject? He could not remember.

  * * *

  “But Ian, the land is zoned agricultural,” Reynolds pointed out. “It doesn’t matter how perfect a location it is, or how ideal a spot. Its so-called potential is irrelevant. There is absolutely no way that the land could be developed. Not now. Not next week. Not next month. Not ever,” he announced emphatically, trying to sound as though he knew what he was talking about.

  Duncan moved closer to Reynolds, and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Ever, is a very long time, Frank. Sadly, I won’t live that long, and neither will you.” He laughed loudly. Then there was a short pause, before he continued. “Certainly the land is zoned agricultural, now. I’m well aware of that, Frank.” He took his hand away, and turned slightly. “But things don’t stay as they are, do they? They change, evolve, that’s what we call progress. We don’t stand still. We move on.” He paused for a few minutes. Reynolds remained silent.

  “Do you not think that a change is possible, Frank? I mean, at some time, maybe years and years in the future, when we are old and gray.” He started to laugh once again. “Or perhaps I should say, older and grayer. Hopefully, we will be a little wiser as well. What do you say Frank?”

  * * *

  Reynolds was still trying to remember how the conversation had come about. What had they been talking about? What was it? Suddenly he started to recall. Yes, the County Show, that was it. They had been talking about the County Show, and then, suddenly they were talking about a place called Rosemont.

  “There’s a great place, about twenty miles from the Show Ground,” Duncan had explained. “Rosemont.”

  Then we’re talking about development, and land values. All right, that’s the how. Now what about the why?

  * * *

  “Well Frank,” Duncan called out, gently nudging his arm. “What do you think?”

  Reynolds looked puzzled. What was Ian talking about? “What do I think about what?” he asked.

  “Frank, do try to keep up,” said Duncan sarcastically. “You really must make more of an effort.” Then he slowly, and deliberately, repeated his original question. “Do you not think that a change is possible?”

  There was no need for the sarcasm. Duncan did like to rile. To prove his superiority I suppose. Reynolds looked up to face Duncan. “No it’s not possible,” he said emphatically, trying to sound assertive. “It’s not at all possible, in my opinion.”

  Duncan looked at him, and raised his finger, and moved it slowly from side to side. “Now, now, Frank, you’re not thinking straight are you?” He moved closer to Reynolds. “You really think that it couldn’t happen? That change could not take place. There’s absolutely no possibility, none at all. You really believe that. Just think about it.”

  Reynolds had to admit that he really didn’t know what he believed. Did it matter, he wondered. “Yes,” he said quite simply. “There’s no way that there could be a change. Ever?” He was satisfied. That had been a definite decision, and firmly stated.

  Duncan was not ready to give up. “Even years into the future,” he retorted, almost throwing down a challenge. “Frank, change is inevitable.” His tone was threatening, daring Reynolds to disagree with him. “It’s just like the tides; the air we breathe; the sunlight.” He paused and looked directly into Reynolds’ eyes.

  “The earth orbiting the sun,” Duncan continued. “There is no way that you can stop it, Frank. There is no way that anyone can stop it. It must happen, and it will happen. Make no mistake about that Frank. Change will happen, mark my words.”

  Reynolds was hesitant, unsure. Duncan could be dangerous when he was like this. Reynolds didn’t know whether it was possible or not. Who cares? Who knew what the future held?

  “Who knows,” he replied casually. Duncan looked unimpressed. Reynolds hesitated a little longer, and then quickly added. “Perhaps in thirty or forty years time, maybe. I don’t know. We won’t be around anyway. So what does it matter?”

  Duncan looked down at the floor. “You really think so, Frank? Thirty or forty years time, as long as that?” He sounded disappointed. “It sounds a long time. You’re probably right, though. But what if?” he asked, holding his hand high in the air. “What if?” He then took his hand down, and turned to face Reynolds once again. “There’s a question to tax the imagination,” he said. “A question to stimulate the old brain cells, something to exercise the old gray matter, something to get you thinking.” He paused for a moment or two. He turned away momentarily, and then looked up once again. “What if?”

  Reynolds shook his head. Duncan was obviously in one of his philosophical moods. He could be so infuriating when he was like that, just playing games.

  “Okay, Ian, let’s have it. I’m listening,” he said. “What if, what?”

  Duncan looked at Reynolds, and a broad smile spread across
his face. He was enjoying himself. “It really is quite amazing, you know. Just two little words, six little letters, What if?” He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity. “That’s the beauty of the English language, you know. Two little words, but what implications they hold. What meaning. What mystery.” He paused once again. “The possibilities are endless. Just think about it for a moment or two. Where could those two little words lead?”

  “Ian, stop playing games,” Reynolds prompted impatiently. “Can we get on? I have an important appointment quite soon now.”

  Duncan looked directly at Reynolds. “Okay, Frank, let’s get on, as you so eloquently put it,” he said slowly. “What if?” He paused once more.

  Not again, thought Reynolds. How long was this going to go on?

  Duncan saw the look on Reynolds’ face. He really was enjoying himself. He was in complete control. He liked that. “Frank, just consider for a moment,” he said. “What if the present zoning designation, agricultural I believe, what if it was actually changed?”

  Is that it, all of this tremendous build up for that? He simply could not believe it. This entire discussion had been just to lead up to something so mundane, so boring. “Suppose it was,” Reynolds responded offhand. Not that it would be, or, indeed, could be. Precisely what game was Duncan playing at? What was going on in his devious mind? Where was this leading? “So the zoning is changed. So what’s your point?”

  “What do you think the land is currently worth?” asked Duncan nonchalantly, ignoring Reynolds question. “I mean what would be your best guess?”

  Reynolds said nothing. He had no idea what the land was worth. What was more to the point he couldn’t care less. This was a pointless conversation. The entire discussion had been a complete waste of time, and he had far more important things to deal with. He looked at his watch. He had an important meeting in less than an hour, with the local Chamber of Commerce. He still had a lot of work to do in order to prepare for it.