by John Holt
“I said murdered, John, shot twice” Reynolds answered. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything more.”
The phone went dead. Mackenzie replaced the handset on to the cradle. He wasn’t sure why, but he made a note of the conversation, and placed it inside a buff colored folder that he kept in his bureau. At the bottom of the note he wrote a single word, Duncan. He drew a circle around the name, and a large question mark next to it. He placed the file into the drawer, and locked it.
Chapter 12
Peter Shaw
It had been a tiring day and Kendall was dozing, his feet up sprawled across his empty desk. Mollie, his business partner sat quietly at her desk watching him. Suddenly he stirred, but only to get more comfortable. She stood up and walked into the small kitchen. As she did so there was a single tap on the office door. She stepped back into the office area.
Kendall was already on his feet. His finger held up to his mouth, as he whispered to her. “If it’s the landlord, tell him I’m out of town, a big case in Miami. I’ll be back in a week or so.” He then moved into the small storeroom, closing the door silently behind him.
There was a second tap. Mollie started to walk to the door, when it suddenly opened, and a young man came in followed by an elderly lady. The man looked straight at Mollie. “Is Mr. Kendall here?” he asked.
“I’m afraid Mr. Kendall isn’t here,” Mollie replied. “He had to go to Miami, a big case.”
“Oh that’s too bad,” the young man said, obviously disappointed. “When will he be back?”
Mollie remained silent for a moment, thinking hard. What had Kendall just said? “He’ll be back in a week or so.” There, she had remembered what he had said exactly.
The young man looked towards the lady, and shook his head. He then turned to face Mollie once again. “I, that is, we had a small job for him.”
On hearing that Kendall hurried out of the storeroom, back into the office. At least it’s not the landlord. “Good afternoon,” he said jovially. “Mollie, why didn’t you tell me we had company?” He hurried over to his seat.
“Mr. Kendall?” the young man asked. “I understood that you were in Miami.”
Kendall looked at Mollie, and glared. She hurriedly looked away averting his eyes. She hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? She had only said what he had told her, word for word.
“My assistant was clearly mistaken,” Kendall said, as he gritted his teeth. “Weren’t you, Mollie? Just an error, a slight misunderstanding, that’s all. The trip to Miami is next week, don’t you remember, Mollie? Now what exactly can I do for you, Mr.?”
“Mr. Kendall, my name is Shaw, Peter Shaw,” he said. “And this is my mother.”
Kendall walked around the front of the desk to where the man was standing, his hand outstretched. Shaw shook the offered hand “Yes Mr. Shaw, how can I help you?” Not another divorce I hope. “Please sit down,” he said, as he pointed to the chairs. “Shaw,” he murmured. “That name sounds strangely familiar.” He walked back around the desk, and sat down. “Don’t I know that name from somewhere? I’m certain that I heard it quite recently.”
“Mr. Kendall, six weeks ago my brother, Anthony, was killed. Murdered,” Shaw replied. He stopped and looked at his mother. “You may have read about it. Not that it made page one, or anything like it. It rated a small paragraph on page twelve. It gave a name, the fact that he had been shot, and that was that. Not important enough I suppose. It was just another death and of no great significance.”
Kendall had indeed read about it. Certainly Shaw was correct, it was nothing significant, nothing out of the ordinary. Merely one of a dozen or more murders in the city that week, perhaps even that day, he wasn’t too sure. What was one murder, more or less? He said nothing, but simply waited for the man sitting in front of him to continue.
Shaw was disappointed at the lack of response. “Mr. Kendall, I realize that my brother’s death means nothing to you,” he said barely concealing his disdain.
Kendall sat up, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He hadn’t expected a reaction like that.
Shaw looked at his mother once again. She placed her hand on his arm. “Mr. Kendall will help us I’m sure.”
Shaw was unconvinced. He looked down at the table for a few moments. He then looked up at Kendall. “Mr. Kendall, we need your help, it’s as simple as that.” He paused for a few moments.
“Go on Peter,” his mother gently encouraged him.
“We would like you to investigate his murder,” Shaw continued. “Who killed him, and why? We need to know Mr. Kendall.”
“Why me?” Kendall asked. Had he been recommended by one of his many grateful clients? Had his reputation spread far and wide? Who could it have been he wondered? He couldn’t think of anyone straight away, but clearly he was right. It was obvious, wasn’t it? After all, there were so many to choose from.
“Oh, no reason really,” Shaw replied. “You were just picked, at random, out of the Yellow Pages. Your name was at the top of the page.”
Mollie tried hard not to laugh. Kendall was deflated. He looked at her, hard, and gritted his teeth once more. He was less than flattered. Mollie completely failed in her attempt not to laugh, and she began to giggle. Kendall ignored her.
All right, so he had been picked at random. There had been no recommendation. Nonetheless, something wasn’t quite right, something didn’t quite fit.
“That still doesn’t answer the question, why me?” Kendall repeated. “What about the Police? Why don’t you just leave it to them? They won’t cost you anything, not a dime, unlike me.” He looked directly at Shaw. “It’s all part of the service they provide. And another thing they are trained to solve murders. That’s one of the things that they do. It’s part of the job description. They do it all the time.”
Shaw looked towards his mother, and stood up preparing to leave. “I told you that he wouldn’t help, didn’t I?” His mother looked towards Kendall pleadingly. The strain that she was under was clearly visible on her face. Her eyes were glazed, and she started to cry.
“Hang on, just a minute,” retorted Kendall. “Did I say I wouldn’t help? Did I?” He paused, and looked at Mollie. “Did I?”
He turned back to face the young man and his mother. “I merely wondered why you didn’t leave it to the police that was all. That’s not much to ask is it? It seems a perfectly normal question to me. Quite reasonable in the circumstances I would say.”
Shaw and his mother had reached the door and were about to leave. Kendall stood up and walked over to Shaw. Placing his hand on Shaw’s shoulder he led him back to the seat. “Please sit down, Mr. Shaw,” he said gently. “Please.” He turned to face Mrs. Shaw. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, I didn’t, not really,” he said almost in a whisper. “Let’s start again shall we? Let me have the whole story. From the beginning, and we’ll see what we can do, shall we.” He then turned to Mollie. “Let’s have some coffee, and some of those nice chocolate cookies, shall we?”
* * *
A few minutes later Mollie returned to the room, with a tray containing the coffee, and a plate of cookies. She carefully placed the tray on the desk, and then passed a cup to each of the visitors.
“Cream and sugar?” said Kendall, pointing to the tray. “Help yourself to the cookies.” He picked up one and dunked it into his coffee. “Now Mr. Shaw,” Kendall continued, slowly chewing on the cookie, small crumbs falling down his shirtfront and onto the desk. “Shall we begin?”
Shaw was now much more relaxed. He took a drink of his coffee. He then picked up one of the cookies. He looked at Mollie, then at Kendall, and dipped it into his cup. “Mr. Kendall, my brother, Anthony, was killed six weeks ago. So far the police have no leads. They have found no clues, and no obvious motive. They say that they are doing all they possibly can, but they are getting nowhere. They believe that it was a drugs related crime. The most difficult crime to prove, they say. This type of crime is completely illogical. Quite often th
ere is no connection between the culprit, and the victim. Quite often the culprit doesn’t even realize what he, or she, is doing. They may never solve the crime, they say. Indeed, according to them, it may be unsolvable.”
Kendall listened attentively, silently acknowledging that what was being said was sadly correct. “Go on Mr. Shaw,” he gently coaxed. “I’m listening.” He picked up another cookie and dipped it into his coffee.
“Mr. Kendall my brother never took drugs in his whole life. He would never take drugs. Even to a tablet for a headache. He didn’t believe in that kind of thing. It just wasn’t him.”
“With respect, Mr. Shaw,” Kendall said. “Nobody ever thinks badly of their own relatives. Forgive me, but are you absolutely sure that your brother was so good.” Kendall looked closely at Shaw, and then at his mother. Neither of them was giving anything away.
Mollie glared at Kendall. “Carry on Mrs. Shaw,” she said, patting her on her arm.
“Mr. Kendall. I know my son,” she said in almost a whisper.
It was no more than Kendall would have expected, but it didn’t help. “So tell me, why would the police think that it was connected to drugs? I mean they must have had a reason.” Shaw said nothing. “Mr. Shaw,” Kendall coaxed. “What reason could they have? You must tell me everything.”
Shaw was hesitant. He looked at his mother, and then looked back at Kendall. “They found a small package.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Shaw, I didn’t quite hear you,” Kendall said. “Did you say they found a package? What package?”
“Yes Mr. Kendall”, Shaw replied a little louder. “They found a package lying next to my brother.” He paused and looked at his mother once again.
She placed her hand on his arm. “Go on,” she said gently.
“It contained heroin,” Shaw continued. “The very best quality apparently, at least that’s what the Police said.”
“Heroin,” said Kendall, not quite believing what he was hearing. “They just happened to find a package containing heroin. It just happened to be lying around, just like that.”
“Yes,” replied Shaw indignantly. “Just like that.”
Kendall laughed. “And it’s not drugs related. Come on Mr. Shaw. Give me a break, please. Is there green in my eye?”
“I knew he wouldn’t believe us,” Shaw said to his mother. “I did tell you. Come on, let’s go.”
She patted his arm once again, but she did not move. “Mr. Kendall, the police are suggesting that my son was a drug addict, who was killed by a supplier who had not been paid.” She paused. “If that was true, why did the dealer leave the heroin lying on the floor?”
Kendall said nothing, but silently admitted that she made a good point.
“Mr. Kendall, the truth is that it is not right. My son was no saint, that’s absolutely certain. But he would never be involved with drugs. The police are casting a slur on his character.” She started to sob.
“The police are getting nowhere, Mr. Kendall,” Shaw said. “They are trying to cover up for their own inadequacies.”
“Maybe you’re right, but what about the heroin?” Kendall asked.
“Mr. Kendall”, said Shaw. “It must have been planted there, either by the police or by the murderer himself.”
Kendall knew that either way was a distinct possibility. It made sense. If it had been a drugs dealer he would definitely have taken the heroin away with him. He wouldn’t have left it there. What had Shaw said earlier? It was the very best quality heroin. It would have been worth a small fortune. There is no way that would be left, unless it was deliberate.
“It’s possible,” said Mollie trying to sound knowledgeable.
Kendall said nothing. He drained his cup, and then stood up. He started to pace the floor. He reached the office door and turned. “Okay, so much for the police.”
He walked back to the window, and looked down at the street. At the corner was his car, an old Ford. Leaning against it were three young men. He wished that they wouldn’t do that. As he watched they looked up, and saw him. They waved. Kendall was debating whether or not to open the window and call down to them. He was just about to open the window when he heard Shaw speaking.
“Mr. Kendall, I know that it sounds glib, and, you might say, that it’s no more than you would expect me to say. My brother has never been in trouble with the police before. Not even a speeding ticket. He has never, nor would he ever, be involved in drugs.”
That was exactly what Kendall would expect a brother to say. Nonetheless, somehow it did sound genuine, and deep down he knew that it was the truth. Kendall looked out of the window again. The three young men had gone. In their place were two men. One was reading a newspaper, or at least he appeared to be trying to read it. There was a strong wind blowing, and it was impossible to keep the page open. The other man suddenly looked up at Kendall’s window, and then quickly looked away.
Kendall could never understand anyone who read a newspaper, while standing in the street. He shook his head, and dismissed it from his mind. He looked at his car. He was gratified to see that it was still in one piece. He turned away from the window and re-commenced pacing the floor. Normally, he thought better that way. It was not working today. Suddenly he stopped, and turned to face Shaw. “Tell me about Anthony. What did he do? What was he like?”
With tears forming in her eyes once again, Shaw’s mother looked towards Kendall. “Mr. Kendall, my son was a gentle, caring, person. He would never harm anyone. He always had a kind word, and would always be there with a helping hand.”
Gentle, caring, kind, would never harm anyone. It just did not add up. People did not get killed for being gentle, caring and kind. There’s something missing. Kendall moved closer to Mrs. Shaw, and took her hand. He tried to think of something comforting to say. He couldn’t think of anything. His obvious discomfort was noticed by Shaw.
“Mr. Kendall, Anthony was a Researcher,” he said. “He was a freelance investigator carrying out studies mainly in connection with property matters and land development.”
Kendall was relieved. The tension had been broken. He was not much the wiser though. “What exactly is a researcher, Mr. Shaw?” he asked.
Shaw explained that his brother undertook independent investigations for anyone, or any company who required his services. The investigations would always relate to any matters connected to property. “You know the sort of thing, Mr. Kendall,” Shaw continued. “Things like property values, development potential; land use, that kind of thing.”
Kendall was still not much the wiser. “Oh yes, sure,” he said hesitantly. “I get it.” He was beginning to get worried. So far there had been nothing of any real value in helping him to solve the murder. There were no clues as to motive, no clues as to the culprit. As far as Kendall could tell the Police were probably right all the time, it probably was drugs.
“What can you tell me about his death?” asked Kendall.
“Not much I’m afraid. All I can tell you is that he was shot twice. Once in the right shoulder, just below the collarbone. The second bullet went into the upper chest. That was the shot that killed him. The autopsy showed that the weapon used was a 9 mm pistol,” Shaw paused. He looked down trying to think. “I don’t know anything else I’m afraid.”
This was becoming a habit. So we know the bullet was a 9 mm. “Do you know how many 9 mm weapons there are? Millions,” Kendall murmured.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kendall,” Shaw responded. “Did you say something?”
“Nothing of any importance,” Kendall replied. “Did anyone see anything?” Somehow he knew what the answer would be.
“No one saw anything,” Shaw replied despondently. “No one heard anything. Most of the neighbors were out. They were either at work, or shopping. There was nothing strange, nothing suspicious. It was just another normal afternoon, as far as everyone was concerned. Normal that is, except for the fact that my brother was murdered.”
Kendall looked over towards Mollie, and cl
osed his eyes. I knew it. He then turned back to face Shaw. “Can you tell me anything else? Anything at all,” Kendall asked. “I need something to go on.”
“Well, I don’t know if it is significant but,” Shaw hesitated.
Kendall looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. “Go on,” he said. “It might be important. It might be something I can use.” Somehow he just knew that would be unlikely.
“It’s probably nothing at all,” Shaw continued.
Kendall looked to the floor. Here we go again.
“But lying in the house, on the floor, was an un-opened package. Inside were four bricks.”
“Four bricks?” Mollie repeated puzzled.
“That’s right,” said Shaw. “Four house bricks.”
“Is that it, four bricks?” asked Kendall, mystified. “I know I said anything, but I had hoped for something a little better that four bricks. Come on.”
Kendall remained silent for a few moments trying to make some kind of sense out of it. That’s it. That’s all. Case solved. He was battered to death by four bricks disguised as a parcel. He kicked himself. This was no joke. After a few moments he gave up, for the time being at least.
“Who sent them?” he asked. “No, don’t tell me. There were no sender’s details were there?” Shaw said nothing, but merely shook his head.
“Anything else,” Kendall asked almost pleading. There’s got to be something. People don’t just get killed for no reason do they?
“Yes there is,” replied Shaw. “Four weeks before he was killed, he went to a place called Rosemont Valley. Then a few days after he returned he was killed.”
“Mr. Kendall,” said Mrs. Shaw. “We believe that he was killed because of something to do with that trip.”
“Do you know why he went to Rosemont?” Kendall asked. There was no response. “Well did anyone send him there?” he continued although somehow he knew what the answer would be. He was not mistaken. Neither Shaw, nor his mother had any ideas. He looked at Mollie. “Where is Rosemont anyway?” he asked. “See if you can find it in the atlas.”