by John Holt
Mollie stood up and walked over to the bookcase. After a few moments she picked up the atlas. She blew the dust away, and opened it up, going immediately to the back pages. She looked at the Index, and then flipped through several pages. “Here it is,” she said triumphantly. She walked back to the desk, and placed the atlas down. “There it is,” she said, pointing it out to Kendall.
Okay, so we know where it is. Kendall turned back to face Shaw. “You said earlier that Anthony carried out research work. Do you think he went to Rosemont for research purposes?”
“I’m sorry I don’t know the answer to that either, Mr. Kendall,” Shaw replied. “I’m afraid I’m not much help.”
You can say that again, thought Kendall. “You’re doing fine, Mr. Shaw,” he said unconvincingly. “Can you tell me anything else, anything at all?”
“I’m sorry Mr. Kendall I can’t think of anything,” Shaw replied. He looked at his mother. “Can you think of anything?”
She shook her head. Then she suddenly sat up. “What about his diary?” she asked. “Remember?”
“His diary?” queried Kendall. “What about his diary?” This better be good.
“That’s right,” said Shaw. “Mr. Kendall, my brother was very meticulous about his diary. He would enter absolutely everything. Any little detail would go down. Ever since he was a child he would write everything down. And I do mean everything. Details about the weather; who he saw; what he did, where he went. Who said what, and who to. He was absolutely fanatical. We used to tease him about it. Everything went in. No matter how mundane, or dull, or unimportant it was, it all went into his diary.”
“Go on,” said Kendall, hoping that this was going somewhere useful, although he had his doubts.
“For the last four weeks or so of his life there are no entries in the diary.” Shaw said. “Nothing, the diary is totally blank. It is almost as though someone had told him to keep quiet about something, and not to say a word. The period obviously included his trip to Rosemont.”
Kendall sat for a moment, trying to make sense out of the scant details. He had to admit that it made no sense at all. “The inference being that he didn’t keep quiet about something, or someone, and that’s why he was killed,” he responded.
Shaw did not know whether or not that was the case, but it was certainly possible wasn’t it.
Kendall had to admit that it was indeed perfectly possible. “What was the last entry?” he asked.
Shaw opened a brief case, and took out a battered diary. It was obviously well used. He turned the pages until he found what he was looking for. “Here we are,” he said. “The nineteenth, it simply says Latimer. Marshall Building. And that’s all.”
Kendall reached for the diary. He flipped back a few pages prior to the nineteenth. There was a mass of detail relating to where Shaw had gone, who he had seen, and what he had done. But from the twentieth, there was nothing. “Could I keep this for a while?” he asked.
“Certainly you can,” replied Shaw. “I hope that it helps.”
So do I, Kendall thought, as he sat down. Certainly he hadn’t exactly got a lot to go on. No wonder the police hadn’t got very far. No witnesses, no apparent motive, nothing. He started drumming his fingers on the table, as he stared at the far wall. Shaw and his mother said nothing, and merely watched Kendall.
Suddenly Kendall looked up at the two people seated in front of him. He had come to a decision at last. “There’s not a lot to go on,” he said. “You have to admit that.” He looked down at the desk for a moment, planning what he was about to say. He then looked back up. “I’ll probably regret it but I’ll take the job,” he said. “My fees are $100 per day, plus expenses. Is that acceptable?”
Shaw stood up. “Mr. Kendall, I cannot thank you enough,” he said.
“Mr. Kendall, you don’t have to worry about your fees,” said Mrs. Shaw. “We have an insurance policy, on Anthony’s life. It is valued at $25000. We are prepared to use the whole amount if necessary.”
Kendall hoped he was doing the right thing. At least the hundred dollars per day would come in handy. He would, at least, be able to eat, and pay his rent. “Wait to thank me when we get some kind of result.” If we get a result.
He was already regretting his decision. He had nothing to go on. No motive, no clues, no witnesses, no nothing. “Okay, now let’s get down to business,” he said. “I will need every scrap of information about your son. I need your son’s full name, address, social security number, bank account, the lot. I want a list of his acquaintances, business associates, and friends. Get it to Mollie as soon as you can.”
Why he needed all of this information he did not know. But it was what they said in the movies, and it just sounded good, professional, and re-assuring. It sounded as though he knew what he was doing, what he was talking about. He was in charge, and taking control of the situation.
“I shall also want the keys to your son’s house, his deposit box, anywhere in fact.” Once again he wasn’t too sure why he needed the keys to “anywhere.” In fact he wasn’t too sure where “anywhere” was anyway.
“No problem,” said Shaw, as he stood up. “You’ll have everything you need the day after tomorrow.” He turned to help his mother as she stood up. He then offered his hand to Kendall. “Thank you once again, Mr. Kendall. It’s a great relief to know that someone is helping us.” He paused for a moment, and looked at his mother. “Mr. Kendall whatever you find out will be all right with us,” he continued. “You know what I mean, as long as it is the truth.”
* * *
A few days after a small package arrived at Kendall’s office. It contained all of the information that Kendall had required. There was also a small bundle of keys, including the keys to Shaw’s house, together with a key to a safety deposit box located at Shaw’s bank.
Kendall walked over to the storeroom. After a few moments searching he selected a new buff colored folder. He took it over to his desk and sat down. “Mollie, where’s the scotch?” he asked. “I could use a drink.” He then picked up a pen and wrote the name Anthony Shaw on to the label in the top right hand corner of the folder. Underneath he wrote the date. He sat back admiring his handiwork.
“Mollie,” he said as she handed him his drink. “We are in business.”
He took out a sheet of paper and started to write up his notes. He put down everything he could think of. When he had finished he read it through. It wasn’t much, but it was all that he had. Maybe the police were right. Maybe it was drugs related. Maybe Shaw and his mother were living on Cloud Cuckoo land.
He handed the paper to Mollie. “Add your own notes. Then type it all up and file them in that,” he said, as he pointed to the folder. “We have some work to do.” He picked up another piece of paper and started to scribble. “Latimer,” he wrote, underlining the word several times. Next to it he wrote “The Marshall Building, the nineteenth.” Then he drew a number of circles around the words. It certainly wasn’t much, but it was a start. He would be calling on the Marshall Building quite soon. He wanted a word or two with Mr. Latimer whoever he was.
Suddenly the telephone rang. Kendall sat forward and reached for the receiver. Mollie beat him to it by a millisecond. “Hello, Kendall Detective Agency,” she said. “How can I be of help?”
Try as he might Kendall never could get her to say the phase exactly the way he wanted, “How can I help you.” It didn’t matter, not really. It wasn’t that important. He looked at her as she listened to the caller.
“It’s for you,” she finally announced.
He had guessed as much. He was pleased to know that despite a lack of practice lately, his powers of detection were un-diminished. He took hold of the receiver. “Hello, Tom Kendall speaking, how can I help you?”
“Keep away from the Shaw case,” the voice on the other end of the line announced abruptly.
Kendall was taken aback for a moment. “Who is this?” he asked.
“Just keep away from it,” t
he voice repeated.
Kendall signaled for Mollie to keep listening. Then he repeated his question. “Who is this? I didn’t quite hear what was said.”
Once again the voice ignored the question. “Don’t waste your time, Kendall,” it said threatening. “It isn’t worth it. Let it be.”
“I’m getting one hundred dollars a day for the work,” Kendall said angrily. “I don’t mind wasting my time. It pays very well, and it is worth it.”
The phone went dead.
Kendall looked towards Mollie. She looked frightened. He stood up and walked over to her. “Don’t you worry about that,” he said lightly, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Just some crank, that’s all.” She tried to smile, but she knew that it was a little more serious than some nut making threats.
Kendall walked back to his desk. He thought of the two men that he had seen earlier, standing at the corner. He went over to the window and looked down at the corner. There was nobody there now. He tried to remember what the men had looked like. He hadn’t really taken that much notice had he. Some detective he was. Anyway, one of them was holding a newspaper in front of him, so how could he possibly see his face.
Chapter 13
An Offer You Can’t Refuse
The first of the letters had started to arrive in Rosemont during the last week of July. Within a few short days it seemed that almost everyone in the locality had received one. It appeared that a company by the name of Latimer Holdings was interested in purchasing certain properties located within the Rosemont Valley area. They gave no indication as to why they wanted the land, and no indication as to who they were. There was no return address, merely a post box number, and a free-phone telephone number. The phone number was actually nothing more than an answering service.
The Company was prepared to offer more than the fair market price for the land, and then to add on a very attractive compensation package. The package was quite comprehensive, and seemed to cover everything that you could possibly think of. Legal fees were included in full. As were removal expenses, costs for any necessary insurance, relocation costs to cover employment, and schooling, and disruption. Survey fees were also included, together with any costs in connection with State, or Federal tax. All in all it appeared to be an excellent offer, an offer that you could not possibly refuse.
* * *
The mail generally arrived early at the Cartwright house. Today was no different. Jed Cartwright had been up for about ten minutes when he heard the mail van pull in to his driveway. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was just a few minutes to eight. It was later than he had planned, but it had been another one of those restless nights. He stretched and stifled a yawn. He then quickly finished dressing, and went to the window. He drew back the curtains a little way. It looked as though it was going to be another fine day. The sun was shining brightly, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Jed looked down to the front yard.
He could see Bob, the mailman, placing a bundle of letters into the mail box. As he watched Bob suddenly looked up and saw Jed at the window. He waved. Jed waved back. He’s a good man. He’s always smiling, no matter what. “I can’t remember ever seeing him down,” Jed murmured, thinking hard. There he is, out in all weathers, come rain or come shine. Sleet, snow, fog, you name it. Nothing seemed to upset him, or get him down. I can’t ever remember him being sick. He always had a kind word and a helping hand if it were needed. And he always took the time to hear about your troubles.
“He never has a word about his own problems.” But he must have problems. Everyone has problems. He looked at Bob once again. Sure enough there was a broad grin on his face. “Perhaps he doesn’t.”
Jed continued to watch for a few moments longer, as Bob walked back to his van, and slowly drove away. Jed suddenly heard a slight movement behind him. He turned away from the window, letting the curtain drop back into place. He looked across at the bed. His wife was just beginning to stir. He walked back to the side of the bed. He bent down and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Would you like some breakfast?” he asked.
“Just coffee,” she replied, her eyes still shut tightly.
Jed stood up and walked to the door. He stopped at the doorway, and looked back to where she lay. “Five minutes,” he said.
He then hurried out of the room and proceeded down the stairs. He went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He then went through to the front of the house, and out into the front yard. He walked across the driveway, over to the mail box. He opened it, and took out the mail.
“It’s probably all junk mail as usual. Or perhaps bills.”
The amount of unsolicited letters, and circulars, that came was phenomenal. It had certainly increased in the past year or so. Jed thought of all of the trees that had to be cut down to provide the paper. What a waste. “There should be a law against it. They should put a stop to it, or at the very least, reduce the amount.”
There seemed to be no controls. It seemed that there was nothing anyone could do. It had got completely out of hand. Sadly, the politicians were doing nothing. They didn’t seem that concerned.
“They’re all the same,” Jed murmured. “You couldn’t just blame one political party, and not the other.” The party presently in power was exactly the same as the other side. It was no worse, but certainly no better. None of them were bothered. So it looked like they were stuck with it.
He wondered if it were the same in other countries. “Must be, I suppose,” he grudgingly decided. He suddenly felt very sorry for poor old Bob who had to cart it around with him. “I reckon at least fifty per cent of the mail is rubbish, and is just thrown away,” Jed estimated.
It was a terrible state of affairs, and it was getting worse. Of course the post office would probably consider that the income generated made for good business, because junk mail or not, it still had to be paid for. “One man’s meat is another man’s poison.” That’s how the saying went. Sure much of the paper could be re-cycled. But that’s not the point. Re-cycling still cost a lot of money, and used up valuable energy. It wasn’t necessary that was the point. It just wasn’t necessary. “Bob should save himself a lot of trouble, and the public a lot of time. He should just throw it away himself, and not bother delivering it in the first place.” That would do it. That’s the answer. Another world problem solved. What’s next on the agenda?
Jed carried the letters back into the kitchen, and placed them on to the table. He then proceeded to make the coffee. As he poured the hot water into the coffee pot he glanced upwards to the ceiling, as though looking into the room above. Linda had not had a good night. She had been awake quite a lot. She had not had a good night for a few days now. Neither had he for that matter. The sleeping tablets didn’t seem to be effective.
She hadn’t been well for some while. They had seen a number of specialists but so far they had drawn a complete blank. He knew that she was worried. He was worried. It was several weeks now since she had gone for those last tests. Surely, the results must come through soon. He then looked over at the letters piled on the table. Maybe, they were lying over there, amongst that pile of junk mail and the bills.
He walked over to the table, and started to sort through. He picked up the first item. “Well just look at that, will you. I’ve won a prize. Twenty-five thousand dollars,” he murmured. He read a little further. All he had to do was to send a registration fee of one hundred dollars, and a check for twenty-five thousand would be sent to him by return. It was as simple as that.
“Junk, absolute rubbish,” he said pushing the package to one side. “There’s another one,” he said, pushing a second item in the same direction. He picked up the third letter. “That’s a bill, for sure. And that is another.” He placed the two letters on the opposite side of the table. “More junk,” as another item was added to the first pile. Then he suddenly saw what he was looking for.
It was a buff colored envelope, of medium size. It was just peeping out from underneath the pil
e. He pulled it out. On the outside of the envelope was the name and logo for Rosemont General Hospital. He suddenly felt very nervous, and unsure. He picked up the envelope. He desperately wanted to know what the letter said, but what would he do if it were bad news. He looked up at the ceiling once again. What would she do?
He continued to stare at the envelope for a few moments. What should he do? He started tapping the envelope. He knew that really he had no choice. He had to know what it said, whatever it was. He tore the envelope open, and took out the contents. He quickly scanned through the document anxiously.
It was from the Cancer Unit, as he expected. His eyes darted from side to side, as he skimmed through the page. He was breathing hard, his heart beating fast. “Tests were carried out …. Dr. Matthews ….. Blood pressure …. Blood count.” He quickly turned the page. “Biopsy … Laboratory.” There it was. The part he was looking for. He started to read slowly. “The Test results proved to be quite normal.” He could feel his eyes watering. A tear slowly rolled down his left cheek. “The test showed Negative indications.” He brushed his cheek as another tear fell. He quickly turned to the final paragraph. There were a lot of long Latin names, and technical details. There were figures relating to blood counts. It meant nothing to him. Then the words he wanted to see. “The sample proved to be Non-malignant.” He gave a huge sigh of relief.
He placed the letter back inside the envelope. He then put two coffee cups onto a tray, together with the coffee pot, cream and sugar. He placed the buff envelope propped against the coffee pot. He quickly went into the garden, and cut a single rose. He placed the rose into a small vase, and placed it on to the tray. He then picked up the tray, and started back up the stairs. On his face the grin had developed and was now a broad smile. His eyes shone brightly. He started quietly humming a little tune, gradually getting louder and louder. “Oh what a beautiful morning …..”