Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  “No problem,” replied Reynolds. “I’ll get Jarvis to look, and I’ll call you back.”

  “No, no,” Duncan said hurriedly. “Could you go yourself? I don’t want Jarvis looking through my wallet. There’s a lot of confidential stuff, you know. You understand I’m sure.”

  Reynolds certainly understood, and agreed to look himself. “All right Ian,” he said. “I’ll look first thing in the morning.”

  “No, no, Frank,” Ian replied, anxiously. “There’s stuff in it that I would not want lying around.” He waited for a response from Reynolds. None came. “I’d be worried knowing that it was just, well you know. I’m sure you know what I mean, Frank,” Duncan continued. “I would not want your gardener, or chauffeur, or someone else finding it, would I?” He paused once again. Still there was no response from Reynolds. “I would be very uneasy. If only I could be sure of where it was, I’d feel so much better.”

  “Okay Ian, I understand perfectly,” Reynolds said, a little reticently. He was tired. All he wanted to do was have his night cap, and get to bed.

  “Please, Frank,” said Duncan. “Look for it for me.” He could hear Reynolds heave a deep sigh.

  “Okay, I’ll go, right now,” Reynolds said reluctantly, trying to stifle a yawn. Duncan had been careless, joking around, playing the fool. That was not like him, Reynolds thought. I should just let him sweat a little. But deep down he knew that he couldn’t do that. He knew that when Duncan snapped his fingers, he had to jump. The only question was how high. “I’ll call you later,” he said, and replaced the receiver.

  As he did so Jarvis came in with the nightcap. “Will there be anything else tonight sir?” he asked.

  Reynolds had no further need for him that evening, and told him that he could retire, wishing that he could do the same. “Have a good night,” he said. “We have a busy day tomorrow.”

  Jarvis wished him goodnight and left the room.

  * * *

  Shortly afterwards Reynolds went out to the garage. He walked quickly across the graveled driveway. Although the rain had long since stopped, it was beginning to get quite cold, and he shivered. He pulled his coat tightly around him, and quickened his pace. We’ll definitely have a frost tonight, he thought. As he approached the garage he noticed that the doors were still open. “Careless of me,” he murmured. “I should have sent Jarvis to deal with it earlier.”

  Inside Brady heard the footsteps on the gravel, and was ready and waiting. He checked that the silencer was properly attached on to the barrel, and held the gun aloft. Reynolds walked into the garage, and moved over to the side where the light switches were located. Brady saw him come in. He held the gun at arm’s length, and carefully took aim. Reynolds flipped on the first switch, and was just reaching for the second. As the light flickered on two muffled thuds were heard. Reynolds fell to the ground dead.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  275 Cedar Drive

  It was just after eight o’clock when Kendall came out of his office, and stepped into the corridor. He was earlier than normal this morning, but he did have a busy day ahead, a very tight schedule. He had plans to check on Shaw’s house, and his safety deposit box. Then he was going to the Marshall Building to see Mr. Latimer. He had given Mollie her instructions for the day. She had been sent off to check whether or not Shaw had a police record. Kendall wanted to know everything, and anything, no matter how small, or insignificant.

  “And that includes any speeding offenses, or illegal parking,” Kendall had said, completely disregarding any similar violations that he may have committed himself. “You never know he might have a record as long as your arm. Maybe his mother and brother were lying, to protect him,” Kendall had explained. “Maybe the police are right. Maybe this drugs thing is genuine. Perhaps the police know something that we don’t. Who knows?”

  Mollie had looked at him, staring hard. If looks could kill, Kendall would have been writhing in agony at that very moment, his last breath only a split second away.

  “Maybe he was a local Mafia boss, and ma and brother was all part of it. You never know. You have to watch the quiet ones.” She was beginning to look angry. “It’s possible isn’t it?” he said. “I mean it’s highly unlikely, but it is possible. Just.”

  She shook her head, and glared at him. “No it wasn’t possible,” she had said. “But I’ll check anyway,” she declared angrily. She picked up her notepad, and placed it inside her handbag. Then without any further comment she stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her as she went.

  What had he done? “I said that it was unlikely, didn’t I?” Kendall asked nobody in particular. “Highly unlikely, that was the term that I actually used.”

  Bad move, he decided, a very bad move. What was that saying about a woman scorned? So he was wrong. What about it? It wasn’t the first time that he had made a mistake, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Those that don’t make mistakes don’t make anything. That wasn’t exactly how the saying went, but it was close enough. He knew what he meant anyway, and that was all that mattered.

  She’d get over it. He would make it up to her later. She’d like that. She’ll forgive me. Some flowers maybe, young ladies love flowers. A box of chocolates perhaps, or some perfume. A Big Mac maybe.

  “That’s it,” Kendall finally decided. He knew exactly what he would do. “I’ll take her to the game on Saturday. That should do it.”

  * * *

  Kendall carefully locked the door behind him. He tried the handle a couple of times. He then pressed his shoulder against the door, and pushed hard. It was secure. He placed the key into his pocket, and then turned around. As he did so he almost stumbled into Larry Burns, his landlord. This was the last thing he needed, not right now. If only he had come out at his usual time, he would have missed him.

  Of all things to happen, meeting up with his landlord, knowing that he owed several weeks back rent. Not to be recommended. In fact it was most embarrassing, although Burns had not actually caused any problems in that respect, not so far at any rate. He hadn’t been difficult in any way, or made any demands. He hadn’t made any threatening noises, or issued any ultimatums. He hadn’t said a word about it. In fact he had been extremely reasonable about the whole thing. Very understanding, Kendall had to admit. But of course there was no way of knowing how long he would remain that way.

  After all, he wasn’t running a charity was he? A Home for Penniless Private Detectives, Kendall liked the sound of that. What a good idea. Sadly, he was certainly not running a charity, far from it. He had to make a living, didn’t he? Business was business. It wasn’t personal. There was absolutely no room for sentiment. Enough was enough, and the outstanding amount owed was growing steadily, by the day. Sooner or later he might be playing a completely different tune, and who could blame him? Sooner or later he might just be looking for his money. Or worse still. He could start threatening eviction, or perhaps a Court hearing. Kendall did not want that. He could lose his license, or maybe even go to prison. Kendall smiled nervously, hoping that now wasn’t that time.

  He gave a cursory wave. “Hi there, Larry, how are you doing?” Then, without waiting for a reply, he continued. “I can’t stop, sorry. I’m late already.” He put his head down, and hurriedly continued on his way. He mumbled something about it being good to see him. It had been a while. They really must get together sometime soon.

  Burns opened his mouth to speak, but he was too slow. Kendall had already gone, choosing to take the stairs rather than risk a delay waiting for the elevator to arrive. Burns shook his head. It wasn’t that important. He only wanted to know if Kendall needed a loan that was all.

  * * *

  As Kendall exited from the building he turned to the left, and began walking quickly towards the corner of the street. As he did so he looked behind him, wondering if, maybe, Larry had followed. It wasn’t likely. In fact it was extremely unlikely, but who knew. It was just possible. He hadn’t.


  However, on the opposite side of the street, about twenty yards behind him, two men slowly emerged from the shadows of a doorway. One of them folded the newspaper that he was carrying, and placed it into a waste bin. The two men commenced walking in the same direction as Kendall. A few minutes later he arrived at the newspaper stand in Arbour Square, where he regularly bought his morning newspaper. A short distance away, the two men had stopped, and were now asking for directions from a passer-by. As they did so their gaze never wandered away from Kendall for a moment.

  “Good morning Mr. Kendall, what beautiful weather,” said the newspaper vendor, handing over the newspaper. “How are you today?” Every morning came the same question, and every morning the same response. Kendall said that he was well, and thanked him for asking. He paid for his newspaper, and proceeded to cross the Square, and headed towards Rosie’s Diner, a short distance away.

  The two men standing opposite watched Kendall as he started to leave. They thanked the passer-by for his help, and moved away, a short distance behind Kendall.

  A few moments later Kendall arrived at Rosie’s. He went in, and walked over to his regular seat. The two men passed by on the opposite side of the street, stopping a short distance away.

  As Kendall sat down the waitress approached his table. “Morning Tom, good to see you,” she said. “How are you today?”

  Kendall replied that he was very well, thank you.

  The waitress made a few minor adjustments to the place settings on the table. Eventually, when she was quite satisfied, she was ready to take Kendall’s order. “Will it be your usual, eggs over easy, ham, browns, coffee and doughnuts?”

  Kendall wondered why the waitress even bothered to ask the question. Why wasn’t the meal already there on the table, waiting for him, when he came in? Why did he need to place an order at all? He would lodge a formal complaint with the management about it, sometime.

  Kendall opened his newspaper and started to read. “Mackenzie on his way” was the main headline. “Senator John Mackenzie now has the full backing of his party in the Presidential race.”

  “Mackenzie, President,” he murmured. “Perish the thought, as if things aren’t bad enough.” He quickly turned the page. There had been another car bombing, thirty dead, many injured. He turned to the next page. That wasn’t much better. There had been another gangland murder; a train crash; taxes were to go up soon; fuel prices were set to increase. There was nothing but bad news, same thing every day.

  He then turned to the back pages, quickly glancing at the headlines. Even the sporting news was bad. His team had lost, again. That was three in a row. No, hold on. He started to count on his fingers. One, there was the game against Detroit. They had lost that one sixteen to four. Two, was that dreadful game against Houston. He didn’t care to remember that score, it was just too painful. Then there was the away game against Chicago. They had almost scored a whole point that day. Almost, only the umpire had disallowed it. Whose side was he on anyway? That’s three out of three. And now there was this one making it four times in a row.

  Four games out of four. Is that some kind of record, he wondered? The fans were clamoring for the sacking of the coach. But he was refusing to go. Why should he go? When the team wins, does he get any praise? No, he doesn’t. “Mind you they haven’t won for so long, now.” It’s not the Coach’s fault that the players are so bad. They are the ones I’d get rid of, the whole lot of them.

  There was a sudden noise over by the entrance door. Kendall looked up, and over towards the door. As he did so two men slowly walked past the shop. They glanced in through the doorway, towards him. Kendall did not notice them. He was still thinking about the game. He folded the newspaper, and laid it down on the table.

  Five minutes later, the waitress returned with his breakfast, and placed it in front of him. “Not too bad a day, Tom,” she said cheerfully. “In fact it’s quite mild for this time of year. Although they did say we could have some showers later.”

  Kendall wasn’t too concerned about the weather report. “What was that disturbance, earlier?” he asked. “Over there, by the doorway.” He pointed towards the door. “It sounded as though somebody was having a fight.”

  The waitress looked over towards the door, as though the disturbance was still happening. “Oh that. That wasn’t anything of any great concern,” she replied. “The manager was just chasing some youths away from the entrance, that’s all. They were yelling and screaming. You know what the young are like.”

  Kendall looked up at the waitress. It was probably the three guys who constantly congregated around his car. Why didn’t they go and get a job?

  “Yes,” he said. “I know exactly what you mean. They’re nothing but trouble.”

  The waitress was unsure whether the comment had been said jokingly, or was Kendall really being serious. “You may be right. But boys will be boys, you know,” she said. “We were all young once Tom,” although somehow she could not visual Kendall in quite that same way. “Anyway, they’ve gone now, problem solved. Enjoy your breakfast won’t you?”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later Kendall had finished his breakfast, and left the coffee shop. If he had looked up as he came out of the doorway he would have seen two men standing outside of a sports shop on the opposite side of the road. They appeared to be very interested in something displayed in the shop window. However, upon closer inspection it was obvious that there was nothing there that was of any real interest, except possibly Kendall’s reflection in the glass, as he passed by.

  As Kendall reached the far corner, the two men appeared to lose interest. They turned away from the shop and hurriedly walked towards that same corner. Kendall continued taking a leisurely stroll back to his car. As he did so, he was completely unaware of the two men walking a short distance behind him. One was in his early forties, dark haired, with blue eyes. He was about five feet seven inches tall, slim, and athletic in build. His companion was much younger. No more than late twenties. He had light brown hair, grey eyes, and was approximately five feet five in height. He was slightly stocky.

  Unbeknown to Kendall they had been following him for the past few days. In fact they had been following him ever since he had taken on the Shaw investigation.

  * * *

  Kendall’s first stop was to be Shaw’s bank, to check out the safety deposit box. Kendall was asked a few security questions that he had been warned about. He repeated the answers that he had been given by Shaw’s brother. Firstly they needed his mother’s maiden name and then the name of his first school. Finally he was asked for the password. He had then been led down the stairs by a security guard, and shown the area where the boxes were kept. The guard unlocked the gates and Kendall walked through, and over to the box. He was surprised to find that the door was already open. All that was inside were two photographs showing rolling farmland.

  The guard could not understand why the door was open. It was most irregular. “I will have to report this,” he had said. He checked the door for the third time. There was no dispute. It was definitely open. “I’m sure that we locked it the last time that the gentleman was here.”

  So why wasn’t it locked now, Kendall wondered. He stepped forward and placed his key in the lock. He tried to turn it, without success. The key would not turn. The door could not be locked. He looked closely at the lock. “There’s the answer,” he said. “The lock has been forced. You couldn’t lock that door if you tried.” He closed the door. It stayed in position. “When was that last time you mentioned?” he asked.

  The guard thought for a moment. “That was, let me see.” He went over to the corner of the room. “I’ll just check the register.” He started to turn the pages. “Here we are,” he announced. “Three days ago.”

  Good trick, Kendall thought. By that time Shaw had been dead for more than five weeks. But it came as no surprise to him. “Could you tell me anything about the man who came?”

  The guard wasn’t very sure it was a
fter all three days ago. His memory wasn’t that good. “I hadn’t really taken a great deal of notice, you understand,” he said.

  After another fifteen minutes it had been established that the man was between thirty and fifty years old, of average height, and medium build. “Oh, and he was wearing a suit. Black, I think,” said the guard. “Or it might have been dark blue, or grey. I hope that helps.”

  Oh sure, a great help. What would I do without you? “That’s fine, thank you. I’ll keep these, if I may,” Kendall said as he held up the photographs.

  “Be my guest,” the guard replied disinterested.

  Kendall placed them inside his pocket, and left. He was wondering what else had originally been in the box. And where was it now?

  It was just after ten thirty when Kendall turned into Cedar Drive. The sun was shining brightly, straight into his eyes. The sky was clear, and there wasn’t a hint of the threatened rain showers that had been forecast. Once again the weather people had got it completely wrong. You would think with all of their modern technology they wouldn’t have a problem. What with computers and satellites, how could they possibly get it so wrong?

  He did better, or at least as good, with the pain that he got in his shoulder. If he got the pain really bad, there would be heavy showers. If it were just a dull ache there would be light drizzle. If there was a constant throb, there would be snow. It worked nine times out of ten. Not that he was that concerned about the weather, far from it. He just didn’t really want it to rain, that was all. He hated the rain, and the wind. Oh, and the cold. He loved the sunshine.

  He slowly drove along the tree-lined street. It was completely deserted. There were no other cars, and no people. Not a sound could be heard. It was probably like this on the day Shaw had died. He checked the clock on the dashboard. Ten forty-five. “It was about this same time.” No one saw anything. No one heard anything.