by John Holt
There was another flash of lightning. He looked up at the sky as another clap of thunder echoed overhead. He pulled his coat over, and secured the buttons. One final look at the house, and then he started to run to the next corner where his car was waiting.
* * *
Chapter 20
The Mackenzie Dossier
Thirty minutes after Mayor Berry had left there was a knock on the office door. The door opened, and Martha entered. She looked ashen, and she appeared to have difficulty breathing. “Sir, I’ve just heard the news.” She stopped, as she fell against the wall. “It was just on the radio.”
Mackenzie looked directly at her. The color had drained completely from her face. “What is it? What news?” he asked gently. “What’s the matter, Martha?”
She stumbled once again, and clutched the edge of the desk to steady herself. Mackenzie got up and rushed around the side of the desk. He took her arm, and gently helped her into a chair. Sweat covered her brow, and her hands were shaking. Mackenzie poured a glass of water and held it to her lips.
“Now tell me, Martha,” Mackenzie said. “What is it?”
Slowly, and almost in a whisper, she told Mackenzie that she had been in her office. “Typing up those corrections for you, sir,” she explained. She had been listening to a concert on the radio, when suddenly the program had been interrupted. She fell silent once again.
“Go on,” prompted Mackenzie, gradually becoming more and more impatient.
She took another drink from the water glass. “It’s the Governor, sir,” she said. “Governor Reynolds.”
“What about the Governor?” Mackenzie asked
“He’s been murdered,” she replied. “His body was found earlier this morning. He had been shot, twice.”
* * *
Mackenzie didn’t know why but there was something troubling him about the death of Governor Reynolds. Sure he was upset, that was only natural. Sure it had been a dreadful shock. The death of a friend was bad, very bad. The murder of a friend was devastating, but somehow this was different. He felt uneasy, nervous. He felt somehow vulnerable. It was so close to the death of that young man Shaw. Were they connected somehow? Of course they weren’t connected. How could they be? It was just a terrible coincidence. He shivered involuntary. He was not convinced. Something told him that it wasn’t just coincidence.
He stood up and walked over to the door. He placed his ear to the door for a few moments. He then turned the key, locking it. He tried the door a number of times, to check that it was properly secured. When he was satisfied that it was he returned to his desk. He unlocked the drawer and took out the notes that he had written earlier. He started to read them through slowly. “Get a little tougher.” He underlined the sentence. “Get things moving.” There was more underlining. “No more Mr. Nice Guy.” This was heavily underlined. “There was a fire, nobody got hurt.” He drew a circle around these words.
He laid the paper down on to the desk. He then went over to the bureau in the corner of the room. He unlocked the cover, and rolled it back. He then unlocked an inner compartment and took out a buff colored file. He carried it back to his desk, and sat down. Inside were details of his meetings with Reynolds, and his meetings with Duncan. There were full details regarding Rosemont, and Duncan’s plans. He picked up his recent notes and placed them at the back of the folder.
The previous item related to the death of a young man by the name of Shaw. Mackenzie was not aware of anything significant regarding this young man. He did, however, know that at one time he had done some work for Duncan. He also knew that Shaw had prepared the report relating to Rosemont. Furthermore, he knew that his death had occurred very shortly after producing that report. In fact his death had occurred the day after the report had been received. His death had been sudden, and violent. Frank’s death had also been sudden and violent.
Was it possible that the two deaths were linked in some way? It seemed unlikely, and yet, there was still a nagging doubt in his mind. There was still that uncertainty. He recalled the conversations between Frank and Ian on the day that the report was produced. Duncan had treated Frank badly that day, constantly riling him. Frank had actually commented hadn’t he. “Get off my back,” he had said, or something similar.
Mackenzie slowly repeated the sentence, “Get off my back.” At that moment he knew that there was a connection between Duncan, and Frank’s death – Frank’s murder. He did not know precisely what the connection was, however, or why.
He picked up his pen and started to write. Firstly he wrote the date. Then he wrote the factual entry regarding the death of Frank Reynolds. He wrote down everything that he knew, and everything that had been reported. It wasn’t much. He stopped for a few moments trying to compose his thoughts. Then suddenly he knew precisely what he wanted to say.
When he had finished he read through the document slowly. He was now convinced that somehow Duncan was involved in the death of Reynolds, and probably that of Shaw. He felt threatened. He quickly returned the file to the bureau, and locked it. He then went over to the door, unlocked it, and opened it slightly. He peered into the corridor. There was no body in sight. He closed the door, locking it once again.
He sat down staring at the telephone. His hands lay flat on the desk. Sweat started to form across his brow. He looked over at the clock. It was a few minutes to five. He should have been on his way to his appointment by now, but because of the circumstances he had cancelled the meeting. The college was disappointed, but understood perfectly. They would re-arrange the debate for two weeks time, if that were acceptable. Mackenzie had indicated that was fine.
He reached for the handset. He started to dial Ian Duncan’s number. It was answered on the third ring.
“Duncan here,” a voice said.
“Hello Ian,” Mackenzie replied nervously. “I’ve just heard the news about Frank.”
“Oh yes, a terrible, terrible thing,” Duncan replied. “Absolutely dreadful, I can hardly believe it. I was going to give you a call.” The line went dead momentarily. Then Mackenzie could hear the sound of shuffling paper, and then a door slammed shut. “Sorry about that, John.” Duncan came back on. “What was I saying? Oh yes. Who would do such a terrible thing?” Mackenzie said nothing. “To think, it was just a simple thing like an intruder. I mean it doesn’t bear thinking about does it?”
“What was that?” Mackenzie asked. “Did you say an intruder? Where? Surely not inside the house?”
“Oh no, not in the house,” Duncan replied. “Apparently he was in the garage. Frank went out there for some reason, I don’t know why, and he must have disturbed someone, and was killed.”
It didn’t make sense to Mackenzie. No sense at all. “That’s absolute nonsense, Ian. Think about it. If it had been an intruder where were the security guards? Why didn’t they hear, and investigate.” He paused for a moment, waiting for a response. None came. “Ian are you still there?”
“Oh yes, John,” Duncan hurriedly called back. “I’m still here. Now what were you saying about the security guards?”
Mackenzie was beginning to be a little annoyed. “I said why didn’t the security guards investigate? I mean what were they doing?”
“Exactly, John,” Duncan replied. “It all seems a little strange to me. Somebody better question those guards, and I mean right now.”
Mackenzie ignored Duncan’s comment. “And another thing, Ian,” he said. “If the intruder was in the garage, why did Frank go out there anyway? I mean he couldn’t have heard him, could he? Not from inside the house. It just doesn’t make any sense whatsoever.”
“I’m sorry, John. I really don’t know. I’m as much in the dark as you are,” Duncan replied. “I can only tell you that is what the police think. There was an intruder, Frank went out to investigate, and he was sadly murdered, as simple as that. And they should know shouldn’t they?”
Mackenzie was far from convinced. Whatever the police were saying was just too ridiculous to
even contemplate. It was utter madness.
He was about to say so when he realized that Duncan was still talking. “You know John I would hate anything similar to happen to you. You will be careful won’t you?”
What was that, Mackenzie wondered. What was Duncan talking about? “Sorry Ian, I didn’t quite catch that. What was it you said?”
“I just said that you should be very careful, John, and take care of yourself,” Duncan replied, quite slowly and deliberately. “We don’t want anything bad to happen to you do we? That would be just too dreadful.”
Mackenzie wondered why anything bad should happen to him. Besides, what did he mean, bad? Why was Duncan so concerned anyway? Then he suddenly realized. The penny dropped. He knew precisely what Duncan was saying, precisely what he meant. He knew that what Duncan had just said was not out of any real concern for his welfare. It was more of a warning. No, it was not just a warning. It was more like a threat. A cold shiver ran down his spine. “Ian I think that you should know that I’ve written it all down,” he suddenly blurted out.
“What was that, John?” Duncan asked, startled. “I wasn’t really paying attention I’m afraid.”
“I said that I’ve written it all down, Ian,” Mackenzie repeated, slightly more confident this time. “I’ve included everything from way back. There are details of our days at college, the so-called Warren affair and, of course, Rosemont. You name it and I’ve written it down in a dossier. A journal you could call it.”
“Dossier?” Duncan repeated. “Dossier? Journal? What are you talking about Mackenzie? You’re not making any sense.”
“I actually call it the Mackenzie Dossier,” Mackenzie continued, calmer now, ignoring Duncan’s questions. “Not very imaginative I know, but it sounds impressive don’t you think?” He paused for a moment. “It’s just a collection of documents gathered together in a buff colored file.” He started to laugh.
“Mackenzie, I haven’t time for your foolish games,” Duncan called down the phone. “Do you hear me? Mackenzie!”
Mackenzie stopped laughing. “No Ian, make no mistake. This is not a game. This is extremely serious stuff,” Mackenzie responded, growing more and more confident as time went on. “I’ve written everything down, everything about you, and Frank, and me, and the others. Every single thing about your plans has been documented. Dates, times, places, names. It’s all there.” He stopped for a few moments. “I’ve even included details regarding Mr. Shaw, and his report.” There was silence on the other end of the line. “Ian,” Mackenzie called out. “Are you still there? Did you hear what I said?”
There was a long silence. “Are you completely mad?” Duncan said finally. “Do you know what would happen if your little file ever got out? Your dossier or whatever you call it. Your career would be over, finished, kaput.”
“And yours too, Ian,” Mackenzie interrupted. Duncan said nothing. “Besides you don’t have to worry. It’s in a safe place. It won’t get out, as you put it.” Amazingly enough he was beginning to enjoy himself. “Nothing will happen. As long as I remain in good health that is, Ian.” He started to laugh once more. “So you see, Ian, I will certainly look after myself, as you say. I’ll certainly take good care of myself. Oh, and you should look after me as well.”
So that was it, he thinks he has a little insurance policy, does he. In other words, blackmail. Duncan didn’t like it, but he would have to go along with it, at least he would for the time being. “Oh, I see,” he said slowly. “That’s quite clever of you, very clever indeed, John, so unlike you.” He paused. Mackenzie laughed again. “You must let me see what you have written about me, sometime. I’m sure that it will be most interesting.”
“Oh it is, Ian. Very interesting,” Mackenzie replied. “I’ll let you have a copy.”
“You do that,” said Duncan, and hung up.
Mackenzie wondered if perhaps he had gone just a little too far. Duncan could be very dangerous, especially when crossed. It was too late now. What is done is done. In the next few days he would deposit a copy of the Dossier in his safe deposit box. A second sealed copy would be given to his lawyer, with strict instructions that it was only to be opened in the event of his death. And, because he had promised, a third copy would be sent to Duncan.
* * *
Chapter 21
The Governor’s Mansion
As Kendall arrived at beginning of Placid Drive he slowed down, and pulled over. He could see the entrance to the Governor’s mansion less than one hundred yards down on the left hand side. A barrier had been erected across part of the roadway, at that point. No vehicular access was being allowed on to the premises, other than official cars. The area was covered with police officers, and obvious security people attempting to look inconspicuous. They would have succeeded too, if only they hadn’t constantly held their hands up to their mouths, and apparently had long conversations with their wrists. All of them were equipped with the same earpiece, trying to look like an IPod, and failing. And why did they all have to wear that same dark suit, and white shirt, and those sunglasses?
Kendall looked up at the sky. Where was the sun anyway? He looked away. One of the security people was looking straight at him. Kendall checked his mirrors, and slowly pulled out, continuing along the street. The guard looked away, and went back into the crowd.
Kendall could see that there was a large gathering of people, probably press and television reporters he guessed, slowly making their way through into the grounds. The security guards appeared to be checking everyone going through the gates, or at least they were trying to, although without a great deal of success. There was a lot of pushing and general confusion, as people hurried in, causing great difficulties for the security guards. Kendall slowly drove past the gates, continuing on for another fifty or sixty yards. He turned right at the next junction, pulled over and parked. He then quickly ran back to the entrance gates, and joined the rear of a small group who were making their way through.
Slowly he mingled, and gradually made his way into the center of the group. He began taking animatedly as though he were part of the group. Nobody said anything to challenge him. Each one thought that he was with someone else in the group. As they approached the gatehouse they all held identity passes aloft, as they walked through. Kendall held his Diners Card high in the air. In the confusion and hustle, no body queried who he was, or what he was doing there. No one made any attempt to stop him.
The security guard merely waved everyone through, telling them to hurry, advising that the Press conference was about to start.
Kendall’s deception worked perfectly and he got through. He had not been stopped by anyone. He had not been questioned by anyone. Nobody had even noticed him. Nobody that is, except for two men standing on the opposite side of the road. They were deep in conversation with each other, but they never took their eyes off of him.
As Kendall emerged on the other side of the gate he quickly broke away from the other people he had entered with, and moved over to the edge of the driveway. He did not want any awkward questions once they realized that he was not actually part of their group. He walked along the graveled driveway, towards the house. As he did so, he could just see the blue tiled roof to the garage block through the trees. Just a little way further on, the driveway curved to the right, and the garages came into view. They were in a block of five. The walls were fully rendered, and painted a brilliant white. Above the garages were a number of rooms. At one end there was a cast iron staircase leading up to a balconied landing at first floor level. Probably the rooms had originally been living quarters for the chauffeur.
He looked down to the garages themselves, and wondered exactly where Reynolds’ body had been discovered. He knew that it had been at the garages somewhere, but he did not know whether it was inside or out. There were no obvious indications outside. There were no signs of any police markers, or barriers. No evidence of a crime scene. It could have been somewhere at the back of the block, he supposed. A little un
likely though. It was most probably inside the garage block. Regrettably all of the garage doors were closed, so he was unable to check.
Another twenty yards or so further on, the driveway dipped down slightly, and turned further to the right, and the house came into view. It was one of those old colonial homes. It reminded Kendall of the old Plantation homes in the Deep South, in the mid eighteen hundreds. He knew all about them. He had seen “Gone With The Wind,” twice in fact. That was his era, that’s when he should have been born, a time of elegance, good manners, and high standards. What had gone wrong, he wondered. He should have been a Southern gentleman. He could imagine himself seated on the back deck, the sun setting, crickets chirping down at the lake, sipping a Mint Julep.
The house had actually been built at the beginning of 1850. It was originally the family home of a merchant, a rich merchant, who later became a banker. After the Civil War it had been purchased by the State to be used for the official residence of the Governor. Around the entrance was a small columned portico area. Along the whole front section on the first floor there was a large semi-circular porch.
Just above the middle room Kendall could see the State flag flying at half-mast. Next to it was the Stars and Stripes, also at half-mast. The curtains to the first floor windows were all closed over, and the windows tightly shut. Just above the window line Kendall could just see a CCTV camera, which was pointing directly towards the garage. Kendall stopped and turned, and looked back towards the garage block. Judging by the line of the camera only part of the garage would be seen. Not particularly useful.
There was a light breeze stirring, rustling the leaves in the trees, and rain started to fall. Kendall looked back towards the house. He was surprised to find that everybody else had gone, and he was quite alone. He took one more look at the garage, and then hurried towards the house, arriving just as the front door was being closed.