by John Holt
* * *
Kendall quickly made his way into the wide entrance hall. The door closed noisily behind him. In front of him was a wide staircase leading up to the galleried first floor. Above his head a huge chandelier hung down, shimmering as it caught the light coming from a large window at the front of the first floor landing. In the middle of the hallway was a large circular table. In the middle of the table was a porcelain bowl containing a display of flowers, to one side there was a leather-bound book lying open.
Kendall walked around to the side of the table. He realized that it was a remembrance book, a book of condolences. He sat down in the adjacent chair, and examined what had been written down. It was clear that the books had only recently been provided. There were no more than a half a dozen entries. Kendall looked at them closely. If he had been a cynic, he would have said that all of them had been written by the same person.
He was suddenly aware of the noise coming from the room to his left. He stood up and walked over to the door. He stood listening for a few moments, then opened the door and went in. The first thing that hit him was the glare from the television lights located at the back of the room. The second thing that struck him was the number of people in the room. There must have been someone representing every newspaper in the country.
Slowly he made his way over to the far corner just as two men entered from the side room, and made their way over to an array of microphones. As they did so the murmurings from the assembly died down, and eventually ceased completely.
The older of the two men walked forward. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am Detective Ford, John Ford, and I am in charge of this investigation.” He then looked around at the other man, and beckoned him to come forward. “This is Mr. Jarvis, the Governor’s private secretary.” A brief statement was then made regarding the little that was known about the Governor’s murder. Apparently he had been shot sometime after eleven thirty the night before last.
“Governor Reynolds had been shot twice. His body was found the following morning by Mr. Jarvis, here.” The Detective paused, and looked at the man standing next to him. “It appears that Governor Reynolds may have disturbed an intruder in the garage. Footprints were found in the mud outside, which lead directly into the garage.” That was all that was known at the present time. “Are there any questions?”
A young man over on the left side raised his hand up high. He reminded Kendall of a young schoolboy seeking permission for something from the teacher. The hand was held so straight, and still. “Please sir,” he murmured.
“Please sir,” the young man said. Kendall tried to keep from laughing, and started to choke in the attempt. Despite the interruption the young man continued. “Please sir, was it possible to make a positive identification from the footprints?” He put his hand down. He was pleased with himself. His first assignment Kendall guessed, still coughing.
The detective looked at Kendall with disdain. He then looked back at the young man. Regrettably it had not been possible to make any kind of identification. “The footprints were too faint, too indistinct,” he explained. “The rainfall over the past few days has not, unfortunately, helped.” The young man started to write in his notepad.
“Do we have any more information about the actual time of death?” Somebody behind Kendall asked.
“The time of death has been set at between eleven thirty and two o’clock,” the detective replied. “We know that the Governor left the house at about eleven thirty. We imagine that he was actually killed shortly after.”
“It was unlikely that the Governor would stay out for long, without a reason,” Jarvis added.
“Was anything stolen?” somebody at the back called out.
“Not that we are aware of, at this stage,” the detective replied. “It is still too early in our investigation. We are still checking, but so far it seems that nothing has been taken.”
Strange kind of intruder, Kendall thought. To go to all that trouble to get into the place, and then just leave without taking anything. It just doesn’t make any sense. Certainly there was a lot of expensive stuff in the house, well worth stealing. Of course he may have been frightened off, but Kendall was not convinced.
The detective was still speaking. “As far as we can tell the intruder never actually entered the house. He must have been frightened off after Governor Reynolds came along. We imagine that he, or she, panicked and ran off.”
Kendall shook his head. However bad the footprints were you would certainly know the difference between a man’s shoes, and a woman’s.
“Did the Governor have any visitors on that night?”
It was the young man again. Kendall wondered if he had raised his hand again. He never said “Please Sir.” Naughty boy, you’ll get detention.
The detective looked over at Jarvis. Jarvis stepped forward. “Yes Mr. Duncan was here. He arrived at about eight thirty. He stayed until just after ten twenty.”
Duncan, again, that name keeps cropping up. Kendall’s hand shot up. “Do you know why Mr. Duncan was here?” he asked.
Over in the far corner of the room a man suddenly sat up and took notice. He wasn’t so interested in the actual question. However, he seemed to find the questioner fascinating. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of him since the proceedings had begun.
“He and the Governor were good friends,” Jarvis responded. “Mr. Duncan visited Governor Reynolds quite often. The Governor has.” He suddenly stopped. His eyes began to glaze over, and momentarily his voice faltered.
The detective stepped forward and placed his hand on Jarvis’ arm. Jarvis looked at the detective. The detective smiled gently. “Go on,” he said.
Jarvis looked back towards Kendall. “I should say had.” He paused once again, to clear his throat. “The Governor had a 1926 Bentley Roadster Coupe. The Governor had been trying to get Mr. Duncan to buy it from him for some considerable time, without success. However, I think on that night they had finally come to an agreement.”
“What makes you think that?” a young lady on the far side of the room asked.
Jarvis looked at the detective, and then turned to face the young lady. “Because it was actually Mr. Duncan’s suggestion that they inspect the car, he even suggested that they looked at it almost the moment he arrived, before he went into the house. I assumed that after all this time he had finally decided to buy the car.”
“You say that Mr. Duncan left just after ten. Is that right?” the young lady once again.
“It was about ten twenty, I believe,” said Jarvis. “In fact it was precisely twenty past when he left the house. I remember now. Mr. Duncan actually called out the time, and then said good night. Then about an hour later there was a telephone call. It was Mr. Duncan.”
“Basil Dowling, from Station KLT,” somebody over on the right hand side called out. “Where was Mr. Duncan when he rang? Was he at home?”
“Oh no sir,” Jarvis answered. “He wouldn’t have got home quite so quickly. It would have taken him another fifteen minutes, or more. He was actually out on Hatfield Street.”
“How do you know that?” Kendall asked.
Jarvis turned towards Kendall. “Oh that’s quite simple sir,” he replied. “I could hear the chime from the town clock, as it struck the quarter past. It is a fairly distinctive sound. Do you know what I mean?”
Kendall knew exactly what he meant. He knew that clock very well. It was quite loud, and there was a definite echo sound. One of the bells had been damaged several years previously, causing a strange resonance as the chimes struck.
So at the time of that phone call Duncan was almost twenty miles away. A few minutes later and Reynolds had left the house, gone to the garage, and was murdered. There’s no way that Duncan could have been involved. Sure Kendall had put two and two together, and he had got nothing. How wrong could he be? How could he possibly suspect Duncan anyway, just because his name kept cropping up? You couldn’t convict anyone on that could you? His name kept com
ing up your Honor, so he must be guilty. Fine detective he was. It was just coincidence that’s all, nothing else.
“Do you know why he rang from there?” asked a middle-aged reporter near the back of the room.
Kendall had wondered the same thing. He looked over at the man.
“I mean another ten or fifteen minutes he would have been home wouldn’t he? You said so yourself.” The man saw Kendall looking at him. Kendall wondered if they knew each other.
“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that question, sir,” Jarvis replied. “Maybe he thought that it was getting late and the Governor would have gone to bed. Governor Reynolds usually retired round about eleven o’clock.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” the questioner replied.
Kendall thought differently. He wanted to know why, whatever it was, could not have kept until the following day. “Do you know what he actually wanted?” he asked. “I mean what was so important that it couldn’t have waited until another time.”
The middle-aged reporter looked over at Kendall, and waved. “Good point,” he mouthed.
Kendall waved back. Did they know each other? Kendall asked himself. He was trying hard to remember. As far as he knew they were perfect strangers.
“No sir, I don’t know what it was about I’m afraid,” Jarvis replied. “Maybe he had forgotten something. Or maybe he had thought of something important to tell the Governor. I’m sorry I don’t really know. I merely told the Governor that there was a telephone call, and that it was Mr. Duncan. The Governor took the call in the study. A short time later I took in his usual nightcap. I asked if he needed anything else. He said that he did not, and then I went to my room. That was the last time I saw the Governor alive.”
“Is there anything else that you can tell us?” the young reporter once more, his notepad at the ready.
Kendall vowed to find out which paper the young man represented, and to buy a copy of the paper the following day. He wanted to see what kind of a job he made of his assignment.
“Not really,” Jarvis responded. “Except at about eleven-thirty I heard the front door close. Obviously the Governor had gone out for some reason.” Jarvis paused overcome with emotion. “I had thought of getting up to see if there was anything I could do. I should have gone, I should have got up. Maybe if I had, then this awful tragedy might not have happened. But I didn’t. I didn’t bother. Too tired I suppose, too selfish, perhaps. I will regret that until the day I die.” His voice started to break up. Tears filled his eyes. He turned away.
“Eve Simmonds, Insight Magazine,” another lady reporter announced. “Do you know why the Governor would have gone out that evening?” she asked. “After all it was quite late.”
The detective moved forward. “No, ma’am, we have absolutely no idea why he went out. Perhaps he heard something, an intruder maybe. That is the line that we are currently investigating. We believe that there was an intruder, and that Governor Reynolds just went out to investigate. The rest you already know.”
The middle-aged reporter was far from convinced. “If there had been an intruder in the garage, is it likely that he would be heard from inside the house?” he said. “After all it is quite a distance away. And I would imagine that the intruder was trying to be very quiet.”
“I really don’t know sir,” said Jarvis, a puzzled look spread across his face. “I’ve never given that much thought.” He remained silent for a few minutes. Then he shook his head. “No sir, I don’t think you would hear anything. Not from the Study anyway. Not unless the intruder was very noisy. But then the security guards would have heard, and they would have investigated.”
The middle-aged reporter looked over at Kendall, and nodded. Kendall nodded back, although he wasn’t quite sure why. The reporter looked back at Jarvis. “There is another little aspect that concerns me. Perhaps you can help?”
“I’ll certainly try,” Jarvis replied. “What is it?”
“If the Governor had heard something, and I’m not absolutely sure that he did,” the reporter said. “If he had, wouldn’t he have called you, or the security guard?”
“That is extremely puzzling, sir, because normally I believe that he would have called me,” Jarvis answered. “I would then have called the security guard. But for some reason he didn’t call me in this instance.”
“Why do you think he didn’t call you?” the young reporter once again, his notebook at the ready. Kendall was impressed. He was actually asking some quite good questions. He was definitely going to buy that newspaper the following day.
“I really couldn’t say, sir,” Jarvis replied. “Maybe he did call out, and I just didn’t hear. I was very tired that night, and I may have been asleep.” He paused, thinking deeply. If only he had called out. If only I had heard. If only. “I’m sorry sir, but I can’t be more help to you. I just don’t know.”
“Where exactly is the Study?” somebody in the front row asked. Kendall was thinking on exactly the same lines.
“The study is at the back of the house, overlooking the terrace and the east lawn,” Jarvis replied, indicating over to his left side. “You go through that door over there, into the central hallway. The study is down at the far end.”
At the back of the house, Kendall thought, at the far end. He looked over at the door that had been indicated. He stared hard as though penetrating through the door, into the hallway, down to the very end. There was absolutely no way that an intruder in the garage, being careful to avoid detection, would have been heard by anyone in the study. No way at all. Not even if he were having a wild party. So why did the Governor venture out like that? What made him leave the house, late at night? He was usually in bed by eleven, that’s what Jarvis had said. And yet, at about eleven thirty, he apparently hears a noise, and goes out to investigate. He doesn’t bother to summon help. He just goes. “It just doesn’t make sense. It had to be something to do with that phone call, the one from Duncan.” Kendall was sure that he was right. It was something to do with that call, but precisely what he had no idea.
“Mr. Jarvis,” Kendall called out. “Do you know the name Anthony Shaw?”
Jarvis looked surprised. “Anthony Shaw? No I don’t think so, why?”
Kendall ignored the question. “Can you tell me why Governor Reynolds was at the Marshall Building on the fourth of last month? And did he meet with Mr. Duncan on that occasion?”
Jarvis looked surprised once again. He had not expected this line of questioning. He shook his head once again. He did not know the answer to either question. “I’m sorry but I can’t help you,” he replied. “I wasn’t aware that Governor Reynolds was there on that day, he hadn’t informed me.”
“So you wouldn’t know who he was meeting there either?” Kendall enquired.
“No sir, I’m afraid I wouldn’t,” Jarvis replied. He was suddenly nervous, unsure. “Let me check his diary, and I’ll get back to you, Mr. … er?” he stammered
Kendall was interrupted before he could reply. “Those questions are not relevant to our enquiry,” announced the police detective in charge of the case, stepping forward once again. He glared at Kendall. He was sure he knew him from somewhere, but couldn’t place him.
“It would be helpful if we could just stick to the facts surrounding the Governor’s murder. Anyone else, please?” he asked, ignoring Kendall’s raised hand, but carefully making a mental note. He looked towards the young reporter, and then to the young lady. Neither said anything. Then he spied a hand held high, in the middle row. “Yes, you on the end,” he said. “That’s right, you with the green tie. Let’s have your question, please.”
* * *
Kendall stood up, and after one last look around he quickly left the room. That had virtually been a complete waste of time. He was not getting anywhere. The police say it was an intruder, when it is so obvious that it wasn’t. His prime suspect, Duncan, had an air-tight alibi. He was miles away at the time of the murder. There’s absolutely no way he could hav
e done it. And, worse still, there was no obvious connection between the death of Governor Reynolds, and the murder of Anthony Shaw. In fact Jarvis has, apparently, never heard of Anthony Shaw.
Kendall’s departure did not go un-noticed. Two men standing at the back of the room were extremely interested in his activities. In fact these two men had been watching Kendall for a considerable time. Although inseparable the two men were totally different. One was a tall dark haired man carrying a small attaché case. Aged about fifty, he was of heavy build. The other was a much younger man. He was of medium height, slim with light brown hair. They followed Kendall out of the room.
* * *
Chapter 22
Michael Cole
As Kendall left the house he turned to the right, away from the Gatehouse. He glanced around. As far as he could see the area was completely deserted. He looked over towards the garage. The doors were still shut fast. He turned, quickly walked to the end of the house, and then turned at the corner. A few yards further on he saw the lake. He continued around the side of the building, until the terrace came into view. In front of the terrace was the lawn sweeping down to the edge of the lake.
That must be the east lawn, he guessed. Not quite as big as Central Park, but it was a close second. “And there’s still the west lawn to come.” He wondered if there was a north and a south lawn as well. He turned to look back at the house. There was the terrace, and beyond were the French doors leading into what was obviously the study. It was so quiet and peaceful. It was a complete contrast to the hustle and bustle currently going on at the front of the property. “You can’t hear a thing,” he murmured. “Not a thing.”
He was suddenly startled by the sound of someone calling out to him, and a dog barking. “Hey you, what do you think you are doing?” the voice called. “You shouldn’t be here.”