by John Holt
Kendall looked up and saw a security guard approaching, the Doberman pulling hard on the leash, growling loudly. Kendall raised his hands. “Nice dog you have there,” he called back. “I hope that he’s been fed.”
The guard came closer, struggling to pull the dog back. “Sorry, didn’t mean any harm,” Kendall continued. “I was just taking the ten cents tour.” Instantly, Kendall could see that the guard was not amused. Neither was the dog. “All right,” he said, smiling nervously. “I’m just going.”
He started to walk away, back towards the corner of the building, and turned to the left. He never looked back, but he could feel the guard’s eyes burning into his back. Worse still he could almost feel the dog’s teeth. As he reached the corner he increased his pace. He made his way back to the front of the house, and then continued on toward the gatehouse, and out on to the road.
The guard stood by impassively, watching him go. “Reporters, think they own the place.” He lifted his hand to his mouth, and started talking. “Charlie, keep your eye open for a loose reporter out on the east side. He’s on his way round.” The dog started to whine. It then lay down and rolled over on to its back, looking for a game. “Come on Rex, we’ve no time for that you old softie. Not now, maybe later.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later Kendall was standing outside The New Yorker, a small bar four blocks away from Placid Drive. As he reached forward to push the door it swung open, and three people came out, the last person holding the door open for him. Kendall thanked the man and entered the bar. Good manners weren’t entirely a thing of the past.
Once inside his eyes gradually became accustomed to the dim lighting. There were two or three people over at the bar, at the end of the room. To the two sides were a number of recessed seating areas. In the semi darkness he could see a young couple huddled together in the alcove at the far corner. Two other recessed areas were occupied, but that was all. The rest of the bar was empty.
Kendall looked at his watch. It was still early, and it would be another hour or more before the office workers dropped in for the one for the road on their way home.
Kendall walked across the room towards the bar. As he did so the barkeeper looked up and saw him approaching. He folded the newspaper that he had been reading, and laid it at the back of the bar. He took up a cloth and started to wipe down the counter, just as Kendall arrived. “What can I get you?” he asked, busily mopping the spilt liquid that lay on the counter.
“A scotch,” Kendall replied. “Make it a double.” He looked around at the other people at the bar. They ignored him completely. Kendall began to revise his thinking about good manners. The barkeeper placed the glass on the counter in front of him. Kendall thanked him, picked it up, and walked over to one of the alcoves.
He sat down, and looked around. The bar was comfortable enough. There was the sound of soft music coming from a number of speakers scattered around. On the floor was a fairly nice looking carpet, although it had definitely seen better days.
He looked around at the walls. They would certainly have benefited from a coat of paint. He loosened his tie, and laid back. He rubbed his eyes. He had been sitting in the alcove nursing his drink no more than ten minutes, when he heard the door swing open and a middle-aged man entered. Kendall watched for a few moments, and then looked away, disinterested. The man walked towards the bar. As he did so he glanced around. As he noticed Kendall, he stopped, and signaled to the barkeeper, and quickly walked over to where Kendall was seated.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, as he reached the alcove. He sat down without waiting for a reply. Startled, Kendall looked up at the stranger, and then glanced around the bar room. It was virtually empty. The guy could have sat anywhere. Why here? Kendall was about to pose the question, when the waitress arrived.
“What can I get you?” the girl asked, casually wiping the table.
“Scotch, a double,” said the stranger. He looked directly at Kendall. “And the same for this gentlemen.” The waitress made a note on her pad, and quickly moved away.
Kendall sat forward, and looked at the stranger, wondering if he knew him from somewhere.
“I’m Michael Cole,” he said. “I saw you up at the House just now.”
“You’re the guy who kept asking all of the clever questions,” said Kendall.
“That’s right,” Cole replied. “And you were the one asking all of the awkward ones. Incidentally just exactly what were you doing up there?”
“Well Mr. Cole,” Kendall replied, indignantly. “Not that it is of any concern of yours but I’m a reporter, and I was up there …”
“You’re no reporter,” Cole interrupted quickly.
“I’m a reporter,” Kendall repeated emphatically.
“Okay, so you’re a reporter,” said Cole. “What paper are you with?”
“I’m with The Globe,” Kendall replied quickly.
“Peter Dominic,” the stranger replied. “He’s their man up at the hill. He does all of the political stuff.”
Kendall hesitated, thinking quickly. “Yes, sure, that’s right,” he stammered. “But he’s, he’s sick, ‘flu, or something.”
“Well then it would be Roger Lane. He’s their number two. He would take over if Pete couldn’t do it,” said Cole quickly. Cole looked at Kendall, and slowly shook his head. “Don’t bother trying to think of something else. Don’t waste your time, I know them all. Besides Peter isn’t sick, he was there, I saw him. I stood next to him for the first part of the proceedings. So I suggest that you stop playing games, and tell me who you are, and where you are from.”
“I’m with the Globe I tell you,” Kendall insisted.
“Sure,” said the stranger. “And I’m the President of The United States.” He paused as the waitress arrived with the drinks. After the waitress had gone he continued. “Look Mister.” He stopped. “What is your name anyway?” Kendall said nothing.
“Okay, Mister no name, have it your way. I’m with the Rosemont Gazette. I’ve been with them for nearly twenty years now. I am their Political Editor. I know all of the reporters, for all of the other newspapers, who cover government issues. We meet up a lot. We go drinking together. We get drunk together.” He stopped and looked at Kendall. Kendall said nothing. Cole continued. “There’s Alec Aldridge of the Echo; John Harris from the Herald; Gordon Fleming of the Times; Roger Coe on the Independent.” He paused and looked at Kendall once more. “There’s Frank Scott on the Standard. Shall I go on?”
There was no need to go on. Kendall knew when he was beaten. “All right, all right,” he said. “You win.” He took a drink. “The name is Kendall, Tom Kendall. I’m a private eye, investigating the death of a young man by the name of Anthony Shaw.”
“Anthony Shaw,” Cole repeated. “You asked about him up at the house.”
“That’s right I did,” said Kendall. “Have you heard of him?”
Cole certainly had heard of Anthony Shaw. “Yes, I know of him, he was up at Rosemont for a few weeks, about two months or so ago. He was snooping around, asking a lot of questions.” Cole stopped and took a drink. “Never really worked out what he was doing. Did you say he was dead?”
“He was murdered,” Kendall responded. “Just over four weeks ago.”
Cole was stunned. “Murdered, I can’t believe it. What happened?”
* * *
Over the following twenty minutes Kendall told Cole everything that he knew. “Shaw was killed by a 9 mm bullet,” Kendall explained. “So was Reynolds. It’s not much to go on, but somehow you can see that there could be some connection between the two murders.”
Cole sat silently contemplating for a few moments. “You know maybe it’s nothing, but there could be something else,” he said. “Something else possibly connected with Shaw.”
Kendall sat forward. Anything that helped would be good. I need something. “What is it?”
“About four weeks after Shaw was around Dave Lennon’s barn was burned down,
” Cole replied. “Then only three days later Jed Taylor was involved a serious car crash. His brakes failed apparently. Fortunately he survived, and he is now perfectly all right. But it was a really nasty accident.”
This conversation wasn’t going to go anywhere, Kendall thought. Barns burning down, and car accidents, they happen all the time. “So what,” he replied. “What’s your point?”
Cole looked direct at Kendall. “I spoke to the garage where the car was taken after the accident. Only a week before, that car had been taken in to that same garage for a service.”
Kendall thought of the endless repairs done on his car. “There’s nothing unusual in that. Perhaps the garage had done a bad job. It happens.”
“Certainly it happens,” Cole replied. “But not in this case.”
“How come you’re so sure?” Kendall asked, beginning to get bored with the whole conversation, and not really too concerned with getting an answer. He knew instinctively that it was not going to help his investigation. Nothing else had, so far, so why should this be any different?
“I know the garage,” said Cole. “The garage had been specifically asked to check the brakes. They did, and they were perfect when the car left the garage. Jed used the car every day, for six days. There was no problem.” Cole stopped and took a drink. He glanced around the room, and then moved closer to Kendall. “On the seventh day, when the accident happened, the car was taken back to the garage. The mechanic is absolutely adamant. In his opinion the brake cable had been deliberately cut through.”
Kendall was still unsure what this was proving if anything. So the car had been tampered with, the brake cable had been cut. So it wasn’t an accident. And maybe, just maybe, the barn fire was no accident either. Maybe it had been started deliberately. Perhaps Rosemont was just a dangerous place to live. What had it to do with the murder of Anthony Shaw, and the murder of Governor Reynolds anyway?
Cole didn’t know the answers to those questions either. “Incidentally, Kendall, there are two men outside, just across the road. I could be wrong, but I believe that they are following you. They were there this afternoon, up at the House. They left a few seconds after you did. They are here now, outside. I don’t believe it is coincidental.”
Kendall stood up and walked over to the window. Keeping out of view he glanced out. There they were, at the corner, as Cole had said. Kendall walked back to the alcove, and sat down. He looked over at the barman and indicated another round of drinks. “I don’t know who they are,” he said. “But I’ve had a feeling I was being watched for some time now.” He stopped abruptly as the waitress came over with the drinks. She placed the drinks on the table, and left. “What can you tell me about Shaw?” Kendall asked. “What was he actually doing in Rosemont?”
“I don’t really know what he was up to,” replied Cole. I know that he was asking a lot of questions about land. Who owned what, and how much. What kind of land it was.” He stopped for a moment and took a drink. “Some kind of government survey he had said, but I’m not so sure.”
“And that’s it, that’s all!” said Kendall. This was becoming a very bad habit. Nobody knows nothing, or should that be nobody knows anything? Perhaps it should be no one knows anything.
He didn’t really know. What did it matter anyway? At the end of the day he had nothing of any great consequence. That’s what mattered. He was struggling for some decent information. All he was getting was just a lot of pieces that he couldn’t fit together. In fact he wasn’t even sure that they would fit together. Maybe he wasn’t dealing with one single puzzle. Maybe there was more than one puzzle. Maybe there were dozens of puzzles.
“There is one odd thing, though,” Cole said.
Just the one, thought Kendall, things are looking up. “Go on. I’m listening,” he said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than he really was.
“Well, it’s probably not connected,” Cole continued. “But shortly after Shaw’s visit, the letters started to arrive.”
“Letters, what letters?” asked Kendall, fast losing interest, and wondering where this was all leading.
“Letters offering to purchase whole chunks of land,” Cole replied. “Almost everyone got one.” He looked at Kendall. “What do you think that was all about?”
Kendall had long given up thinking. “I wouldn’t have a clue,” he replied frustrated. After a few more seconds he continued. “Who sent the letters?”
“A company called Latimer Holdings,” said Cole.
“Latimer.” That name again, Kendall thought. Kendall then told Cole everything he knew about the name. It wasn’t much, and it didn’t take that long. “What it all means is a complete mystery to me,” he said. “But one thing I do know. There is certainly a number of links between the two deaths, for example Latimer and Ian Duncan.”
As he finished speaking two men entered the bar. They glanced over at Kendall, and then quickly turned away, moving to a seat on the opposite side of the room. Within a few moments the waitress had joined them and was taking their order.
Cole looked across at the men. “Time we moved on,” he said as he quickly drained his glass. Kendall looked up. Cole moved his head slightly, indicating the two men. Kendall looked over, and quickly finished his drink. Cole stood up, and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. Then he and Kendall hurried out of the bar.
It was a few moments before the other two men realized what had happened. They stood up, and started towards the door, pushing the waitress to one side as they went. She slipped and fell to the ground, her tray crashing to the floor, the glasses splintering into dozens and dozens of shards. She put her hand out to save herself, only for it to find the broken glass. Red droplets of blood started to fall from a half a dozen cuts, mingling with the bourbon flowing under the table. The bartender had seen what had happened, and he came running around from the bar and over towards her. As he did so he called out to the two men to stop, as they made their way to the door. There was no reaction. He called once again, but they had already gone.
* * *
Chapter 23
Rosemont
Arrangements had been made for Kendall to meet up with Michael Cole, on the following day, at the Gazette offices in Rosemont.
It was just after ten o’clock when Kendall was finally ready to leave. He stepped out of his office, into the corridor, and placed his bag down on the floor, and pulled the office door closed. He pushed it once or twice to make sure that it was secure. He placed the key in the lock. As he began to lock the door, the occupant of one of the other adjacent offices came by. He stopped to talk for a few moments, and then hurried on his way. After he had gone, Kendall returned the key to his pocket, picked up his weekend bag, and hurried down the back staircase.
He came out of the building into a small service area, which contained the heating, and air conditioning plants, and a small area for deliveries. He walked through the area over to a narrow alleyway on the far side, which lead out on to the main street where he had parked his car earlier that morning. He opened up the trunk, and put in the travel bag. He then got into the car, switched on the ignition, checked his mirrors and slowly pulled away.
Two men peered out from a darkened doorway, and watched him as he drove past. He drove east towards the main highway, where he turned heading northwards. As he did so a dark blue Mercury Marauder slowly pulled out from a side street, and headed in the same direction, some fifty yards behind him.
It wasn’t until Kendall had reached the junction with Harbor Road that he first actually noticed the Marauder. Even then it was still not significant. He merely caught a passing glimpse of it in his rear view mirror as he checked before overtaking a slower vehicle. The Marauder pulled out and overtook the same car. Kendall took the next turn, a sharp left, and immediately cut across over to the inside lane, ready for a right turn that was coming up. The Mercury Marauder also took a sharp left, and then cut across the traffic on to the inside lane, still about fifty yards behind Kendall. Three bl
ocks further along Kendall took a right. The Mercury Marauder did the same.
A few minutes later, Kendall arrived at the next turn to the left. He signaled and checked his mirror. The blue sedan was still behind him, still fifty yards away. A coincidence perhaps, after all it was quite possible that the driver happened to be going in the same direction. Kendall, however, wasn’t a great believer in coincidence. In fact he didn’t believe in coincidence at all.
He continued on for another block, and then turned to the left, heading down towards the coast road. The sedan took the turn a short distance behind him. Another coincidence he wondered, possible, certainly; but probably unlikely. A few yards further on Kendall turned to the right, and then almost immediately left. Once again, the Mercury did the same. That wasn’t just coincidence he now knew for certain that he was being followed.
But by who, he wondered, and why? He had no way of knowing. Had he seen that car before? He wasn’t absolutely sure. Blue Mercury Marauders weren’t exactly a rarity. In fact if the truth were known they were quite common, and he must have seen hundreds of blue Mercury Marauders in the past few weeks alone. Well dozens anyway. But had he seen this particular model? The neighbor in Cedar Drive had mentioned a blue car. It was a little vague, he had to admit, but the color matched. Could it be the same car?
He checked the mirror once again. The Mercury Marauder was right there, still maintaining a steady speed, and a fifty yards gap. Kendall increased his speed slightly. The blue car behind him increased its speed. He slowed down, the blue car slowed.
As he reached the junction at the bottom of the hill he signaled left, but he turned sharply to the right, cutting across two lanes of traffic, and put his foot hard to the floor, and sped away. The Mercury Marauder driver was taken by surprise, and had to brake hard to make the turn. The blue car then pulled across the two lanes, and immediately increased speed, accelerating down the hill chasing after Kendall. As it did so it clipped the side of a parked car at the corner, smashing its nearside headlamp. It over-steered trying to straighten up, and mounted the curb. It swerved to avoid a lamp column, and bounced hard, back down on to the road. Two hundred yards further on, there was a T junction. Kendall turned to the right onto the major road, straight into the front of oncoming traffic, causing a number of cars to brake violently. He quickly weaved into the traffic flow and settled down behind a FedEx truck.