Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  Duncan had a puzzled look. “Mr. Kendall, please,” he said exasperated. “What is this all about? I really am a very busy man.”

  “Sure Mr. Duncan, I’m coming to it. Bear with me just a little while longer,” Kendall replied. “They were certainly very helpful.”

  He paused. He was beginning to enjoy himself. “They certainly know a lot about old cars.” He paused again, and held up his hand. “Just a moment, I want to show you something.” He reached into his inside pocket, and withdrew a small brochure. He casually tossed it onto the table. On the front cover was a photograph of several vintage cars. Duncan glanced at the document and was about to speak, but Kendall quickly continued. “Take that old Roadster for example. The one belonging to Governor Reynolds,” he said. “It was made by the Bentley Motor Company, in England, who made the very best prestige motor cars in the world. Did you know that the Queen of England has a Bentley?” He held his hand up once again, and sneezed once more. “I really am sorry about this,” he spluttered, wiping his nose once again.

  “Mr. Kendall,” Duncan growled. “What about the Bentley?”

  Kendall fumbled in his pocket and took out a packet of tablets. He extracted one tablet, and placed it in his mouth, swallowing hard. “Histamine, that should help,” he said. “Mind you they take a little while to work.”

  “Mr. Kendall,” Duncan said slowly. “About the Bentley.”

  “The Bentley, sure” Kendall replied. “I understood that there were no more than ten of those Bentleys in the entire world.” He paused, and looked hard at Duncan. “Just ten, that’s what you said, is that right?”

  “That’s right. I told you that,” Duncan said. “Ten only, it’s quite a rarity, you know.”

  “Wrong Mr. Duncan,” Kendall said. “Actually, according to Grahams there are forty-seven surviving models. There are twenty-two in Europe, five of them in England; sixteen right here in America. There are three in Australia, two in South America, and one in Africa. There is one in China, and one in Japan. There is even one in Russia, owned by a big industrialist apparently. Possibly a member of the Russian Mafia, they say.” He paused, and looked at Duncan. “There’s one in that catalogue, on page four, I think,” he said, pointing towards the table. There was no reaction from Duncan.

  After a few moments Kendall continued to read from the paper that he was holding. “The most expensive model is located in England, in Hertfordshire. It is owned by a gentleman by the name of Peter Donaldson, a Member of Parliament, in the English House of Commons. You know I could never understand that. The House of Commons, and yet everyone is called the honorable something or other.”

  Duncan glared at Kendall. “The car,” he said. “You were talking about the car.”

  Kendall looked puzzled for a moment, and then suddenly remembered. “That’s right, the car” he said. “You know it has never ever been used.” He paused once again, and looked up from the paper. There was no reaction from Duncan. “Can you imagine that? The car is more than eighty years old, and has never ever been used. Not even once around the block.” Kendall raised his eyebrows. “Why it wasn’t even driven when it was delivered to the first owner.” He thought of his own car. Ten years old, and driven into the ground. “Why would anyone buy a car, and not drive it?” he asked. Duncan said nothing. “It doesn’t make sense to me. I’ve put on over one hundred thousand miles in mine, in a little over ten years.”

  He laughed. “According to Grahams that car is worth no more than three hundred grand.” He stopped and suddenly realized what he had said, and laughed again. “Not my car, you understand, Mr. Duncan. I’m talking about the Bentley. The Bentley is worth three hundred thousand dollars.” He smiled at the thought of his Ford being worth so much.

  Duncan said nothing, not really sure of what Kendall was saying.

  “Three hundred thousand,” Kendall continued, and let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot less than the half a million you mentioned. If you did strike a deal with Frank Reynolds, then you were being done, Mr. Duncan, and done pretty good. Burnt to a crisp I would say. Char grilled.” He paused, and then started to laugh. “A bit like the barbecue, you could say.”

  “I repeat Mr. Kendall, we made a deal,” Duncan replied angrily. “Obviously, as you suggest Frank was taking advantage of me.”

  Somehow Kendall could not imagine anyone taking advantage of Duncan, let alone Frank Reynolds. “Sure you did Mr. Duncan. You made a deal,” he said. “But you never intended to see it through, did you?”

  Duncan sat forward, and looked directly at Kendall. “Where are you getting your information from, Mr. Kendall? Who told you about the car?” he asked. Then quickly he added, “No, don’t tell me, let me guess.” He paused for a few moments. “Senator John Thaddeus Mackenzie, am I right? He is such a good politician you know. But like all good politicians you never know when they are telling the truth. He’ll make an excellent President, one day.”

  Kendall was not impressed, or amused. He simply repeated his question. “Mr. Duncan, what about the car,” he asked. “You didn’t agree to buy it did you? You had no intention of buying it, did you?”

  Duncan started to laugh. “It is his word against mine isn’t it?” he said. “Who are you going to believe Mr. Kendall?” He looked over at the clock on the cabinet. “Now Mr. Kendall, I’m sure that you will appreciate that I’m a busy man. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Obviously Kendall wasn’t going to get any further in connection with the car. Duncan was not going to budge. It was no more than was expected. “Yes there are one or two other matters that you might be able to assist me with,” he replied. “Firstly, what about this so-called intruder?”

  “What about him?” asked Duncan, becoming slightly impatient.

  “There never was an intruder was there?” Kendall asked.

  “I’m sorry but I can’t help you there,” Duncan replied. “You might well be right. There was no intruder. Let us say that you are possibly right. And yet the police think differently. Why would that be?” Duncan paused for a few moments. “With all due respect to you Mr. Kendall, I would rather put my faith in the City’s finest upholders of the law, than, I’m sorry to say, you.” He looked at the clock once again. “It really is getting very late, I must get on.”

  “I’ll try not to keep you much longer,” Kendall responded, trying not to look hurt. He opened his notepad, and started to flip through the pages. When he found the page he required he continued. “What do you know about the Government site up at Rosemont?”

  “A Government site you say,” he replied surprised. “I’m afraid I know nothing at all Mr. Kendall, I never knew that there was such a place. It’s a complete surprise to me. What is it exactly?” He paused, waiting for an answer. Kendall said nothing. “How can such a place actually be set up without the public knowing about it?” he continued. “How does such a thing happen? It’s a scandal Mr. Kendall, an absolute scandal. And something should be done about it.”

  “Yes Mr. Duncan. I completely agree with you,” said Kendall impatiently. “Something should be done about it. What would you suggest?” Duncan said nothing. “No matter, Mr. Duncan, We’ll skip that for now,” Kendall continued. “So you would not have been aware that it was set up on the direct instructions of Governor Reynolds himself? That is also a complete surprise I take it?”

  “I repeat I know nothing about such a place.” Duncan replied. “You say that it was set up by Frank?”

  “Why would he do such a thing, do you think?” Kendall asked. “What purpose would it have?”

  “Well, as I said Mr. Kendall, I know absolutely nothing about such a place,” Duncan replied. “Who knows what the Governor’s plans are. Sorry, I should say were.” He thought for a few moments, wondering exactly what Kendall knew, if anything. “I’m sure that Frank must have had his reasons, aren’t you? They must have been important. Sadly, we will never know now will we?” He paused, his voice beginning to falter. “He was such a great
man, and such a great, great loss, not only to the State but also to this Country. I still can’t believe that he has actually gone.”

  “Yes Mr. Duncan, a great loss” said Kendall sarcastically.

  Duncan looked up angrily. “Yes, Mr. Kendall, that’s what I said, and that’s exactly what I meant.”

  Kendall noted the venom in Duncan’s voice. “Mr. Duncan who else was in the car with you that night?” he asked.

  “I beg your pardon,” Duncan replied indignantly. “There was no one else with me. Ask Ed, the security guard. He checked the rear seat of the car.” He looked over to the clock. Then he turned to face Kendall once again. “In fact, if I remember correctly I actually requested him to check the back seat. Yes I did. I did ask him.”

  “Why would you do that Mr. Duncan?” Kendall asked. “Such a thing seems a little strange to me. Did you usually make such a request?”

  “Mr. Kendall you asked me if there was anyone else with me in the car that evening. I said that there was no one else. I have nothing more to say on that subject, other than to repeat what I said a few moments ago,” Duncan replied. “Just ask Ed. He will tell you.”

  “Well actually, I did ask Ed,” Kendall replied. “What he told me was extremely interesting.” He stopped, and looked down at his notepad. He started to flip the pages. He then looked up once again. “It was all about a blanket stretched out on the back seat of your car. It was a rather lumpy blanket according to Ed, as though something, or someone, was underneath it.” Kendall looked closely at Duncan. He said nothing. “Mr. Duncan, we both know that there was someone else with you that night, somebody in the back of the car.” He paused for a few moments, watching Duncan carefully.

  Duncan started to laugh. “I really don’t know where you get your ideas from, Mr. Kendall,” he said. “What did they teach you on that Learn to be a Detective course? Considering that there was no one else in the car, I doubt very much that you can prove that statement, Mr. Kendall.”

  “Well now, Mr. Duncan,” Kendall said. “I wouldn’t say that exactly. You see I have a pretty good idea who the guy was.”

  “That’s very interesting Mr. Kendall,” Duncan responded. “Perhaps you could share your information with me?”

  “I would be delighted to,” Kendall replied. He reached into his inside pocket and took out his wallet. He opened it and withdrew a photograph. He placed it down on the table in front of Duncan. “Do you know who that is?” he asked.

  Duncan picked the photograph up and studied it for a few moments. “No Mr. Kendall, I don’t believe I know who that person is, should I?”

  “You should do,” said Kendall. “He works for you.”

  “He does,” said Duncan, looking at the photograph again. He handed it back to Kendall. “You know Mr. Kendall, I run ten separate companies, and I have an involvement in five others. Duncan Enterprises alone employs over two thousand people. Duncan Imports employs another five hundred. Altogether I employ almost seven thousand people. Am I expected to know every single one of them?”

  “You certainly know this one,” Kendall insisted. “His name is Brady. Joe Brady. Take another look,” Kendall said, as he offered the photograph back. “I’m sure you will recognize him.”

  Duncan brushed Kendall’s hand away. “Mr. Kendall, as much as I enjoy our little chats, I really cannot help you, I’m sorry. I do not know the man. Now if you will excuse me, I am a rather busy man.”

  “You know I’ve recently spent a very unpleasant day with your man there, and his young partner.” Kendall pointed to the photograph. “Very unpleasant, you know they took me to an old disused barn, somewhere out in the country, miles away.” He paused, and looked at Duncan. Duncan said nothing, and merely looked at his watch.

  Kendall looked at his watch. “It’s getting late, Mr. Duncan,” he mumbled. “Later than you think maybe.” Duncan still said nothing. “As I was saying,” Kendall continued. “They took me to an old barn. My hands tied behind my back and a blindfold across my eyes. Not very comfortable, I can tell you.”

  “That must have been very upsetting for you Mr. Kendall,” Duncan responded offhandedly. “But why are you telling me?”

  “You know Mr. Duncan, I am surprised at you,” Kendall continued. “For such an intelligent man, you seem to need everything explained in such detail.” He stopped, and glanced across at the photograph of the fishing trip. He then turned back to face Duncan. “I’ll tell you why. It’s quite simple really. They wanted some information, information concerning the murder of Anthony Shaw, and Governor Reynolds.”

  “And why would they think you had any such information?” Duncan asked.

  “I don’t know why, Mr. Duncan,” Kendall replied. “It’s strange really, because up until then I didn’t actually know anything.”

  “Very interesting,” Duncan groaned. “I still don’t see what all of this has to do with me.”

  “Well there lies another little mystery. You see they knew that I had been employed by the Shaw family to investigate his murder,” Kendall replied.

  “Well there you are then,” Duncan said. “That makes sense. That’s why they questioned you.”

  “You know you’re probably right,” Kendall said. “There is just one thing, though.” He looked at Duncan. He was no longer smiling. “Apart from my Secretary, you were the only one who knew about Mrs. Shaw.”

  “Mr. Kendall I am afraid I have no idea what you are talking about,” Duncan said. “I’m sorry that you have had such a bad time. It must have been quite distressing.” Distressing was not actually the word that Kendall would have used, but he made no comment. “I’m also devastated that you could suspect my complicity in this matter, but really I have no knowledge of any of the matters of which you speak.”

  Kendall moved a step closer to Duncan. “Duncan this man, Brady, was acting on your orders, of that I am completely certain,” he said. “I cannot prove it. Not just yet. But I know. Do you understand that? I just know.”

  “Mr. Kendall, I’m sorry you feel that way,” Duncan said, holding his hands outstretched in front of him. He shook his head once again. “You say the man works for me. If that is so I can only apologize to you on his behalf. I am utterly devastated. Rest assured that I will investigate this matter thoroughly, and do whatever is necessary. You may rely on me.”

  “That’s nowhere near good enough Duncan,” said Kendall, beginning to laugh. “He may have actually done the physical act, but you are the real culprit. You are the one going to prison.”

  Duncan stood up and started to walk towards the door. “I’m sorry to hear that Mr. Kendall,” he responded. “I trust you can back up what you are saying. What do they say? Put up or shut up. That’s a bit crude but I think you get the drift. Now I really do have to go.”

  Kendall picked up the photograph and placed it inside his wallet. “All right Duncan, have it your way,” he said. “But I have to tell you that I might not have to prove anything. You should know that the man is now in custody, and is being questioned by the police. Last I heard they couldn’t keep him quiet. It won’t be long before he tells everything. And I mean everything.” He stood up and walked to the door. At the door he stopped, and turned to face Duncan. “By the way I also have a very interesting document that gives a lot of useful information. I believe it is known as the Mackenzie Dossier, a bit of a grand name for a bunch of papers I know, but hey.”

  He opened the door and started to walk through. “I’ve also enjoyed our little chats. I’m going to miss them,” he said, a wide grin spread across his face, as he left the room.

  Chapter 31

  Case Closed

  Ian Duncan lay on the settee asleep. He had been asleep for a little over an hour. It had not been a restful sleep. It had been anything but. It was now late and getting quite dark. The telephone suddenly rang. Startled, he slowly rose. He rubbed his eyes, and stretched. The telephone rang again. He looked at the phone. It rang a third time. He reached for the table lamp and sw
itched it on. The telephone rang a fourth time. He then slowly lifted the receiver.

  “Switch on Channel 6,” a voice said.

  “Martin,” Duncan called out, surprised. “Martin. Is that you?”

  The caller had already hung up. Duncan put the phone down, and reached for the remote control. He switched on the television, and flipped the buttons until he had reached Channel 6. On the screen the camera was just pulling back from a long distance shot of Rosemont Valley.

  The voice over was in the middle of a sentence. “….. all have been developed,” it was saying. The picture then switched to the reporter, who continued. “The main part of the development would have been constructed at the southern end of the valley. We understand that the development was to include a business park, a shopping center, and a number of luxury residential estates.”

  The picture then changed to the Capitol building in the State capital. Standing outside was another reporter, who was in conversation with someone. In response to a specific question, the other person replied “I am authorized to state quite clearly that the zoning issue regarding Rosemont Valley will now be investigated in detail. In the meantime I am assured that the original agricultural zoning remains unchanged.”

  There was a moment’s pause. The camera moved around to face the reporter. “According to police sources, it is thought that there is a direct link to the murder of Governor Reynolds. It has just been announced that amid rumors of corruption and fraud, a thorough investigation will now take place in this connection.” The picture faded, and returned to the studio. “And that comes direct from the office of Leslie Jessup, the Lieutenant Governor,” the anchorman said.

  He paused. “In other news today, the secret government complex located up at The Ridges, in Rosemont Valley, has been shut down.” He started to shuffle through some papers in front of him, and then announced. “We can now go over to our reporter on site. What can you tell us, Pete?”