by John Holt
The TV changed to show film footage of the area. It could be clearly seen that fencing was being dismantled, and carted away. Suddenly the camera swung around to the reporter. “Not much I’m afraid,” he replied. “Oddly enough, nothing has actually been found at the site so far. There are no buildings, no temporary structures, nothing. The actual use of the site is completely unknown. Why it was authorized by Governor Reynolds is also a complete mystery. Now its purpose will probably never be known. No official documentation relating to the site has yet been discovered. Furthermore, it seems that no one up on Capitol Hill knows anything about it.”
The reporter paused for a few moments. “At least no one is admitting to knowing anything.” The camera swung back to the reporters left side, to show a bulldozer dragging a length of barbed wire fence down. “It has been suggested that there could be a definite connection between this site and the murder of Governor Reynolds. What that connection is we do not know at this stage.” The reporter paused once again. “And now back to the studio.”
“Thank you Pete.” There was a slight pause, before the broadcaster proceeded with the next item. “We hope to be able to tell you more in our later bulletins.” Suddenly a photograph of Frank Reynolds appeared on a screen behind the news anchor.
“Police investigating the death of Governor Frank Reynolds, have today charged Joe Brady with his murder,” the reporter continued. “It is understood that Brady, who was an employee of Duncan Enterprises, has been in custody for the past two days. He has also been charged with the murder of Anthony Shaw, a freelance research worker. Brady is currently being investigated in connection with a barn fire that recently occurred in the town of Rosemont.”
The broadcaster paused momentarily, listening to something coming through his earphone. “There is some breaking news just coming through.” There was a short pause. “Within the past twenty minutes, an arrest warrant has been issued against Ian Duncan, the wealthy industrialist. The charges include murder, blackmail, and conspiracy to commit fraud.”
* * *
Duncan stood up and slowly walked out of the room. He went down the short corridor, and into the bedroom at the far end. He quietly closed the door after him, and walked over to the bedside cabinet. A few seconds later, there was the sound of a single gunshot.
* * *
“That brings us to the end of the news, now for tomorrow’s weather.” The camera shot changed. Clancy stood up and walked over to the set. He switched off his television set. He didn’t need to hear the weather forecast. He just needed to look up at the night sky. So the matter was at last over, and the culprits were to be arrested and punished. He walked out onto the porch. He poured himself a drink and sat down in the rocking chair.
The sun was beginning to set. It was a red sky. “Red sky at night,” he murmured. Tomorrow was going to be another glorious day. He looked out across to the meadow. A flock of birds flew over. “There they are again.” He checked his watch. “Every night regular as clockwork.” He looked back down at the meadow. There were two horses grazing, silhouetted on the hillside, against the setting sun. He laid his head back, closed his eyes, and was very soon sound asleep.
* * *
Kendall switched on the television and sat down, a large scotch in his hand. He switched through a number of channels until he reached NBC. Across the bottom of the screen the crawl read Breaking news. The announcer was in the middle of a news item. “Within the past thirty minutes it has been announced that Senator John Mackenzie of New Hampshire has withdrawn from the race for the White House, leaving the way clear for his rival.” He paused for a moment, waiting for more information. “We have no firm details, but personal problems are given as the reason. He has also announced his intention to resign as Senator at the next election.”
The announcer paused once again. “And that is the end of the eleven o’clock news, and now over to Kathy, for details of what we can expect on tomorrows weather front.”
* * *
“So much for Senator John T Mackenzie,” Kendall murmured. “A has been, correction, a never was, yesterday’s news.” Kendall flipped the off button on the remote, and threw it down on to the sofa. He drained his glass, stood up, stretched, stifled a yawn, and walked into the bedroom. It had been a long day.
* * *
Three days later Kendall was seated at his desk. His eyes were shut tight, and his head was slumped back. His feet were up on the desktop. His arms lay folded across his chest. He had been asleep for two or three hours. On the desk in front of him was a thin brown colored folder. On the top right hand corner was a small label, on which was simply written a name, Anthony Shaw. Underneath the name was a date. Lying to one side of the folder was a single sheet of white paper on which was written – “Larry Burns,” and the date. Underneath Kendall had started to write. “Dear Mr. Burns, herewith enclosed is …” The discarded pen lay to one side.
A fire-truck passed by sirens blaring. The noise startled Kendall. He opened his eyes, swung his legs off of the desk, and sat up. As he did so a sharp pain ran through the base of his neck. He hunched his neck, pushing his head back, and to the side. He started to gently massage his neck. Gradually the pain eased, and he could straighten up. That’s what happens when you lay in an awkward position. He had told himself a hundred times not to lay with your head too far back. It was bad for you.
He looked around. The office was almost bare. The shelves of the filing cabinets were empty. So too were the bookcases on the far wall. He looked over towards the open door of the storeroom. He could just see enough to know that it too was empty. Over the previous two days everything had been packed away and sent forward to his new address. Mollie had gone ahead a few days ago. Even now she was probably busy setting up the new office. In a few short hours he would be going to. In the meantime he was expecting visitors.
He looked at his watch. It was three-thirty. It was later than he had thought. He hadn’t meant to sleep for so long. In fact he had not meant to go to sleep at all. He stifled a yawn, and stretched. He placed his forefinger and his thumb on either side of his nose, and massaged gently.
“They should be here in another thirty minutes.”
He looked down at the desktop. He moved the folder to one side, and pulled the sheet of paper towards him. He read the note, then picked up his pen, and continued to write. “…. enclosed is …eighteen hundred dollars.” He stopped and then he drew a line through the words. “…two thousand dollars, as payment for the outstanding rent.” He read the note once more, and then added at the bottom. “Thank you for your help and friendship these past ten years, my very best wishes.”
He signed the paper, folded it, and placed it, together with twenty one hundred dollar bills, into an envelope. That should be enough. He was satisfied. He sealed the envelope, and wrote Larry Burns across the front, underlining the name. He then placed the envelope at the corner of the desk. That’s one job well done.
* * *
He rubbed his eyes, and lay back in his chair. The noise of the traffic below was beginning to increase. More sirens could be heard, closer now, together with the tooting of drivers becoming more and more impatient. He stood up and walked to the window. The sky was overcast, and it was beginning to get dark. He looked down on to the street. Certainly there was a lot of traffic around, far more than normal. He wondered if there had been an accident somewhere, and the traffic was being diverted. Certainly the sirens suggested that something had happened, something big, and not too far away either. What it was though, he had no way of telling. He hoped that nobody had been hurt. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. He turned towards the door. He checked his watch. It was only three-fifty. “They are a little early,” he murmured. He turned back to the window, and closed it, shutting out the noise. He then walked quickly to the door, and opened it. Mr. Shaw and his mother had arrived.
“Please, please, do come in,” said Kendall, stepping to one side, and beckoning them inside. “It’s very g
ood to see you again.” They walked by him and into the room. “Please have a seat,” Kendall continued, pointing to the chairs in front of his desk. “I’ll make some coffee.”
“And some of those chocolate cookies, if you please,” Shaw called over.
“Certainly,” said Kendall. “You shall have them.” He closed the door, and went into the kitchen. Just as well that Mollie had bought some the other day.
Five minutes later he returned carrying a tray containing the coffee, and the cookies. “Here we are,” he said, putting the tray down onto the desk. “Please make yourselves comfortable, and help yourself.” He pulled a coffee towards him. He then picked up a cookie and dunked it into the coffee.
Shaw watched, and then laughed, and did the same. “So Mr. Kendall, at long last, it is finally over,” he said. “The investigation is finished, the case solved and the criminals identified, and apprehended.”
“Yes, it’s finally over,” Kendall repeated. “And I understand that Ian Duncan is himself dead.” Shaw hadn’t heard the latest news. “Yes,” Kendall continued. “Apparently he committed suicide the other night. A single shot to the head I understand. It was on the news the day before yesterday.”
“You know Mr. Kendall, hearing that news has no effect on me, none whatsoever,” Shaw replied. “I mean I feel no sorrow. I feel no elation. I feel absolutely nothing. And that is sad.” He looked towards his mother. “You would think that I would feel something, but I don’t.”
“Mr. Kendall, Duncan’s death does not bring Anthony back,” she said. “Nothing will do that. So you see his death means nothing, to me either. So, just like my son I also feel nothing.” She looked at Peter, and placed her hand on his arm. She turned to face Kendall. “I feel nothing, except possibly disappointment. Yes, that’s what I feel, disappointment.”
Kendall looked at her, puzzled. “Disappointment,” he repeated. “I’m not sure that I understand.”
“Mr. Kendall,” she replied. “Duncan won’t suffer now will he? Not as I will suffer. He was responsible for my son’s death. But nothing more will happen to him. He won’t be punished will he? Not as I am punished every day of my life. That’s what disappoints.”
Kendall was beginning to understand what she meant now. He reached across the desk and gently touched her hand. “More coffee anyone?” he said picking up the coffee pot. He replenished everyone’s cup. “Now I’m sure that you must have a lot of questions so fire away and I’ll try to answer them for you.”
“Mr. Kendall, you are right. I do have a lot of questions,” Mrs. Shaw replied. “To begin with, the most important question of all. Why was my son killed?”
“This case was a lot more complex than I first thought,” Kendall replied. “Far more involved than I ever imagined.” He picked up another cookie, and dunked it into the coffee, and then started to chew it. He looked at the two people seated in front of him. “Please, help yourselves,” he invited, as he pushed the plate towards them.
He wasn’t very good at this sort of thing. He was beginning to wish that Mollie had been there. She knew about that kind of thing. He smiled, and then quickly continued with his narrative. “It wasn’t just about the death of your son, Mrs. Shaw.” He paused, as he saw the tears well up in her eyes. He looked across at Shaw. “There was a lot more to it than that.” He stopped once again, and placed his hand gently onto Mrs. Shaw’s arm. She placed her hand on his.
“Go on, Mr. Kendall,” she said. “I’m all right.”
Kendall released his hand, and sat back. “There were certain factors about the murder of Governor Reynolds that appeared to be the same, or similar, in connection with the murder of Anthony,” he said. He started to count them off on his fingers. “One, there was the bullet, a 9 mm; point two, the Marshall Building; and three, Ian Duncan.”
“Whatever put you on to Duncan in the first place?” Shaw asked.
Kendall looked at Shaw. “Well, the first real break I had was when I realized that the death of Governor Reynolds, and your brother were linked in some way,” he replied. “It seemed to me then that the Reynolds murder was the key to solving the whole thing.” He stopped and took a drink, and then he started to chew on another cookie. “Then I found out that Reynolds was being blackmailed. It was actually Duncan who told me,” he continued. “It seemed to me that the blackmailer, whoever he or she was, was a prime suspect. Or at the very least they were a strong possibility.”
“That makes sense,” Shaw said, wondering what this had to do with his brother’s slaying. “And Duncan was the blackmailer himself, is that right?” he asked.
“That’s right, Mr. Shaw,” Kendall replied. “Duncan was the blackmailer.”
“How do you know that, Mr. Kendall?” Shaw asked.
Kendall opened the file lying on his desk. He began turning the pages, back and forth. When he found what he was looking for, he turned the file around so that Shaw could see what he was talking about. “It was obvious to me that it had to be Duncan, in fact it couldn’t be anyone else, but Duncan,” Kendall replied.
Shaw looked slightly puzzled. “Why obvious, Mr. Kendall?” he asked.
Kendall looked up from the file. “Reynolds had actually told Duncan that he was being blackmailed. He had asked him for his help, to find the blackmailer,” he said. “Duncan himself told me that. But strangely enough what he said subsequently didn’t make any sense. It was quite odd, and totally inconsistent.” Kendall looked back at the file, and turned a few pages. “Duncan told me that he thought that he had put an end to it, the blackmail that is. He told me that the blackmailer had been stopped, and the relevant documents had all been recovered. And yet no blackmailer had actually been caught, arrested and brought to trial. How could that be? It just didn’t make any sense.”
“Well, perhaps they managed to stop the blackmailer, and retrieve the documents, or whatever, but just failed to capture him,” suggested Shaw. “Or her,” he added. “Perhaps they had a plan which sadly didn’t work out.”
“Well I suppose that is perfectly possible,” Kendall said. “In fact that is exactly what Duncan said to me. There was a plan to capture the blackmailer, and it failed. The blackmailer got away.”
“There you are, then,” Shaw said smugly. “Problem solved.”
“Not really, I’m afraid,” replied Kendall. “It’s not as simple as that. There is a but, and it’s a pretty big but.” He looked through his file once again, and took out a number of pages. He placed them onto the desk, and turned them around so that Shaw could see them.
“These papers are exact copies of the documents that Duncan had given me,” he started to explain. “They are all connected with the blackmailing of the Governor. Here we have copies of letters allegedly written by the blackmailer himself, or herself,” he said tapping his fingers on the documents. “There are documents showing in great detail the Governor’s alleged mistakes, and the reasons leading up to the blackmail, together with a collection of relevant photographs.”
He looked down at the documents. “Reynolds had asked Duncan for help to find the blackmailer. Reynolds naturally enough would have handed over the original papers. The papers that I got from Duncan were copies.”
Shaw started leafing through the papers, stopping occasionally to pick one up and read it. After a few moments he looked up at Kendall. “Go on,” he said.
Kendall picked up the top sheet. “I have looked at these documents very carefully. Over and over again,” he said. “As far as I can see there was no way that Duncan, or anyone else for that matter, could have identified the blackmailer, purely from those papers.” He placed the document back on to the desk. “There was no way that the blackmailer could have been discovered so quickly. I mean it was only a few days after Duncan had been asked to help that the papers were all recovered.” Kendall pointed to the documents. “There are no clues as to who he, or she, was. There are no clues relating to where the blackmailer could be found. In all cases the drop off address was just a post b
ox.” Kendall shook his head. “No,” he said. “Duncan had to be the blackmailer himself.”
“You say that these papers are copies,” Shaw said. “Where did they come from, and what happened to the originals?
“The copies were made by Duncan, so that he could retain a hold over Reynolds.” Kendall replied. “The original documents were returned to Reynolds. Together with a little note saying that the problem had been solved. There was nothing more to worry about.”
Shaw looked up. “How do you know that?” he asked.
“Ed, the security guard up at the Governor’s house told me,” Kendall replied. “When Reynolds had got the papers back he obviously threw them on to the fire, to finally destroy them. Or so he thought. Some pieces fell into the hearth, including a note from D, in other words Duncan. Jarvis discovered them the next day. He was troubled by the contents of the note. He gave it to Ed and asked him to investigate. Frankly Ed had no idea of where to start, or what to do, so he took the easy option, and did nothing. Following Reynolds murder, he thought that maybe they were important, and he passed them to me.”
Kendall looked through the documents lying on the desk in front of him, shuffling through them. “Here it is,” he said. “This is the note.” He placed a see through document holder on to the desk. Inside, like a jigsaw puzzle, were a number of small pieces of charred paper, held together in place by a layer of polythene sheet.
“Ed had managed to put the pieces back together,” Kendall continued, as he turned the document around. “Some of the letters are missing, or are too badly charred to see. But putting two and two together the message reads – “Matter dealt with. You won’t be troubled again.” He paused. “As you can see it is simply signed D.”
Kendall picked up his coffee cup, and placed it to his lips. The coffee was cold, but he drank it nonetheless. He placed the empty cup back down on to the desk. “Matter dealt with. You won’t be troubled again,” he repeated. “That suggested that the problem had been resolved; and the blackmailer stopped.” Kendall looked over at Shaw. “Within a few short days of Duncan becoming involved, the blackmailing stops. But there are no arrests. No one is charged. Why? That could only have been possible if Duncan were the blackmailer himself.”