by John Holt
* * *
Thirty minutes later the police arrived. The forensic team checked for fingerprints, but found nothing. There were some muddy footprints in the hallway, and the library, but they were too indistinct to be of use. There were however no end of possible suspects. It could have been anyone of the guests, the police officer had pointed out. Or, of course, it could have been any of the temporary staff that had been in the area that evening. There had been dozens of them. And of course there were also the members of the band. Had they been probably screened, and checked in, he asked himself. Oh yes there were no end of suspects. The investigating officer made a note in his pad. He would need all of their names, and addresses. He would check with the agency first thing in the morning. Of course, whoever it was must have had inside help. Of that he was absolutely certain. Somebody in the house had switched off the alarm, and the floodlights. Somebody inside had arranged for the door to be open.
Somebody, he murmured, but who?
Chapter Three
Downtown Miami – The Present Day
It was almost eight o’clock. Tom Kendall had been standing at the corner of the street for almost two hours. The rain was falling steadily, and it was beginning to get quite dark. It had been raining almost from the moment that he had arrived. Kendall looked up at the sky, and shook his head. This is Florida, the so-called Sunshine State. It was the middle of July, the hottest time of the year. It should not be raining. It should be glorious hot sunshine. So where is it? What happened to it?
Probably all to do with this global warming, he murmured. Greenhouse gases and carbon emissions whatever they were. And don’t forget the depleted ozone layer. That’s what it was, global warming. Although how global warming resulted in this kind of weather he could not fathom. As though right on cue, the rain started to fall even heavier. To make matters worse, it was getting cold, very cold. He pulled his coat collar up, and wrapped the jacket tightly around him. He was soaked to the skin, and he was beginning to shiver. I can remember warmer days in New York in November, he murmured. “Well perhaps not in November,” he conceded. “But certainly in July.”
He was getting stiff, and his legs were beginning to ache. He would catch a cold that much was certain. By way of confirmation he sneezed twice. Probably get pneumonia at the very least, maybe even double pneumonia. He wondered if his health insurance was up to date. He would check on that the moment he got back to the office. He moved further back into the shop doorway trying to get as much shelter as he could. There wasn’t much.
This was not Kendall’s idea of the ideal evening in Miami. In fact it was not his idea of the ideal evening anywhere. But Kendall wasn’t there to admire the scenery. He wasn’t there to enjoy himself. That much was obvious. So why was he there? He was waiting for someone. He didn’t know who, and he didn’t know why. Nonetheless a meeting had been arranged. That’s why he was there. The guy should have been here ages ago. So where was he?
This was one of the things that he hated about being a private detective, one of a number of things that he hated. He hated being kept waiting in the rain. He hated being kept waiting in the cold. He hated being kept waiting in the snow. He hated being kept waiting, period. How many is that, he asked himself. He started to count. Three, he replied. No, four. All right, what else did he hate? He hated being lied to, he hated being misled, he hated …. He suddenly noticed someone hurrying along towards him. Could this be his appointment, he wondered. Could this be the person who had dared keep him waiting? The man began slowing down as he approached the shop doorway. As he drew level he looked at Kendall, mumbled something, and then hurried by. It was not his appointment. “He’s not going to show, is he?” Kendall asked no one in particular. But why wasn’t he going to show? After all it had been his idea. He had actually telephoned Kendall. Not the other way around. He was the one who had requested the meeting earlier that day.
* * *
It was a little after two o’clock earlier that afternoon. Kendall had just got back to the office. There was a message waiting for him. Somebody had telephoned, and they said that they would call back. His secretary Mollie did not know who it was.
“What was it about?” Kendall asked.
Mollie did not know what it was about. “He didn’t say,” she explained. “Just that he would ring again later, that’s all.”
“When will he call back?” Kendall asked hopefully. Mollie didn’t know the answer to that one either. Very helpful, very helpful indeed. “Thanks Mollie,” he replied sarcastically. “Is there anything else that I should know about?”
“Only those,” she replied, as she pointed to the small pile of letters that had arrived. She smiled and returned to her desk. She turned to her computer, and started to press the keys. “How do you do Tabs on Word?” she suddenly asked.
Kendall looked up surprised. He had no idea how you did Tabs. He didn’t even know what a Tab was. The only tab that he could remember was the tab you put things on when you could not afford to pay for them. “Put it on the tab will you please, Mr. Jenkins,” he could remember his mother saying at the hardware store. “Shall I put it on the tab for you,” Mr. Miller would say as he handed her the groceries. What that had got to do with computers, and Word, he had no idea. He looked across at Mollie, and started to mumble something when the telephone rang. Saved by the bell, he thought. He picked up the receiver. “Kendall Detective Agency,” he said, looking across at Mollie and smiling. “How can I help you?”
“Kendall,” the voice at the other end of the line said. “Meet me at the corner of Harbor and Main, at six fifteen.”
“Who is this?” Kendall had asked.
“No questions,” the caller replied. “Just be there. And come alone.”
“What’s this all about?” Kendall asked.
“No questions I said,” the voice responded angrily. “Be there, Harbor and Main.”
“How will I know you?” Kendall asked.
“Don’t worry about that Kendall, I’ll know you. You just be there. Six fifteen, remember, Harbor and Main.” The line went dead.
* * *
Kendall peered out from the shop doorway, for the umpteenth time, and looked towards the corner. He saw nothing. He looked to the other side, nothing. He stepped out from the doorway, so that he could see further down the road. He walked closer to the roadway. As he did so a car sped out from the side street, and on to the main road. Increasing speed it drove straight through the nearby pool of water. The resultant spray hit Kendall with full force just as he reached the curbside.
It’s my own fault anyway, he murmured. Who would be out in this kind of weather anyway? Hanging around hour after hour, waiting for a complete stranger, who wasn’t going to show up? Waiting for someone whose name he didn’t know, for some reason, also unknown. Who would do it? He asked. “No one in his right mind that was for sure,” he answered. “Only stupid private detectives who, obviously, had nothing better to do.”
Nonetheless, he should have been here, he thought. That’s what he had been told. “Six-fifteen, at the corner of Harbor and Maine.” And that is precisely where he was, harbor and Maine, but no mysterious caller. So it was a lie was it, an untruth, a fabrication, a deception. The guy had no intention of coming. It was just a deliberate attempt to mislead him, but why? What was the point? What had he gained by it? Kendall shook his head and shrugged. He had no idea why, but it wasn’t the first time that he had been duped, and it certainly would not be the last, of that he had no doubts.
* * *
She had really tried hadn’t she? Kendall thought. That attractive blonde, the one who was looking for her missing husband, she had tried real hard to mislead him. She had lied to him, and she hadn’t exactly told him everything either, had she? She had deliberately kept certain things back from him. Maybe it would have made no difference if he had known everything. Maybe not, but maybe it would have. He didn’t know. It didn’t matter anyhow, not now. It was all too late now. Nonetheless sh
e had tried to mislead him that much was clear. Kendall didn’t know why, but he had to admit that it had worked for a while. A long while in fact.
He looked up at the sky. The rain had almost stopped at last. He looked along the street. It was still deserted. He rubbed his chin, and stared into the distance. Was it only two days ago? Two days since she had come along. It was just after a late lunch that afternoon.
* * *
It was early afternoon. Kendall had his feet up on the desk, and he was dozing. Lunch had been a little bit too much. It was the second portion of fries that did it. He really had to cut down on the calories. In front of him, lying on the desk was a pile of newspapers. One lay open, another lay on the floor, the pages strewn everywhere. He had been checking the news items just in case there was something for him. Some interesting item that he could, maybe get his teeth into. There were a number of items marked with a thick red circle that just might be of interest, in the absence of anything else that is. The first item related to an insurance company offering a reward for information regarding a stolen painting. Kendall considered himself to be something of an expert on art. After all he did have two oil paintings in the office. Of course they weren’t exactly valuable, but they were real. Yes, he thought, this item might just be right up his street. Another item was from a local firm of lawyers. They were looking for an Eric Kresner, an English guy living somewhere in Florida. They apparently had certain information that could be to his advantage. Sounded interesting Kendall thought, there might be a reward involved. Say ten percent, something like that anyway, could be a nice tidy sum. Whilst a third item was someone looking for an old friend, that they had last seen some thirty years before. Not exactly exciting or unusual he thought. In fact, it sounded pretty dull, more of the same mundane work that he generally tried to avoid. Nonetheless, Kendall thought that he might just follow them up just in case there was something. “You never know though,” he had murmured, just before he had fallen asleep.
Mollie looked at him and shook her head. “You never know, indeed,” she murmured. She knew. She knew that they were of no interest whatsoever. She turned back to her desk, back to the magazine, Celebrity Lifestyle, that she had been reading. She turned the page. Across the top the banner headline posed the question, “Would you spend ten million on a holiday home?” Did such things really happen? Did people really spend such sums merely on a holiday home? She looked at the photograph. Some holiday home. Fourteen bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, games room, gymnasium, home theatre, all set in forty acres, with its own beach frontage; all of that, just for a two week holiday.
No she would not spend ten million on a holiday home. For that amount of money she would expect a whole country.
There was a tap on the door. Then there came another, louder this time. Then there was a third, louder still. It sounded impatient almost, anxious. Kendall sat up, yawned and stretched. He looked over to where Mollie sat. He smiled and nodded. “A case?” he whispered. She smiled and nodded back. They had been in Miami a little over two months now. They had taken their time in getting settled. For some weeks they had looked around for somewhere to live. He had found an apartment for himself, over on Biscayne. Just a few blocks further was the house that had been purchased for Mollie.
The office was located off of Collins Avenue, close to Sunny Isles. It was a small modern office complex, located in landscaped grounds. Included in the complex were meeting rooms, video conferencing facilities, and a full time reception. Kendall had provided his suite with all of the latest computer wizardry, and now they were ready for business. He had placed an advertisement in the Miami Herald, and waited. He waited, and waited. They had picked up one or two minor cases, but nothing of any real significance.
There was another loud tap on the door. “At last,” he murmured, as he signaled to Mollie. “Open the door.”
She got up and quickly moved to the door. She placed her hand on the handle and started to turn. As she did so the door opened, and in she came, as though she were royalty making an entrance at a premiere, or a society ball.
She was about five foot six, and about one hundred and twenty pounds. She was not exactly a beauty queen but nonetheless, she was still good looking in a classic sort of way. She was probably in her late twenties, twenty-nine perhaps, or maybe even thirty, Kendall guessed. She dressed well, and she knew it. Fifth Avenue and Saks probably, Kendall guessed. And all decked out in jewels, Tiffany’s without a doubt, or maybe Harry Winstone. She wasn’t short of a dollar or two that much was obvious. “Is this the Kendall Detective Agency?” she asked, as she entered the room.
“That’s what the sign on the door says,” replied Kendall nonchalantly. Mollie glared at him. He looked at her, a frown forming on his forehead. He held his hands out in front of him, and shrugged his shoulders. What did I do? She asked a question, and I answered. What else? Where’s the harm?
The blonde looked at him and nodded. “And you are?” she asked.
Kendall returned his gaze to his visitor. “I’m Kendall,” was the short sharp reply. “Tom Kendall.”
“Ah yes. Mr. Kendall,” she said looking slightly disappointed. She looked around the office, and focused her attention on Mollie. Mollie quickly closed the magazine that she had been reading, and placed it in the drawer of her desk. She was not entirely quick enough. The visitor had seen the magazine. She appeared to be singularly unimpressed. She turned back to face Kendall, and shrugged her shoulders, her initial disappointment even more evident. “My name is Eve Simmonds,” she continued. “I am looking for my husband. And I want you to find him for me.”
Here we go again, thought Kendall, another of those mundane, boring, cases, the missing husband who was probably not missing at all. Kendall had seen it all before. He had merely just up and left, nothing more, and nothing less. Although why anyone would want to leave her was something of a mystery he had to admit. He started to shake his head. He didn’t want that kind of case. What’s more, he really didn’t need them, not now. The pay off from his last case, two million dollars, had been most unexpected. But it had also been welcome, very welcome indeed.
He had, of course, spent a large part of it already, seven hundred thousand, or thereabouts, to be precise. There was one hundred thousand on the new car. Then there was the house, and the apartment. And, of course, the taxman had taken his share. Then he had a few outstanding debts to pay off. There was the odd parking fine, or two. Then there was the outstanding electricity bill for the old office. And the back rent. And, last but not least, the telephone bill. It all added up, and had taken a substantial chunk. The remainder had been wisely invested, and was now bringing in a nice little monthly income, thanks very much.
No he certainly did not need that kind of a case. In fact he didn’t really need to work at all. He didn’t need to. He just wanted to, that was all. He stood up, still shaking his head, and started to walk towards her. He held out his hand, “I’m sorry,” he said smiling. “I really don’t think I can help you.” He moved to the door and held it open, ready for her departure. “It isn’t really my kind of ….”
She brushed past him without a glance, and continued over towards the desk. She stopped at the desk and took off her coat, and then sat down. “My husband is extremely rich,” she said slowly. “And I believe that he may be being held against his will.”
“Rich,” Kendall repeated. “Rich did you say?” Suddenly the case did not seem so boring after all. Perhaps, just this once, he could just help out, maybe. I mean she looks desperate. Her husband is missing, and she is obviously frantic with worry. Anyone can see that. How can I possibly let her down?
He quietly closed the door, and walked back to his desk. “Mollie, would you bring us some coffee, please,” he said. “Oh and some of those nice chocolate biscuits, you know the ones.” Mollie stood up and walked towards the small kitchen area. “Oh and the good cups,” Kendall called out.
As she reached the door she turned and faced Kendall. She raise
d her arm and waved her fist at him.
He never noticed. He was too engrossed with his guest. “Let me take your coat,” he said, as he took it from her outstretched arm. He carefully placed the coat on the stand in the corner of the room, and then slowly walked back to his desk. “All right, Mrs.,” he said as he sat down. He looked over at Mollie, who was still standing by the kitchen door.
“Simmonds,” Mollie said barely audibly.
Kendall nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Simmonds,” he said. “You say that you think your husband is being held somewhere against his will?” She said nothing, but nodded her head. Was that a tear started to form, Kendall wondered. He patted her arm. “Let’s see what we can do to help, shall we?” Once again she said nothing. She merely smiled, and gently dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “Let’s start at the beginning shall we?” Kendall said as he began tidying the remainder of the newspapers that were lying on his desk. He looked at her and smiled. “Firstly, why choose me?” he asked. “I suppose you got my name from the Internet, or perhaps you looked at Yellow Pages.”
“Well actually, yes, and no,” she replied. Kendall looked puzzled. Yes and no, he thought. What kind of an answer was that? Why couldn’t people just be straight? A simple answer to a simple question would suffice.
“I had actually read about that dreadful murder of Governor Reynolds up north, and how you had solved that case,” she continued. Kendall started to smile. “It made headline news down here. Did you know that? Not quite page one, but four or five I think.” Kendall nodded. So his reputation had gone before him. She looked at Kendall. “I understand that you have been a private detective for about eight years. Is that right?”