by John Holt
* * *
Thirty minutes later Kendall was down at the beachfront waiting to start. He stood at the side looking towards the ocean. It was going to be a nice day. The sea was quite calm, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He looked along the beach. Mollie had been right. There weren’t that many people around, not at this time of day anyway. One or two were out walking their dogs. Then there were a couple slowly scanning the beach with metal detectors. He wondered if they had ever found anything of value. Buried treasure maybe, pirate gold, silver doubloons. He looked at them once more, and concluded that they probably hadn’t. A few cents maybe or the pull rings from cans of drink.
There were a few people roller-skating along the promenade. And there were three or four other joggers. Kendall watched as they passed by. They knew what they were doing, obviously professionals. Out on the ocean there were a small number of early morning swimmers. As far as he could see no one was wearing Bermuda shorts that looked anything like his. He patted his tracksuit, pleased that the shorts were safely out of sight. He took a deep breath. Surprisingly, despite the earliness of the hour, he was feeling good. The sea air was refreshing. He filled his lungs. He nodded. He was ready. He checked his watch. He pressed the buttons to show the calorie count. It was time to go. “Let’s aim for 300 calories,” he mumbled, “and 3000 paces.” He switched on the pedometer, and began a gentle jog along the beach.
Fifty yards behind him two men were seated in a dark grey car. One leaned forward and switched on the ignition. Slowly they proceeded along the coast road heading in the same direction as Kendall, although always remaining fifty yards behind him.
Forty minutes later Kendall was seated on a concrete wall, gasping for breath. He checked his pedometer. He had taken nine hundred and twenty four paces. His watch indicated that he had burnt eighty-two calories. The watch must have stopped, he thought, as he started to shake it. Or maybe it was just slow. Perhaps it was simply broken. He tapped the dial. Approximately one calorie for every ten or eleven paces, he calculated. Allowing for a calorie intake of about two thousand per day, he would need to take twenty thousand paces to burn it up. He began to feel quite ill. Twenty thousand paces, he repeated. That was about ten miles. This was not going to work.
Behind him the dark grey car had stopped. Kendall looked down the beach. His target, the beach diner, where his breakfast awaited, was still three quarters of a mile away at least. At the current rate it would take him hours.
“No it won’t,” he said aloud. “I’ll never make it. I’ll be dead.” He suddenly gave a deep sign, and took a deep breath. He could do with some water. Then he remembered that he had left the special athletes water bottle lying on the kitchen table back in his apartment. He gave another deep sigh, and lay down on the wall. “I can’t go on,” he moaned. “Leave me. Leave me here to die,” he whispered. He closed his eyes. Within a few minutes he was fast asleep.
* * *
Kendall could feel somebody, or something, tugging on his tracksuit top. He could hear a voice calling out to him. “Are you all right, Mister?”
Then there came another voice, “He looks quite ill to me. Should we get a doctor?”
“Shall I call for an ambulance?” asked a third.
“No, he’ll be all right,” came an answering voice.
“He’s probably drunk that’s all,” someone in the crowd suggested.
“Disgraceful behaviour,” another voice added. “At this time of day as well.”
Once again there was more of the tugging. Then he could feel a dog licking his face. “Mister,” the first voice called again. “Mister.”
Kendall opened his eyes suddenly only to close them once again as the strengthening sun’s rays hit his face. Where was he, he wondered? Who were all of these people? What did they want? He turned his face away, and started to get up. Pains shot through his neck into his back. He swung his legs off of the wall, and tried to stand. His legs felt stiff, and ached all the way from the thigh down to the ankles. Then the cramp hit him in the calf. He doubled up and sat back down. His face was burning. He struggled to his feet, scraping his left elbow as he did so.
Then he saw the young boy staring at him. “Are you all right, Mister,” he asked once again.
Kendall shook his head, pain hitting him in the left temple. “I’m fine,” he spluttered, feeling anything but. The boy said nothing and just ran off, the dog quickly followed. The day’s little excitement was obviously over.
The small crowd that had gathered now slowly dispersed, and went their separate ways. “Imagine that,” said one man as he passed by. “Drunk at this time of day.”
His companion turned to look at Kendall. “You would think someone as old as that would know better, wouldn’t you?” came his reply. Kendall watched until they were out of sight.
After some considerable effort he managed to stand up, and he looked along the beach. It was now full of people. People were playing beach volleyball, or flying kites, or just lying topping up their tans. A Frisbee suddenly shot into the air, falling to the ground a few feet from where he stood. A young girl came up to retrieve it. She looked at Kendall, and started to laugh. Kendall made a face at her and she ran away. There was the young boy running along the beach, his dog running close behind, yelping excitedly. Out on the water there were jet skis noisily gliding backwards and forwards, and there were yachts galore, with sails of every shape, and size. People were swimming. In the air were Para gliders. It looked like far too much effort to him.
He looked at his watch. The dial displayed eighty-two. He looked at it again. “Eighty-two,” he murmured. “Eighty-two what?” Then he remembered. He pressed a couple of buttons, and eventually the time was displayed. It was ten minutes after ten. It can’t be so late. He shook his head once again. “Eighty-two calories, and that’s it.” He thought of the coffee, ham and eggs and doughnuts waiting for him at the diner. “I bet that’ll be three hundred and fifty calories at least.” Another two or three hours of jogging would take care of that. “Just in time for lunch,” he murmured despondently. “That will be another five hundred calories at least, that’ll take about three days to burn off.”
He shrugged his shoulders. A burning pain shot upwards, and into his neck. “And there’s still dinner to come, another seven hundred calories at least.” This was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. His fitness regime was going to need a complete re-assessment. Perhaps it would be easier if he just stopped eating. That was it. He would get up late, say eleven, and skip breakfast. A little too drastic perhaps, but it had possibilities. As a start he decided to skip the Diner.
He looked around, and over to the roadway. His car was parked almost a half a mile away. He would never make it. He gave another deep sigh, and started to slowly walk back along the beach. He never noticed the dark grey car on the other side of the road do a U turn behind him.
“Kendall. Kendall,” called a voice from behind. “Hold up.” Kendall did not hear anything. “Kendall,” the voice called again. “Just a second.” Still Kendall did not hear. He never saw the dark grey car come to a stop a short distance away. He never saw two men get out, and bundle somebody into the car. He did hear the screech of rubber tires as the car sped past, but he never looked up. It was too much of an effort. He didn’t have the strength. Anyway, it was only a car going too fast. He had seen one of those before, many times. Slowly he continued towards his own car. He was alarmed to notice that he appeared to be limping.
* * *
A little over an hour later Kendall had arrived back at the office, and he now lay prone on the leather couch. He was semi-conscious. He looked ashen. His heart was beating fast, and his breathing was laboured. “Can I get you some water, or anything?” Mollie had asked sympathetically, as she covered him with a blanket. It was all her fault, she murmured. The whole thing had been her idea. She wondered if she should get a doctor.
Kendall shook his head slowly, trying to limit the pain as much as pos
sible. “No doctor,” he whispered. “Some water will be just fine, please,” he replied weakly. Mollie looked down at him, her face showing her concern. She smiled at him. She then turned and started walking towards the small kitchen area. “Just a little water,” he called out to her. “With a large scotch attached.”
She stopped at the doorway, turned and glared at him. “Are you sure you actually need the water?” she asked. “I mean are you strong enough to actually hold the glass and drink it?” Kendall made no reply. “I said do you really want the water?” she repeated. There was still no response. She sighed and walked back to the couch. She looked down at him. His eyes were tightly closed and he was fast asleep. She bent down and straightened the blanket.
* * *
The following day a fully recovered Kendall paid a call on Detective Terry Devaney, of the Miami Police Department. Devaney had passed one or two little items on to Kendall over the past few weeks, a small surveillance job perhaps, or maybe checking up on someone’s alibi, or just generally making a nuisance of one’s self, by asking a lot of questions. “Poking your nose in,” as Kendall called it. “Poking your nose in where it wasn’t wanted.”
There had been nothing of any real significance, nothing for Kendall to get too excited about, but Kendall knew that it paid to have contacts in the Police Department. He was more than happy to help them out whenever he could, as a favour. After all they needed all the help they could get, didn’t they. Besides, even though it was extremely unlikely, you just never knew when you might need them, he reasoned.
Kendall had telephoned Devaney earlier that same afternoon. “I’ve got that information you wanted,” he had said. “It’s beginning to look as though you were right after all.”
* * *
A few days earlier Kendall had been asked to make a few discreet enquiries, relating to a certain Mister Alan Clark, a local hoodlum. Clark was a prime suspect in a recent break in. However, the Police lacked sufficient evidence to bring a case. Clark had insisted that he was completely innocent. Bedsides he had a cast iron alibi. He had been miles away from the area at the time of the crime, and he had a handful of witnesses to prove it.
“I don’t believe a word of his story. I don’t care what he says, he did it,” Devaney had said, shaking his head. “He’s lying. I just know that it was him. I just can’t prove it, that’s all.” He shrugged his shoulders, and started to tap his desk hard. “It was him all right. I know it,” he mumbled over and over. “There is absolutely no doubt in my own mind, none whatsoever.” He took a deep breath. “Just ask around will you Kendall,” he continued. “You know what to do. See what you can find out.”
Kendall was more than happy to oblige, he knew exactly what to do. Devaney had given him all of the relevant details, and Kendall had gone to work. He had made a few local contacts that he could sound out. He had checked around, and made a few enquiries. It wasn’t too long before his efforts had produced results. He had struck gold.
* * *
“He was seen in the building, at the time of the break-in,” Kendall started to explain. “There’s no doubt about it. I have two sworn statements from reliable sources.” He paused for a moment.
He could hear Devaney mumbling on the other end of the line. “I knew it, I knew it,” he kept saying over and over again.
“They place your Mister Clark at the scene, and, most importantly, at the time of the robbery,” Kendall continued. “He was seen going in, and he was seen a few minutes later, coming out. There’s no error. He was there all right, and it certainly looks like he did it.”
Devaney had been delighted. “Yes,” he cried out. “Yes, yes, yes.” He had been trying to get something on Clark for a long while without any success. But now, it seemed, he had him just where he wanted him. “That’s great news, Kendall,” he had said. “I just knew it. When can you bring the papers in?”
Kendall smiled. “Oh, anytime to suit you will be fine with me, Devaney. Whenever it’s convenient,” Kendall had replied casually. “Just say the word, and I’ll be there.” He paused for a moment or two. “This afternoon would be good,” he continued. “If that’s all right with you that is.”
Devaney started to laugh. “You sound very keen, Kendall, very keen indeed,” he said. “I’m amazed that I’m so popular, that you can hardly wait to see me. Why it’s almost as though you had another reason for coming to see me, apart from our friend Clark that is.”
Now it was Kendall’s time to laugh. “Oh now, Devaney, how can you wrong me so? What possible other reason could I have? It is just so hurtful that you could think that, even for a second,” he said quite simply. “As if I would, perish the thought.”
Devaney laughed once again. “Sure, perish the thought,” he repeated. “Okay, Kendall, this afternoon it shall be. I look forward to it eagerly. See you at three then,” he replied and hung up.
* * *
Chapter Eight
Detective Sergeant Terrence Devaney
At exactly three o’clock Kendall was standing outside of the main entrance to the Miami Police Department building. The building was only a few years old, and not a bit like the old red bricked building that was home to the New York Police Department where Kendall had worked. The New York building was at least a hundred years old, and was affectionately known, to the inhabitants, or inmates as Kendall called them, as the Workhouse. Oliver Twist would not have felt out of place in it. Kendall smiled as he remembered it. It was an extremely dismal building, drab, and covered with the grime from the traffic. It was in need of substantial repairs, and a fresh coat of paint.
The Miami building was altogether different. This building was clean, and bright, gleaming in the sunlight. This building was modern, and state of the art. It had an air of efficiency, of strength, of power. This building just oozed authority. The New York building, on the other hand, had seen better days, although Kendall wasn’t too sure when that would have been. It was now way out of date, way past its sell by date, and in serious need of renovation. Kendall shook his head. No, it wasn’t in need of renovation. It was too late for that. It had long outlived its usefulness. There was no way that it could be salvaged. There was nothing about it that was worth saving. It was in need of nothing less than demolition. There was nothing else for it. There was just no other course of action. Tear it down completely, and start again.
He looked back at the Miami building. Along its frontage was a line of palm trees, all six or seven metres high. Something else that was different. There weren’t any palm trees in New York. In fact there weren’t any trees at all in front of the old building. Probably all long since poisoned by the pollution from the passing traffic.
Kendall pushed his way through the double doors that led into the entrance lobby. Directly in front of him was the reception counter. It was all glass and marble. Behind the counter there were two smartly dressed receptionists. To one side he could just see the hazy glow from the computer screens above the counter. To the right hand side was the wide marble staircase. Next to it were two lift compartments. Over to the left was an indicator board fixed to the wall. As Kendall walked across the marble floor one of the receptionists looked up. Kendall walked over and asked for Detective Sergeant Terrence Devaney. “I have an appointment,” he explained. The receptionist directed Kendall to an office located on the second floor.
Kendall started to walk towards the lift. Then he remembered all of those calories that he needed to burn up. All of those big plans that he had to get fitter. He looked at the lift and shrugged, and decided to take the stairs. After all he did need the exercise. Anyway it was only two floors. He thought for a moment. Two floors, thirty steps that was all, certainly no more than forty. What harm could thirty or forty steps do anyone? They would hardly kill him would they?
A few minutes later, and slightly out of breath, Kendall had reached the second floor, and was now standing outside a set of double door that were simply marked Detectives. To one side was a list of names, i
ncluding that of Detective Terrence Devaney. Kendall pushed the door open and slowly walked in. It was a large open plan area, home to a dozen or more detectives. It reminded Kendall of the offices that he had once worked in, back in New York. They had also been open plan. This room was certainly much brighter though, and airy, but the noise was exactly as he remembered it. The sound of voices talking loudly; and sometimes being raised in anger, as discussions got a little heated. There was the incessant ringing of the telephones, chairs being moved, scrapping loudly across the floor, doors slamming, people constantly coming and going. It was almost identical, Kendall thought. At least there wasn’t that constant roar of the traffic below, or the incessant chatter of typewriters that he remembered so vividly from the New York office. Typewriters were now a thing of the past. In their place were the laptop computers, and computer monitors. Now the detectives spoke their reports into a hand held recorder, which, at the press of a few keys, transferred the words directly on to the computer. A few minutes later the report was completed. It could then be sent together with any scanned photographs, or other documents, by email, to anywhere that it was needed, instantly. Kendall shook his head in amazement. He could still remember spending hours typing up a report, only to make some kind of trivial typing error somewhere near the end. He would then have to start that page all over from the beginning again. Then when he had finally finished, it would be over to the photocopier to make the dozen, or more, copies that were required. He would then add any photographs, or other supporting documents. The report would then, finally, be ready for distribution, probably on the following day, or even the day after that.
As Kendall entered the room he could see Devaney over in the far corner. He was with two other people, and appeared to be deep in conversation. Devaney suddenly looked up and saw Kendall. He raised his hand high into the air, and spread his fingers wide. “Five minutes,” he mouthed silently.