by John Holt
“Well you know now,” Mollie said offhandedly. “So what’s the problem?”
Kendall was deep in thought, but never answered. He opened the desk drawer and took out a sheet of notepaper. “First we have a robbery, second a kidnap.” He glanced at the newspaper. “And now we have a murder.” He wrote the three words down on to the paper, underlining them with a thick black line. He then drew a large circle around the three words. “Co-incidence?” he murmured. He wrote the word down, next to the circle, and then added a question mark. He sat back in his chair and stared at the paper for a few moments. Suddenly, he sat forward and drew a line through the word Co-incidence. He didn’t believe in co-incidence. Things didn’t just happen. There was always a reason for everything. He wasn’t sure how, or why, but he knew that those three things were linked in some way.
He went back to reading the news item. “No other suspects?” A little unlikely, he thought. A large robbery like that carried out alone, very unlikely. “Do a Google search on the internet, will you?” he said to Mollie. “Let’s see if there are any more details.”
Mollie started to press the computer keypad. The computer screen flashed. “Here we are,” she announced. “The Marinski collection, there’s a photograph of the jewels.”
Kendall stood up and walked over to her desk. Mollie was slowly moving the cursor down the screen. “They are all there, in their box,” Mollie explained as she continued to press the keys. “The Marinski Collection had originally belonged to Empress Caterine, Empress of All Russia in 1824. There’s some information, but not much.”
Kendall was disappointed, although not entirely surprised. He hadn’t that much faith in the internet. Oh, it was all right for some things, buying a CD, or booking a holiday, things like that, but you couldn’t rely on it completely.
He pulled a chair over and sat down next to Mollie, and started to read. “The Marinski Collection had originally belonged to Empress Caterine, Empress of All Russia in 1824. The centerpiece of the collection is a ruby and diamond pendant, the Marinski Ruby, handcrafted with a 24 carat oval ruby accented with a 1.25 carat round diamond atop the ruby and 36 brilliant cut diamond rounds weighing 2.5 carats, creating a beautiful halo effect. Set in 18K white gold with 18K yellow gold prongs supporting the ruby.” He paused for a few moments, and let out a low whistle. “The ruby measures approximately 22 mm x 18 mm.”
Kendall looked back at the image of the ruby. He did not understand the technicality of the written description, but then he didn’t need to. Besides anyone could see that it was a fabulous gem, and that was all that really mattered. Kendall moved closer to the screen. “Nice,” he said. “That is very nice, very, very nice.”
Mollie looked at him, and made a face. Nice! Nice! I mean, really! A cake, or a sweet, would be nice. Going to the movies would be nice. A day at the beach would certainly be nice. But a ruby would be something entirely different. A ruby would be wonderful, stupendous, or maybe magnificent, never nice. What would he know anyway?
She looked back at the screen. “Nice did you say. “That’s an understatement if ever I heard one. They are beautiful, stunning,” she said longingly, and then she continued reading. “Also in the collection are a necklace, a bracelet, and a pair of earrings.” She gave a deep sigh. “And just look at that ring.”
Kendall started to read once again. “Look, see what it says there? The jewels went missing when the Empress died in 1870.” Kendall placed his finger on the screen and traced the words. “Probably stolen by one of the servants,” Kendall suggested. “Golden opportunity for them, she was dead, and no one around.” He started to whistle. “Perfect.”
He continued reading down the screen. Back and forth went his fingers, until they reached the bottom. He looked at Mollie. “There’s more, but I can’t see it,” he said. “How do you …”
Without waiting for him to finish Mollie placed the cursor in position and trawled down the page. “There you are,” she said triumphantly.
Kendall looked at her and smiled. “Glad to see the evening classes paid off.” He turned back to the screen. There wasn’t much more. Apparently the collection had remained missing for almost a half a century, and was eventually found in 1917 by Eve Bradley’s great grandfather. Kendall looked up and shook his head. There was nothing more about the jewels, and there had been nothing regarding the robbery itself. He slowly walked back to his desk and sat down. “She should have mentioned it, why didn’t she?”
Mollie looked at him and sighed. “It was four years ago remember,” she said. “What possible connection could it have with the kidnapping?”
Kendall looked at her, and nodded his head. Mollie was probably right. There couldn’t be any connection. It probably wasn’t relevant at all, probably didn’t matter. After all the crime had been solved, the police had found their man, although he was dead. The case was over, and that was that. Maybe it was, but then again, maybe it wasn’t. Kendall wasn’t entirely convinced, there was still something nagging at the back of his mind.
“Probably nothing, I suppose,” he replied. “No connection whatever.” Somehow Mollie didn’t quite believe him.
* * *
Mollie was quite right not to believe him. Kendall was determined to find out as much about the robbery as he possibly could. All right, so it was four years ago. Okay, so the police had found the person responsible. It didn’t matter, not to Kendall. He was convinced that somehow the robbery of four years ago and the events of recent weeks were two pieces of the same puzzle.
So he had some pieces of a jigsaw, but what he needed now was the box the pieces came from, the one with the large picture on the outside. The one that shows what the puzzle was all about. “Perhaps that box is in the local library somewhere amongst the archived newspapers.
* * *
Later that afternoon Kendall was seated in front of a microfiche reader, slowly going through the news reports of four years ago. There was no shortage of information that much was certain. Every newspaper within a hundred mile radius had carried the news. The Bradley family was big news; the Marinski Collection was big news. The robbery made the front pages for days on end, and the inside pages. And the Sunday supplements. The newspapers were full of nothing else. There were pages and pages describing the gems; there were pages and pages giving every possible detail relating to the Bradley family itself. But of the robbery itself, there was very little of any real substance, and there was nothing that he did not already know. Within a day or two of the robbery, evidence had been discovered which pointed to Charles Wheeler, the family butler, as being the thief. A pair of earrings was discovered in his room.
Then, two days after the robbery Charles Wheeler was discovered by his daughter. He was dead, shot in the right temple. The gun still lay in his hand. Next to him, on the table, was a hand written note giving a full confession. There was a short inquest, and then came the official verdict from the Coroner. Charles Wheeler had committed suicide, whilst his mind had been disturbed, due to stress brought upon by his guilt. Charles Wheeler had committed the crime. It appeared that he had acted alone, and that no one else was involved. After a few more days tying up the last few details, the case was closed.
* * *
For such a major case it was all over a little bit too quick, and a little bit too easily as well. He looked back at the screen and continued to read. “The Butler Did It,” one headline announced. “The Hired Help Helps Himself,” said another. The newspapers loved that one.
Kendall shook his head, and smiled, and then he started to laugh loudly. “Shhh,” came from all sides. He looked across the room and could see the chief librarian glaring at him. He quickly stopped laughing. He gave a sigh, and shook his head once again. In all of his years on the police force, and as a private detective, he had never yet come across a case where it was, in fact, the butler who had done it. All right, so it was four years ago, and he knew absolutely nothing about the case, or the investigation that had gone on. Okay, so he
had to admit that he knew nothing whatsoever about Charles Wheeler.
Perhaps he was an habitual thief. Maybe he had committed countless jewel robberies. Perhaps he was a master criminal. Perhaps he was an International crime boss. Perhaps he was, Kendall murmured. But there again, perhaps he wasn’t. It just did not seem likely that the old butler, trusted and loved by the family, the old retainer who had been with the family for years, would carry out a robbery of such a valuable collection of jewelry. What was he planning to do with them? Give them as a present to his wife, or a lady friend. Maybe he planned to sell them to a local jeweler, or perhaps on Ebay. What would he know about the black market, or fences, and such like?
No, Kendall just could not accept that it was the butler and acting alone as well, very unlikely. Perhaps he had been set up, and made to look as though he were the criminal. It was all a frame up. Obviously Kendall had no way of knowing, and besides it had all been thoroughly investigated. What did he know about it anyway? Nothing, so why wasn’t he satisfied? Why couldn’t he just accept things for what they were? Why all the doubts?
Kendall looked at his watch. It was fifteen minutes to five. He had been there since just before two o’clock. So far he had found not much more than he had already known. Another hour and the library would be closing. Should he keep looking, or call it a day? He stared at the microfiche machine, as though somehow it would suddenly give him his answer. It didn’t. It merely stared straight back at him, daring him almost to keep searching. Enough was enough, he decided. He leaned forward and switched off the machine. He looked up and slowly glanced around the room. He looked down at his notepad, and flipped it closed, picked it up and put it into his pocket.
Perhaps a word with Detective Devaney would be worthwhile.
* * *
“All right, Kendall, what can we do for you this time?” Devaney asked wearily. “As you can see I am a little busy right now, what with one thing and another.” He indicated the pile of papers sitting on his desk. “You know Kendall,” he continued, smiling. “You should be aware that if we do much more work for you, we’ll expect a substantial slice out of your exorbitant fees.”
“No more than I would expect,” Kendall replied. “Just submit your invoice and it will be dealt with in the appropriate manner.”
“That’s just what I thought,” said Devaney. “All right, sit down. Let’s get it over and done with shall we?”
Kendall looked down at the chair Devaney had indicated, there was another large pile of papers sitting on the chair. “Oh just move them anywhere you can find,” said Devaney. Kendall picked up the papers, and carefully placed them on to the floor. As he did so the neatly stacked papers fell over. Kendall looked at Devaney and simply smiled.
Devaney glared back. “Sit down,” he ordered. Kendall sat down. As he did so he noticed the file at the top of the pile on the desk. It was simply marked “Eve Simmonds – Homicide.” Underneath the name was the date. Kendall still could hardly believe it. His client was dead. Murdered, and, as far as he could tell, there was no obvious reason.
Devaney saw Kendall looking at the file, and nodded. “Well I suppose you want to know all about this murder then,” he said. He shrugged his shoulders, and gave another deep sigh. “Well I have to say I don’t have a lot right now. In fact I have precisely nothing.”
Kendall shook his head. “Naturally I’m interested in the murder,” he replied. “She was my client after all. Anything you can tell me would be a help.” He looked at the file once again. “But first I would like to know about the robbery that took place.”
Devaney looked puzzled. “Robbery,” he repeated. “There was no robbery. It was murder, plain and simple.”
Kendall shook his head. “I’m talking about another robbery,” he explained. “One that occurred a few years ago up at the Bradley house.”
“That robbery,” said Devaney. “The Marinski affair.” He paused and thought for a few more moments. “That was, let me think.” He started to tap the desk in front of him. “That was a little over four years ago, the night of the big party.” He looked at Kendall. “How did you know about that one?”
“Mollie, she knew all about it,” Kendall replied. “The details were in one of those celebrity magazines. Celebrity Lives, or something. You know the type.” Devaney did know the type, not that he had ever read them. “I can’t be bothered with them myself,” Kendall continued. “Mollie seems to enjoy them though. I can’t think why.”
“All right so that’s the how,” Devaney said. “What about the Why? Why do you want to know about it?” he asked.
Kendall grinned. “Why?” he repeated. He thought for a few moments. “I suppose it’s because I’m an old fashion detective. I often work purely on hunches. On a feeling if you like.” He looked across at the file once again. “We have a kidnapping, a robbery, and now, a murder.” He started to tap the file. “All affecting the same family; the same few people each time. Now I call that strange at the very least.”
“I just call it a co-incidence,” replied Devaney. “That’s all, nothing more, and nothing less.”
Kendall stopped tapping the file, and looked at Devaney. “You know you could be right, but you could also be wrong. I just have this stubborn streak that tells me that all three things are, somehow, connected. I don’t how, but I’ll keep on searching until I either find the answer, or eventually realize that I was wrong all along.”
Devaney shook his head. “There’s no way that they are connected,” he said. “That robbery was four years ago. How can that possibly have anything to do with the murder?” He shook his head again and pointed to the file. “You’re just wasting your time going down that road.”
“You might be right, but it’s my time to waste isn’t it?” replied Kendall.
“And mine,” said Devaney. “Don’t forget that.”
Kendall sat forward. “I hadn’t forgotten,” he said. “I appreciate that you are a busy man, and maybe I’m being stupid, but humor me will you, please, just this once.”
Devaney knew that he was beaten. There was no way that he was going to get out of this. Kendall was not going away in a hurry. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll humor you, although I can’t think why.”
“Because you feel sorry for me, perhaps,” Kendall suggested.
Devaney laughed, and nodded his head. “A few minutes ago you said you thought this was all strange,” he said. “You’re right about that at least. It was a strange case.”
Kendall looked puzzled. “Strange,” he repeated. “In what way?”
“You know Kendall,” Devaney replied. “In all my years as a detective, I’ve never once come across a crime where the butler did it. This case was the first.”
“Go on,” coaxed Kendall. “I’m listening.” He took out his notepad, and flipped it open. “I’m ready.”
Devaney said nothing for a minute or two and just sat staring at his desk. He suddenly looked up. “I never really thought much about it at the time,” he said. “But for such a major case, a high profile case, it was all finished with so quickly, and so easily. All solved within two or three days. Culprit discovered, crime solved, and case closed.” He rubbed his chin. “I suppose that’s the way the cookie crumbles sometimes. You win some, you lose some. Some cases you just never solve. And with others the answer just drops in your lap, and everything falls into place, just like that.”
“And is that what happened in this case?” Kendall asked.
“Four years ago, it seems just like yesterday,” Devaney said. “It was the night of the Bradley’s wedding anniversary. Their fortieth I think. No, it was their thirtieth. They were having a big party to celebrate. Friends, neighbors, relations, all had been invited that night. They came from all over, dozens and dozens of them.” He looked down at the desk, and then his gaze returned to the file on the top of the pile. “It was about three in the morning that the robbery was discovered. The Marinski jewels had been stolen.”
&
nbsp; “With all of the guests there must have a huge list of suspects.” Kendall suggested.
“You’re absolutely correct,” Devaney replied. “There were over a hundred guests. Then there was the agency staff brought in especially for the party. That was another twenty or thirty people. In theory any one of them could have done it. There were no real clues. It was difficult to know where to start.”
“So what happened?” Kendall asked getting interested.
Devaney shrugged his shoulders. “That’s when it starts to get a little strange you might say. That’s when we received a tip off,” he replied. “We got an anonymous call suggesting that we paid a visit to Charles Wheeler, the family butler.” He smiled. “The Butler did it came to my mind. I thought that someone was playing around. Having a joke, you know. It was no joke. We got a search warrant, and went to his room at the Hall. We found a set of earrings which were part of the Marinski collection.”
He started to rub his chin once again. “Everything pointed to him as being the culprit,” Devaney continued. “Of course he denied having anything to do with it, as you would expect.” Kendall said nothing, but just nodded wisely. “Whilst we were trying to assemble some proof, what do you know? Wheeler is found dead, a 38 bullet straight into his right temple, suicide. Next to the body is a signed confession, giving all of the details.”
“A signed confession,” repeated Kendall, disbelievingly. “That’s a little unusual wouldn’t you say?”
“Possibly,” Devaney replied. “But it does happen occasionally.”
“Very rarely I would say,” said Kendall. “Never in my ten years at NYPD did I ever have a case where there was a signed confession, not a genuine one anyway. Could I see it?”
“What’s the point?” Devaney asked. “It was four years ago. It’s hardly relevant. It can’t possibly have any bearing on your present investigation, now can it.”
Devaney was probably absolutely correct. Kendall was just curious that was all, nosey if you like. “Maybe so,” he replied. “But if it’s not too much trouble I’d still like to see it. You know, call it idle curiosity.”