by John Holt
“All right,” he had said, somewhat reluctantly, although resigned to it. “I’ll stay until flight 38,” he had said. “But I’m off at nine thirty, on the dot.”
The Supervisor had smiled. “Agreed,” he had said. “Nine thirty, and not a minute after.”
* * *
Joe looked over at the huge clock in the centre of the concourse. It was already ten minutes to ten. He still had a lot of paperwork to deal with. He would be fortunate if he managed to be away before eleven. Now this guy is going to delay me even more, he thought. He suddenly started to smile as Kendall reached the desk, a partially hidden New York Police Department badge held prominently in the outstretched hand.
“Yes officer,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
Kendall quickly flipped the badge holder closed and put it into his pocket. He took an envelope out of his inside pocket, and pulled out a photograph. “Were you on duty, here, on the fourth?” he asked.
The assistant nodded. “Yes I was,” he replied. “What about it?”
Kendall placed the photograph on the desk, and tapped it with his hand. “Did you see that man on that day?” he asked. “He was
booked on to the United Airlines flight 38 to Chicago.”
The assistant started to smile, and then he started to laugh. “You’re joking aren’t you? You’ve got to be kidding me, right.” Kendall shook his head. He wasn’t joking, and no he wasn’t kidding. “That day I had a later shift. I came on at just before two o’clock. I was on until after midnight. Sickness, staff shortages, you know the kind of thing. You name it. It’s always the same.” He shook his head, and sighed. “They should take on more people that’s what I say. But they won’t. Have to make cuts they say, make savings, got to economize.”
Kendall smiled sympathetically. He knew the feeling well. He remembered many similar occasions when he was with the NYPD, but he was still waiting for an answer to his question. “Sure,” he replied. “Tell me about it.” Been there, got the tee shirt and the DVD. He tapped the photograph once again. “I’m sorry but about this man. Did you see him that day?”
The assistant looked at the photograph, and shook his head. “You know I checked in six flights that day,” he said. “No it was actually seven. That’s a total of about two thousand people.” He paused as he calculated. “Yes, that’s about right. Three hundred, three fifty per flight, something like that. Seven flights, that’s about two thousand two hundred people.” He paused once again, and shook his head. “Do you really expect me to remember one particular person out of that lot?”
Kendall shrugged. Well actually that was exactly what he had expected, or at least had hoped. Sadly, he had to agree that the chances of actually remembering one particular person, out of so many, was probably a little remote to say the least.
“Right,” he said, trying not to sound too disappointed. So much for that idea. “What about a passenger list?” he asked. “I mean you would have a list of names wouldn’t you?”
“Yes we have passenger lists, but of course it only gives names,” he replied. He turned to his computer screen and punched the keys. After a short while the screen changed, and then displayed a long list of names. “Here we are,” he continued. “A list of passengers booked on flight 38 that night. What name was it?” he asked.
“Simmonds,” Kendall replied. “Carl Simmonds.” As he spoke the name he was suddenly aware that the assistant on the Continental desk was peering over his shoulder at the photograph. Kendall heaved a sigh, and the Continental assistant went back to his work.
The United Airlines assistant slowly scanned the passenger list. After a few minutes he reached the end. There was no Carl Simmonds mentioned. “Sorry,” he said. “He’s not here.”
Kendall nodded. He wasn’t entirely sure what had been achieved, if indeed anything. “Well thanks anyway,” he said. “Sorry to have bothered you. Maybe your Continental colleague might know something.”
He picked up the photograph, turned and moved over to the Continental check-in.
The Clerk was shaking his head as Kendall approached. “I did ten flights that day,” he said. “That’s over three thousand people.”
Kendall nodded. It was just as he had expected. “I guessed that would be the case,” he said. “What about passenger lists?”
The assistant shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, we got passenger lists,” he replied. “What flight you want?”
“Flight 242 to New York,” replied Kendall. “Name of Carl Simmonds.”
The assistant pressed the keyboard, and the computer screen flashed. “Flight 242 you said, there it is. And there ain’t no Carl Simmonds.”
“Could I see that,” said Kendall
“Sure, but there ain’t no Simmonds,” the clerk repeated. “We got a Samuels, and we got a Timms, but no Simmonds.”
Kendall heaved a sigh. So he wasn’t on the New York flight either, unless he using a different name. “One last thing,” he said. “Was the flight full that night?”
“Funny thing that,” replied the clerk. “We were expecting a full load, but there were three empty seats when it took off.”
Kendall wasn’t exactly sure of the significance of that information. Nonetheless it seemed a strong possibility that Simmonds had not, in fact, left Miami that night.
“I doubt if this Simmonds character will get a refund on his ticket, if that is what this is all about,” the clerk said nonchalantly. “Unless he had insurance of course, mind you, even then he might not be covered.”
Kendall shook his head. “No,” he said. “This is nothing to do with a refund. He won’t be looking for any money back. Take my word for it.”
The assistant looked at Kendall and smiled. He handed the photograph back. “Anything more that I can help you with?” he asked.
“No, thanks,” Kendall said. “That’s fine. You have been very helpful. Thanks very much.” He paused and looked at the United Airlines assistant. “Both of you.” He turned and quickly walked out of the terminal building. As he did so he punched a fist high into the air. “Yes, yes” he murmured. “I knew it, I just knew it.” A huge grin slowly spread across his face.
To be strictly accurate Kendall didn’t know for sure, but it certainly looked like Simmonds hadn’t actually travelled that night.
* * *
“Hey Kendall,” a voice suddenly called out. “What are you doing around here? Slumming it, or are you just back from the Bahamas.” It was Harry, a local cab driver. He was three back in the queue, and he had seen Kendall pass by on his way out of the departures area.
“Hi Harry.” Kendall said, as he walked back to the cab. He bent down level with the cab door. “Just seeing how the other half live, that’s all,” he said. “You know, the peasants, somebody has to look after them you know.”
Harry started to laugh. “So good of you to care,” he replied. “The only other people who care about us are the Salvation Army. They bring their soup kitchen around every night, just for us.” He held out his hand. “Hey buddy, can you spare a dime.”
Kendall placed a fifty-dollar bill into the open palm. “Harry, I’m looking for some information.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He opened the envelope and took out a photograph. He handed it to the driver, and returned the envelope to his pocket. “I’m looking for that man,” Kendall explained. “He was here on Tuesday the fourth. He was booked in for the United Airlines flight 38 to Chicago.”
The driver looked at the photograph and shrugged his shoulders. “So he went to Chicago, so what about it?”
Kendall shook his head. “The flight took off at nine twenty-seven that evening,” Kendall continued. “He wasn’t on the flight.”
The driver looked at the photograph again. “So he changed his mind, it happens,” he said quite simply. “Carry on, I’m still listening,”
Kendall took a deep breath. “As you say, it seems that he changed his mind,” he said. “The flight took off on time and he
was not on it. He never went to Chicago. In fact I don’t actually think he left Miami at all that night. I think, for some reason, he stayed here, but he stayed under cover.”
Harry nodded. “Okay Kendall, so he stayed in Miami. No big deal is it, not exactly illegal I don’t think?” he replied. Kendall started to frown. “So what do you want me to do about it?”
“I want you to speak to the other drivers, who were here that night, at about nine thirty,” Kendall replied. “Anyone who might have seen him come out of the terminal. Who might have picked him up and taken him somewhere.” Harry was staring at the photograph. He started to rub his chin. “I want to know where he went that night,” Kendall continued. “Can you do that for me? There’ll be two hundred in it for you, and another two hundred to the driver with the necessary information.”
Harry liked the sound of that. “Okay, Kendall, you’ve got a deal,” he said. “I’ll check around.” He held the photograph up. “Can I keep this?” he asked. Kendall nodded. Harry placed the photograph on the cab dashboard. “Where can I reach you?”
Kendall handed him a business card. “There’s my number,” he said. “I’m very much obliged. You take care now. See you around, Harry.” He started to walk away, and then suddenly stopped. He turned around and looked back at the driver. “I must remember to make a donation to the Salvation Army for you,” he said. “They do such a worthwhile job.”
Harry started to laugh, and waved.
* * *
It was early the next day that Kendall received a telephone call. “Hi Kendall,” the voice said. “It’s Harry you know your dependent cabbie.”
“Yes Harry, I remember you, did you get the food parcel that I sent.” Harry started to laugh. “It’s good to hear from you,” Kendall continued. “Have you got something for me?”
“I certainly have,” Harry replied. “Your man was picked up at the airport, a little after ten that same night, the fourth, by a cabbie based in Homestead.”
“Go on, Harry, I’m listening.”
“He was taken to a swish place out on the Keys,” Harry continued. “Just off of East Shore Drive, Key Largo.”
“East Shore Drive,” Kendall repeated. Where had he heard that name before? He thought for a few moments, and then he suddenly remembered. It was Russell, Frank Russell. Simmonds had instructed him to take a package out to East Shore Drive. “East Shore Drive, Key Largo,” Kendall murmured. His heart started to beat fast. “Key Largo,” he repeated. “Can you take me there Harry, now?”
“Rick will take you,” Harry said. “He’s the driver concerned. He’ll pick you up at the airport at eleven, all right?” He paused for a few moments. “It’s a Key West cab, license plate 447-221.” He paused once more. “Eleven, don’t forget, he’ll be waiting for you at pick-up point E4.”
“That’ll be fine. Eleven o’clock, at E4, I’ll be there,” Kendall said. “I owe you one, Harry.”
Harry started to laugh. “No Kendall,” he said. “You don’t owe me one, you owe me two hundred, remember.”
Kendall smiled. “Right, you are Harry, I remember, two hundred it is.” He hung up. He looked over at the clock. It was ten twenty. “Forty minutes,” he murmured. “Not much time, but just enough if I hurry.”
* * *
Forty minutes later Kendall was in the back of a Key West cab, heading south. He was really on his way to Key Largo, he could hardly believe it. He had first seen that film as a late night re-run on one of those movie channels, almost twenty years ago. Since then he had seen it countless times. If there was one thing he wanted to do, it was to see the very place where Humphrey Bogart, and Edward G. Robinson had stood. Now, after so long, he was actually on his way there.
“Before we go to East Shore Drive,” he said. “Can you take me to the hotel?”
The driver glanced round. “What hotel would that be?” he asked. “The Marriott, or the Holiday Inn, or what?”
Kendall was puzzled. “The hotel,” he repeated. “The Key Largo Hotel, you know the one. Where Bogart stayed in the film, you must know it.”
The driver glanced round once again. “Bogart?” he repeated. “Exactly who is Bogart?”
Kendall was stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. The driver wasn’t kidding. “Bogart, you know, Humphrey Bogart, the film star.” Rick said nothing but continued to look puzzled. “He was in Key Largo, the film, with Edward G. Robinson. You must know what I’m talking about.” How can anybody live out here, and not know about Key Largo, it was just too incredible, too unbelievable.
The driver shook his head. He had no idea what Kendall was talking about. “Sorry. I’ve never heard of him,” he said, although somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought that he could vaguely remember his grandfather mentioning something about it, probably on one of their many fishing trips down to the Keys, when he was a lot younger. “I’m afraid that’s a bit before my time, mister,” he said. “Sorry I can’t help you.”
Chapter Twenty
East Shore Drive
Just over an hour later they eventually arrived at East Shore Drive. “There it is,” Rick suddenly announced as he began slowing down ready to stop. “There’s the place.” He pointed over to his left. “The large cream building set back from the road.”
Kendall looked out of the window in the direction that Rick had indicated. “Keep going,” he said urgently. “Drive to the corner and stop.”
Rick put his foot on to the accelerator and slowly drove past. Fifty yards past the house he stopped. Kendall glanced through the rear mirror and looked back at the house. There was no one in sight. The street appeared to be completely deserted. He opened the car door and got out. He moved over to the offside front door and looked in at Rick. “I’ll be about thirty minutes.”
Rick looked across at the meter. “That’s fine with me. Take as long as you like,” he said. “But don’t forget that the meter’s still ticking.”
Kendall grinned, and started to walk back towards the house. As he did so he glanced around. Everywhere he looked there were the vibrant colours of bougainvilleas and hibiscus. The air was filled with their perfume, mingled with the saltiness from the ocean. Both sides of the road were lined with manicured lawns and tall palm trees, and shrubs of every description. Kendall shook his head, and gave a deep sigh. This was luxury, unadulterated luxury. He couldn’t see them, but he could imagine the swimming pools and the tennis courts that were located just a few yards away.
Every property was different, unique in its design. But all of them had one thing in common, money. Each property had a price tag way in excess of one million dollars. Kendall stopped for a moment. Apart from the sound of the ocean, as the waves hit the shore, there was absolute silence. There were no dogs barking, there were no children playing. There wasn’t a sound.
Kendall took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sea air. He wanted one of these, he decided. It would suit him very well. He could imagine himself living there. This was a class area. No, not the type of class that came from breeding, or from an accident of birth. Or the type of class obtained through education, or friends in high places. Oh no, this type of class came from one thing, and one thing only. This wasn’t about who you knew, or what you knew. This was about possessions. What you owned, your cars, and your jewelry. What personal fortune you had. This was a wealthy area.
Kendall suspected that it was also a very private area, an area that didn’t welcome strangers. Unless of course they too had money, then they would probably be welcomed with open arms. As far as he could see there was no one around, but instinctively Kendall knew that he was being closely watched. Everywhere he glanced he could see the security lights, and the cameras that monitored his every move.
Suddenly a voice called out to him. “Can I help you, sir?”
Kendall turned around slowly. Over on the far side of the road, there was a young man busy trimming a hedge. “Are you looking for someone?” the voice continued. “Or maybe you’re
lost.”
Kendall smiled and walked over. “Well yes,” he replied. “I am trying to find someone. I believe that they were here quite recently.” The young man looked puzzled. Kendall shook his head, and then smiled. “I wonder if you might possibly be able to help me?
The young man looked at Kendall. “I saw your cab drive in. I thought you were looking for something,” he said. “Then I saw it stop, and you get out.” He paused and looked over at the cab. He then looked back at Kendall. “I’ll do my best,” he said.
“You live around here, do you?” Kendall asked.
The young man looked at Kendall, and then glanced around at the street. He smiled. “Oh no, sir,” he replied. “That would be great, but it’s just wishful thinking I’m afraid.” He paused and started to laugh. “I actually live in Homestead, that’s about twenty-five miles to the north. Do you know it?” Kendall didn’t know it. The young man looked a little disappointed. “Anyway, I just work here,” he continued. “They all employ me to keep the grounds neat and tidy.” He looked all around. “All of the residents that is,” he explained. “I’m the communal gardener. Only on the outside though.” He paused and looked at the hedge that he had been working on. “They all have their own gardeners to do their own gardens. I rarely get to see them.” He looked up at Kendall. “I do the roadside lawns, the hedges, you know,” he said proudly. “I keep the plants looking good. They, the residents I mean, pretty much leave me to it. I have a budget to spend, and I plant what I want. It’s not a bad life. And the pay’s pretty good and regular. What more can you want?”
Kendall was wondering when the man would actually stop for breath. “What indeed,” he said. He looked across the lawn, over to the shrubs. “It all looks pretty good to me,” he said. “You should be very pleased with yourself, it really is quite beautiful.”
The young man smiled. He was pleased with himself. “I’ve been doing it now for about five years,” he continued. “They are all pretty good to me, except for one or two.” He stopped and looked around. “You know, there’s always someone to spoil it isn’t there?” Kendall knew the feeling precisely, and nodded. The young man shook his head, and started to smile once again. “Most of them are great though,” he said. “I mean apart from the salary, I often get little tips, and sometimes I get little presents. Sometimes I get odd jobs to do.”