by John Holt
Kendall sighed, and looked over at the cab. He could almost hear the meter ticking over. He looked back at the young man. “That’s really very interesting,” he said. “But sadly I have to go soon. So if you could help me I would be very obliged.”
The man nodded. “Sorry,” he said. “I just get so enthusiastic about my job, I get carried away.” He took a deep breath. “Now how can I help you?”
Kendall smiled. “I’m sure that you do get carried out, it’s understandable. It sounds a dream job to me,” he said. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, can I tell you my problem? I’m actually trying to trace someone. I have something very important for him. I’m sure that he’s here somewhere, but I haven’t his actual address, apart from East Shore Drive, that is. He doesn’t actually live here you understand, but he was visiting quite recently.”
Kendall took out the envelope from his inside pocket. He took out one of the photographs of Carl Simmonds, and showed it to the young man. “Have you ever seen this man before?” he asked.
The young man looked at the photograph for a moment or two. He then started to smile. “Oh that’s Mr. Lane, do you know him? He was here for three or four days I think.” He thought for a moment. “No it was longer than that, five days maybe. He was very generous, and was always giving me odd jobs to do. He said that he was from Boston, I think.”
As the two men were talking somebody came out of one of the houses close by. “Morning Ben,” he called out to the young man, as he slowly walked over. He glanced at Kendall. “Excuse me. Got something for you, Ben,” he said. It was an envelope. Inside were five twenty dollar bills. He handed the envelope to the young man. “That’s for helping me out the other day.” He then turned around and started to walk back to the house.
Ben ran up to him. “Thank you Mr. Thompson but really it was nothing,” he said. He handed the envelope back.
The man shook his head. “You keep it Ben,” he said. “You deserve it.”
Ben looked at Kendall and shook his head. “See what I mean,” he said. “I cleaned his car, took me just over an hour, and he gives me a hundred dollars.” He turned to face the man. “Thank you Mr. Thompson, thank you very much.”
He then turned back to face Kendall. “Mr. Thompson, I wonder if you can help this gentleman. He’s looking for Mr. Lane. You remember him? He was staying up at the Gresham house.”
Kendall stepped forward and handed the photograph to Thompson. “My name is Tom Kendall,” he explained. “I’m a private detective from Miami, and I’m trying to find Mr. Sim .., er, Lane.” He looked at Ben and smiled. Then he looked back at Thompson. “Do you know anything about him?”
“I remember him very well,” said Thompson. “Mr. Kendall did you say? I used to know an Alice Kendall, came from the mid west somewhere. Kansas maybe, I’m not really sure.” He shook his head, trying hard to remember. “Not a relative I suppose.”
“I don’t think so,” Kendall replied. “I don’t know anyone in Kansas.”
“Thought not,” Thompson said and started to smile. He looked back at the photograph. “Did you say that you were a detective.” he asked. Kendall grinned and nodded his head. “A detective,” Thompson repeated. “And you are looking for our Mr. Lane here.” He started to tap the photograph. “What do you want him for? He’s not in trouble is he? Nothing too serious I hope. He was such a nice man, not a bit of trouble. Kept himself to himself, never bothered anyone. Why you wouldn’t know he was around.”
He looked over at the Gresham house. “He said that he was down for a few days only,” he continued. “Come for the fishing. At least that’s what he told us.” He paused for a few moments. “Strange though,” he continued, shaking his head.
“What is?” asked Kendall.
The man pointed down to the beach. “There,” he said. “There it is, right next to the jetty, do you see it, the Katie Mae. That’s the boat that goes with the house. It was named after Mrs. Gresham’s mother, Katherine. She died about five or six years ago I suppose, cancer. That’s when they bought the boat.”
Kendall could just see the boat. It was about twenty-five feet long. Not that old, he thought, not that he was an expert in that kind of thing. In the middle he could clearly see the wheelhouse, and there, at the stern, were the seats and the rigging that was intended for deep-sea fishing. He wondered what was so important about the, what did he call it, the Katie Mae? He looked towards the man, and nodded. “I see it. It’s a good-looking craft, ocean going I would say. So what about it?”
The man remained silent for a few more moments, continuing to stare at the boat. “You know,” he said eventually. “That boat is always fully equipped, and ready to go. All you have to do is turn the ignition key, and there you are. Normally, at this time of the year, it would be out the whole time.” He paused again. “Do you know, if you wanted to hire that boat it would cost at least three, or four hundred dollars a day. That’s right, per day. If you had paid that kind of money you would use it wouldn’t you?”
Kendall looked at the boat once again. “Three or four hundred did you say?” he asked.
The man nodded. “Per day.”
For that kind of money Kendall would expect to buy the boat, not just hire it. If he had paid that amount he would certainly use it.
“You rent the house, and the boat is part of the deal,” the man said. “Well as far as I know, he wasn’t out in it once. Not once in, what was it, five or six days.”
“That boat hasn’t left the jetty in weeks,” Ben added. “Mr. Lane never used it.”
Kendall shrugged. Perhaps he just didn’t like the sea, who knows? “Did Mr. Lane have any visitors?” he asked.
Both Ben and Mr. Thompson shook their heads. “Not one, as far as I know,” said Thompson. “And he never went out to my knowledge either.”
Kendall started to grin. His theory was gradually being proved correct. He looked at the two men standing in front of him. “One last question,” he said. “Can you remember exactly when he arrived, and when he left?”
The two men remained silent for a few minutes, while they tried to remember. It was Ben who spoke first. “It was the fourth,” he said. “The fourth when he arrived. Don’t you remember Mr. Thompson? It was the same day as the Residents meeting. He arrived quite late, just as the meeting had finished.”
“That’s right,” said Thompson. “We were discussing the need for additional security lights if I remember correctly.”
Ben nodded. “I first saw him the following morning,” he said. “He was standing over there.” He pointed towards a gate. “He was watching me. I was busy pruning the roses, you know dead-heading them. He waved to me, and then he turned around and walked away.”
So he arrived on the fourth, late in the evening. The day that he was meant to fly to Chicago, the day he allegedly went to New York. The same day that he was supposedly kidnapped. “So when did he leave?” Kendall asked.
“That’s easy,” said Ben. “It was the ninth. I know that because he gave me some tickets for a baseball game, for the following day, the tenth.” He thought for a moment. “Miami was playing Buffalo, in one of the play offs. He said that he couldn’t go, but maybe I would like to.” He paused for a few moments. “It was about lunch time I think,” he continued. “I was outside the house, just having a break you know.”
Kendall nodded his head slowly. The ninth. The very day that Eve Simmonds had been murdered. “Thank you very much, you have been extremely helpful,” he said. “Thank you both.” He turned around and started to walk back to the waiting cab. He suddenly stopped and turned around. “Ben,” he called out. “Do you remember who won the game?”
Ben looked up, and started to smile. “Miami did of course,” he called back. Kendall smiled, and lifted his arm, and waved. He then turned around and continued on his way.
* * *
“It’s absolutely crazy,” said Kendall. “Carl Simmonds has been kidnapped, apparently, but meanwhile he is living it up i
n Key Largo, and his two kidnappers are staying at the Lexington Hotel in New York.”
“Not very practical I would say,” said Mollie. “Not exactly your usual abduction scenario.”
Kendall looked at Mollie. “You know I have never ever had a problem with questions, even when I was at school.” He stood up and started to pace the floor. “No, it wasn’t the questions that stumped me,” he continued. “It was only the answers I could never fathom.”
Mollie looked at him and smiled. “Maybe there was no kidnapping,” she said. “Did that thought ever cross your mind? Maybe it was all one big lie, perhaps it never really happened.”
Kendall stopped pacing up and down. He had to admit that the thought had not crossed his mind until now. It was certainly a possibility, a strong possibility. “Do you remember what you said about kidnappers staying at hotels?” he asked.
She thought for a few moments, and then smiled as she remembered. “I said, if you had kidnapped someone would you be staying in a hotel anyway?”
“That’s absolutely right,” said Kendall. “And I said no I wouldn’t stay in a hotel either.” He paused for a few seconds, and then started to laugh. “And neither did Carl Simmonds. We now know for a certainty that Carl Simmonds was never in New York. He was in Key Largo all of the time. There never was a kidnapping it was all staged, all a big act. What did you call it, one big lie. Carl Simmonds wrote those ransom notes himself, on notepaper taken from Eve’s own bureau.”
Kendall’s smile was getting larger by the second. He was now convinced that there had been no kidnapping, but why all the deception? He started to pace the floor once again. Every time he got an answer, he had another dozen questions. As he paced he started to mumble under his breath. “He wasn’t being held,” he repeated over and over. “He wasn’t being held, but he wanted us to think that he was. Why would he do that?”
“Because he wanted an alibi,” Mollie suddenly called out. “He wanted us to think that he was miles away.”
Kendall stopped pacing, and nodded his head. That made sense. “When he was here all the time,” he said. “Giving him the perfect alibi for when he murdered his wife.”
Mollie looked towards him, and nodded. “That’s right,” she said. She was pleased with herself.
“Mollie I could kiss you,” he said. Mollie smiled. I wish you would she thought.
Kendall shook his head. “The question now though is why did he kill her?” He started to rub his chin. “And of course, we still have to prove it,” he said wearily. He sighed once more, and started to pace the floor once again.
* * *
“All right,” Kendall said. “To prove it we need to show a motive. We need to show an opportunity, and we need to prove that he was at the scene of the crime, at the time. Firstly, motive, what possible reason would he have for killing her?”
“Wasn’t she planning on getting a divorce? That’s what she told us wasn’t it?” Mollie suggested. She thought for a few moments. “I am actually planning on getting a divorce, that’s what she said,” she continued. “If she had divorced him, then maybe he would lose quite a lot, financially I mean.”
Kendall nodded his head. “That’s right,” he said. “She was planning on divorcing him. She was the one with the money. He certainly would have lost out.” That was certainly a good enough motive for killing her, he thought. “We’re getting somewhere,” he said quietly. “We have a possible motive, and we have the opportunity. His alibi gave him five days or more in which to carry out the crime.”
“Obviously he would have no trouble getting into the flat,” Mollie said. “He would have had his own key wouldn’t he?”
“Yes he would,” Kendall replied. “Or of course she would simply just let him in.” He paused for a moment. “And we are sure that she knew her killer.”
Mollie nodded. “That’s right,” she said. “The two glasses on the table, and there were no signs of a break in. So all we want now is to show that he was at the scene of the crime.”
“Correct,” said Kendall. “Correct, but that will be easier said than done.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Rutland Hall
It was a little after four o’clock when Kendall was waved through the security gate at Rutland Hall. “Mr. Bradley is expecting you, sir,” the Guard had said. “Drive on up to the house. It’s about three hundred yards, you’ll see where to park. Someone will be there to meet you.”
Kendall thanked the guard and slowly drove on. As he drove through he could see the barrier coming down behind him. He could also see the guard on the telephone. Advising the house of his arrival no doubt.
* * *
Kendall had telephoned earlier that morning. “Yes Mr. Kendall, what can I do for you?” Bradley had asked when he was eventually brought to the telephone.
Kendall had explained who he was, and that he was calling in connection with the death of his daughter, Eve Simmonds. “I know that this is a difficult time for you, sir,” he had said. “But I wonder if you could spare me some of your time. It could be very helpful to me in enquiries that I am currently engaged on.” He paused and took a deep breath. “It might also be helpful in finding your daughter’s murderer.”
Bradley had been most reluctant. He did not see the need for such a meeting, there was nothing to be gained. “The police are already carrying out the necessary investigations in that regard, Mr. Kendall,” Bradley had replied. “I really don’t think we need anything more do we?” It was not a question. It was more a statement of fact designed to end the conversation there and then. “I am sure that they can manage without your help.”
Kendall was not that easily put off. “Mr. Bradley, you might be absolutely right,” he said. “In fact you probably are. And talking to me might be a complete and utter waste of time.” He paused for a moment. He could hear Bradley murmuring at the other end of the line. “But, just suppose, for a moment, that as a result of our conversation, some small piece of information came to light, something that could, maybe, make a difference.” He paused once again. “By not giving me a little of your time, that piece of information might be completely lost, forever,” he continued. “I would rather waste a little bit of time wouldn’t you?”
There was silence for a few moments, silence that seemed to go on and on. Kendall began to wonder if he had actually been cut off. Then Bradley suddenly came back on the line. “Kendall, I’ll give you thirty minutes. Come along at four this afternoon.” He put the phone down. The line went dead.
* * *
As Kendall stood at the front of the building he tried hard to think of what it reminded him of. It was quite an ugly building, and was like nothing he had ever seen before. Except maybe that old residential care home where his grandmother had been the last few years of her life; or perhaps that old Victorian hospital a few miles outside of Buffalo, where he had his appendix removed. Both of those buildings now no longer existed. They had both reached the end of their useful lives, and had been demolished twenty or thirty years previously. Perhaps this place should have gone the same way, he mused. He shook his head, smiled and quickly walked to the door, and rang the bell.
The door was answered almost instantly. “Mr. Kendall?” a voice asked. “Mr. Bradley is expecting you. He is in the library.” The man stepped back to allow Kendall to pass through. “Please come in,” he said. As Kendall stepped into the hallway, the door slowly closed behind him. The butler walked forward a few steps. “This way, sir,” he said, and slowly walked across the hallway towards the double doors opposite. Kendall followed a few steps behind.
As the butler opened the door to the library, Bradley stepped forward. “Mr. Kendall?” he asked, his hand outstretched. “I’m James Bradley, do come in.”
Kendall took hold of the outstretched hand, and shook it. “Tom Kendall,” he said. “It’s very good of you to see me at such short notice.” He took a deep breath. “This must be a dreadful time for you,” he continued. “I really am very sorry,
please accept my deepest sympathy.”
Bradley smiled. “That’s all right, thank you,” he replied. “I’m sorry I was so offhand with you earlier today. Not a good day I’m afraid.”
Kendall shook his head. “Oh no Mr. Bradley,” he said. “I perfectly understand. It’s not a problem believe me.”
“Thank you Mr. Kendall,” Bradley replied. “Now what can I do for you?”
“It’s about your daughter, sir,” Kendall replied. “Eve Simmonds.”
Bradley said nothing for a moment or two. Then he looked up at Kendall. “What about my daughter?” he asked, and then he suddenly shook his head. “I’m sorry Mr. Kendall, please forgive me. Where are my manners? Do sit down.” He pointed towards a chair. “Make yourself comfortable, let me get you a drink. Scotch? Bourbon? You name it.”
Kendall walked over and gratefully took a seat. “Scotch would be fine, thank you,” he replied. “A little water, please, very little.”
Bradley smiled. He got up and walked towards the sideboard. He started to pour the drinks. He suddenly stopped, and picked up a silver frame. He slowly walked back to Kendall. He held the photograph out to Kendall. “That’s her,” he said. “She was twenty then.” He looked down on the floor and took a deep breath. He suddenly looked up. “Now for your drink,” he said, and quickly walked back to the sideboard. A few moments later he returned with the drinks. He handed one to Kendall. “How can I help you?”
Kendall took a drink. He looked at the photograph once again. “She certainly was quite beautiful, Mr. Bradley,” he said, and took another drink. “She came to see me recently, you know,” he continued. He looked at Bradley and handed the photograph back. “I’m a private detective. I have a small office up in Sunny Isles.”