by John Holt
Kendall shook his head. “Just on his mother’s say so…, that’s absolutely crazy,” he said.
Mollie glared at him. “Oh you, you,” she stuttered. “You’re just grumpy.” She paused and took a deep breath. “A grumpy old man.”
Kendall looked at her, stunned, shocked. “Old?” he said incredulously. “Old.” He shook his head. “I’m only just middle aged I’ll have you know,” he replied.
“All right, so you’re middle aged,” Mollie retorted sharply. ‘So you are a middle aged, grumpy old man.”
Kendall smiled and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I can live with that.”
Mollie looked at him and took a deep breath. “You just wouldn’t understand would you?” she said, as she glared at him once again. “A mother’s love for her son, that wouldn’t mean much to you would it?” She looked down for a moment, and then looked back at him. “Sometimes I wonder if you actually had a mother.” She turned away.
Kendall knew when he was beaten. How can you argue against such logic? It just wasn’t possible. Richard Dawson was murdered because his mother said so. And that was that. There was nothing more to be said. She was right. No question. Everyone else was completely wrong, naturally. The coroner was wrong; the police were wrong; and the two witnesses who saw it happen, they were wrong, mistaken. Oh, and the hospital was wrong as well. He started to smile. Mother knows best. He shook his head. He looked at Mollie, and then looked down. He slowly raised his hand up to his face and gently brushed his cheek with his forefinger. “I had a mother,” he said quite simply.
Mollie looked at him for a moment. Briefly she wondered if he was actually crying. She shook her head. She decided that he wasn’t.
“Maybe Richard Dawson’s mother is right,” Kendall continued, almost speaking to himself. “Maybe he was murdered. But maybe she’s wrong.” He paused for a moment. Mollie said nothing, but simply continued to glare at him. “I mean it’s possible, isn’t it? She could be wrong.” Mollie continued to glare. He held his arms out in front of him. “Well, she could be,” he said almost in a whisper. Mollie began breathing deeply. “All right, all right, I said I’d look into it, didn’t I?” he continued. “And I will.” What more did she want? What more could he do? “I’ll investigate it, all right?” he said. “I said I would, so I will.”
He shook his head once again. It was a simple accident, but he would waste his precious time looking into it. After all he had nothing better to do did he?
* * *
All right, so he had a case to investigate. It wasn’t entirely satisfactory. In fact it wasn’t satisfactory at all. It was most unsatisfactory. It would almost certainly be a total waste of time, and effort, but he had said that he would investigate, so that is exactly what he would do. He would keep his word. A promise is a promise. The fact that the conclusion would be accidental death was of no consequence. He shook his head, and smiled mischievously. No, he thought, he would be fair, and objective. He would look at every possible shred of evidence, check every single statement, and investigate every aspect. Then he would reach his unbiased decision. That it was an accident.
Nonetheless, before he came to any conclusions, he had a lot to do. He had a lot to check up on. Then, and only then could he say with any real certainty that it was, indeed, an unfortunate accident, as everyone else had already concluded, or whether it was, in fact murder. Firstly he would go to see Detective Sergeant Terrence Devaney. He would have some information, wouldn’t he?
* * *
Chapter Eleven
Detective Sergeant Terrence Devaney
“La Prensa,” Mexico City, Friday – “The Mexican government announced today, that it has taken an unprecedented step, and ordered the closure of all universities, colleges, and schools across the country as fears grow concerning the spread of the Rican Flu outbreak around the globe. The first cases were confirmed in Mexico four weeks ago. There have subsequently been over nine hundred and twenty two confirmed cases since that time. So far there have been twenty-four deaths in the country. The government’s Health Secretariat issued the closure order to apply with immediate effect. More than two and a half million university students and thirty million school students were immediately affected by the first nationwide shutdown of education institutions in Mexico’s history. The public have also been advised not to travel unless absolutely necessary.”
Associated Press, Friday – “It has been confirmed that there have been ten thousand three hundred and twenty seven cases of Rican flu, worldwide, and there have been two hundred and forty seven deaths, mainly in Central America. More countries announced confirmed or suspected cases of the virus yesterday. Health officials in Britain said two cases have been confirmed in Scotland, but a Canadian woman hospitalized in Manchester, has tested negative for Rican flu. The World Health Organization (WHO) said that it is still awaiting official reports from the United Kingdom about the Scottish cases. Scottish Health Secretary Janice Ferguson said that the two confirmed patients are “recovering well, and it was hoped that they would be discharged from hospital within the next few days.”
“El Mundo”, Barcelona, Friday – “The first Spanish case of Rican flu was confirmed today. It had been reported that the patient, a young man who recently returned from Nicaragua, is responding well to treatment, Spanish Health Minister Juan Poveda said. Another seventeen sick people are suspected of having the virus, but none of the people under observation is in serious condition, the minister told a news conference in Madrid. “Public safety is the main priority,” Senor Poveda added. “The situation is under control, and is being carefully monitored.”
* * *
Kendall awoke with a raging headache. He felt hot, and was sweating. He had slept badly, and had been awake for hours. The details of his new case kept turning over and over in his mind. It was an accident, said the coroner. Richard Dawson was murdered, said his mother. An accident, said the police. He was murdered, said his brother. An accident, said two witnesses who saw the whole thing. Murder, said Mollie. It was an accident. It was murder. It was accident. It was murder.
He slowly shook his head. “Why, oh why, did I ever agree to take it on?” he murmured. What had possessed him? What was he thinking of? Did he need the money? No he didn’t. So why? Why hadn’t he just said, thanks, but no thanks. There was no reason to take it on. He didn’t owe them anything did he?
After all, why had they come to him anyway? “No real reason, I’m afraid,” that’s what the young man had said. “I mean, you didn’t come highly recommended or anything like that.” Kendall shook his head. “We just found your name on the Internet. We did a Google search for private detectives. You were local, and that was all. So here we are.”
Kendall couldn’t believe it. Absolute cheek of some people, he murmured. So here we are, indeed! Kendall sighed. “I should have just told them that I wasn’t interested, and shown them to the door.” It was a clear case of an unfortunate accident, plain and simple. The coroner had said so; so too had the police. Accident. Accident. Accident. Then there were the two witnesses. They saw it all, the whole thing. There was no mistake. It was an accident, nothing more. So why had he agreed to investigate? “Mollie,” he murmured angrily. It was all her doing. It was her idea. Then he shook his head. He still could have said no, couldn’t he? He didn’t have to go along with it, just because she had said so. He had a mind of his own, didn’t he? He could think for himself, couldn’t he? He sighed. Obviously not, he whispered.
It was almost four thirty before he had actually fallen asleep. And now there was that awful ringing in his ears. He sat up with a start, and looked straight over at the side cabinet, right into the round face of the alarm clock that was staring back at him. He held his arm out trying to reach it. If he could just catch hold he would throw it to the ground, smashing it into a million pieces, and stopping that appalling sound forever. He stretched and stretched, but it was too far away. That had been a deliberate decision on his part the previou
s night; to place it in such a position that he could not reach it. If it was out of reach there would be no way that he could stay in bed when the alarm sounded. He would have to get up to switch it off, wouldn’t he?
It had seemed a good idea at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure. He shook his head. There was nothing for it. He had no choice. He had to get up. He slowly threw back the bed covers. The sunlight hit him straight in the eyes, as he sat up. He shook his head again, and stood up. He looked at the clock. It was a little after eight. Eight? He had actually set it for seven thirty. At least that was the intention.
He had an appointment in less than an hour with Detective Sergeant Terrence Devaney, of The Miami Police Department. He would certainly have some information. After all, he had carried out the original investigation hadn’t he? If anyone knew the truth it would be him. If Devaney said that it was an accident that would be good enough for me, Kendall thought. And it would have to be good enough for Mollie as well. Oh, and good enough for Mrs. Dawson, and good enough for Peter Dawson. Kendall started to smile as he remembered what Peter Dawson has said. “Mr. Kendall, whatever you find, we will be satisfied. Kendall nodded. “Even if I conclude that it was an accident, like they all say.”
Kendall was beginning to feel better already. He would put a stop to this whole thing here and now, today, within the next hour or two. Once he had spoken to Devaney that would be an end to it. It would all be over. And good riddance, he murmured. He stood up and slowly made his way towards the bathroom. As he passed by the radio he casually flipped the on switch.
“ …. One point five billion dollars is to be given to Third World countries to help fight the Rican flu virus,” the announcer said. “The money will come jointly from the United States and the European Union.”
Kendall stopped and walked back to the radio, slowly shaking his head. “One point five billion dollars,” he repeated. “That’s my money he’s talking about.” He shook his head again. “And they are just giving it away.”
“The body of a young man was discovered in a motel room just outside of Clearwater in the early hours of this morning,” the radio announcer continued. “The body was later identified as that of Martin Summers, a junior laboratory technician working for Trenton Pharmaceuticals.” There was another momentary pause. Kendall turned the volume up. “It is understood that Mr. Summers had taken an overdose, and had been dead for approximately two hours.” There was the sound of papers rustling before the announcer continued. “The White House has just announced that ….” Kendall pressed the switch and turned the radio off. Kendall wasn’t that interested in what the White House was announcing. Whatever it was, it was certainly going to be another drain on his resources.
Martin Summers, he murmured, a laboratory technician working for Trenton Pharmaceuticals. Was it possible that there was a connection with his death, and that of Richard Dawson? Possibly, but not probable, he murmured. After all Dawson’s death was an accident, wasn’t it? Kendall sighed, and nodded. It was just a co-incidence, and nothing more. He then shook his head. Co-incidence was not something that he gave much regard to. In fact, he gave it no regard whatsoever. He continued to stare at the radio for a few minutes. Then he shrugged, and returned to the bathroom to finish his shave.
* * *
Fifty minutes later Kendall was standing on the footpath outside the Miami Police Dept building. Devaney had agreed, reluctantly, to see him at nine o’clock.
“What is it this time?” Devaney had asked.
“I’m investigating the death of Richard Dawson,” Kendall had explained.
“Richard Dawson, the reporter. The one who had that dreadful accident,” Devaney had responded. “What about it?”
Kendall was conscious of the fact that he was probably wasting everyone’s time including his own, but he had agreed to investigate, and that was that. “I was hoping that you could just fill in some details for me. That’s all.”
Devaney sighed. “Kendall I’m an extremely busy man,” he said. “What with this counterfeit gang, and everything else that I have to do around here. We are bringing them to court soon, and I need to get my evidence together.”
Kendall coughed, and cleared his throat. “Well you have the photographs that I supplied. That’s a good start,” he said. “Look, Devaney, you owe me. All I need is fifteen minutes of your time. You can’t possibly refuse me.”
Devaney grunted. He knew that Kendall was right. He did owe him, big time. “All right, Kendall, you have my undying gratitude, I am forever in your debt,” he said. “What would I do without you?” He started to laugh. “Come along at nine o’clock tomorrow. I’ll give you ten minutes, and no more. Although what you hope to gain by it, I just don’t know.”
* * *
It was just a little after nine o’clock when Kendall walked into the large open office that was home to the Miami Police Department detectives. As he walked through the double doors he saw Devaney over on the far side of the room. As usual he was in deep conversation with two other people. He looked up and saw Kendall. He raised his hand and waved at him. “Ten minutes,” he called out.
Kendall smiled and nodded. He glanced across the room. There it was, he murmured. The Cabinet, that’s what he called it anyway. It was a large, glass fronted cabinet that contained a vast collection of trophies, cups, medals, shields, all of which had been given to members of the police department for their prowess in golf, ten pin bowling, or boxing. Every time Kendall visited Devaney he was attracted to that cabinet. To be honest he was attracted to one trophy in particular. It was a silver cup, approximately eight inches high, and heavily tarnished. An inspection of the engraving across the front indicated that it had been awarded to the Champion in the Ten Pin bowling tournament in 1986. The recipient that year was none other than Officer First Class T Devaney.
* * *
Kendall was staring at the trophy when he heard someone calling to him. He turned around and saw Devaney waving, beckoning him to come over. Kendall took one quick glance back at the trophy, and then made his way over to Devaney’s desk.
“All right, Kendall, have a seat,” Devaney said wearily, as Kendall drew near. “What can we do for you?”
Kendall sat down and shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever happened to Hello, how are you?” he asked.
Devaney grunted. “Hello, how are you?” he said mechanically. “Now what can we do for you?”
“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” Kendall replied. “And how are you? Well, I hope.” He glared at Devaney. “As I said on the telephone, I’ve been asked to investigate the murder of Richard Dawson.”
“The death of Richard Dawson, I think you mean,” Devaney corrected him.
Kendall looked up, and nodded his head slightly. “We’ll see, time will tell,” he replied. “Anyway, for the time being, as you say, I am investigating the death of Richard Dawson.”
Devaney smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. He leaned forward and picked up a file that was lying on his desk. “Richard Dawson, a young reporter working for the Miami Herald. At the time of his death he was working on a story over at Trenton Pharmaceuticals.” He paused and opened the file. “He trips on a curbstone, hits his head, and dies a few hours later.” He closed the file and threw it back on to the desk. “It’s all there,” he said pointing to the file. “There isn’t much, a dreadful accident, nothing more.”
Kendall glanced at the file, and shook his head. “His mother and brother say otherwise,” he said.
“Well, they would, wouldn’t they,” Devaney replied. “But it doesn’t make it so.” He paused for a moment. He shook his head, and then he sighed deeply. “They’ve been everywhere making loud noises. They’ve been to the Mayor’s office. They have been to the Coroner’s Office, the newspapers, radio, and television.” He paused once again. “You name it and they’ve been there.” He paused once again, and sighed deeply once again. “They’d go on Oprah if they could. They haven’t been to the Governor yet, or the President, b
ut they probably will, in time.” He paused once again, and shook his head. “They can go where they like, though,” he continued. “It changes nothing, not a thing.” He pointed at the file. “That file says it was an accident pure and simple.” He picked up the file and handed it to Kendall. “Have a look. Take it, it’s yours. I made you a copy.” He shook his head once again. “It’s all there, photographs, statements, medical reports. And there’s the death certificate. There were two witnesses, for crying out loud. It was accidental death, plain and simple.” He paused once more. “What can I tell you? You can’t argue with the facts.”
Kendall nodded his head, and started to tap the file. He looked down at it, and opened it. There were a few photographs showing the spot where the accident happened. The raised curbstone could be clearly seen, and so could the low brick wall. There were a number of photographs of Richard Dawson lying on the ground. Then there were a series of photographs showing Richard Dawson in the hospital. There were photographs showing the wound to the head. There was the coroner’s report. Then there were two medical reports, one from the paramedics who attended the scene, and the second from the hospital. There was a death certificate, signed by a Doctor Lambert that indicated that death was caused by a massive brain hemorrhage following a blow to the head. Finally, there were sworn statements from two witnesses who had seen the whole thing.
“Accidental death,” Kendall murmured, as he closed the file. “It’s not much, is it?” he murmured, as he looked up. “A few short pages, and that’s a man’s life.”
“No, it isn’t much,” Devaney agreed. “But it’s all pretty conclusive, though, wouldn’t you say?”
Kendall sighed, and rubbed his chin. “I suppose,” he said quite slowly, and without any real conviction. “And yet, I’m still not entirely convinced.” He stopped and looked at Devaney. “Why would that be, I wonder?
Devaney grinned at him and started to laugh. “Because you’re stubborn that’s why, stubborn as a mule, and twice as ugly. It was an accident and that’s that. Take my word for it, an accident.”