by John Holt
Kendall shook his head. “You’re probably right,” he said. He stood up, the file still in his hand. “Thanks for this,” he said as he held the file up. “I’m sure you have something else to do so I won’t take any more of your valuable time.”
He started to walk towards the door. He stopped suddenly and turned around. “For the time being, at least,” he called out. He turned around and continued towards the doorway. Then he stopped once again. He turned around once more. “Hey, Devaney, did you really win that tournament?” he asked, as he pointed over to the trophy cabinet. “When was it?”
Devaney growled at him. “It was in 1986,” he replied. “And, yes, I did win it.” He started to smile. “I was twenty-five years old at the time.”
Now it was Kendall’s turn to smile. “Now I know you’re lying, Devaney. You were never twenty-five years old, were you?” he said. “You were born old.”
Devaney smiled. He raised his arm and shook his fist at Kendall. “Get outta here, before I arrest you for loitering.”
Kendall started to laugh. He raised his right arm and waved. “I’ll be seeing you,” he called out, and walked out of the room.
* * *
Thirty-five minutes later, Kendall was back in his office. On the desk in front of him was the file that Devaney had given him. For several minutes he sat staring at it, his hands drumming on the desk. He rubbed his chin. He looked up at the ceiling, and then he looked back down at the file. He sighed and took a deep breath. He was hesitant. His fingers moved to the side of the file ready to turn the cover. He sighed once again. He looked at the file, and shook his head. He was unsure. Somehow he was reluctant to open the file. If he did he just knew that it was going to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Richard Dawson had died as a result of an accident, and was not murdered.
So what was the problem with that? Isn’t that precisely what he himself had been thinking? It was an accident, so why bother to investigate. He sat back in his chair, and sighed deeply. That is exactly what he had thought. Why bother investigating, so what precisely was the problem? The problem was simple. The file would show that it was an accident, but Mrs. Dawson and Peter were convinced that it was murder.
They must have had a reason to think that, but what was the reason? Was it just a feeling, a mother’s love for her son, as Mollie had indicated, or a brother’s loyalty? Or was there something more to it than that? Certainly, neither of them had any real evidence to offer in support of what they said and felt. All they had was an intuition, a feeling, nothing more than that. He could hardly operate on nothing but a feeling, could he?
He suddenly sat forward and looked at the file once again. The file stared back, daring him to open it. He shook his head. It didn’t matter what the reason was, he had to open that file. He had no choice. If it proved that it was an accident so be it. He had to know, Mollie had to know, and most importantly Mrs. Dawson had to know.
* * *
Without any further hesitation he quickly turned the cover. The file contained several photographs of Richard Dawson, and a number of official documents. The first item was the paramedic report. Kendall quickly glanced through it. It was a short document, and merely gave details of the condition of Mr. Dawson at the scene of the accident. There was that word staring back at him, accident. He turned to the second document. It was the death certificate. It had been signed by Doctor Frank Lambert, at the Larkspur Clinic, and countersigned by Doctor Christopher Russell. There was that same word, accident. Kendall sighed and placed the document to one side. He tapped it a few times, and nodded. He intended paying a visit to the Larkspur Clinic. He had a few questions to ask Doctor Lambert.
The next item that he picked up was the coroner’s report. It was a fairly short report consisting of three typewritten pages and a collection of photographs. Kendall turned the page and started to read. “Report 5/25/2009/JR, subject: Caucasian, male, age thirty-two.” He rubbed his chin as he glanced through the details. “Height: five feet seven. Weight: one hundred and twenty pounds.” He flipped the page. “Here we are,” he murmured, as he found the main body of the report. He started to read once again, scanning quickly down the page. “Contusions to the right hand side of the head, wounds to the left hand side of the neck, hemorrhage.”
After a few more minutes he came to the end of the report. “Conclusion, death was due to internal hemorrhage to the brain as a result of a blow to the side of the head.” He closed the report. “Accidental Death,” he whispered. He shook his head. That word once again, accident. Kendall sighed deeply and placed the report on to the desk in front of him. For some while he continued to stare at the document. Then he suddenly looked up. “Curious,” he murmured. “Neither the paramedic’s report, nor the Coroners document mentions any other injuries apart from the head wound, and the cuts to the neck.”
Mollie looked up. “What did you say?” she asked.
“There were no other injuries apart from those to the head and the neck,” he replied. “That seems mighty odd to me.”
“So there were no other injuries,” Mollie replied. “So what?”
Kendall was puzzled. “Where’s that coroner’s report,” he murmured. “Here it is,” he announced as he found the document that he was looking for. He quickly scanned through the document once again. “Huh, here we are,” he murmured. “A telephone number.” He reached for the telephone and started to dial the number.
Mollie looked at him. “Who are you calling?” she asked.
Kendall put his finger up to his lips and shook his head. He placed his hand over the receiver, and looked at her. “The coroner,” he whispered. “I’m trying to get an appointment to see him this afternoon.”
“County Coroner’s Office,” a voice suddenly said. “Can I help you?”
Kendall looked at Mollie and smiled. He nodded his head, and removed his hand covering the handset. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Could I speak to your reference, JR?”
“JR,” the voice repeated. “That will be our Mr. Rogers, John Rogers. Hold on and I’ll put you through.”
* * *
Chapter Twelve
Orange County Coroner
“Celebrity Lives”, Hollywood, California, Wednesday – “In the best traditions that there is no such thing as bad publicity only publicity, Hollywood announced today that it would seem that even Tinseltown is no longer immune to the ravages of the so called Rican flu. Brad Tyler, currently the brightest star in Los Angeles, was rushed into hospital during the early hours of Monday morning. It is understood that Brad, who received an Oscar nomination for his role in the thriller Eye of the Storm, had complained of severe breathing problems, and the paramedics were called to his Malibu home at just after two o’clock on Tuesday morning. He was taken to Cedars Hospital, on Fairmont, where his condition was said to be comfortable.
In other news a number of the studios are rushing to be the first to produce a movie about the epidemic. There’s not one, there’s not two, but three studios, all of them aiming for the number one spot. Veteran Director Viktor Fleming told “Celebrity Lives” that his film is well advanced, and should be ready for release before the end of the year, well ahead of his rivals. The lead roles have been given to Julia Thorn, star of Mountain High, and newcomer Tad Joplin, who was a big hit earlier this year, in his debut movie Southern Cargo. Mr. Fleming declined to give any further details regarding the film. So it looks like we will just have to wait and see, but it promises to be this year’s blockbuster, must see movie.”
* * *
The Orange County Coroner’s office is located in a modern glass and steel building, surrounded by woodland. In no way did it resemble the dark, dreary Victorian building that Kendall had pictured a coroner’s building would look like. He stood outside for a few moments convinced that somehow he had taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way, and was about to enter one of those modern hotel and leisure complexes. The ones with a huge annual membership fee, where you had to be extremely rich to
get in, and that were only open to those who were glowing with health.
Kendall started to smile. That ruled him out on both counts. Any second now he expected a group of joggers to appear from out of the woods. He shrugged and turned his head. The tennis courts and volleyball areas were probably around the back, he murmured. He slowly looked around. Swimming pool over there, probably. He started to laugh. He walked closer to the entrance. The sign at the door convinced Kendall that he hadn’t, in fact, taken a wrong turn. He was at the right place after all. Orange County Coroner’s Court it read, in large, gold lettering. Mondays to Fridays 9.0 am to 5.30 pm. By Appointment Only.
As he approached, the doors opened automatically. He walked into the entrance lobby. It was bright, and airy. The inner walls and floor were in marble, and from the high ceiling hung a large chandelier. Kendall shook his head. So this is what his county tax was paying for. “Very smart,” he whispered.
As Kendall walked towards the counter over on the far side, the receptionist looked up. She smiled. “Can I help you, sir?” she asked.
“The name’s Kendall, Tom Kendall,” he replied. “I have an appointment to see Mr. Rogers. Mr. John Rogers.”
She looked down at her computer screen and pressed a few keys. “Oh yes,” she said. “That’s right, Mr. Kendall.” Then she looked at the clock on the wall behind her. She nodded, and looked back at him. “Right on time,” she continued. “I’ll try his number for you.”
She pressed the keypad on the switchboard. There was a loud clicking noise, and then a voice could be heard. “John Rogers speaking.”
“Oh, Mr. Rogers,” the receptionist said, “I have a Mr. Kendall to see you.”
There was silence for a few moments, then a loud, audible sigh. “Mr. Kendall, did you say?” There was a slight pause. “You better send him up.” The line went dead.
The receptionist turned to face Kendall. “You can go right up. It’s the second floor, room two twenty.” She glanced over at the lifts. “The lifts are being serviced, I’m afraid.”
Kendall looked over in the direction indicated. “That’s all right. I’ll walk,” he said bravely. After all he did need the exercise, didn’t he?
* * *
A few minutes later Kendall was standing outside room two twenty. He tapped on the door. A voice called out for him to come in. Kendall opened the door and entered the room. “Mr. Rogers?” he asked. “My name is Tom Kendall.”
“I’m Rogers,” came the reply. “Do come in. Sit down.” The man pointed towards a chair.
Kendall nodded and smiled, as he walked towards the chair. “It’s very good of you to see me like this.”
Rogers shook his head. “Not at all,” he replied. He sat down opposite Kendall. “Now, what can I do for you?”
Kendall sighed and started to rub his chin. “It’s about your report on Richard Dawson,” he explained. “It was about three weeks ago. Your reference number is ….”
“I know the one you mean, Mr. Kendall,” Rogers interrupted, shaking his head. “As I have already told you on the telephone, that case is over and done with. I really have nothing more to say about it.” He paused for a few moments. “Who exactly are you, Mr. Kendall, and what is your interest in Mr. Dawson?”
Kendall was taken by surprise briefly. He took a deep breath. “As I told you I am a private detective,” he explained. “I have been asked by Mrs. Dawson to look into the circumstances surrounding her son’s death.”
Rogers sighed loudly, and started to nod his head. “Oh I see, Mrs. Dawson, yes that explains everything.” There was a long pause. He sighed deeply. “She has already spoken to me, you know, several times in fact,” he continued. There was another pause. He shook his head. “I really don’t see what else I can say. I can understand how she feels, and I feel very sorry for her. It really was most unfortunate, but what more can I say?” He paused once again, and took a deep breath. “I imagine that you have seen my report, Mr. Kendall.”
“I have it right here, Mr. Rogers,” Kendall replied, tapping the document that he was carrying.
Rogers took another deep breath. “Then you know the whole story. I sympathize with Mrs. Dawson, and her family, but I have nothing more to add I’m afraid. It was an unfortunate accident, nothing more.”
“Perhaps,” said Kendall. He paused for a moment, and took a deep breath. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Rogers, but a coroner’s report would normally mention every injury to a person’s body wouldn’t it? I mean it wouldn’t just mention the ones that actually caused the death?”
Rogers nodded. “You are absolutely correct, Mr. Kendall, I’m impressed. Every injury would be mentioned. Every injury that could be seen would be itemized and recorded. You see it is possible that it may have contributed in some way to whatever it was that had actually caused the death. Every injury would be looked at, and either discounted, or become part of the final conclusion.”
Kendall nodded his head. That was exactly as he had thought. “All right,” he said. “So if the report doesn’t actually mention any other injuries ….”
“Then Mr. Kendall, there were no other injuries,” Rogers interrupted once again. “It’s as simple as that.”
Kendall made a note in his pad. He shook his head, and looked at Rogers. “But it is possible, I suppose, for an injury to be missed,” he said. “You know just not seen. Maybe it was too small, or too insignificant. Or perhaps it was just overlooked. I mean human error is possible, yes?”
Rogers smiled and shook his head. “Well, we are all human, Mr. Kendall, and of course mistakes can happen,” he replied. “However, with modern technology, and our own stringent procedures, the possibility of error has been eliminated.”
Kendall looked puzzled, and shook his head. “To err is human, Mr. Rogers,” he said. “I don’t know who said that first but making mistakes is part of being human, like breathing.”
Rogers smiled. “To err is human, to forgive divine,” he said. “Anthony Pope, I believe.” Kendall looked puzzled. “It was Anthony Pope who said that quotation,” Rogers explained. “He was an English poet, some three hundred years ago.”
Kendall still looked puzzled. “Whenever, a little before my time,” he said.
Rogers smiled. “Mine too, Mr. Kendall.”
“The point that I’m trying to make is the fact that human beings make mistakes,” Kendall continued. “It’s part of their makeup.”
“How right you are, Mr. Kendall,” Rogers replied. “But with technology, our procedures, and the fact that there are always two people at least working on an investigation, the possibility of error, quite frankly, no longer exists.”
Kendall was not convinced. “So you are saying there is not the slightest possibility of an error, a mistake, however small.”
Rogers nodded. “Mr. Kendall everything is checked and double checked.”
Kendall was still unsure. “Not the remotest chance of a mistake.”
“Not the remotest chance,” Rogers repeated. “There can be no error. If no injury is mentioned, then, simply, there was no injury. You see the body would be scanned completely. That’s modern technology for you….And photographed in some detail. All relevant photographs, that is, those showing an injury, would become part of the report.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Computers are taking over, Mr. Kendall. Make no mistake. That’s why there can be no error.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rogers,” Kendall replied. “That has been most helpful, most helpful, indeed.” He started to make some notes on his pad. Suddenly he looked up. “Anthony who?” he asked.
Rogers looked at Kendall for a few moments. “Anthony?” he repeated. Then suddenly he realized what Kendall was talking about. “Pope, Mr. Kendall,” he continued. “Anthony Pope.”
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
No Other Injuries
“The Daily Telegraph”, London, Wednesday – “The Chief Medical Officer, Sir Malcolm Travers, has confirmed that two people are currently being
tested for Rican flu. One of them is a thirty-year old woman from Yorkshire who has just returned from a holiday in Argentina. The other case is that of an un-named forty nine year old man employed by the Attico Oil Company at their Aberdeen refinery.”
“The Financial Times”, London, Wednesday – “Trenton Pharmaceuticals, the largest Pharmaceutical Company in the world announced their quarterly returns today. It showed pre-tax profits of two point four billion dollars, up by twenty two percent on the same period last year. Alan Clark, the CEO and Chairman stated that the increased percentage had been achieved mainly through cost savings. Two thousand staff had been cut worldwide. Mr. Clark was quick to point out that there had been no enforced redundancies. He also announced that the company had started a major push towards finding a vaccine to combat the current outbreak of Rican flu.”
“Le Monde,” Paris, Wednesday – “The Rican Flu virus has now reached France and Italy. In total there have been one hundred and fifty eight new cases reported today throughout the world.”
“The Jerusalem Post,” Tel Aviv, Wednesday – “Two people, who have recently returned from Belize, have been quarantined with flu-like symptoms, Israeli health officials said today. As an added precaution Israeli authorities announced that the borders with the Gaza Strip, and the West Bank, are to be closed for the foreseeable future. The Palestinian President has lodged a formal protest, and the situation is to be discussed at an emergency session of the United Nations Security Council, which has been arranged for early next week.”
* * *
It was just after three thirty when Kendall got back to his office. “How did you get on, then?” Mollie asked.
Kendall paused for a few moments. Then he shook his head. He looked at Mollie. “All right, I suppose,” he replied, sounding anything but all right. “Where are those photographs?” he asked. “The ones taken by the coroner?”