Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  “Besides everything has already been said,” Clark went on. “It was very sad, but it had been an unfortunate accident. I really don’t think I can add anything more.”

  Mollie was not easily put off. “If you could just spare a few minutes, it would be much appreciated,” she said. “I promise that Mr. Kendall will not delay you.”

  Clark sighed and took a deep breath. “All right,” he replied. “Tell him to come along at two-fifteen I’ll give him ten minutes, and not one second extra.”

  * * *

  At two o’clock on the dot, Kendall was waved through the security gate at the Trenton Tower. “Mr. Clark is expecting you, Mr. Kendall,” the guard had said. “You can park over there.” The guard pointed over to his left side. Kendall thanked him and drove through. He looked over to his right hand side, over to the low wall holding back the planted area. That’s where the accident had happened, he whispered. He drove over to the spot, parked and got out of his car.

  For a moment or two he stared at the site, trying to picture the circumstances. It was just like the photographs that he had obtained from Devaney, except that it was now cordoned off with steel barriers. There was the wall where Dawson had struck his head. There was the curbstone where he had tripped. He could see that it was raised slightly, and someone could easily trip. That’s where the body had lain, he murmured, visualizing the scene.

  He looked around to his left. “There,” he announced to himself. “There, twenty-five yards away. That’s where Dawson had parked his car.” He slowly walked over to the area, and looked down at the ground. He shook his head. He didn’t really know what he was looking for. He was just being curious that was all. There were several scuffmarks in the tarmac. He shook his head. The marks could just have been wear and tear on the tarmac. They could have been there for years. He shook his head once again, and turned away. There was nothing of any significance.

  He glanced over to his left. About thirty yards away he suddenly noticed somebody working on the garden. The man looked up and waved. Kendall smiled and waved back. He then turned away and started to walk towards the building. A few minutes later, Kendall was aware of somebody walking next to him.

  “My name’s Joe,” said a voice. “I saw you looking.”

  Kendall looked around. It was the gardener. “Oh yes,” said Kendall, nodding his head. “That’s nice.”

  The man smiled. “That’s where he was, you know,” he said, pointing towards the low wall. “Just over there.”

  “Who was there?” Kendall asked, as he looked back at the wall.

  “The man was there,” the gardener replied. “That nice, young, man, you know.”

  “The young man,” Kendall repeated, puzzled. “What man?”

  Joe shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied. “He was there. He never said anything.”

  Kendall looked at Joe. “Did you actually see it?” he asked.

  The man said nothing but continued to stare at the spot, slowly shaking his head.

  * * *

  Eight floors above the car park a man stood by a window looking down, watching impassively as Kendall and Joe were speaking. Suddenly the man saw Kendall looking up at the building. The man quickly stepped back from the window. He stood quite still for a few moments. Then he reached for the telephone and dialed a number.

  “Keep your eye on Joe,” he said when the call was answered. “You know what I mean.”

  * * *

  “Did you actually see it?” Kendall repeated. Joe still made no reply. “Joe,” Kendall gently coaxed. “Joe, did you see what happened?”

  Joe looked up and smiled. “He was lying there,” he replied quite simply. He pointed over to the low wall.

  Kendall sighed and shook his head. This was getting him nowhere. He was trying to decide whether to try once more, or just give it up as a bad job, when suddenly there came the sound of someone calling out. “Joe,” the voice said. “Joe, they want you in the office, now.” Joe looked at Kendall, and waved. Then, without a word, he turned and quickly walked towards the building.

  Kendall watched him until he had disappeared. He wondered whether Joe, or whatever his name was, had actually seen anything of importance, or not. He sighed and shook his head. What had he said anyway? “That’s where he was.” Kendall shrugged. That’s where he was, and that’s it. Nothing, he muttered. He had said nothing of any consequence.

  Kendall shook his head, and dismissed it from his mind. He looked over at the building, his eyes travelling all the way to the top. Ten storeys of polished glass, steel, and white marble, it looked very impressive. It was clear to see where the big money was. Apart from the taxman, and the church, it was the drug industry that had the most wealth, and the bankers, of course. Private Detectives were way down the list. He shrugged, and checked his watch. It was ten minutes after two. Better get going, I don’t want to be late for my appointment.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Kendall was standing outside an office situated on the eighth floor. “Go right in,” the young lady had said. “Mr. Clark is expecting you.”

  Kendall thanked her. He tapped gently on the door, and turned the handle. “Ah, Mr. Candle, isn’t it?” Clark said as Kendall came through the door.

  Kendall smiled, and shook his head. “Well, my mother always wished that I would be brighter,” he said, and started to laugh, “but the name is actually Kendall. Tom Kendall.” Clark looked puzzled. Kendall shook his head once more, and stopped laughing. His little joke had been totally and utterly wasted.

  Clark smiled. “Do come in, and sit down, Mr. Kendall. Over there,” Clark said as he pointed to a chair. “I was beginning to get worried that you had changed your mind, and weren’t coming.” He paused for a few moments. “Or maybe you had lost your way.”

  Kendall casually glanced at his watch. He was only five minutes late, so why the over reaction, he wondered. He shook his head, dismissing the thought from his mind. It really wasn’t that important, or significant. He walked over to the chair and sat down. “It’s really very good of you to see me at such short notice,” he said.

  “Oh that’s perfectly all right,” Clark replied as he walked around his desk and sat down. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  Kendall coughed to clear his throat. “As my secretary told you, Mr. Clark, it’s about Richard Dawson,” Kendall explained. “His mother has asked me to investigate the circumstances of his death.”

  “Mr. Dawson, that poor young man who died in our car park,” Clark replied. “It was a most unfortunate occurrence, tragic.” He shook his head and sighed deeply. “I just hope that I can help you, Mr. Kendall. But I fear that I can add nothing further to what has already been said.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Kendall, “but if we could just go over it once again, I would appreciate it very much.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Kendall, it’s the very least I can do,” Clark replied. “Now, where would you like me to start?”

  Kendall smiled. That always amused him. Where shall we start? Well, we could start at the end and work backwards, but that did not make a great deal of sense. We would know who did it, but we wouldn’t know what it was they had done, not very satisfactory. We could start in the middle, and then we could either go forward, or backwards, not very practical. “Well I always think it’s best to start at the beginning and then go forward don’t you?” He smiled.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s right,” Clark said hesitantly. Once again Kendall’s attempt at humor had failed miserably.

  Kendall nodded. “I think so, it’s for the best believe me,” he replied. He suddenly sneezed. He held up his hand. “Oh, please excuse me.” He shook his head, and took out a handkerchief, and wiped his nose.

  Clark looked at him, concerned. “Are you alright, Mr. Kendall?” he asked. “You’re not going down with this Rican flu, I hope.”

  Kendall shook his head. “Oh no,” he replied. “It’s only this wretched hay fever,” he explained. “
It’s always the same this time of year, regular as clockwork.”

  Clark looked at him sympathetically. “Oh I see, it must be very distressing for you,” he said. “You should take something for that, you know.”

  Kendall nodded. Yes, he knew. “Oh I do,” he replied, as he reached into his pocket, and took out his nasal spray. He handed it to Clark. “I’ve tried everything,” he continued. “Antihistamine tablets, steroids, decongestant tablets, you name it.”

  Clark nodded. “I understand that there is an injection treatment available. Have you tried it?” he asked. “I believe that it is reasonably successful.” Kendall shook his head. He had heard of such a treatment, but, somehow, the idea just did not appeal to him. Clark nodded once again. “I can’t say that I blame you.”

  Kendall nodded and looked at the spray. “I’m currently taking some tablets called Pollen-Ease, and this spray.”

  Clark smiled, as he took hold of the spray. “Pollen-Ease, that’s one of our competitor’s brands,” he said. “They’re not bad, but they’re not as good as ours.” He looked at Kendall and smiled again. “Naturally I would say that, wouldn’t I?”

  Kendall smiled and nodded. “Naturally,” he replied.

  Clark shrugged. “Naturally,” he repeated. “Nonetheless you should try our Allerg-ease. That will give you hours of relief.” He paused for a moment. “Just a second, I’ll get a packet for you.” He got up, handed the spray back to Kendall, and left the room.

  Kendall watched in amazement as Clark left the room. He then stood up and started to walk around the room. He was pleased to have the opportunity to look around, although he wasn’t exactly sure of what it was that he was looking for.

  The desk was littered with papers, and documents. It was as good a place as any to start looking, although what he expected to find was unclear. He slowly turned the papers. As far as he could see they were mainly technical details of some clinical trials, mainly in connection with the Rican flu epidemic. Kendall laid the papers back down and glanced around the room. Over on the far side were three or four filing cabinets. Kendall walked over to the first one. He took hold of the handle and tugged. The drawer was locked. In fact all of the drawers were locked. He shrugged his shoulders, and took a deep breath. Suddenly he heard footsteps in the corridor. Clark was returning. Kendall quickly walked back to his chair. He had just sat down when the door opened.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Clark said as he walked back into the room. “Here you are,” he announced, as he handed a small tube to Kendall. “Give them a try,” he said. “Let me know how you get on.”

  For a moment or two Kendall contemplated asking about some slimming tablets as well. After all, he did need to lose a pound or two. He thought better of it. He looked at the tube, and started to read the ingredients. It was a list of meaningless names, and quantities. He shook his head. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Clark,” he said. “I shall certainly give them a try. What do I owe you?”

  Clark started to laugh. “Oh no, Mr. Kendall, there’s no charge. That’s one of our trial samples. It’s a very new product, you see. It’s not in the pharmacies just yet.” He shook his head. He started to flick through a wall calendar. “It won’t be much longer, though,” he said. “The clinical trials seem to be going quite well. We are confident of getting our license early next month, or the month after, and then it’s onto the shelves six weeks after that.”

  Kendall looked at the tube once again. A sample he murmured. What am I then, he wondered, some kind of a guinea pig? Am I taking a chance here? Is there a big risk to my health? Should they be paying me for trying their product? If it doesn’t work will I be able to sue? He sneezed once more. “I’ll give it a try,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

  Clark nodded. “I hope that it works for you. Hay fever can be extremely troublesome.”

  “If it doesn’t work I shall want my money back,” Kendall said, and smiled.

  Clark looked at him, once again missing the joke completely. He coughed, and nodded his head. “Oh yes,” he said. Then he coughed once again. He looked at the card that Kendall had given him when he had arrived. “A private detective, eh,” he said. He smiled. “Philip Marlowe, that sort of thing?”

  Kendall smiled. “That’s right,” he replied. “Although I think I’m more the Sam Spade type.”

  Clark started to laugh. “You know, Mr. Kendall I just love those old movies with Humphrey Bogart, and James Cagney.” Kendall nodded. Clark suddenly stopped laughing. “But I don’t suppose that you have come here to talk about old films have you? So, how can I help you?”

  Kendall took out his notepad. He looked at Clark. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked. “I have to take notes. The old memory is not as good as it used to be.” He paused. “As far as I can remember, that is.” It was a poor joke, and one that was totally missed by Clark. “By the way you don’t do a memory pill do you?” Clark looked puzzled and said nothing. Once again Kendall’s attempt at humor had passed right over Clark’s head. Kendall shrugged his shoulders. No matter, he murmured. “Now, you were about to tell me about Richard Dawson.”

  Clark nodded. “So I was, so I was.” He sighed. “As I said it was a dreadful accident, one that we fully accept responsibility for.” He paused for a moment. He shook his head. “It was just dreadful, a terrible accident, who would think it possible, Mr. Kendall?”

  Kendall shook his head. “Actually neither Mr. Dawson’s mother, nor his brother Peter, believes that it was an accident,” he replied. “They are both convinced that it was actually murder.”

  Clark looked up, and shook his head. “Murder, surely not,” he replied. “No, no. It was an accident I know that. There were people who actually saw what happened.”

  “Yes, so I understand,” Kendall replied. “Can you tell me what he was doing in your car park?”

  “Certainly,” replied Clark. “He had been here making enquiries about this terrible virus infection, you know, the one that started a few weeks ago. He had called three or four times altogether. He was doing a piece for his newspaper, you know. He was extremely knowledgeable, and had obviously done his homework. Anyway we gave him a lot of background information. You know, stuff about the virus, how it spreads that kind of thing; precautions that you can take, things like that; what we were doing trying to find a vaccine. It’s very involved. No end of tests and trials. You understand.”

  Kendall nodded. Oh certainly, Kendall understood. Didn’t everybody?

  “Anyway, we gave him what we had. What we thought he could publish, and off he went. Presumably he was parked in the car park. He must have stumbled and fallen. There was a slightly raised curbstone nearby, I understand.” Clark shook his head. “We should have dealt with that long ago, I’m afraid. Sadly he hit his head on a low brick wall close by. That caused a massive hemorrhage and he died the following day in hospital, I believe.” He paused for a moment. “Absolutely terrible, an inch further one way or the other and he would have missed the wall, and probably still be alive today. You know I really feel totally responsible, somehow. It was my fault. There’s no question of that. I did it almost as though I actually pushed him myself.” He shook his head slowly and lowered his head. “I shall live with that guilt for the rest of my life.”

  Kendall was impressed. The last time that he had seen such a performance was at the New York Opera House. It was La Boheme.

  Clark appeared to brush a tear from his eye, as he continued. “That curbstone should have been dealt with. It really is quite unforgivable. As I say, I blame myself. We offered the family some kind of compensation. I know it will never make up for their loss, but it’s the least we can do. I mean, after all, it was our curbstone.”

  Kendall nodded once again. “That was very kind of you,” he said. He flipped though his notepad. “I understand that there were two witnesses.”

  Clark nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “Two of our employees, you will probably want to speak with them.” He p
aused for a moment. “Just a moment, I’ll get their details for you.” He pressed the buttons on the intercom. “Can you get me the details on John Vickers and Clive Norris, please?” He pressed the off button, and turned back to face Kendall. “That shouldn’t take more than five minutes or so,” he said. “Could I get you a coffee, or something, while we wait?”

  Kendall shook his head. He would have loved a drink of some kind, but he kept thinking of those meaningless names on that tube of medicine. Somehow he could just imagine some of them ending up inside his cup of coffee, or his scotch and water. “Oh no, thanks,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  Exactly five minutes later there was a knock on the door, and Clark’s secretary came in. She placed two sheets of paper on the desk in front of him. “The information you required, sir,” she said. He thanked her, and she turned around and left the room.

  Clark picked up the papers, and handed them to Kendall. “Here we are the full details of the two men, the two witnesses. Both very reliable men I have to say. I imagine you will want to talk to them. I think it right and proper for me to advise them that you will be in touch first. I’ll telephone them later. Is that all right with you?”

  Kendall nodded. “Oh yes that’ll be fine. No problems,” he replied. “Incidentally, I understand that one of your employees recently committed suicide. Is that correct?”

  Clark looked up, surprised. He nodded and sighed deeply. “Yes, that’s right,” he replied. “Summers, Martin Summers.” He shook his head. “Very sad, I should have seen it coming.” He sighed once again. “Perhaps I could have helped.”

  Kendall nodded slowly. “So, what happened?” he asked.

  “Oh, money troubles,” Clark replied. “Simple as that really. He was a young man with a family; a wife and young child.” He paused and shook his head. “A little girl called Yvonne, a sweet little child, just six years old.” He sighed once again. “He just got into debt, and couldn’t pay his bills. Then there was the gambling.” He sighed once again. “You know how these things go.”