Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  She shrugged her shoulders, and returned to her magazine, Celebrity Lives. She flipped the pages until she found the article she had been reading. It was all about the newest Hollywood starlet. Jessica Taylor. She had just bought her parents a little house out in the Napa Valley, California. “The house has sixteen bedrooms, and ten bathrooms, and was set on thirty acres.” Mollie shook her head. “Only ten bathrooms,” she murmured. “How awkward, how would they ever manage?”

  Kendall suddenly stirred. He rubbed his eyes and stretched. “All day,” he murmured. “Eight hours and I found nothing.” He yawned. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Mollie looked up from her magazine. She looked over at Kendall, and shook her head. That’s ridiculous, she thought. “You must have found something,” she said. “Must have.”

  Kendall raised his eyebrows, and glared at her. He was the best judge of what he had or had not found, wasn’t he? He had the aches and pains to prove it, didn’t he. He had the aching back, and the aching feet. He was the one mentally and physically exhausted wasn’t he? What did she know about his sacrifice, his monumental efforts, and his determination in the face of adversity? His … his... He shook his head. He was too tired to think of anything else. “I found absolutely nothing,” he replied quite simply.

  Mollie frowned. “What about at his house,” she said. “There must have been some papers in the house, letters, files, something.”

  Once again, Kendall shook his head. “Nothing,” he said quite simply. “A few bills, some old receipts and a couple of photographs, and that was about it. There was nothing of any significance.”

  “What about letters?” Mollie asked. “There must have been a letter or two.”

  Kendall shook his head. “There were no letters. In fact there were no personal documents of any kind. Not as far as I could see anyway.”

  “Perhaps his mother has them,” Mollie suggested. “After his death, perhaps she took them. That would be quite natural.”

  Kendall nodded. That was entirely possible, he thought. “I’ll ask her,” he said. He scribbled a note in his notepad.

  “His computer,” Mollie suddenly said. “What about his computer?”

  Kendall opened his eyes wide. “Computer,” he repeated, as he swung his legs off of the desk. “What computer?”

  Mollie looked at him. She wasn’t exactly sure whether he was being serious or not. “Almost everyone has a computer these days,” she said. “Anyone with any intelligence would have one. Even people with no intelligence could have a computer. Why, even you have one.” She smiled. “A young, ambitious, newspaper reporter would certainly have one.”

  Kendall thought for a few seconds, and nodded his head. She was absolutely right. He would have a computer, wouldn’t he? So where was it? He shook his head once again. “Strangely enough, there was no computer.”

  “No computer, that makes no sense,” said Mollie.

  Kendall nodded. “Nonetheless, there was no computer,”

  They were not getting very far. “What about his work?” Mollie asked. “Were there any notes, or documents relating to his work?”

  Kendall sighed and shook his head. “None that I saw,” he replied wearily.

  “Most unusual wouldn’t you say?” Mollie said. Then she suddenly started to smile. “He was apparently working on something, something important wasn’t he?” Kendall nodded. “What was it that Alan Clark, at Trenton, had said to you?”

  Kendall looked puzzled for a few moments. Then he remembered. “We gave him a lot of background information,” Kendall replied. “You know stuff about the virus, how it spreads that kind of thing.”

  Mollie nodded. “So where is it? All of this background information. What happened to it? Where were his papers, his notes?”

  “I don’t know,” Kendall replied. “But it certainly isn’t at the house.”

  Mollie looked at him and smiled. “There’s still the safety deposit box,” she suggested. “You never know.”

  Kendall nodded. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. He wasn’t greatly hopeful.

  * * *

  Richard Dawson’s safety deposit box was held with the Bank of Miami, at their branch on Collins Avenue. Kendall had telephoned earlier and made the necessary arrangements to visit. He had obtained authorization from Mrs. Dawson, and the bank officials expected him at three-thirty.

  “Of course, Mr. Kendall, you do understand that you will only be allowed to look in the presence of bank staff. You will not be permitted to take anything away with you unless you have obtained previous authorization.”

  Kendall understood perfectly, and had agreed. He would not take anything away, not without permission. All he wanted to do was to take a look.

  * * *

  It was three twenty-five when Kendall arrived at the Bank of Miami. He made himself known at the counter, and was directed down the stairs to the safety deposit box section. “Mister Lansdown will be waiting there for you, sir,” the usher had said pointing to the staircase. “Down there, and turn to the left, it’s a little way down the corridor, on the right hand side.”

  Kendall thanked the man, and hurried down the staircase. He had just reached the bottom of the staircase, and turned into the corridor, when he suddenly heard a voice.

  “Mr. Kendall?” the voice called out. “Over here.”

  Kendall turned towards the sound and saw someone beckoning to him. He hurried over to the man.

  “You are Mr. Kendall, aren’t you?” the voice said.

  Kendall nodded. “That’s right, I’m Kendall,” he replied.

  “Good,” said the man. “I’m Joseph Lansdown.” He smiled. “And this is my assistant, Simon Napier.” He pointed to a young man standing by his side. Napier said nothing, but merely raised his hand slightly and nodded. “I’m in charge down here,” Lansdown continued. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Kendall nodded. “Right,” he said. He put his hand into his pocket and took out a key. “Here’s my key,” he said. “So where’s the box?”

  Lansdown shook his head, and raised his hand. “All in good time, Mr. Kendall,” he said. He was looking at Kendall closely. He nodded his head slowly. He then looked down at a sheet of paper that he was holding. He suddenly looked up and smiled. “That seems to be all right,” he said. “It checks out.”

  Kendall looked puzzled.

  “Your description,” Lansdown explained. “It’s all here.” He tapped the sheet of paper. “It checks.”

  Kendall smiled. “That’s a relief,” he said sheepishly.

  “Now there are just a few security questions,” Lansdown continued. “A formality, I’m afraid.” Kendall had been warned to expect them, and Peter Dawson had told him exactly what to say. “Firstly, what was your mother’s maiden name?” Lansdown asked.

  “Bennett,” Kendall replied without hesitating.

  Lansdown nodded. “What was the name of your first school?” he asked.

  “Halley Street,” Kendall replied quickly.

  Lansdown nodded once again. “One more,” he said. “What was the name of your first pet?”

  Kendall thought for a few moments. “Maya,” he suddenly announced. “He was a grey cat, died a few years ago now.”

  “That’s absolutely correct, Mr. Kendall, ten out of ten. Or I should say three out of three.” He started to smile. “Now we can go and open that box.” He turned around and started to walk along the corridor. “Follow me, please, Mr. Kendall, this way.”

  He walked quickly towards the metal gates to the vault area a short distance away. “Open up, Andrew,” he called out to his colleague. Kendall looked over to the side. Andrew could just be seen behind a thick screen door. Kendall wondered briefly whether Andrew had a permanent home there in the gloom, or was he only there because of his visit.

  There was a low hiss as the hydraulically operated bolts withdrew. A second or two later and the gates commenced to slowly slide open. As the gates opened fully the laser beams went out, and th
e fluorescent lights came on. Lansdown quickly moved over to the right hand side. “Box 947,” he murmured. “Ah, here we are,” he said when he had found it. He reached out his left hand. “Your key Mr. Kendall, if you please.”

  Kendall handed over the key that he had been given. Lansdown placed it in the left hand lock. He placed his own key in the right hand lock. He looked at Kendall, and then he slowly turned both keys at the same time. There was a dull thud as the bolts retracted, and the locks sprang open. Lansdown reached for the handle and pulled out the box. Holding it in both hands he took it to the table in the centre of the area. He carefully placed it on to the table. “Here we are, Mr. Kendall, Mr. Dawson’s deposit box.” He shook his head. “Pity, a young man like that, such a terrible, terrible accident!”

  Kendall looked at him for a second or two. “Yes,” he said quite simply.

  Lansdown sighed and walked back to the entrance gates. “I’ll be right here if you need me, Mr. Kendall,” he said.

  Kendall looked at him and nodded. Then he moved over to the table. He reached for the catch on the side of the box and pressed. The box sprang open. Kendall picked up the box, turned it over, and emptied the contents on to the table. He then carefully spread them around. There wasn’t much, a few dollars; fifteen or twenty at the most; a fifty-euro bank note, and some traveler’s checks.

  Kendall picked them up. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lansdown watching him closely. Kendall looked at him and smiled. He raised the checks in the air. “Travelers checks,” he said, and proceeded to count them. “Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight,” he said. “Thirty-eight checks altogether.” He paused for a moment as he counted up the total amount. “Two hundred and forty-seven dollars in total,” he called out as he placed the checks back into the box.

  The next item, lying on the table, looked remarkably like a lipstick. Kendall picked it up. It was, in fact, a small memory stick. Kendall slowly glanced around, neither Lansdown, nor Andrew, were to be seen. Kendall placed the memory stick in his pocket. He heaved a sigh, and looked back at the table. The last item was a small packet of photographs. He picked up the envelope, took out the photographs, and placed them on to the table.

  Kendall instantly recognized Richard Dawson in the first photograph. He was standing on a jetty by a lake. By his side was a young lady, his girlfriend, no doubt, Kendall guessed. Kendall turned the photograph over. “Punta Rojas, August,” was written on the back. Underneath was added the words, ‘Me and Angela.’

  Punta Rojas, the place where this current flu outbreak had started, just a short while ago. Kendall shook his head, and continued to shuffle through the pack. There she was again, the girlfriend, standing on the balcony of a hotel waving to someone. Waving at Dawson probably, Kendall guessed. He turned the photograph over. There was the confirmation. “Hotel D’Ora, Punta Rojas.” At the bottom was the date, August.

  Holiday photographs, nothing more. Kendall spread them out on the table. He suddenly noticed one that didn’t quite match the others. It was a much smaller photograph, and clearly a much older print. It showed a row of marquees down in a valley. Over to the right hand side were two people standing together. One of them seemed to be pointing at something. The photograph had been taken from the top of a hill. A holiday camp of some kind, Kendall guessed, although he was not absolutely sure that he was right. Boy scouts maybe, or perhaps an army camp. He shook his head.

  Whatever it was, and wherever it was, it couldn’t have been where Dawson and Angela had stayed; they had gone to a hotel. He turned the photograph over. Once again it was somewhere in Punta Rojas. At the bottom there was a single word, “Trenton,” and the date 2005. Kendall looked at it once more. “2005.” What was of more importance however was the word Trenton. That could only mean Trenton Pharmaceuticals.

  Kendall continued to stare at the photographs for a few moments. Suddenly he heard a noise behind him. It was Lansdown returning. “Is everything all right, Mr. Kendall?” he asked.

  Kendall looked up and smiled. “Fine,” he replied. “Everything’s fine.” He held the photographs up so that Lansdown could see them. “Can I take these?” he asked.

  Lansdown looked at the photographs. He smiled, and then shook his head. He was hesitant, unsure. Then he nodded. “It was probably all right,” he murmured. After all he does have a key, so he must be authorized.

  He took a deep breath. “I don’t see why not,” he replied. “You will have to sign for them, though,” he continued. “You understand.”

  Kendall nodded. Yes, he understood. He looked at the items on the table once more. There was nothing else of interest. He shook his head, and gathered them together and carefully replaced them in the box. He put the photographs inside his jacket pocket. “I’m about finished,” he said. “But I might be back. Now where do I sign?” He stood up.

  Lansdown placed the box back into its position, and turned the two locks. He handed the key back to Kendall, and smiled. “Over here,” he said, as he led Kendall to a small desk in the far corner. He opened the top drawer and took out a pad. He tore off the top sheet, and placed it in front of Kendall. “Just fill that out, please, and sign.” He paused for a moment as he looked down at the document. “Here, and here.” He indicated the spots.

  A minute or two later Kendall had completed the form. He handed it back to Lansdown. Lansdown quickly scanned the document, and nodded his head. He tore off the top sheet. “Fine,” he said. He folded the document and placed it in the drawer. “All done,” he said. “That’s your copy.” He gave Kendall the duplicate copy. Kendall nodded his head. He had actually guessed as much. He was pleased that his deductive powers were still as sharp as ever. Lansdown started to walk back towards the staircase. “This way please, Mr. Kendall,” he said as he held his arm out indicating the exit.

  * * *

  Chapter Eightteen

  Holiday Snaps?

  “Alt om Kobenhavn,” Copenhagen, Thursday – It has been announced that all twelve suspected cases of Rican flu in Denmark have now been cleared by the national disease control centre, Statens Serum Institut (SSI). Carl Stangen, the head of SSI, told TV2 News that results for the patients all came back negative. The twelve, suspected of carrying the virus, had been admitted to isolation wards in Skejby and Aalborg on Jutland, and at Hvidovre Hospital near Copenhagen. A further four patients are awaiting test results this afternoon, and all are said to be in good condition. Freida Smit, head of prevention at the National Board of Health, said that the country is well prepared for any outbreak of the virus, as it has had a pandemic plan in place since the emergence of bird flu a number of years ago.”

  * * *

  As Kendall entered his office he could hear Mollie busy in the kitchen. “I’m back,” he called out. There was no response. He sighed and took a deep breath. He closed the door behind him, and slowly made his way over to his desk. “I’m back,” he repeated.

  “I heard you the first time,” Mollie said from the kitchen doorway. “I suppose you want a cup of coffee.”

  Kendall smiled and nodded. “That would be nice,” he said. “And some of those …”

  “We are out of chocolate biscuits,” Mollie said, as she went back into the kitchen.

  Kendall was horrified. No chocolate biscuits, he could not believe it. This had not been the greatest of days, now this. He slumped into his chair, and heaved another sigh. “Are you sure?” he called out.

  “There are no chocolate biscuits,” came the short reply. “You will have to make do with a piece of cake.”

  Kendall was not that fond of cake, but he knew that he had no choice. “Is it chocolate?” he asked hopefully.

  A few minutes later Mollie came back into the room with the coffee, and cake. Kendall looked at it. He shook his head. It was not chocolate. It was a sponge cake. He sighed. It would have to do.

  “Well?” said Mollie.

  Kendall looked at her, as he busily chewed on a piece of the cake. “Well, what?” he as
ked.

  Mollie glared at him. “Are you going to tell me, or should I read about it in the local newspaper.”

  Kendall shook his head, and frowned. “Read about what?” he asked.

  She shook her head in despair. “How did you get on at the bank?”

  Kendall finished his cake, and slowly shook his head. “Oh that,” he replied. “Why didn’t you say?” He took a drink of coffee. “Is there any more cake?” he asked.

  “Are you going to tell me, or what?” Mollie retorted.

  “Sure, of course I am,” Kendall replied. “I just wondered if there was any more cake.”

  “There’s no more cake,” Mollie replied impatiently. “Now how did you get on?”

  Kendall resolved himself to the obvious fact that there was to be no more cake. “How did I get on you ask? Well not great. There wasn’t much in the safety deposit box at all, some money, and some traveler’s checks.” He paused once again. He took the envelope from his pocket, and took out the photographs. He placed them onto the desk. “There were those photographs, for what they are worth.” He pointed to the desk. “And this.” He reached into his pocket, took out the memory stick, and placed it on to the desk. “Whatever that is,” he said wearily.

  Mollie picked it up, and smiled. She knew exactly what it was. “It’s a memory stick,” she announced smugly. “A portable device for storing digital data.” She connected it to her computer, and pressed her keypad. “There’s not much on it, I’m afraid,” she announced a few moments later. “There’s a copy of an email from someone called Carlos.”

  “An email,” Kendall repeated. “What does it say?”

  Mollie read through the message. “Carlos is asking Dawson to make enquiries about Trenton Pharmaceuticals being in Punta Rojas.”