by John Holt
Kendall shook his head. “Anything else?” he asked.
“Some photographs,” Mollie replied. “Take a look.”
Kendall stood up and walked over to Mollie’s desk. He stood behind her and looked down at her screen. There was a photograph showing an open timber crate. At the corner was the name Trenton. Mollie pressed a key. A second photograph appeared, showing a small broken bottle. On the label were the words Trenton Pharmaceuticals.
Kendall shook his head once again. “Is there a date on that email?” he asked.
Mollie pressed her keypad, and returned to the document. “Yes, there is,” she replied. “It’s April 2005.”
Kendall started to tap the side of his face. “Punta Rojas,” he murmured. “2005.” He walked back to his desk, and looked at the photographs that were spread out. He picked them up.
“What do you think of those?” he said to Mollie, as he handed the photographs to her.
Mollie picked them up and slowly looked through them. “They’re holiday snaps,” she said, and placed them back on the desk. “Richard Dawson and his girlfriend on holiday somewhere, so what?”
Kendall shook his head as he picked them up. He picked out the photograph showing the tents. He looked at Mollie, and smiled. “And that’s where they stayed. I suppose,” he said.
Mollie looked at it and started to smile. “Well it could have been a holiday camp.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She handed the photographs back to Kendall. “Where were they taken, anyway?”
“Punta Rojas,” Kendall replied simply. “In 2005.”
Mollie looked at him, a frown spreading across her face. “Oh, I see,” she said, not really seeing at all. “Quite a co-incidence.”
Kendall nodded. “Yes,” he replied slowly. “Quite a co-incidence.”
He placed the photographs down on his desk, and spread them out. He looked at them for a few moments, and then he picked up the one showing the tents. Why was that one odd photograph included amongst the others? It obviously wasn’t part of the set. It was considerably smaller, and a different quality paper. Why, Kendall wasn’t even convinced that it had been taken with the same camera. No, it was clear that it did not belong to the others, and yet they were all in the same envelope, deliberately so.
He shook his head. “Punta Rojas,” he whispered. “2005.” He repeated the words over and over again, in the hope that suddenly everything would become clear. It didn’t. Dawson was obviously there sometime, but when? Was he really there in 2005? If so why? Was he really there on holiday?
Kendall shook his head. It did not seem very likely. Did it matter anyway? There couldn’t be any connection with his death, could there? Kendall wasn’t sure. Was it just a co-incidence and nothing more? He sighed. Maybe, maybe not. Either way that photograph was there for a reason. It didn’t get there by accident, and it didn’t get there by itself. It was put there by someone, and put there quite deliberately. “But why, and by whom?” Kendall murmured.
“Punta Rojas,” Kendall repeated. “That is where this current epidemic had first started.” But what was so significant about 2005, and where did Trenton Pharmaceuticals fit in? Kendall kept tapping the desk with the photographs, repeating over and over, “Trenton, Punta Rojas, 2005.”
“What did you say?” Mollie asked, trying to sound interested.
Kendall looked at her, and shrugged his shoulders. “I was just wondering about this photograph, and what significance it had.” He looked at the back of the photograph. “Four words, that’s all,” he continued. “Firstly we have Trenton, then Punta Rojas, and finally a date, 2005.” He sighed. “What does that all mean?” he asked.
“Well, obviously the word Trenton is actually referring to Trenton Pharmaceuticals,” Mollie replied. “The connection there is perfectly clear. Richard Dawson was at their offices the day that he died, wasn’t he?”
Kendall nodded. “Right, I’ll go along with that,” he replied. He thought for a few moments. “And Punta Rojas is where this current epidemic started.”
Mollie shook her head, and glared at him. “Obviously,” she said. “And so … go on.” Kendall looked at her, a frown on his forehead. “Epidemics need vaccines, and drugs to fight them, right?”
Kendall nodded. “Right,” he replied. “And Trenton Pharmaceuticals produces vaccines and drugs. That’s fine. So we have a connection between Trenton and Punta Rojas, but what about the date, 2005? What does that mean?”
Mollie thought for a few moments. “Well maybe Trenton Pharmaceuticals was in Punta Rojas at that time,” she suggested. “Perhaps the photograph is actually showing their camp.”
Kendall turned the photograph over, and looked at the picture. He started to tap the photograph. Maybe, but why would Trenton have been in Punta Rojas five years ago? This virus outbreak has only just happened. He shook his head. It still made no sense. “Possibly,” he replied, although not fully convinced. “You might be right, I suppose.”
Mollie glared at him once again. Might be right indeed, she was right, and he knew it. He just wouldn’t admit it that was all. “They were there in 2005, and somehow it’s all connected with the investigation that Richard was carrying out for his newspaper.”
Kendall looked at Mollie. But why would Trenton have been there in 2005?” he asked. “And what possible connection could there be with what is happening now? And what had it all got to do with Dawson’s death?”
Mollie shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied wearily. “But it seemed to me that there must be some connection between 2005 and the investigation being carried out by Richard.”
Kendall was still not clear about any of what was being said. But he had to admit that Mollie was probably right. There must be a connection somewhere, and the investigation that Dawson was working on was the key to the whole mystery. “An investigation in which Richard found out something that someone wanted kept secret.”
“So what are we actually saying?” Mollie asked. “Richard was murdered because of something that happened in Punta Rojas in 2005? Is that right?”
Kendall raised his eyebrows, and sighed deeply. “Something like that I suppose,” he replied. Then he shook his head, and smiled. “I’m not really that sure.”
Mollie shook her head. Most helpful, she thought. “All right,” she said. “For the moment, for the sake of future consideration, let’s just say that we are right.” Kendall said nothing. “So what did happen all of those years ago?”
Kendall stopped smiling, and shook his head once again. “I don’t know what happened,” he replied. “But I’m almost certain that it involved Trenton Pharmaceuticals in some way.”
Mollie shrugged her shoulders. “Well I suppose you could always ask them, couldn’t you?”
Kendall looked at her. Yes, he could always ask them. It was unlikely that they would tell him, but yes he could ask. He smiled, and simply shook his head.
She sighed. “Right,” she replied. “I’ll try a Google search on the Internet. You never know it might show something.”
Kendall was far from hopeful.
* * *
Twenty minutes later Mollie sighed and gave up. The Google Search had found nothing of any real significance. “I’ve tried Punta Rojas, and 2005, and all I got was some trade figures.” She sighed. “I’ve tried Punta Rojas and Trenton Pharmaceuticals, and got nothing.”
“What about Trenton and the year 2005?” Kendall suggested. “That might come up with something.”
“It did,” Mollie replied. “A lot of details about the company accounts for that year, that’s all.” She sighed and took a deep breath.
Kendall looked up surprised. “Their accounts,” he repeated. “Was that on their web site?”
Mollie shook her head. “No, it was one of those independent sites, a kind of watchdog organization. This one is obviously very critical of the drugs industry.”
Kendall nodded. “Right,” he said. “But you say it gave details of the company’s accou
nts.”
Mollie looked up from the screen. “Well not exactly,” she replied. “Not in detail.” She paused. “It actually makes a lot of comment about the expenditure and income of the company.”
“Comment?” said Kendall. “What sort of comment?”
Mollie looked back at the screen and pressed a few buttons. “Here we are,” she said. “Come and have a look.”
Kendall walked over to Mollie’s desk and looked at the monitor. “What does that mean?” he asked as he pointed to something on the screen.
Mollie looked at where he was pointing. “Why did Trenton Pharmaceuticals make a payment of eight million dollars to the Costa Rican government?” she read. She looked at Kendall. She shook her head. “I’ve no idea,” she replied. “What about enquiring at the Costa Rican Embassy?” she suggested. “Or, of course, you could ask Trenton themselves.”
Kendall looked up, and looked over at her. “You know, I might just do that,” he said.
* * *
The following day Kendall decided to contact the Costa Rican Embassy. He reached for the telephone and dialed the number. It was answered on the fourth ring. “Good morning,” a soft voice with a slight Spanish accent said. “Costa Rican Embassy, can I help you?”
Kendall explained his enquiry. After several minutes, he was eventually put through to someone who, he was assured, would be able to help him. “Senor Kendall,” said a voice. “I am Hosea Garcia, Cultural Secretary to his Excellency the Ambassador. What can I do for you?”
At last, Kendall murmured. “I’m sorry to trouble you,” he said, not sounding one bit sorry. “I was enquiring why Trenton Pharmaceuticals were in your country in the summer of 2005.”
There was silence for a while. For a moment Kendall thought that he had been cut off. Then there was the sound of someone talking, although Kendall could not make out what was being said.
“Mr. Kendall,” the voice returned. “You must be mistaken I’m afraid. I have checked with the appropriate section. Trenton Pharmaceuticals were not in my country at that time.”
Kendall sighed loudly. “What about the eight million dollars Trenton gave to your government in that year?” he asked.
Once again there was silence for a long period. “I am sorry, Mr. Kendall,” the voice suddenly said. “Another mistake I’m afraid. Someone is deliberately misleading you.” There was a brief pause. “I am very sorry, but I cannot help you further.” The line went dead.
Kendall sighed and replaced the handset. So much for the embassy, he murmured. He thought for a few moments, and wondered if he would do better by asking Trenton themselves. He shook his head. Unlikely.
“Mrs. Dawson,” he suddenly murmured. She might be able to help, he thought. It was a long shot, he realized that, but she just might know something about the photographs. She might also have his personal papers. He reached for the telephone and dialed the number. “Mrs. Dawson,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need your help.”
* * *
Chapter Nineteen
Kendall Goes Visiting
“Svenska Dagbladet,” Stockholm, Thursday – “The County Council of Stockholm has announced that a middle-aged woman has been taken to hospital, with symptoms similar to the Rican flu virus. Extensive tests are currently being carried out, and the results are awaited. It is understood that she has recently returned from Brazil, where she fell ill and began showing signs of the virus. The woman's condition is said to be stable. The Swedish health department has provided antiviral medication to her relatives as a precaution.”
“Morgenbladet,” Oslo, Thursday – “According to figures obtained from the Norwegian Institute of Public Health, a total of twenty-two people have now tested positive for Rican flu. That is a doubling in one week. In the northern city of Tromso three new cases were registered this week.”
* * *
Twenty-five minutes later Kendall pulled up outside the weather-boarded cottage where Mrs. Dawson lived. “Come in, Mr. Kendall,” she said as she opened the door. “It’s very nice to see you again.” She stood back to allow Kendall to pass by. “Come in,” she said. “I’ll put the kettle on.” With that she was gone.
Kendall walked in to the lounge. The room was bright, and airy. It was small, but comfortable. Lived in, Kendall thought. Everywhere that he looked there were photographs. There was one of Peter, probably in his late teens, Kendall guessed. Next to it there was one of the two brothers together. On the sideboard there was that same photograph that he had seen before, the one of Richard and Angela, at that lake in Punta Rojas. Kendall picked it up and smiled. He sighed and slowly, carefully, put it back into position. He continued to walk around the room. There, on a small cabinet, was a photograph of an elderly man. Obviously it was Richard’s father. There was no mistaking that look.
“That’s my husband,” Mrs. Dawson said, as she came back into the room. She placed a tray onto the coffee table, and walked over to the photograph. She gently picked it up. “That’s my George,” she said. She shook her head. “He’s been dead just over eight years now.” She paused and brushed a tear from her cheek, and placed the photograph back into its position. “Cancer,” she said quite simply. She looked down and rubbed her hands together. “Come and have your coffee, Mr. Kendall.” She sat down. “Do sit down.”
Kendall smiled and sat down. “He was a good looking man,” he said, as he looked back at the photograph of George.
Mrs. Dawson looked at the photograph and smiled. “He was indeed, Mr. Kendall,” she replied. She heaved a sigh.
Kendall reached out and placed his hand on her arm. She looked up and smiled. “Now, don’t let your coffee go cold,” she said. “Would you like some cake?”
Kendall smiled, and shook his head. “Better not,” he said, rubbing his stomach. “I must lose some weight, at least a pound or two.” He took a drink of coffee, and looked back at the photograph at the lake.
Mrs. Dawson noticed. “That’s my Richard, and his girlfriend Angela,” she said. She paused for a moment, and took a deep breath. “They were to have been married quite soon,” she continued, as she brushed another tear from her eye. “She’s taking it pretty badly as you can imagine.”
Kendall nodded, and turned to face her. “Your son Richard was a bit of a traveler, wasn’t he?” he said.
She nodded. “Oh yes, he was all over the place,” she replied. “Of course his job as a reporter took him to a lot of places.” She stood up. “He was always going somewhere. He would always send me a post card. I have cards from everywhere.” She thought for a moment. “Let me see, there was Canada, England, Jamaica, Chile.” She paused. “He went there twice I think, just a moment.”
She opened the drawer to the cabinet and took out a photo album. She opened it and turned to the last page. “That’s the last one he sent me, just a few weeks before he died.” Kendall looked at it. It was postmarked Barbados.
“May I?” Kendall said as he took hold of the album. He smiled at her and placed his hand on her arm. She smiled back at him. Kendall started to flick through the pages when he suddenly noticed something. It was another copy of the picture that he had seen recently. It was of those tents in the valley. He took it out of the album. He turned the card over. It was headed Javea Valley, Punta Rojas 2005. The message simply read, “Mum, having a good time, be home soon. Love, Richard.”
Kendall turned the card over and looked at the photograph once more. “Why would he send a post card that was five years old,” he murmured. He looked at the back of the card once again. The postmark had been smudged, and it was impossible to determine where it had come from. Except the stamp bore a picture of George Washington, and there was a small inscription, US Postal Services.
Why would he send a postcard of the Javea Valley, in Costa Rica, from somewhere in America? And what was the connection between that photograph and Trenton Pharmaceuticals?
Kendall closed the album slowly and handed it back to Mrs. Dawson. He rubbed his chin. “I w
ent to Richard’s house today,” he said. Mrs. Dawson looked at him and brushed her cheek. “I was looking for any letters, or personal documents, that might give a clue regarding his death.” He paused. She looked up and smiled. “There weren’t any, nothing,” he said. “I found nothing at all. I was wondering if you had them.”
Mrs. Dawson shook her head. “No, I don’t have anything like that, Mr. Kendall,” she said simply. “Was it important?”
Kendall smiled and shook his head. “Maybe,” he replied. “Maybe not.”
* * *
The following day Kendall paid a visit to the Miami Herald. As he walked through the reception area he noticed the first edition lying on the counter, as usual, the main story centered on the Rican Flu epidemic. He wondered how long it would go on for. What was this, anyway? The third month, or was it the fourth? He shook his head. He couldn’t remember. He picked up the paper and started to read. Rican Flu Spreads through Europe ran the banner headline.
“Spain reported its first case of Rican Flu today. A twenty-four year old man Carlos Vargas, who has just returned from a tour of duty with Attico Oil based in Costa Rica is showing advanced symptoms of the virus. He is now being treated in an isolation hospital on the outskirts of Barcelona. Four other people who were on the aircraft with him are undergoing extensive tests.” Kendall shook his head, and laid the newspaper down.
Suddenly someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Mr. Kendall?” a voice asked. “I’m Langdon, Roger Langdon. I’m the features editor, I was Richard’s boss.”
Kendall nodded. “I’m Kendall,” he said. “It’s good of you to see me.”
Langdon nodded. “No problem.” He replied. “Come along to my office, this way.”
A few minutes later they arrived at Langdon’s office. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating a chair. He shook his head and sat down. “Poor old Richard. Such a terrible thing, to die so young like that, he had his whole future ahead of him. A dreadful accident! So easy, a few inches to the left or right, and he would have been fine. It just goes to show you. You never know what is going to happen do you, or when. And you can’t always be prepared, can you?” He looked at Kendall, and heaved a sigh. “Now, what is it exactly that I can I do for you?”