by John Holt
“Sorry, Barbara,” Clark replied. “Oh no, I don’t need Jean especially. All I want is a copy of the accident report, the one involving Mr. Dawson. Could you bring me one, please?”
He replaced the receiver. “It won’t be long,” he said. “To think that less than twenty minutes earlier, we were having an interesting discussion about this epidemic. He wanted to know everything, you know.” He sighed. “He really did have quite a brain, and an enquiring mind, and he was quite inquisitive.” He paused and rubbed his hands together. “With the benefit of hindsight, I should have gone to see for myself. I know that now.” He shrugged his shoulders, and heaved a sigh. “But I didn’t, and that’s an end to it.”
There was a knock on the door. It opened, and a young lady came in. She was holding some papers in her hand. She walked over to Clark’s desk. “The report you wanted, sir,” she said, and handed the papers to Clark.
Clark smiled. “Thank you, Barbara,” he said.
“Will there be anything else?” she asked.
Clark shook his head. “Nothing, thank you,” he replied. She turned around and left the room.
Clark placed the papers on his desk. “The accident report,” he said, quite simply. He quickly glanced down the page. “Ah, here we are the final paragraph. Mr. Dawson was taken away by ambulance at three forty-seven.” He paused and read a little further. “It says nothing about him being dead on the site.” He placed the document back on the desk.
He paused for a moment, staring across the room. He then shook his head and looked at Kendall. “As I was saying, I should have checked. I should have gone to see for myself, but I didn’t. I just couldn’t tear myself away from my big, important meeting.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t change that, not now. We can’t put the clock back, can we?” he continued. “It was four fifteen when I was informed that the young man had been taken to the hospital.”
“Four fifteen?” Kendall repeated. “How are you so sure?”
“Because it says so in that report,” Clark explained. “The meeting had just finished.
Kendall made a few notes in his pad, and then looked up. “So who told you?”
Clark shook his head. He appeared to be hesitant, unsure. “Who told me?” He thought for a few moments, and then started to smile. “It was probably my secretary, Barbara, I think.” Then he paused and shook his head. “Or it could have been Joe.”
“Joe,” Kendall repeated. “Who is Joe?”
Clark smiled. “Keith Louis,” he replied. “We call him Joe. You know after Joe Louis, the boxer.” He paused once again. “Yes,” he continued. “It could have been Joe.” He nodded his head, and looked at Kendall. “He is our handyman, he looks after the grounds, and the car park area. He’s a little, well you know. A little simple, I suppose you could say. But he does a pretty good job, by all accounts.”
Kendall nodded. “Joe Louis,” he repeated, making a note on his pad. “Incidentally, it is beginning to look as though it wasn’t an accident.” He paused for a moment. “It looks like Mr. Dawson was actually murdered after all.”
Clark looked surprised. “Surely not,” he said. “That cannot be. You must be mistaken.”
Kendall shook his head. “Well, it’s not definite as yet,” he said. “But it is a strong possibility.”
“I can hardly believe it,” Clark said. He shook his head. “Why would anyone want to murder him?” he asked. “And in our car park as well.”
Kendall heaved a deep sigh, and shook his head. “Why would anyone want to murder him? That’s a real good question.” He paused and sighed once again. “Was it possibly something to do with his work, maybe? Something he was working on.”
Clark rubbed his chin. “Well, it’s all beyond me, but I suppose that’s possible,” he replied. “But what could it have been? I mean what was he working on that could possibly lead to his death?”
“There was this epidemic of course. He was working on that, wasn’t he?” replied Kendall. “I don’t really know, not yet, anyway. It’s only a thought. I couldn’t really say.”
Clark looked puzzled. “Are you perhaps suggesting that he found out something, something about this epidemic? Something that someone would have preferred kept secret?”
Kendall shrugged his shoulders, and nodded. “I hadn’t really given it that much thought, Mr. Clark,” he replied. “But it’s possible.”
Clark shook his head. “Something they did not want made public,” he continued. “Something they would actually commit murder to keep hidden.”
“It’s possible,” Kendall replied.
Clark shook his head. “Possible perhaps, but not very probable I would say,” he replied. He shook his head once again. “It just doesn’t seem very likely. No, I really think that you must be mistaken.” He looked at the Health and Safety report lying on his desk. He picked it up and handed it to Kendall. “If what you say is correct, Mr. Kendall, then that piece of paper is worthless.”
Kendall told hold of the paper, and nodded his head. “More than that, Mr. Clark,” he replied. “It is also a lie, and possibly a deliberate one at that.”
With that Kendall got up, and walked to the door. As he reached the doorway, he stopped and looked back at Clark. He smiled. “I expect we’ll speak again quite soon,” he said. He held the paper up. He started to walk towards the door, and then suddenly stopped. He looked back at Clark. “By the way, Mr. Clark, was Trenton operating in Costa Rica sometime in 2005?”
Clark looked at him and frowned. He shook his head. “No, Mr. Kendall, I don’t think so.”
Kendall nodded. “As I thought, trouble is I still have a slight problem.”
Clark sighed. “Go on, Mr. Kendall,” he said. “Let me see if I can help”
Kendall nodded. “Well, seeing that you weren’t in Costa Rica, I was just wondering why your company would make a payment of eight million dollars to the Costa Rican Government.”
Clark started to smile, and then he laughed. “You must be mistaken, Mr. Kendall. Trenton has never made such a payment, not to my knowledge.” He paused for a moment. “Where exactly did you get that information?”
“Oh, on the Internet,” Kendall answered simply.
Clark shook his head. “Not from our web site, I would guess,” he said.
Kendall nodded. “Oh no, it wasn’t from your site.”
“As I thought,” said Clark. “It was probably one of those unofficial sites that are constantly criticizing the industry. You know, you really shouldn’t take too much notice of that kind of site. They are usually so biased, they are just troublemakers. You really cannot believe a word they say.”
Kendall had to admit that Clark was probably right. “Guess so,” he said.
Clark nodded. “I’ve just had a thought, Mr. Kendall,” he said. “It just occurs to me that maybe, just maybe, it could have been a donation to pay for medicines. We often do that, especially to Third World countries. I’ll check on it, and let you know.”
“That would be much appreciated,” said Kendall, as he stood up. “Well, I better get going. I’m sure that you have some work to do. I know I do.”
He started to walk to the door, and stopped at the doorway. He turned, and held up the Health and Safety report. “In the meantime, thanks for this.” He continued towards the door. Suddenly he stopped once again, and turned to face Clark. “Incidentally,” he said. “What is Batch 942/D?”
Clark looked up, a surprised look on his face. He shook his head. “Batch 942/D is merely an enzyme that we are using on one of our drugs currently being developed. In fact it is the vaccine that we hope will cure this virus.” He smiled once again. “Do you know about things like that?” he asked.
Kendall smiled and shook his head. “An enzyme,” he repeated. “Something to do with proteins, isn’t it? Is that right?”
Clark nodded. “Something like that,” he replied.
Kendall smiled. Not that he was prepared to admit it, but he was none the wiser. Anyway h
e had asked about Batch 942/D as he had been requested. He hadn’t actually gained much by doing so. “Thanks,” he said. “That’s me done for now.” Then without anything further, he opened the door and walked out.
* * *
It was quite late by the time Kendall returned to his office. He could hear that his telephone was ringing as he reached the top of the stairs. He ran to his door, and quickly opened it. He rushed in, and walked over to the desk. He picked up the receiver. “Mr. Kendall,” a voice said before Kendall had time to speak. “Is that Tom Kendall?”
“Yes,” said Kendall, as he walked around the side of the desk and sat down. “This is Tom Kendall, who wants to know?”
“Mr. Kendall, my name is Grover, Keith Grover,” the man answered. “I’m from the County Coroner’s Office, here in Miami.” There was a slight pause. “I’m calling about this Dawson thing, you know.”
“This Dawson thing,” Kendall repeated, sounding slightly irritated. “Do you mean the death of Richard Dawson?”
Grover gave an audible sigh, and took a deep breath. “That’s right, the death of Richard Dawson.,” he replied. “You spoke to our Mr. Rogers the other day, is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” Kendall replied. “What about it?”
There was a long pause. Grover took another deep breath and cleared his throat. “Have you got a few moments to spare?”
Kendall looked across at the clock on the wall. It was almost seven thirty. “Well, it is kind of late, you know,” he replied. “You couldn’t possibly ring back tomorrow morning, could you?”
“I’m sorry I shan’t be here tomorrow,” Grover replied. “I have to go to Atlanta for a conference.” Kendall said nothing. “I promise not to keep you too long.” He paused, waiting for a response from Kendall. Kendall still said nothing. “If you could just spare a few moments, it would be greatly appreciated.”
Kendall sighed. Obviously tomorrow was not going to be convenient, was it. “Alright, I can spare you a little while, I suppose,” he replied. “So what can I do for you?”
“Thank you, Mr. Kendall,” Grover replied. “That’s really very good of you, and much appreciated.”
“Yes, yes,” said Kendall, slightly impatient. “So what was it about Richard Dawson?”
“That’s what I like, Mr. Kendall. Get right down to it, no messing around. Straight to business,” Grover said.
“That’s my way,” said Kendall. “Now, what exactly is it that you want to talk about?”
Grover took a deep breath. “Mr. Kendall we have looked at this matter in great detail, you know.” There was a pause. Kendall said nothing. “I’ve had my very best people on it for weeks.” There was another pause. Still Kendall said nothing. The man sighed once again. “And you know what we came to the conclusion that it was nothing more than a tragic accident. The evidence was just overwhelming in our opinion.”
“Is that right?” said Kendall. “Strange, I don’t see it that way at all.”
“You know, Kendall I’m impressed. You’re good, very good. You came up with some very good points, but on close inspection they can all be discounted.” There was another short pause. “We considered several of the things that you came up with. Like the blood on the seat to Dawson’s car. That was clever of you, but it wasn’t relevant. Did you know that he had cut himself a few weeks earlier? Oh nothing serious. Not more than a scratch; that was all.” There was another pause. “Shaving, I expect. You can get some nasty cuts from shaving, you know.”
Oh yes, Kendall knew that all right. It happens. He had done it several times himself. The only thing is firstly he had never mentioned anything to anyone about the blood on the car. And secondly, the blood wasn’t on Richard’s car anyway. It was on his neighbor’s car. And thirdly, he would certainly have covered the cut before he even got into the car. The bleeding would have stopped long before.
“It’s possible,” Kendall replied. “Were there really no other wounds noted?” Kendall suddenly asked. “I mean that’s what the coroner’s report indicates.”
Grover paused for a moment. “I’m sorry, Kendall, I don’t follow you.”
“It’s simple enough,” Kendall replied. “According to your own report the only wounds that were visible were the wound to the neck, and the side of the head.” Kendall paused for a few moments. “There were no other injuries, nothing to the hands, the legs, or the chest, nothing.”
Grover sighed. “Kendall, I really couldn’t say,” he replied. “I didn’t carry out the autopsy. I didn’t write the report. Besides whether there were other wounds or not is irrelevant. Kendall, the main points to consider are firstly those two wounds you just mentioned, the one to the head and the one to the neck.” He paused. “Secondly, the position of the body in relation to that brick wall. Both points are consistent with each other, and both are consistent with it being an accident. And don’t forget the two witnesses, who saw everything.”
Kendall shook his head. “Did you ever consider that the two witnesses could have been mistaken?” he said.
“They weren’t mistaken, Kendall,” Grover said. “They saw what they saw, simple as that.”
“Is it, perhaps possible that they were lying?” Kendall asked.
“Why would they lie?” Grover asked.
“I can think of a reason,” replied Kendall. “A perfectly good reason.”
“Believe me, Mr. Kendall,” said Grover. “It was an accident. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grover, I’m just not convinced,” Kendall replied. “I’m not certain. The evidence …”
“The evidence shows quite clearly that it was an accident,” Grover interrupted. “Take my word for it. Anyway, the point is, Kendall, we hate to see you wasting your time, asking a lot of foolish questions for nothing. Causing a lot of stress and inconvenience you know; upsetting a lot of people.”
Here we go, thought Kendall. “Oh, it’s good of you to take such an interest, but there really is no need for you to worry, you know.”
“Kendall, you’re a good detective,” Grover replied. “That thing about the Marinski jewels and James Bradley, a few months ago… You did a brilliant job there, quite brilliant!” There was a pause. “Why don’t you just forget all about Richard Dawson? The case is closed, over, and done.”
“I’ll bear it in mind,” replied Kendall. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Do that, Kendall,” Grover said. “Do that.” The line went dead.
* * *
“Who was that?”Mollie asked, as Kendall replaced the handset.
“Oh a well wisher,” replied Kendall.
“A well wisher?” repeated Mollie puzzled.
“Some guy, a Keith Grover, said he was from the County Coroner’s office,” Kendall explained. “But he wasn’t.”
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
Angela Hull
“Pravda”, Bratislava, Wednesday - “Slovakia confirmed its first case of Rican Flu, today, according to the country’s Chief Epidemiologist, Grigor Brodnic. It is understood that a thirty-seven year-old man, who arrived from the United States via Vienna on Friday, was confirmed to have contracted the Rican Flu virus. The man is in a Bratislava hospital isolation ward and is apparently in a stable condition. According to the health official, six other Slovaks flew on the same plane but had no symptoms of the illness.
The World Health Organization has so far recorded nearly twenty-two thousand cases of the new influenza in forty-eight countries, with almost five hundred deaths. Most of the cases are in South America, where the virus was first identified, and the United States.”
* * *
Kendall woke up early. The sunlight streaming through the window hitting him full in the face. He hadn’t slept well. His neck ached and his legs felt like lead. He stretched his arms high into the air. A sharp twinge ran down his arm, and across his shoulders, and into his neck. He had a headache, and his throat was dry.
Due
to the heavy rain the previous evening he had decided to spend the night in the office. He had made up a makeshift bed on the put you up sofa, and settled down. Perhaps tried to settle down would be nearer the truth. It had been hours before he had actually fallen asleep. The noise of the storm, and the rain lashing the window constantly disturbed him. Furthermore, the sofa was far from comfortable. Finally, at about four o’clock in the morning, the storm had finally stopped, and he had eventually fallen asleep.
He looked up across to the clock on the far wall. Six thirty, he murmured. He shook his head, and rubbed his eyes. He looked again. It couldn’t be so early. He swung his legs onto the floor and after a struggle managed to stand. He slowly walked over to the far side of the room, where the clock was hanging. He rubbed his eyes once again, and looked at the clock. Six thirty was correct.
He shook his head once again, and headed towards the kitchen. He filled the kettle and switched it on. He would have liked a croissant, or something to go with his coffee, but the cupboard was bare. He made a mental note to mention the problem to Mollie. A few minutes later he returned to the main room with a pot of coffee.
As he reached his desk he placed the coffee down, and he casually glanced out of the window. Over by the far side of the car park he noticed a young man leaning against a wall. Kendall shrugged his shoulders. It was probably nothing. He sat down and took a sip of the coffee. It was still too hot.
He glanced at the kitchen door, and shook his head. A hot croissant or two, and some strawberry jam would have really gone down well, or maybe some pancakes with lashings of maple syrup. That sounded good, he thought. Or a blueberry muffin or two, or perhaps some ham, eggs, and hash browns. He shook his head, and sighed. Any of those options would have been welcome. He sighed again. There was nothing. Not even any of those chocolate biscuits that he liked. This was going to be a bad day, a very bad day. He sighed once again, and slowly drank his coffee. At least that tasted okay, so life wasn’t totally bad, he reasoned.
He looked down at his desk. There were the three photographs that he had been looking at last night. He picked up the first one. It was of a young girl standing on a balcony and looking down at the street. She was waving to someone.