by John Holt
“Angela,” Kendall murmured. “Miss Angela Hull.” He shook his head. She was Richard Dawson’s girlfriend. Twenty-two years old, worked as a receptionist for a small engineering company in Miami. She had been with them a little over two years. Before that she had worked for a shipping office. She lived in Palm Beach. She had met Dawson eighteen months earlier at a friend’s wedding. Kendall shrugged his shoulders, and nodded. She was good looking, he thought, with her green eyes, and dark brown hair.
He looked at the other photograph, the one showing the two of them together at the lake. “Five feet four,” he murmured. “A little over perhaps.”
He slowly placed the photograph back on to the desk, and looked up at the ceiling. He sighed, and took a deep breath. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he needed to speak to Angela Hull. She wouldn’t be in the mood for talking. Could he blame her? No, he couldn’t. Who would want to talk after something like that? Very likely she was still in shock, after all, it was only a few weeks ago. You don’t get over something like that so quickly. No, she wouldn’t want to talk. But it had to be done.
Just a few questions that was all. A few loose ends to tie up, he’d be as quick as he could. He shook his head once more, and sighed. No, he really wasn’t looking forward to it, but he didn’t have a choice, did he?
* * *
Kendall had arranged to meet Angela at Laurel Park, a short distance from her office. She had been very reluctant at first, as he had expected. “I really don’t think I can help you, Mr. Kendall,” she had said, after he had explained who he was, and what it was that he wanted. “Besides I would much rather not, thank you.”
“I can understand that, Miss Hull,” Kendall had replied gently. “I really wish I didn’t need to ask you. I’d give anything not to bother you if I could.” He paused for a moment. All that he could hear was her breathing deeply. “I sincerely mean that, Miss Hull.” He paused once again. He took a deep breath. “A few minutes of your time, that’s all I ask. I know it’s a bad time for you, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need to.”
She sighed. She knew she had no choice really. She wanted to find Richard’s murderer as much as anyone. If she could help in any way at all, then she knew that she would have to meet up with him. “Can you make it at about one o’clock,” she said. “I get forty-five minutes for lunch.”
Kendall agreed and arrangements were made to meet at the clock tower in the park, close to the main entrance. “How will I know you?” she had asked.
“Oh, there’s no need to worry about that,” Kendall had replied. “I’ve your photograph, so I’ll know you.”
She said nothing for a few moments. Then he could hear her sigh. “No, I’m sorry Mr. Kendall, that’s not good enough.”
Kendall was puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he replied. “What’s the problem?”
She paused for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I need to know that I’m meeting the right person.” She paused once again. “Do you understand?” she asked. “All right, so you know who I am, but I need to know who you are.”
Kendall understood exactly. “Point taken, Miss Hull,” he replied. “Not a problem.” He thought for a few moments. Then he shook his head, and heaved a sigh. “Why not?” he murmured.
“I’ll be wearing a flower in my buttonhole, and I’ll be carrying a rolled up newspaper,” he said. “Good enough?”
“Good enough,” she replied.
* * *
The city’s first public park, Laurel Park, had been opened in 1878, after a local businessman, Oliver Mortimer Laurel, had donated the land to the City authorities. The park is over two hundred acres in area, with two lakes, ornamental gardens, sports facilities, including tennis courts, a bowling green, and a small deer enclosure. In the summer open-air concerts are held, beside the summerhouse, at the edge of the lake.
The park is split into two sections by a public road, which crosses north to south. The smaller, western section contains the most picturesque of the park’s lakes with a fully functioning fountain. Beyond are the ornamental gardens. In the larger eastern section, on the other side of the lake are the deer enclosure, the tennis courts, bowling green, and the children’s playground. The clock tower had been erected in 1886 to commemorate Oliver Mortimer Laurel’s death.
* * *
Kendall had arrived at the park a little before ten minutes to one. He had found an empty bench close to the clock tower, with a good view back along the pathway to the main entrance gates. Although he had forgotten to get a newspaper, he did, however, have his buttonhole. He had just picked it from one of the flowerbeds back along the pathway.
Even though the park wasn’t too far from to his office, this was Kendall’s first visit. It was obviously a very popular place with the local office workers, and the students from the nearby college, especially at lunchtime. There was a steady stream making their way from the gateway, towards the lakeside. There they were, already fast asleep in the sunshine. As he sat there, a party of school children came along the pathway. They were yelling and screaming, and talking loudly, their teacher seemingly totally oblivious to what was going on.
Kendall looked up at the sudden noise. “Kids,” he murmured. “Why do they have to make so much noise?” He shook his head. “Is it absolutely essential to scream and shout? Can’t they speak normally like the rest of us?” He glared at them as they passed by. “Children should be seen, but not heard,” he murmured. That was the old saying, and a very good one at that. He shook his head once more. “And seen only if absolutely essential,” he added.
He had never been like that, not when he was young, making a nuisance of himself like that. No, he had never been like that. Of course there were those who said that he had never ever been young.
“You were born old.” That’s what Mollie had said on more than one occasion. He smiled again. “And grumpy,” she would add. Perhaps she was right, he thought philosophically. He looked at the children as they headed towards the bend in the pathway. “I suppose they aren’t really that bad,” he murmured. “They are okay, in small doses.” He turned away as they disappeared around the corner. He never noticed the man standing a short distance away, apparently reading the newspaper. But the man had certainly noticed Kendall. He never took his eyes off of him.
Kendall looked back towards the lake. Over by the edge there were several people feeding their lunches to the ducks. Kendall shook his head. He could never understand people going without their lunch, so that the ducks could be fed. Why go to all that trouble of finding a sandwich bar, spending hours trying to decide which of the hundreds of fillings you could have, just to throw it into a lake for some duck to eat? Besides, the ducks had more than enough to eat, didn’t they? They didn’t need the ham and salad buns, or the beef and horseradish rolls, or the cream cheese and chive sandwiches. But that is what they were getting. A few of the more fortunate ones seemed to be getting hamburgers and French fries he noticed, whilst others were being fed jelly doughnuts. Some ducks have all the luck, he murmured.
He shook his head in amazement, and then looked back at the sunbathers lying on the grass, acting as though they had never seen the sunlight before. There they were, roasting themselves. “Unbelievable,” he murmured. He shrugged his shoulders, and took a deep breath. Then he looked over to his right hand side, at the small coffee shop, a few yards away. It seemed to be doing very well, and there was a long queue forming. The ice cream seller, a few yards further on was also doing good business, and so was the hot dog stand. Kendall wondered if he had the time to go over and get a raspberry ripple, or maybe a chocolate sundae, or perhaps a hot dog, and mustard, with lashings of onions.
He looked at his watch, and sadly shook his head. There was no time. Anyway Mollie would never approve of the hot dog. He took a deep breath, and wiped his forehead. It was certainly a hot day. He stood up and took off his jacket. He sat back down and placed the jacket on the seat next to him. He loosened his tie, and un-but
toned his collar. He looked at the lake. He would have loved to have taken off his shoes, and maybe gone for a paddle, but sadly, that wasn’t possible. Maybe later, he whispered.
He started to smile and looked at his watch once again. It was almost eight minutes past one already. She was late. If there was one thing Kendall hated about his job, it was being kept waiting. The time he had wasted in waiting for somebody who was either late, or just didn’t show up, was nobody’s business. It seemed that he spent half his life waiting for someone, or something. Why couldn’t they be on time? If he said he would be somewhere at a specific time, then he would be there, at that time. Not a minute later.
He shrugged his shoulders and looked across at the clock tower. It was now exactly eight minutes past one. She wasn’t going to come, he murmured. He started to frown, and sighed deeply. That was another thing he hated about his job, being let down. People who promised to do something but never delivered. People who weren’t reliable, people you couldn’t trust.
“I’ll do so and so for you, Kendall,” and then forgetting all about it. “I’ll be there, count on it,” and they didn’t show up. He also hated being lied to, and being deliberately misled. He shrugged his shoulders once more. All right so she was only eight minutes late, he muttered. Eight minutes, or fifteen minutes, or even twenty minutes, it made no difference. It was all to do with experience. He knew about these things. Call it intuition if you like, she just wasn’t coming, and that was that. He just knew it. It had happened to him so many times in the past. “Five more minutes,” he murmured. “I’ll give her five more minutes, and that’s it. Then I’m going.”
It was then that he saw her as soon as she entered the park. He was shocked. He barely recognized her. Gone was that youthful fresh look he had seen in the photographs. Gone was that impish smile. Also gone was the sparkle from her eyes. Her face was now gaunt, drawn, and heavily lined. Her eyes appeared sunken, lifeless. Even her hair had lost its shine. She had aged ten years or more, Kendall thought. He shook his head. Was it any wonder though, he murmured? Suddenly she saw him watching her. She gave a nervous almost imperceptible wave. Kendall stood up, pointed to the flower in his buttonhole, smiled and waved back.
Slowly he walked over to meet with her. “Miss Hull,” he said. “I’m Tom Kendall, sorry I forgot the newspaper.” She nodded her head, and tried to smile. “It’s really very good of you to see me like this,” Kendall continued.
“I can’t stay too long,” she replied. “I think I told you. I only get forty-five minutes for lunch.” She paused and looked down at the ground. “They are quite strict about things like that,” she explained. “If you go over time, they deduct it out of your salary.” She looked at her watch. It was already ten minutes after one. “I have to be back by a quarter to two,” she continued. “So allowing for five, ten minutes to cross the street, I only have thirty minutes left before I have to get back.”
Kendall sighed. She had just spent five minutes telling him that she only had thirty minutes left. Now she only had twenty-five minutes left. “I understand perfectly,” Kendall replied smiling. “That should be enough time.”
He gently placed his hand on her elbow and started to lead her back over towards the bench. “Shall we sit down?” he said. She looked up at him and nodded. “I’m sorry to bother you like this, Miss Hull, especially at a time like this. I’ll keep it brief.” They both sat down.
“By the way, are you hungry?” Kendall asked. He held up a brown paper package. “Lunch,” he said and smiled, as he un-wrapped the package. “It’s tuna fish on rye.” He paused. “My secretary’s idea,” he explained. “You’re welcome to it.”
She looked at him and shook her head. “Oh no, thank you,” she replied. She looked down at the ground and started to rub her hands together nervously. She then looked up at him. “I’m really not that hungry,” she explained.
Kendall looked at the pack of sandwiches that he was holding. It was one of those packs in the plastic that he had purchased at his local store earlier that morning. He had to admit that they didn’t really look that inviting after all. “Neither am I,” he said as he placed the packet into his jacket pocket. He then took out an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. He opened it and took out the photographs that were inside. He glanced at them for a moment or two. “I know that this is hard for you,” he said gently. “But I need your help with these.” He handed the photographs to her. She gazed longingly at them. Her eyes glazed, and a single tear ran down her cheek. “When were you in Punta Rojas?” Kendall asked.
She looked up, puzzled. “Where did you say?” she asked.
“Punta Rojas,” Kendall repeated slowly. “There, on the photographs.” He pointed at them. “I just wondered when you were there.”
She looked down at the photographs. Then she shook her head and smiled. She looked at Kendall. “I have never been to Punta Rojas,” she replied. “In fact I had never heard of the place until a few months ago. You know, with this virus thing going on.” She paused. “That’s where it started wasn’t it?” She shook her head once again. “Richard has been there, though. It was only a few months ago in fact. Something for the newspaper, I think.”
Now it was Kendall’s turn to look puzzled. “But I thought,” he said as he pointed to the photographs. “The hotel and everything…”
She smiled once again and looked at the photographs again. “You mean these.” She started to laugh. “This isn’t Punta Rojas, or whatever you call it,” she said. “These were taken in Niagara last summer.”
Kendall shook his head. “No, no, that can’t be right,” he said. He took the photographs out of her hand. “Look, they are clearly marked on the back,” he said as he turned them over. “Look. Punta Rojas, August 2009. Clear as day.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry I just don’t understand that.” She paused. “It’s the right date, wrong place. Richard must have just made a mistake. Not concentrating, thinking of something else.”
Kendall nodded. Yes, sure, he thought. And it was just possible that pigs could fly after all, and one day he would be president. He looked at the photographs. He thought of the things that Richard’s mother and brother had said. “The thing is Mr. Kendall, my brother, Richard, was a very careful man.” Kendall nodded his head slowly. “Everything was checked and double checked,” he murmured, “then checked again.”
He shook his head. If Richard Dawson had made a mistake, it was a deliberate one. Somehow he was trying to link the old photograph of Punta Rojas, with the new references to the area. Kendall didn’t know how, or why, but somehow the two were linked.
“You could be right,” he said quite simply. He did not sound convinced. “But somehow I think the only mistake Richard ever made was to take his hands off the handlebars that day.” He paused and looked at her. “Do you know that story?” he asked. “He was just seven years old, and he had fallen from his brand new bicycle.”
She nodded, she knew the story. Richard’s mother had told her, several times, in fact. He had been embarrassed, and had left the room. She started to brighten up and little, and smiled.
“I don’t believe Richard ever made another mistake after that accident,” Kendall said. He started to tap the photographs. “He was trying to tell us something, but what?”
She looked at him, puzzled. “Well whatever it was, those photographs definitely show Niagara, believe me. We were there for a few days.” She looked closely at one of the photographs. “In fact you can just see the falls in that one. They are way in the background.” She held the photograph out. “Can you see it?”
Kendall nodded. Yes, he could see them, now. He had completely missed them before. But now, now that he had been told, it was crystal clear. “What about this one?” he asked, as he showed her the photograph showing the tents.
She looked puzzled. She held it out towards Kendall, and shook her head. “I don’t know this one,” she said. “But I think Richard recognized it.” She paused an
d shook her head. “I’m certain that he knew what it was, but he never said anything to me.” She looked at the photograph once again. “He had recently come back from Costa Rica. I think he recognized the place. He said he had to see someone about the photograph.”
“And,” Kendall replied. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, I’m afraid,” she replied. “I never saw him again. Two days later he was dead.”
“Miss Hull,” Kendall said gently. “I’ll find Richard’s killer, have no fear. If you need anything please give me a call.” He handed her one of his cards. “Promise me you’ll call.”
“Promise,” she replied. “Thank you.” She shrugged her shoulders, and glanced at her watch. She looked up at Kendall. “I’m sorry but I have to go,” she said.
Kendall patted her arm and nodded. “It was good of you to come.” She stood up and started to walk towards the exit. She stopped, and turned and waved. Then she continued on her way.
Kendall sat and watched until she was out of sight. He reached for the packet of sandwiches. He opened the pack, picked up a sandwich and started to eat. He shook his head. It was dreadful. He suddenly thought of the ducks. He stood up and slowly walked towards the lake. “I wonder if they like tuna on rye,” he murmured.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Third Witness
“The Korea Herald”, Seoul, Wednesday – “Sixteen more people, including a 15-month-old infant, are being tested to see if they have contracted Rican flu, health officials said yesterday. So far a total of twenty-three people, who became sick after recent trips to Rican-flu affected areas, mostly in Central America and the United States, have received or are receiving viral tests for possible infection. Six of those being treated have been confirmed negative, and have been discharged from hospital.