Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  Mollie shook her head and turned towards Kendall. “You know, according to the internet the experts are now saying that ham, sausages, and bacon are bad for you, and could cause cancer.” She sighed and turned back to her computer.

  Kendall looked at her, and shook his head. On top of everything else, he needed that. “Thanks a whole bunch,” he murmured.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Luis Ramone

  “Miami Herald,” Tuesday – “There have been no further cases reported in either Central, or South America this week. Only four cases were reported in Europe. All four are considered to be mild infections, and all are responding well to treatment. The number of cases reported worldwide is much lower than expected, and experts are hopeful that efforts by the World Health Organization and the United Nations may be having an effect. It is understood that Trenton Pharmaceuticals have now supplied almost four billion vaccines, for use in eighty-nine countries. It is also understood that the drug, Dioxycill, is being manufactured under license in many countries in the Far East, and Russia.”

  * * *

  “The World Health Organization announced today that they were hopeful that the worst was now over. In total there have been five hundred and ninety seven deaths, and a total of thirty-eight thousand confirmed cases worldwide,” the news reader said solemnly. “In other news today, Chinese trade figures have just been announced. They show an increase of …” Kendall wasn’t at all interested in the Chinese trade figures. He quickly pressed the remote control and switched off the television set.

  Kendall looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t understand it,” he said to nobody in particular. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Mollie looked up from the magazine that she was reading, and stared at him. “What doesn’t make any sense?” she asked, trying hard to sound interested.

  Kendall looked over to her. “According to the news the number of cases of Rican flu, or whatever it’s called, is going down.” He looked at the television. “They just said so on the news. They said that they were hopeful that the worst was now over.”

  Mollie started to get impatient, and glared at him. “So that’s good news, isn’t it,” she said. “What’s the problem?”

  Kendall nodded his head. “If the worst is now over, and the number of cases is going down,” he said. “Why should Trenton Pharmaceuticals be supplying huge quantities of a vaccine, at great cost, for no apparent reason?”

  Mollie looked at him, and shrugged her shoulders. “Money,” she said quite simply, and returned to her magazine. “It’s always money.”

  Kendall looked at her, and smiled. “Money, correct,” he repeated. “Quite a lot of money I would say.”

  “Will you be having the vaccination?” Mollie asked without looking up. “I understand that they will be starting with the elderly or infirm.”

  Kendall looked at her, and smiled. “Ha ha, that’s highly amusing!” He shook his head. “No I shan’t be having the vaccination, absolutely not.”

  Mollie looked at him and smiled back. “Me, neither,” she said quite simply.

  Kendall was still shaking his head. “All of those nasty bacteria being injected into your arm, there’s no way,” he said. “I wouldn’t trust the pharmaceutical industry as far as I could throw them.”

  Mollie made a noise under her breath. Bet he will still take his anti-histamine tablets, though, she murmured. “I told you that ages ago, didn’t I?” she said with disdain, and returned to reading her magazine once more.

  Kendall heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. “What are you reading anyway?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

  Mollie looked up at him. “Celebrity Lives, if you must know,” she answered. “It’s all about the holidays of the famous and rich.” She paused. “Did you know that you could rent an island in the Caribbean, for ten thousand dollars a day?”

  Kendall shook his head. He had to admit that he did not know that. In fact he didn’t need to know that. For that kind of money he would expect to buy the island.

  “What a waste of time that magazine is!” he said. “Why don’t you try reading something more worthwhile, something more useful?”

  Mollie looked at him and glared. “Like the sport pages, I suppose.”

  It was now Kendall’s turn to glare. He shook his head, and walked over to the window. As he did so there was a loud knock on the door. Then there was another. Kendall turned. The door slowly opened.

  “Senor Kendall?” a voice asked. “Senor Thomas Kendall?”

  “I’m Kendall,” Kendall replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Ramone,” the visitor replied. “Luis Ramone. You are expecting me, I think. Yes?”

  The accent was strong. Kendall couldn’t decide whether it was Spanish, or Portuguese, or Mexican. He looked at the visitor. He was tall, of medium build, dark hair. Took care of himself, Kendall thought. Aged about thirty-five, or thereabouts. He was olive skinned with dark eyes. Could have been Mediterranean, or South American; Italian maybe or Brazilian perhaps.

  “Come in, Mr. Ramone,” Kendall said. “Do sit down.” The visitor sat down. “Could we have some coffee, Mollie?” he said. He then turned back to face his visitor. “Now what can I do for you?”

  The visitor explained that he had come regarding Richard Dawson, and his unfortunate accident.

  “Go on,” said Kendall. “What about Mr. Dawson?”

  The man took a deep breath. “Mr. Kendall I am sure that you have heard of a place called Punta Rojas.” Kendall nodded. The visitor smiled. “It’s strange but a few months ago nobody had ever heard of the place. Even people living a few miles from it had never heard of it. Now everyone in the entire world knows of it.”

  Kendall nodded. “That’s absolutely true,” he said. “But what has this to do with Richard Dawson.”

  Ramone smiled and nodded. He looked up as Mollie returned with the coffee. “It’s Brazilian,” Kendall explained. “The coffee, I hope that is all right.”

  The visitor smiled. “I actually prefer Costa Rican,” he said. He paused for a moment, and took a sip. “I am from Costa Rica,” he explained. “Punta Rojas. That is where I first met Richard.” He reached for an old satchel that he was carrying. He undid the straps and opened it. He took out a folder and placed it on the desk in front of Kendall. “I think that this folder contains information that was connected with a story that he was writing,” he explained.

  “Do you know what he was working on?” Mollie asked.

  Ramone nodded. “Oh yes, I know,” he replied. “It was about this outbreak, this epidemic, the Rican flu.” He paused for a moment. “And Trenton Pharmaceuticals’ involvement.”

  He pointed to the file. “Richard asked me to look after that. It contains some of his notes.” Ramone shrugged his shoulders, and stared at the folder. “He was afraid, you see,” he said quite simply. He then took a deep breath. “Maybe it will help you find his murderer.”

  Kendall opened the file. There were several sheets of paper inside, some of which were typed. There were two emails listed, both from someone called Carlos. They were the same emails that Mollie had found on Dawson’s memory stick. Pinned to them was a newspaper cutting showing that Carlos had been killed in a car crash.

  Other documents contained handwritten notes. There were also a number of photographs. Kendall immediately recognized the first one. He had seen that same photograph in Dawson’s safety deposit box, and at his mother’s house. It showed a group of large tents, in a small valley.

  Kendall began reading the top sheet. “Five years ago some experiments were carried out in the Punta Rojas region. They were clinical trials in connection with a virulent virus. The tests were all properly authorized, and monitored. Payments were made to volunteers. Sadly something went wrong, and a number of people died. The whole matter was covered up, and no reports were ever issued. The trials were conducted by Trenton Pharmaceuticals, in conjunction with the Costa R
ican Government, who had received substantial sums of money for their co-operation.”

  Kendall turned to the next page. It was headed simply Trenton Pharmaceuticals. Underneath were details of the company, when it was formed, major shareholders, headquarters address, and a list of directors. In the financial year up until April of the current year the company had made pre-tax profits in excess of twenty billion dollars. It was expected that the currents year’s profits would be down by four percent, as a result of changes in Government rules, and taxes.

  Kendall looked up at his visitor. “This is all very interesting,” he said, sounding anything but. “But where do you come in, and what has this got to do with Richard’s death?”

  Ramone looked at Kendall, and took a drink of coffee. He looked over at Mollie, and smiled. He then turned back to face Kendall.

  “I first met Richard in Costa Rica earlier this year. I was in a bar, Rafael’s, on the outskirts of Punta Rojas, about a mile from the town centre,” he began.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Costa Rica

  “Rafael’s,” he repeated and started to smile. “It’s nothing more than an old run down shack. Peeling paintwork to the walls, damp everywhere you looked and threadbare carpet to the floor. Outside on the walls are old faded posters of long forgotten has been politicians standing for election.” Ramone shook his head. “Election,” he murmured. “That’s a joke.” He started to laugh. “By the entrance is a large Coca-Cola emblem. If it were anywhere else it would have been pulled down to the ground long ago. In Punta Rojas it was a bar, and a diner. But all the same, it was popular with some of the workers at the nearby Attico oil plant. It was also used by a lot of the staff up at the local hospital.”

  Kendall nodded. “What about Dawson?” he asked.

  “Richard was sitting there, at the bar, when I arrived. He was asking a lot of questions about Javea Valley, and Trenton Pharmaceuticals. I thought that he was from the authorities; perhaps from the United Nations or the World Health Organization.”

  Ramone started to shuffle through the documents lying on the desk. He picked up the photograph showing the white canvas marquees. “Have you ever seen that photograph before?” he asked.

  Kendall took the photograph from Ramone’s outstretched hand. Had he ever seen it before? Just lately it seemed like he hadn’t seen anything else. “Once or twice,” he replied, as he handed the photograph back to Ramone. “What is it?”

  Ramone smiled. “It’s a field hospital, operated by Trenton Pharmaceuticals. They were there, in Punta Rojas. They had been working on a vaccine. The FDA would not allow them to test the drug in America until certain safeguards had been put into place. Trenton decided to go to Costa Rica, where controls were, shall we say, not so stringent.”

  Ramone shrugged his shoulders, and sighed. “As I was saying,” he continued. “It was the middle of the afternoon when I walked into the bar. As usual the bar was quite busy. Rafael waved to me as I came in, and pointed to the gringo sitting at the bar. That photograph was on the bar counter, in front of Richard. I recognized it instantly. You see I was there.” He paused and looked at the photograph his fingers hovering. He then pointed to something. “That’s me,” he said. “It’s not very clear and I am some distance away, but that’s me, right there.”

  Kendall leaned forward for a better view. “Who is that standing next to you?” he asked.

  Ramone smiled. “That’s Clark,” he said. “Alan Clark, the boss of Trenton Pharmaceuticals. Do you know him?”

  Kendall nodded. “I know Mr. Clark,” he said.

  Ramone looked at the photograph once again, and slowly placed it back down on to the desk. “It was all his idea you see. He planned the whole thing.”

  Kendall watched his visitor closely. “Okay, you were saying you were in the bar, and Dawson was there. Go on.”

  Ramone smiled, took another drink of coffee, and nodded.

  * * *

  Richard Dawson lifted his glass and took a drink. Slowly he looked around the bar, all of the time he was tapping the photograph quite hard. “Does anyone know the Javea Valley?” he asked. No one said anything. He asked the question once again. Still there was no reply. He paused and looked around, still waiting for a reply. He turned towards the bar keeper and shrugged his shoulders. The bar man quickly looked down and started to clean the counter.

  Dawson shrugged his shoulders once more. He sighed deeply, and turned around once again to face into the room. “Has anyone ever heard of Trenton Pharmaceuticals?” he asked. Still there was silence. He tried the question once again, only this time he tried his limited Spanish. It made no difference. There was no response.

  Luis Ramone had been watching the proceedings from a few feet away. He now moved forward towards the bar. He could see the photograph lying on the counter. “A whiskey,” he called to Rafael. “And the same again for our young American friend here.” Dawson looked around. “Why are you asking all of these questions?” Ramone asked.

  Dawson looked surprised. Without answering the question he merely repeated his question. “Does anyone know anything about Trenton Pharmaceuticals?” Still there was no response. He heaved a sigh, picked up the drink, and drained the glass. He reached inside his wallet, and placed a ten-dollar bill on the counter. He then stood up, and without a word quickly walked out.

  * * *

  “What happened then?” asked Kendall.

  Ramone started to rub his chin, and then licked his lips. “All of this talk about bars is making me quite thirsty,” he said.

  Mollie started to stand up. “Another coffee, anyone?” she murmured.

  Kendall smiled at her, and shook his head. He stood up. He didn’t need to have a picture drawn. He walked over to the kitchen. A few moments later he returned with three glasses and a half empty bottle of whisky. He placed the glasses onto the desk, and poured out three drinks. He gave one to Mollie, and slid one over to Ramone. “Now,” he said. “What happened next?”

  Ramone smiled, and took a drink. “I waited for a few moments, and then followed him out of the bar,” he replied. “He was just across the street, walking quite fast. I quickly followed.” He took another drink, draining the glass.

  “Go on,” said Kendall, as he refilled Ramone’s glass.

  “Well he continued walking,” Ramone replied. “About ten minutes later he arrived at the Regent Hotel, a small run down place close to the industrial centre of the town, not too far from the railroad station. It was now quite late in the evening, and it was beginning to get dark outside. I saw him go inside. I waited a few moments before I followed.”

  * * *

  Now that the sun had gone down it was beginning to get quite cold, and a fog had started to form. Ramone stood outside for a moment. Over to the left he could just see the main railroad station, and the goods yards beyond. Further round was the start of the factory area, with their stark exteriors, and tall chimneys. To his right was row upon row of dismal tenement blocks.

  The hotel was small, and drab, and had been badly neglected. The external walls were covered in the grime of the traffic, and the woodwork was badly in need of a coat of fresh paint. Repairs were needed to the roof area, and several of the windows.

  Ramone walked towards the entrance door. He stopped and watched as Dawson went over to the reception counter, and collected his key. He then went over to the lift. As usual, it was out of order. He made his way over to the staircase.

  A few moments later Ramone entered the lobby area and went over to the reception. “That young man who just came in,” he said, pointing to the staircase. “Could you tell me his room number?”

  The receptionist looked at Ramone. He was hesitant, unsure. He shook his head. “Who are you?” he asked.

  Ramone reached inside his jacket and took out his wallet. He held it up. “He dropped his wallet,” he said. “I found it. This belongs to him.”

  The receptionist was still hesitant. “I’ll take it
,” he said. “You can give it to me. I’ll see that he gets it.”

  That would not do. Ramone shook his head. “Oh no,” he said. “I’d rather give it to him myself. Not that I distrust you, or anything like that. But there might be a reward, you understand?”

  The receptionist shook his head and glared. “Room 305,” he said, reluctantly. “Third floor at the back.” He turned away, and went back to watching the football match on the television. “You’ll have to use the stairs,” he suddenly called out without looking up. “The lift isn’t working.”

  Ramone made my way up the stairs, to room 302. For a moment or two he stood at the door. He was hesitant, unsure. His breathing was labored.

  * * *

  “What was I going to say to him?” Ramone said. “Was he from the authorities, maybe? How much did he already know about the affair?” He paused for a moment. Then he took a drink, suddenly holding up the empty glass.

  Kendall did not need to be asked twice. He leaned forward and refilled the glass. Ramone took another drink. He was sweating.

  “So go on,” said Kendall. “I’m listening.”

  Ramone nodded. “I decided to forget all about it. Decided to just quickly leave,” he replied. “It was just too risky. I turned and started to walk away, back towards the staircase.” He paused for a moment. Then he sighed. “I got to the top of the staircase, and then I stopped. I turned around and went back to the room, and knocked on the door. From inside I could hear a voice call out, “Who is it? What do you want?”

  Ramone took another drink. “I knocked again. “What is it?” the voice called out impatiently. “I might have something of interest,” I replied. There was absolute silence for a few minutes. Then I could hear the sound of feet moving across the room. Then came the sound of a key turning in the lock. Suddenly the door opened and Dawson was standing there.”

  “He was just standing there,” repeated Kendall. “Did he say anything?”