Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  “Kendall,” the voice at the other end of the line said, before Kendall had a chance to say anything. “Are you there?” It was Devaney. “You were right. It was Richard Dawson’s blood in that car. We checked the DNA, and there’s absolutely no doubt about it. It was his all right.”

  Kendall nodded, and started to smile. “So it seems that it wasn’t an accident after all,” he said. “He was murdered then. Just like his mother had said.”

  “Yes,” said Devaney. “It certainly looks that way.”

  Kendall took a deep breath. “They must have been waiting for him to return to his car,” he said. “Once inside, they hit him with a blunt instrument of some kind. They then dragged him out of the car and carried him over to the wall, where the paramedics found him, looking like nothing more than a simple, tragic, accident.”

  “That’s certainly the way I see it,” said Devaney. “And it’s obvious that it was our two friends Vickers and Norris who carried out the murder.” He paused for a moment. Kendall could hear papers being shuffled. “I have a warrant for their arrest, right here,” he continued. “We won’t be long picking them up.”

  “Thanks, Devaney,” said Kendall. “Let me know when you have them.”

  “Will do, Kendall,” replied Devaney. There was a slight pause. “Incidentally, Kendall, we have a lead on the car that killed the gardener. It’s registered to none other than Clive Norris.”

  Kendall started to smile. “That’s great news,” he said. “Thanks, Devaney.” He slowly replaced the receiver on the cradle. He then punched a raised fist into the air. “Yes,” he announced loudly. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” Suddenly he wasn’t tired anymore. He checked his watch. “Eight twenty-five.” If he hurried he could just make the game after all.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Sunset Motel

  The Washington Post, Friday – “A spokesperson from the World Health Organization has denied any knowledge concerning an alleged previous outbreak of Rican flu. Geoff Prowse, the Director of the World Health Organization has condemned such rumors as being nothing more than scare mongering of the very worst kind. In the meantime, the World Health Organization, together with its international partners, is doing all it can to find a cure as soon as possible. The total number of deaths from the virus has now risen to five hundred and ninety seven.

  Mr. Alan Clark, the CEO of Trenton Pharmaceuticals, in Miami, has condemned the rumors as scurrilous attempts, by rival concerns, to discredit the company.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, a patrol car pulled up outside an apartment block on the south side of town. John Vickers had an apartment there, on the second floor. Three officers got out of the car and walked into the building. Two of them rushed up the stairs to the second floor. The third remained at the entrance.

  “Apartment 22A,” one of the officers announced. “There it is.”

  One of the officers moved over to the left side of the door. The second officer stood in front of the door and raised his hand. He looked at the officer to his left. “Ready,” he said simply. Then he knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again, louder. “Open up,” he called out. “Police.” There was no answer. He knocked a third time. Still, there was no answer.

  “Mr. Vickers is not there,” a voice called out from the staircase below. “He’s away somewhere.” A few moments later an elderly man arrived at the outside of the flat, somewhat out of breath. “Haven’t seen him for a few days,” he continued. “I’m the caretaker. Can I help you?”

  “Have you any idea where he might be?” one of the officers asked. The caretaker merely shook his head. The officer looked at the man. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You really don’t know where he might be.”

  The caretaker shrugged and shook his head. “I really don’t know,” he repeated.

  The officer sighed, and nodded. “All right, open up, will you?” the officer instructed abruptly, pointing to the door. “We need to search the place.”

  “You have a search warrant, I suppose?” the caretaker asked.

  The officer nodded. “We have a warrant.” He opened his tunic pocket and took out a small sheet of paper. He handed it to the caretaker. “There you are,” he said. “Now open up, quickly.”

  The caretaker read the piece of paper. At least he would have if he had brought his glasses with him. Instead he just nodded and smiled. He handed the document back to the police officer. “Certainly officer, right away,” he said.

  He moved to the doorway. As he did so he fumbled for a bunch of keys in his pocket. After a few moments he found the right key, and opened the door. “There you are, officer,” he said. “Will there be anything else?”

  “I’ll take the key,” said one officer holding out his hand. The key was unhooked from the rest and handed over. The officers said nothing further, but pushed past into the flat.

  The caretaker followed close behind. “What is it that you are looking for?” he asked. There was no reply. “What do you want Mr. Vickers for?” the caretaker asked. Once again there was no response. The caretaker shrugged, slowly turned around and walked out of the apartment.

  * * *

  Seventy-five minutes later the officers emerged from the apartment, their search over. What they had found, if anything, was not immediately obvious. All that was certain was that Vickers was not there and no one seemed to know of his whereabouts.

  One officer closed the door and locked it. The caretaker held his hand out for the key. The officer shook his head and placed the key in his pocket. He pointed to the door. “No one goes in,” he said. “We’ll be back.” The officers then walked quickly down the stairs, and left the building.

  * * *

  “Hey, Devaney,” the duty sergeant suddenly called over. “We’ve just had a call from the Sunset Motel, just outside Daytona. A man answering Norris’ description checked in late last night.”

  Devaney looked at the sergeant and nodded. Late last night, and they call now. He looked over at the wall clock. Ten minutes after six. He shook his head. He should have finished at six. All day there had been nothing. Not a whisper. Now, when he was ready to go home, they get a call. He patted the inside pocket of his jacket, and sighed. He reached inside and took out a small brown envelope. Inside were two tickets for the eight thirty performance of Mama Mia. Not that he was a fan of Abba, but his wife had been looking forward to it for weeks. He tapped the envelope on the desk.

  He shook his head, and looked at the clock once again. If he left now he would just have enough time to get home, have a meal, a quick shower, and get to the theatre in time for curtain up. He shook his head once again. There was no way that was going to happen, the theatre was out. He knew that. He had to go to Daytona, didn’t he? Oh sure he could send someone else. He glanced around the room. There were plenty of others that he could send. Chambers, he could go; or Matthews... He was good. There were plenty to stand in for him, but could he trust them to do the job? I mean, do it properly. There was an old saying: If you want something done, do it yourself.

  He sighed and took a deep breath. He wanted something very important done. There would be no theatre tonight. He reached for the telephone, and dialed his home. She would understand, wouldn’t she? He shook his head. Sadly, he didn’t think she would understand, not one little bit.

  * * *

  It was a little after eight o’clock when two unmarked police cars pulled up opposite the main entrance to the Sunset Motel. The sun was beginning to set, and a light breeze was stirring the palms along the beach.

  “Here we are, sir,” a voice said. “The motel is over there to your right.”

  Devaney remained silent, still angry with himself for letting his wife down. It’s always the same, she had said. You think more of the department than you do me. It wasn’t true, he had protested strongly. He just had a job to do; that was all. He had promised to make it up to her. Eventually she had relented, but at a cost. They would see the sho
w another time, and she would certainly need a new outfit for the occasion.

  “Here we are, sir,” the driver repeated.

  Devaney was seated in the back of the lead car. He was staring out of the window, at the Motel. He looked round at the driver, and nodded. Then he looked back at the Motel. There was no sign of anyone, and no sound. The neon sign above the reception area was flickering intermittently. Devaney reached forward and turned the door handle. The door opened with a soft clunk. He got out. The other officers followed close by.

  Devaney turned around. “Ready,” he said. The others merely nodded. “Then we’ll go.”

  Slowly the six men crossed the street, and walked towards the motel entrance. A few minutes later they were standing outside the main door. Devaney gave one last look around, and then nodded. “You stay here,” he said. Then he walked forward, pushed the door open and entered the reception lobby.

  As he did so a man seated behind the counter looked up from the television. “Can I help you?” he said.

  Devaney walked forward, his outstretched hand holding his open badge. “You Davis?” he asked. The man nodded. “I’m Detective Sergeant Devaney of the Miami Police Department.” He closed his badge and placed it back into his pocket. “Where is he?”

  “Room twenty-four,” Davis replied. “Round the back.” He pointed over to his right.

  Devaney merely nodded and walked out. “Room twenty-four,” he said to the other officers. “This way.”

  The men quickly walked to the back of the building. “There it is, sir,” said one of the officers. “Room twenty-four, it’s the one on the end.”

  “There’s no lights,” said another.

  Devaney gave a sigh. Had he already left, he wondered? Had he, somehow, found out that the police were on their way? Had he heard Davis telephoning? Had Davis actually tipped him off? Devaney sighed once again. He looked back at the room. He suddenly nodded his head. There was a light; faint, but a definite light. It looked like a fluorescent light, probably in the bathroom, he thought. Suddenly the light went out. A few moments later the door started to open, and somebody came out. It was Clive Norris. As he did so, he was surrounded by police officers.

  “Clive Norris,” Devaney said stepping forward. “I have a warrant for your arrest, on suspicion of murder.” Another officer stepped forward and placed handcuffs on Norris’ outstretched hands. “You have the right to remain silent,” Devaney continued. “Anything you do say will be taken down, and may be used in evidence against you.” He paused. “Have you anything to say?” Norris smiled, and shook his head. “Take him to the car,” Devaney ordered. Two officers dragged Norris over to the car.

  Devaney heaved a sigh and looked at his watch. Eight-thirty, he murmured. Curtain up. He shrugged, then turned, and looked back at the room. “All right,” he said, as he walked slowly forward towards the open door. “Let’s search it.” He sighed once again. What was he looking for he wondered. What exactly did he hope to find?

  * * *

  “Okay Norris. So where is Vickers?” Devaney asked. Norris smiled and shook his head. “Tell us where he is and I promise we’ll go easy on you,” Devaney continued. Still Norris said nothing. Devaney sighed. He looked at his colleague and nodded.

  “Norris, we have enough evidence on you, to convict you of first degree murder,” said Detective Stan Moyes, Devaney’s partner. “We’ll get Vickers sooner or later you know that.” He paused for a moment. “He can’t get far.” Moyes looked at Devaney. Devaney shrugged, and nodded his head slightly. “With your co-operation we’ll get him that much sooner, that’s all,” he continued. “You could be a big help to us, and you could get your sentence reduced at the same time. You scratch my back, and we’ll scratch yours. What do you say?”

  Still Norris said nothing. He just continued to sit there, smiling.

  Devaney stepped forward once again. “All right, Norris, have it your way.”

  Suddenly the door opened, and another officer came in. He walked over to Devaney, a broad grin on his face. “Sir, just thought you might like to know that we have Vickers. He’s talking like nobody’s business. There’s no stopping him.” He paused and looked at Norris. “He says that it was all Norris’ idea. That he was the brains behind it all and that it was Norris that struck the fatal blow.”

  Norris suddenly sat forward. He was no longer smiling. “He’s lying,” he yelled. “It was all Clark’s idea. It was Clark who ordered us to kill Dawson. It was Vickers. He did it.” He shook his head, and took a deep breath. “It was Vickers who struck the blow. All I did was to carry the body.”

  Devaney started to smile. “Thank you Norris,” he said. “Thank you very much.” He turned to look over at the stenographer in the corner. “Did you get all that?” She nodded. He looked at Moyes. “You’re a witness, right?” Moyes nodded and smiled. He then turned to look at the officer standing next to him. “Thank you, Jimmy,” he said. “By the way, let me know the minute we pick up Vickers.”

  “Yes sir,” Jimmy replied, as he walked towards the door. As he reached the door he stopped, and looked over at Norris. He turned his head to one side, and mouthed the word “Sorry”. Norris glared at him. The officer smiled, turned around, and left the room.

  * * *

  Kendall had barely closed his eyes when the telephone rang. He reached across the desk and picked up the receiver. “Kendall Detective Agency,” he said. “How can I …”

  “Kendall,” a voice interrupted. “It’s Devaney. I just thought that you might like to know that we have Norris, picked him up at a motel in Daytona last night. He has quite a story to tell.”

  “Any sign of Vickers?” Kendall asked.

  “No sign of him yet,” Devaney replied. “We have all the stations and airports covered. He won’t get far.”

  Kendall started to smile. “That’s great news, Devaney. Well done,” he replied. “Oh, by the way, how was the show?”

  The line went dead.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A Spoonful of Sugar

  “The Daytona Express,” Tuesday – “Police officers raided a motel in the Daytona area late last night. It is understood that a man in his mid thirties was taken away for questioning on suspicion of the murder of up and coming reporter, Richard Dawson. Mr. Dawson was discovered lying in the car park of Trenton Pharmaceuticals six weeks ago, with serious head wounds. It was thought that he had tripped on a curbstone, and later died from his injuries.”

  “Miami Herald,” Tuesday – “Police officers arrested a man earlier today as he tried to board a cruise liner at the harbor. The man was named as John Vickers, a personal assistant to Alan Clark, the CEO of Trenton Pharmaceuticals. It is understood that the man will later be charged in connection with the murder of Richard Dawson.

  * * *

  Later that day, Kendall returned to Trenton Tower, for what was to be his last visit. He was going completely un-announced. It was to be a surprise call. Of course, with all of the news there was a slight possibility that Alan Clark would not be there, gone on a sudden business trip somewhere perhaps. Kendall shook his head. On the other hand, maybe he will still bluff it out a little longer. It was worth a try, he thought.

  * * *

  “Is he in?” Kendall asked as he walked up to the receptionist.

  Barbara looked up, surprised. “Oh Mr. Kendall,” she said. “It’s you.”

  Kendall smiled. “In the flesh,” he replied.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she asked as she frantically checked the diary.

  Kendall shook his head and smiled. “Oh, no, it’s a surprise call,” he said. “But he’ll want to see me.” He started towards the door of Clark’s office.

  “You can’t go in,” Barbara called out nervously. “He has someone with him.”

  Kendall nodded, and started to laugh. He remembered a previous conversation with Barbara. Mr. Clark has someone with him right now, she had said. He will see you as soon as he can
.

  Kendall shook his head. “Not this time, Barbara. Sorry.”

  He turned around, and walked straight to the door. He looked back at Barbara, and shook his head. He then opened the door, and walked straight in.

  “Mr. Clark, so good of you to see me like this,” he said. “Unannounced.” He walked into the room and glanced around. Then he turned back to face Clark. “It really is good to see you again.” He walked over to the desk and sat down.

  Clark looked up at the sudden noise. “Kendall,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Kendall shook his head. “No, I just thought I would pay you a call, that’s all, a nice little social call.”

  Clark shook his head. “I really am very busy right now,” he said as he looked at the papers piled on his desk. “Perhaps you could make an appointment.” He glanced towards the door. “I’m sure that Barbara could arrange something.”

  Kendall didn’t doubt Barbara’s abilities for one minute. He looked at Clark at smiled. “Do you remember the last time we spoke?” he said. “I think it was the last time, anyway, or maybe it was the time before.” He shook his head. “I really can’t remember.”

  Clark heaved a sigh. “Kendall, as I said, I really am very busy. If you would just see Barbara…”

  Kendall wasn’t listening. “I’m almost sure that it was the last time,” he said. “My memory is so poor.” He shook his head. “Anyway, it probably doesn’t matter when it was. What is important is what we spoke about.”

  Clark looked puzzled. It was clear that Kendall had no intention of leaving just yet. “Go on,” he said impatiently. “What’s your point?”

  “Thank you,” said Kendall. Suddenly he sneezed. He shook his head. “This wretched hay fever, I told you about that didn’t I?” He paused and took out his nasal spray. “Of course I did, you kindly gave me some capsules to try.”