by John Holt
“Kendall,” Clark interjected. “If you could just get to the point, I really have a lot to do.”
Kendall took out a handkerchief and wiped his nose. He smiled. “Of course I can. Not a problem.” He paused for a moment, and replaced the spray back into his pocket. “What was I saying? Oh yes, about our last meeting. Well, we were talking about the possibility that Trenton had been in Punta Rojas in 2005. Remember?” Clark shook his head. “Let me refresh your memory. I said that I had information that suggested that Trenton had been in the Javea Valley, a few miles south of Punta Rojas. Remember now?”
He paused, waiting for a response from Clark. None came.
“You said that you would check up for me, and get back to me.” Kendall shook his head, and smiled. “You never did.” He shook his head once again, and sighed. “You must have forgotten, I suppose. Busy, no doubt. I can understand that.”
“Sorry about that, Kendall,” Clark replied. “Yes, I have been rather busy, just lately, what with this epidemic and everything. The simple truth of the matter is that there was nothing to tell you. I checked our records, and, as far as I could see, we have never been in that area before now.” He paused and shrugged his shoulders. “You must have received some inaccurate information, I’m afraid.”
Kendall smiled. “Do you really think so?” he said, now shaking his head. “By the way, do you know anyone by the name of Ramone? Luis Ramone?” he asked. Clark said nothing.
Kendall remained silent for a few moments. He smiled. “Apparently he was with you in Punta Rojas about five years ago.” Clark said nothing, but shook his head. Kendall smiled. “He knew Richard Dawson, you know.
Clark looked at Kendall and smiled, and then shook his head. “I don’t think I know the gentleman.” He thought for a few more moments, and shook his head once again. “No, I definitely don’t know anyone by that name. No, sorry, but I can’t help you. You say that he knew Mr. Dawson?”
Kendall smiled and then looked down at his notepad. He started to casually flip the pages. “Strange,” he replied. “He knows you.” He looked up just in time to catch sight of the strange look on Clark’s face, just before it faded. “He knows you very well, by all accounts.” Kendall looked back at his notes. He shook his head, and closed his pad. “No matter, he must be mistaken, that’s all.”
Clark nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid that he was mistaken.”
Kendall smiled and nodded. “Right,” he said quite simply. “But, of course, you do know Punta Rojas?” he asked.
Clark looked up surprised. “Well, of course I do,” he replied sharply. “It’s where this wretched virus started.”
Kendall nodded his head once again. “That’s right,” he said. “But I’m not talking about now, I’m actually talking about five years ago.”
“Mr. Kendall, I know nothing about Punta Rojas five years ago,” Clark said slowly. “Furthermore, as I have said, I know nothing about anyone by the name of Luis Ramone.”
Kendall started to rub his chin. “So you say, but he insists that he knows you,” Kendall continued. “He has been very helpful, and has told me quite a lot of very interesting things. I might write a book about it one day.” He smiled, and nodded. “Maybe not, but it certainly was interesting that’s for sure.” He took a breath. “He told me that he worked for you down in the Javea Valley, back in 2005. Remember?” Clark said nothing. Kendall smiled. “You don’t.” He shook his head. “Your memory is worse than mine. Incidentally, your company doesn’t produce a memory pill does it? You would make a fortune if you did.” Clark still said nothing. “Pity, but never mind, perhaps you could work on it.” Kendall was beginning to enjoy himself. “You could have called them Memory-Ease.” He nodded his head. “Sounds good to me, no charge by the way, the name’s on me.”
“Kendall, if you could just get on with whatever it is and go, it would be appreciated,” Clark said angrily.
Kendall nodded, and took a breath. “I’m sorry. I tend to ramble sometimes.” He shook his head, and took another breath. “Sorry. One of my irritating habits, my mother used to go on at me. Stop rambling she would say, and I …...”
“Kendall, could you just get to the point,” Clark interrupted.
“I’m doing it again aren’t I,” said Kendall. He heaved a sigh. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, we were talking about Luis Ramone. As I said he was in Punta Rojas, in a place called Javea Valley, five years ago. Do you know it?” Then he shook his head. “Probably not, I expect.” He reached inside his pocket, and withdrew a photograph. He placed it on the desk in front of Clark. “That’s it,” he said. “Javea Valley, it’s about ten miles from Punta Rojas I understand.” He started to smile. “For a long while I actually thought that was somewhere at Niagara Falls. Can you imagine that?”
Clark slowly picked up the photograph and looked at it. He shook his head. “Where is this?” he asked. “With all of these tents it looks like an army camp of some kind.”
Kendall shook his head. “It’s a camp all right, but it’s not the army.” He looked at Clark for a few moments, and then repeated his question.
Clark shook his head. “I’m afraid I know absolutely nothing about the Javea Valley,” he replied.
Kendall nodded. “Interesting,” he said. He continued to casually turn the pages of his notepad. Let me refresh your memory, shall I,” he said. “Luis Ramone helped you set up that camp. You know that one in the photograph.” He tapped the photograph and smiled. “Anyway, his construction crew set up that camp in a little over five weeks. Everyone was really pleased. They all received bonuses, and everyone was delighted, especially you. Then the volunteers started to arrive. Oh, by the way one of those volunteers was Ramone’s nephew, Felipe Montoya. Did you know that?” Kendall shook his head. “You probably didn’t.” Kendall paused, and shook his head his head once again. “Or maybe you did.” He thought for a few moments, and shrugged his shoulders. “Either way, sadly Felipe was one of several who died at that time. The death certificate merely said influenza. Of course, there was no investigation carried out, no formal inquiry. In fact, very little was said about it. Until, that is, Richard Dawson came along and started asking a lot of questions. Luis then realized that the death of his nephew was not just an unfortunate occurrence. It had been deliberate. His nephew had deliberately been infected with a deadly disease, and the drugs meant to cure it just did not work. His death and that of the others was caused deliberately, caused by Trenton Pharmaceuticals.” He paused for a moment. “To be more precise caused by you, Mr. Clark.”
Clark shook his head, and started to smile. “Kendall, you really are amazing. Did you know that?” He nodded. “You got all of that out of that little photograph.”
Kendall smiled. Modesty prevented him from agreeing. “I actually had part of that photograph enlarged,” he continued. He placed a second photograph on the desk. “It’s a little blurred,” he continued. “But clear enough, I think. Over on the left side do you see those two men? They seem to be deep in conversation about something.” He paused for a moment, and smiled. “If only you could hear what they were saying.” He shook his head. “No matter.”
Kendall started to tap the photograph. “The man standing on the right is actually Luis Ramone.” Clark looked at the photograph, and said nothing. Kendall looked at him and smiled. “The other man, unless I am very much mistaken, looks remarkably like you, Mr. Clark.”
Kendall paused for a moment. “I’ll ask the question again, shall I? What do you know about the Javea Valley, Punta Rojas?” He paused once again. “Oh, by the way, that photograph was actually taken in 2005.” He turned the first photograph over. “Do you see what it says, there on the back? Trenton, 2005.”
Clark picked up the photograph and glanced at it. “It could be anybody,” he said. “You can’t prove that it was me.”
Kendall ignored the comment. “By the way, Clark, you know that you told me that Batch 942/D was an enzyme. Do you remember that?” Clark said nothing.
Kendall smiled. “I’m sorry, I forgot about your poor memory. It really is a pity that they haven’t produced a memory pill.” He shook his head. “As I was saying, about Batch 942/D, you really should have a strong word with your chemists,” he continued. “It is actually a toxin, in other words, a poison.”
“Kendall, I really do not know what you are talking about,” Clark said. “And, I suspect, neither do you.”
Kendall shrugged. “You know, sometimes that is absolutely true. My mother used to say that I had a vivid imagination. Sometimes I would make things up. Sometimes I would just ramble on about nothing in particular. Sometimes I haven’t got a clue about what I am saying.” He paused and looked at Clark. “Sometimes, I said, but not today. Today I know exactly what I am saying.”
Clark suddenly stood up and started towards the door. “Kendall, as much as I enjoy our little chats, I really am a very busy man.” He shrugged his shoulders, and raised his hands. “I thought that I had actually put a stop to all of this nonsense long ago.” Kendall said nothing but merely smiled at him. “I haven’t a clue about anything you are saying. I’m really sorry about that young man, Richard Dawson. I truly am. It was a dreadful thing to happen, and happen right here. But it was an accident, nothing more. It was thoroughly investigated by the police, and that was their conclusion; a conclusion that was confirmed a few days later by the coroner’s office.”
He shook his head. “I’ve told you everything that I know. I don’t know what else to say. It was a dreadful accident, and that’s all there was to it.” He sighed. “So, if you don’t mind Kendall, I really must get on.”
“Richard Dawson was actually murdered, you know,” Kendall said quite simply. He walked over to the window and stared down at the ground outside. “Right down there in your own car park.” He turned around to face Clark. “He was murdered, it was not an accident.”
Clark looked up, and shook his head. “Murdered,” he repeated. “Why should anyone want to murder him?”
Kendall turned away from the window, and smiled. “Good question,” he said. “Why, indeed.” He paused for a moment, and took a deep breath. “Perhaps there was some connection with the work that he was doing for the newspaper.”
Clark said nothing for a few moments. He then shook his head. “No, Kendall, you’re mistaken,” he replied. “You must be. It was an accident.”
Now it was Kendall’s turn to shake his head. “No, Mr. Clark, you are the one that is mistaken. We know for an absolute fact that Richard Dawson did not die as a result of an accident.” He paused and took a deep breath. “We also know that he did not die the following day at the hospital. He was already dead when he arrived.”
Clark shook his head in disbelief. “He was already dead. I can’t believe it.”
“He died in your car park that same day,” Kendall said. “Oh no, not on the sidewalk by that low wall and it wasn’t because he simply tripped.” Kendall shook his head once more. “Oh, no, Richard Dawson was killed as sure as eggs are eggs. He was murdered, sitting in his own car, or at least the one that he was using that day.”
“How do you know that?” Clark asked.
Kendall nodded his head. “A fair question,” he replied. “We found bloodstains on the head restraint to the driver’s seat of Dawson’s car. DNA tests showed it to be Richard Dawson’s blood.”
Clark shook his head. “What about the witnesses?” he asked. “Mr. Norris, and Vickers. They saw the whole thing.”
Kendall shook his head. “They saw only what they were told to see,” he replied.
Clark suddenly hit the desk with his fist. “What rubbish!” he replied. “What about John Vickers? He saw it all.”
Kendall smiled and nodded his head. “Of course, he did,” he replied. “He had a front row seat.” He smiled. “Well, it was a back seat, actually.” He shook his head and looked at Clark. “Vickers actually carried out the murder, acting on your instructions, of course.”
Clark hit the desk once again. “What fantasy you talk, Kendall. I’m getting bored now. You can’t prove a thing, and you know it.”
Kendall smiled once again. “Oh, but I can,” he said. “You see, we found John Vicker’s fingerprints on Dawson’s car. We also have evidence from Joe Louis.” Kendall paused. He saw the whole thing, you know, and had to be silenced.”
Clark started to laugh. “Joe Louis,” he repeated. “The ranting of a simpleton. What a joke, Kendall! Do you call that evidence?” He shook his head. “I’m surprised. I thought there was more to you than that.” He started to smile. “A few fingerprints, and vague comments from someone a little lacking in the mental department, who is dead anyway. I’m sure that would go down extremely well in a court room.” He shook his head once again. “No, Kendall, you’ve got to do better than that.”
“The police picked up Norris late last night. Thanks to his co-operation John Vickers was found early this morning. He was trying to leave the country, apparently. A sea trip, I understand. He is currently, what do they say, helping the police with their enquiries.” Kendall took a deep breath. “He is telling them everything, in order to get a lighter sentence.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And I mean everything, including your part in the untimely death of a certain Martin Summers.”
Clark looked puzzled. “Summers, who on earth is Martin Summers?”
Kendall smiled. “Your memory is worst than mine,” he replied. “Martin Summers is the young technician who was found dead recently. He worked for you. He apparently killed himself.” Kendall paused. “You suggested that it was because he had money problems.”
Clark looked up and suddenly nodded his head. “That’s right, I do remember,” he replied. “He was heavily in debt, as I recall.”
Kendall shook his head. “Well, after our meeting I checked up on his bank account.”
Clark looked surprised. “Really,” he said. “I didn’t know that you could do that.”
Kendall nodded wisely. “Oh yes,” he said. “You can, but you need to get special permission.” He paused. “I got mine from a friend in the Miami Police Department.” Clark said nothing.
“Anyway I checked the account. It was really very interesting,” Kendall continued. “During the last two weeks of his life our Mr. Summers made a number of large deposits.” He smiled, and reached into his pocket. He withdrew his notepad and started to flip through the pages. “Here we are,” he murmured. “Let me see. On the ninth there was a deposit of five hundred dollars.” He turned the page. “Two days later, was another thousand.” He looked at Clark. “Then it gets really interesting,” he continued. “On the fifteenth there was a deposit of five thousand. On the nineteenth there’s another five thousand.” He paused for a moment. “And so it goes on. Altogether in those two weeks there is a total of thirty-five thousand dollars.”
Kendall shook his head, and looked at Clark. “Is that interesting, or what?”
Clark shook his head. “He must have had some winnings on the horses, I imagine,” he replied. “You remember I told you that he gambled.”
Kendall nodded and started to smile. “Right, you did say that. I remember. That’s probably where the money came from.” Clark nodded his agreement.
Slowly a frown started to spread across Kendall’s forehead, and he started to shake his head. “No, there’s something not quite right,” he said. “I still have a problem with that.”
“Go on, Mr. Kendall,” Clark said. “Let’s hear it. We might be able to help.”
“Let’s say that you’re right,” Kendall said. “He had won big time at the track. If so, then obviously he didn’t have money problems.”
Clark nodded. “Maybe so,” he replied. “I still don’t see your problem.”
Kendall sighed deeply. “Well, if he didn’t have any money problems then why did he kill himself?”
Clark shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kendall I really don’t have too much time for guessing games, and this seems to be going on rather a long time.
”
Kendall nodded his head. “Pity,” he said. “I was so enjoying this. You’ve been very helpful so far.” He nodded once again. “You see, Mr. Clark I have a theory.” He paused once again. “It’s only a theory, but I think it has possibilities.”
Clark shook his head. “All right, Mr. Kendall what is this wonderful theory that you have?”
“It’s quite simple really,” Kendall replied. “I think Mr. Summers was actually killed. Murdered, I should say, to keep him quiet. You see, I think he knew something and that he was blackmailing someone.”
Clark looked puzzled. “Blackmailing someone,” he repeated. “Who?”
Kendall started to smile. “You, Mr. Clark,” he replied.
“How preposterous!” Clark said indignantly. “I imagine that you can prove that statement.”
Kendall nodded. “I think we can,” he replied. “You see I also checked your bank account, and those deposits correspond with withdrawals that you made. Furthermore your Mr. Norris has been more than helpful. Perhaps you should have had him silenced as well.” Clark said nothing.
“Well, I think that I’m about done, Mr. Clark,” said Kendall, as he stood up. “I’ve completed my task.” He smiled. “Done what I was asked to do.” He turned around slowly and started towards the door.
He suddenly stopped, and looked around. He put his hands up in the air. “I don’t suppose it will be too long now before you will have to take your medicine so to speak. Excuse the hint of humor.” He paused. “It won’t be very pleasant medicine, I imagine, but you know what they say. A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, the medicine go down. Sorry about that. Anyway I expect Detective Devaney will want to speak with you quite soon now. And I think that the FDA may have a few questions.”
He turned around once more, and continued towards the door. He stopped for a second time, and turned to face Clark. “By the way,” he said. “You better have these back.” He reached inside his pocket and took out a carton. He looked at Clark and smiled. “Your hay fever tablets, Aller-ease, remember?” he explained. “They were of no use.” He threw the tablets towards Clark. “They just don’t work. Apart from that they have dreadful side effects.”