Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (28 page)

LJ and Dillon had the lobster which, they both
decided, was probably the best that either of them had ever
eaten, while Vince and Chapman shared a platter of cold
fruits de mer. A gastronomic selection of locally caught
shellfish; including butterfly king prawns, stuffed oysters
and chancre crabs. All washed down with a crisp white
wine, that Malakoff had personally chosen from the hotel’s
wine cellar.

Malakoff snapped his fingers, and a second later the
head waiter appeared.
“Coffee, gentlemen?” Malakoff asked.
“I’ll have a double espresso.” Dillon said.
“Earl Grey tea, for me please.” LJ said, much to the
amusement of the Frenchman.
Malakoff was about to speak, when he caught
sight of Kurt coming through the door. “Please excuse me,
gentlemen.” Malakoff got up out of his chair, and walked
briskly towards the bar area to meet the big German.
“What is it, that can’t wait until we get back to the
Solitaire?”
“I found Albert Bishop.”
“And?”
“One of Levenson-Jones’s people got to him this
afternoon.”
“Talk to me, Kurt?”
So the German told him briefly and Malakoff listened
intently, watching LJ and the others, out of the corner of his
eye.
“How cunning of Levenson-Jones, to have found
Albert Bishop so quickly. Which of course, means that he
now knows about Asquith’s involvement in this affair? But,
I wonder what will he do with this knowledge?”
“Albert Bishop, will not be giving us any more
trouble, Mien Herr. And as for Levenson-Jones, it really
doesn’t matter what he does. Especially as the Cunningham
girl will be arriving back on the island tomorrow. If she
really does know where to find the U-boat, then she will lead
us to that tunnel entrance. As for those English buffoons.
Well, we won’t need them anymore.”
“Kurt,” Malakoff said. “You did kill Mr Bishop,
didn’t you?”
“Of course, Mien Herr. It was very quick and clean,
and I made it look as if the old man had fallen down the
stairs. In fact, I impressed myself with the meticulous
attention I paid to every detail, Mien Herr.”
“I’m sure you did. Now, I must return to the table.
We’ll talk about this in more detail later.” Malakoff turned
to go back into the dining room, but Dillon and the others
were already making their way towards him.
“Excellent dinner, Malakoff, but we really must be
making tracks. Early start, you know.” LJ said matter of
factly.
“Such a pity you have to leave. The evening is so
young, Levenson-Jones. But, I must say it’s been interesting.
And quite an experience.”
“Yes, it has. Hasn’t it? LJ said, looking over the top
of his round, gold wire framed spectacles.
“Oh, by the way, Malakoff.” Dillon’s hand dived
into his jacket pocket and came out a second later clutching
the tracking bug that he’d found on the power cruiser, and
gave it to the Frenchman. “I think this belongs to you.”
He then pulled out the other one that Vince had
found on Rob Chapman’s boat, the Wave Dancer. He held
it in his open palm.
“Did your mother never tell you, that it’s very rude
to spy on other people, Malakoff?” Dillon handed him the
small device, and then walked off down the stairs.
Malakoff stood and watched him leave. The only
sound that he made was a sort of snorting sound that came
down his nose.
“Next time you speak to Lord Asquith, Malakoff.
Say hello for me.” LJ said, as he buttoned up his jacket.
“What an informed fellow you are, Levenson-Jones.
And yes, I will give Oliver your very best wishes. Goodnight,
gentlemen.” Malakoff then turned and walked back into
the dining room, where he engaged in conversation with
Francois Cocteau, the head waiter.
Dillon and the others reached the Range Rover, and
the Porsche Carerra, that Kurt had been driving was still
parked next to the 4x4.
“What a lovely looking beast.” Vince commented
with enthusiasm, and pointing at the sports car, added.
“Can’t you just smell the money?”
“Okay, if you like the hard ride.” Dillon said
laconically, and then added. “I think that we should drop
by Albert Bishop’s place tonight, on the way back to Bonne
Nuit. I know it’s getting late, and Roberts has arranged
for us to meet him tomorrow morning. But, I’ve got a few
burning questions I’d like to ask him.” Dillon said.
“Good idea, Jake. No time like the present.” LJ
commented. A moment later, Vince was pulling out of the
car park.

They drove out of St. Helier and headed west along
Victoria Avenue, which sweeps around the edge of St.
Aubin’s Bay. It was magnificent; the tide was at a high, and
bathed in the light of the full moon. Vince took the Range
Rover inland along the narrow lanes, and five minutes later
they pulled up outside of Albert Bishop’s picturesque stone
cottage. Dillon and LJ, got out, and walked up to the front
door. The cottage looked peaceful in the moonlight, the
only intrusion to this tranquil scene, was the sound of the
countryside settling down for the evening. LJ rapped the
polished brass knocker hard against the door plate, and
then stepped back away from the entrance, and looked up
at the windows to see if any of the lights were on.

Dillon walked around to the rear of the property,
and peered through the French doors. Everything looked
neat and tidy, which gave him a bad feeling in the pit of
his gut. Nothing should be this perfect, he thought, and
immediately walked back to join LJ.

“There doesn’t appear to be anyone in, old son.” LJ
said.
“Something’s not right here.” Dillon said, as he
approached the front door, squatted down, and using the
torch he’d taken from the glove box of the car, peered
through the letterbox.
“What do you mean, not right? Bishop’s obviously
gone out for the evening, and simply not returned yet.”
“No, I mean there’s something not right. Here, take
a look.” Dillon gestured for his boss to look through the
letterbox.
“Great Scott!” LJ exclaimed, and immediately stood
up again.
From the Range Rover, Vince and Chapman watched
on with growing curiosity, as Dillon and then LJ squatted
down and peered through the open letterbox. After a
moment, they got out and walked across the lane to join
the others.
“What’s the matter, boss?” Vince asked LJ.
It was Dillon who answered, “Albert Bishop is dead.
From what we can see from here, it looks like he fell down
the stairs. More than likely broke his neck on the way
down.”
“The poor old bastard.” Chapman said. “He must
have missed the top tread in the dark, and down he went.”
“It’s all too convenient, if you ask me.” Dillon
commented.
“I agree. All to convenient. One minute he’s talking
like a songbird to young Roberts. Telling him all about Lord
Asquith, senior. And the next thing, he’s dead.” LJ stated.
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Dillon nodded.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Vince put in. “I mean,
if Malakoff knew about the old boy’s existence, why leave
it until now? I’d have thought he’d have had him taken care
of long before now.”
LJ nodded. “But what if he’s only just been informed
of the old chap’s existence. By the same person who has also
been feeding him all of the other information he needed.”
“You mean, the present Lord Asquith?” Chapman
asked.
“The very one, and it demonstrates to me, that you
can’t trust anyone these days.” LJ said as he walked off
down the path. “Now let’s get out of here. We’ll call the
police on the way back to Bonne Nuit from a call box.”
They all got back into the Range Rover. Vince drove
away from the stone cottage, taking them north through the
narrow country lanes. At the first bright yellow telephone
box they came across. Dillon jumped out of the 4x4, and
called the police. He kept it brief and anonymous, and told
them that he’d heard what sounded like gunfire coming
from Albert Bishop’s cottage.
“Okay?” LJ asked, as Dillon got back into the
passenger seat of the Range Rover.
“Yeah, the old boy’s place should be crawling with
police in about ten minutes, I’d say.”
“Good,” LJ said. “At least the old chap will be
properly looked after. Dreadful way to end a long life,
dreadful.”
“Oh, and I also gave them an exact description of
Malakoff’s henchman, Kurt. I said that I’d seen him running
away from the house with blood down his shirt.”
“Inspiring, old son.” LJ said with a sparkle in his
eye.
“I don’t think Malakoff will be giving us much
trouble once he discovers that the police are looking for his
man. In fact, I’d say that we’ve bought ourselves more time
before he wants us out of the way.” Dillon said looking
over his shoulder at the others sitting in the back.
Five minutes later, Vince brought the Range Rover
to a halt outside of Chapman’s renovated sea castle, and
dropped him off. Back at the Fisherman’s Lodge, LJ retired
to his bedroom leaving Dillon and Vince in the living room.
Dillon poured them both a generous measure of single malt
whisky, raised his glass and proposed a toast.
“To Hugo Malakoff and his little band of thugs.
Here’s hoping that they’ll regret - to their dying day, if they
ever live that long - sticking their noses into our business.”
Both men smiled sardonically, and then downed their drinks
in one gulp.

LJ was savouring his second cup of strong black
coffee of the morning, as Dillon and Vince walked out
through to the garden.

It was a magnificent day, the sun was up, and there
were no clouds in the sky. Across the bay, herring gulls
swooped down on the fishing boats at anchor, scavenging
for scraps. And as far as the eye could see brilliant blue sky
seamlessly merged with deep blue of the sea.

After breakfast, Dillon and the others walked down
to the harbour to meet Chapman who was already waiting
for them on board his boat the Wave Dancer.

“Thought you weren’t coming. Overslept did we?”
Chapman said sarcastically.
Dillon ignored the comment, and said, “Well, if
we’re all ready, we’d better get this tub out there. We’ve got
a lot of coastline to cover, and I’ve got to be back here by
mid afternoon to collect Annabelle from the airport.”
“Suits me just fine.” Chapman said, releasing the
mooring lines. The next moment, he was throttling back,
and reversing slowly away from the harbour wall. They
moved quickly out into open water, and then headed north
along the coast. Chapman was racing over the water at full
throttle, and then it happened.
Smoke started to pour out of the engine compartment,
and then moments later it exploded, splintering wood and
fibreglass, sending debris in every direction. There was
instant power loss, and then the Wave Dancer began to take
on water.
“What in hell’s name, has happened?” LJ demanded.
“How should I know,” Chapman snapped, and then
moved quickly back to the stern to survey the damage.
Water was rushing in through a large hole in the hull, and
the dive boat was beginning to list over onto its starboard
side. “We’re sinking,” he said. “Jake, break out the life
jackets from the forward locker.”
“What about the dive gear?” Dillon said.
“If there’s time, we’ll transfer it to the dinghy. But we
haven’t got long.”
Chapman pulled the small inflatable dinghy that had
been tied to the stern along the port side. From over his
shoulder, he said to LJ and Vince. “Here, you two put your
life jackets on, and get into the dinghy.”
Dillon dragged the two large canvas bags that had
the diving gear and weapons inside, across the waterlogged
deck. He passed them across to Vince, and then climbed
into the dinghy himself.
Chapman hurriedly grabbed his sea charts, and dive
log from the small wheelhouse, and with only seconds to
spare, just made it into the dinghy. A moment later the Wave
Dancer started to list heavily, before rolling completely over.
Only the sound of the ocean, and the gulls high up
above could be heard. The four men looked on silently,
as the upturned vessel bobbed gently up and down on the
swell.
Chapman pulled the nylon cord, and the small
outboard coughed and spluttered into life. The single
propeller bit into the water, and they started back to shore.
“And what about your boat?” LJ asked.
“I’ll get one of the local fishermen to go out and tow
it back in for me. But I can’t wait to hear what the marine
engineer thinks caused the engine to explode like that, when
he examines it.”
“You sound as if you’ve got a theory, old son?” LJ
said.
“Perhaps I have,” Chapman said. “All I know for
sure is that it’s bloody suspicious. Especially as that engine
was only serviced last week.”
Within minutes they were back at Bonne Nuit.
Chapman came in fast, beaching the dinghy onto the sand.
As they started up the beach towards the slipway, Dillon
stopped in his tracks and said, “Something’s just occurred
to me. Last night, I made light of the fact, that I thought
we’d bought ourselves more time. That’s to say, before
Malakoff would try anymore funny business, and attempt
to get rid of us once and for all.”
“What of it?” LJ said.
“Well I think he just got impatient, and tried.”

The fisherman that Chapman knew was standing on
the sea wall talking to one of the other fishermen. On seeing
him, Chapman left the others, promising to phone them the
minute the Wave Dancer had been towed in and inspected
by the marine engineer.

Back at the rented lodge Dillon had a long hot shower,
standing under the torrent of water thinking about things.
He changed into some dry clean clothes, went through to the
living room and poured himself a large single malt whisky.

The French door opened, and LJ came in from the
garden. “Ah there you are, Jake. Pour me one of those, will
you?” LJ said, waving a hand at Dillon’s tumbler. “What
time is it? I appear to have misplaced my watch.”

“Just coming up to two-thirty.”
“Good, young Roberts will be back from his lunch
in that case.” LJ dialled the London number of Ferran &
Cardini International.
* * *

Roberts was sitting at his desk, studiously going
through a pile of documents, when the phone started to
ring. “Guy Roberts.”