Constantine Legacy (Jake Dillon Adventure Series)

by Andrew Towning

I ignored her; the intonation in her voice made it quite clear that I was far safer to back off. Getting into an argument would not achieve anything, but I wanted to have the last word. “Fiona, please go and put some clothes on.”

  “So much naked flesh in a kitchen is completely inappropriate.”

  “I’ve had no other complaints…” she said, with a huff and moved past me through the door pausing, her nubile body brushing mine. “…so far.” She said, and leaned forward as if to kiss me. “My, you are breathing heavily, Mr Dillon,” she said huskily just an inch or so from my face.

  “Go away, Fiona,” I said, “I’ve got enough on my mind already.” But I was breathing heavily.

  “I hear you have a sexy blond tucked away in London, Jake. Is that true?”

  Before I had the chance to answer her, the gate intercom buzzed. I backed away from her. It was a local car wash firm asking if we wanted a special deal on car cleaning? Rumple was about to dismiss the caller in his usual gruff voice, but I stopped him. Yes I would I said, especially as the Mercedes had been brought back from the airport in a filthy condition. So Rumple told the lad to drive in and that someone would be out in a moment.

  By the time I got to him he was already unloading buckets, sponges and all of the other paraphernalia that goes with cleaning a car. I told him what was required and started to small talk as he worked. Casually asking him if he knew Harry Caplin, the American up the road? Or Mr Flackyard the local big man? Yes he knew them both. Was trade good at present? It was all right but not like it is in the winter. Was this his only job or did he work for other firms? No, this was his only job all year round, but that he would always consider other opportunities.

  Would he care to earn himself some extra income? Paid in cash of course?

  After haggling a little we struck a deal and agreed that it was best if no one else knew of our temporary little agreement.

  His job was simply to carry on washing the cars of Robert Flackyard and Harry Caplin as usual. To find out anything else while he was at their homes or in any of Flackyard’s bars, for instance where they were going and to generally keep his ears and eyes open and to phone me with any information.

  When he had finished and left, I went back inside to brief Rumple and Fiona about what had happened to Charlie and the assignment as it was now.

  Chapter 13

  Dinner was at 7.30pm Mrs Rumple had cooked freshly caught local mackerel, served with a tomato salad and freshly baked crusty bread. I didn’t want to get too heavy, but I suggested that Harry Caplin was far too inquisitive about what we were doing and that the assignment was at a delicate stage, because of the confiscated opium.

  “Do you suspect Caplin of being in league with this character Robert Flackyard, sir?” asked Rumple.

  “At this point in time, Mr Rumple, I even suspect you,” I said, matter of factly.

  There were no smiles and the air became tense. They all knew I was being deadly serious.

  We continued to eat in silence. Then, as Mrs Rumple collected up the dishes, Fiona said, “I didn’t know Harry Caplin had a luxury cruiser.”

  “Has he now,” I said. Fiona had got up and gone into the kitchen. She called to us. “It’s coming into the bay now.”

  We all went out on to the balcony to watch. Down below, beating a wake on the gleaming water, the big white boat cast a long shadow in the remnants of the evening sunlight. From the high wheelhouse a cap, blue, soft and nautical, peeked over the wrap-around windscreen. Harry Caplin’s bronze face broke into a grin and his lips moved. Fiona put her flattened hand behind her ear and Harry shouted again, but the wind from the sea grabbed the words out of his mouth and tossed them over his shoulder. He disappeared into the inner confines of the boat, leaving the diesel motors idling with just enough power to hold her position without turning it beam-to to the swell. He reappeared holding a mobile phone to his ear, and the same time the house phone started to ring. I put it on loud speaker.

  “C’mon, landlubbers,” he said into the tiny flipphone. “Get off your butts and get out here and have some fun.”

  “He really is the most vulgar man,” said Mrs Rumple.

  “Insufferable,” added Rumple.

  “I only said he was vulgar, I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” replied Mrs Rumple.

  Fiona lit a cigarette as the three of us went down to the dinghy. The small outboard motor spat and whined like a wasp in flight as we shot out towards the cruiser.

  “Are you sure that we’re safe with you Mr Caplin?” Asked Fiona flirtatiously as she stepped aboard.

  “Hell, lady, how many times do I have to tell you…”

  “Harry?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you, Fiona. These two guys are perfectly safe. You – aren’t safe at all.” He pushed his cap back and boomed his big laugh.

  Inside the main cabin it was all fitted furniture and soft music. Nautical procedures had gone clean overboard. Along the wall were a stainless steel sink and an array of built-in appliances including a fridge. Set on the wall was a large plasma screen. We sank into luxuriously soft leather seats while Harry blended vodka martinis with ritualistic devotion.

  “What’s that all about, Harry?” Fiona was looking at the mural of signal flags which decorated the cabin wall.

  “It’s flag talk, see, you haul them…”

  “Yes, Harry, I do understand the function of signal flags. What I want to ask, is what is the meaning of these?”

  “Sure, Fiona, that’s what I thought you meant. They’re international foreign flags, see these over here, they mean in nautical terms…” Harry leaned over close to Fiona Price… “permission granted to lay alongside.” Miss Price Blushed and Harry slapped his leg and boomed his larger than life laugh.

  “Oh, very nautical, Harry, I really must commit that one to memory,” she said sarcastically, blushing the colour of a strawberry.

  I noticed Rumple’s lip curl, but whether at Caplin’s suggestiveness or seamanship I couldn’t tell.

  “Come on up to the bridge,” said Harry. The CD had finished and the next was already taking its place. Against the hull the water giggled and gurgled like a fool. I heard Miss Price says, “so this is the driver’s seat?” Harry replied, “yep.” I wondered how many of the jibes really bounced off of Harry and how many went deep under the skin like a chigoe, a nasty little tropical flea that likes to burrow into flesh. Frank Sinatra began to pump the cabin full of sound.

  Rumple was admiring the treasure trove of electronic equipment on the bridge.

  “Yes, sir,” Harry said, “a powered anchor; right here.” He pushed one of a series of brightly coloured buttons. There was a faint purr and I felt the big cruiser float free on the outgoing tide. “The latest inboard diesels,” the big engines suddenly broke the calm of the quite bay. Harry moved the gear lever, and the twin screws engaged the water. We slid forward. Harry held the wheel in a firm proprietorial grip, bit on his large Havana cigar and beamed at us all from his high stool. “You Limeys have had the monopoly on messing about in boats long enough; here, let somebody else steer,” he said, and poured us all another round of vodkas form the big iced jug with a design of dancing pirates on it.

  What a strange scene we made like something out of a television advertisement all standing on the fly bridge of a boat called Star Dust.

  Chapter 14

  After an evening with Harry Caplin I was pleased to get back to the house.

  Although it was well past midnight none of us were ready for sleep, so we sat around drinking brandy and coffee into the small hours. I heard Fiona say,

  “Any more coffee for you,” but I was beginning to notice that Rumple wasn’t worrying too much about coffee, he was hitting the brandy. The talk went on over more coffee and even more brandy Rumple told us about his father. “He wasn’t happy in the water. He never took a bath always had a shower, he used to say that he might slip and drown in the water, until one day when the shower wouldn’t work for some reason, my mothe
r did manage to persuade him to have a bath. We were living in the south of France at the time. I remember it was sweltering; he got this enormous terracotta pot that was used at harvest time, he plugged up the hole in the bottom and filled it with water. He then got in, but all the time he held onto a hammer. He said that if he felt himself slipping he could smash the pot with the hammer before he drowned.”

  Then he told us about his diving exploits in the Falklands and drank even more brandy, generally glossing over his time in the Navy, Fiona was interested in this and they talked about techniques of diving, when the gate entry buzzer broke into the conversation.

  Fiona said, “Who the hell is that at this time of night?”

  “Probably just kids messing about. I’ll go and see,” I said, already getting up and heading for the door.

  I guessed it might be the young lad, Sam, who I’d asked to keep an eye on Flackyard and Caplin. It was.

  To my surprise he had written up a report on Flackyard’s movements for that afternoon and evening. I thanked and paid him the agreed sum, plus a bonus for being vigilant and thorough. He walked off down the road happy and said that he would contact me again in a day or so. Fiona called from the doorway, “Who is it?”

  “A couple of drunken kids, messing about, they’ve gone now.” I replied.

  We went back indoors, where Rumple was still drinking heavily.

  “I saw you chatting away like lost brothers to one of them,” said Fiona. “Wasn’t that the kid who washed your car earlier today?”

  “No, You must have drunk to much brandy Fiona, I most certainly was not talking like a lost brother to either of those two. I was actually telling that young drunk that if he didn’t move I’d call the police, at which he came up to the gate and threatened me. What you actually saw was my hand around his throat and his face in the railings; I was simply advising him what a bad idea that was.”

  By the time we eventually got to bed the wind was blowing a gale outside, and below on the small private beach that belonged to the house, air, water and sand thrashed together.

  Sometimes one could distinguish each separate wave; the roar, crash, confusion and withdrawal. Often, however, the sound became just one long howl; rocking the window panes, vibrating against the metal watering can, flapping the canvas awning, pounding into the head, filling the ears and spinning the mind into a whirl.

  My room opened on to a small wooden balcony. Two miles out on the black ocean the lights of the local fishing boats were winking in the movement of the horizon. I imagined the misery of the English Channel at night, working for a meagre living. The fishermen’s catches were becoming smaller and smaller, diminishing each year. I watched the black clouds move across the moon for a long time before going to bed. I tried to sleep, but the noise of the wind and the effect of the coffee kept me awake. At 4.00 am I heard a bedroom door open and then close with a click. Soft footsteps went down the bare wooden stairs.

  Someone else couldn’t sleep; perhaps a cup of tea would be a good idea.

  The footsteps went on through to the kitchen. I heard the back door open and the footsteps outside on the sun patio. As I was climbing into some clothes I heard the hinges of the rusty gate creak open.

  Looking over my bedroom balcony there was enough moonlight for me to see someone was moving down the path in the direction of the boathouse.

  The figure turned, dropped off the sea wall and began to walk along the sand towards one of many groynes which separated each private beach. I went down the staircase as quickly as I could.

  The wind cut me with an icy shiver and the needlepoints of spray penetrated my trousers and sweater. The metal of my pistol was cold against my hip. I decided not to use the gate; instead I eased myself through a gap between the garden wall and garage. Fifteen metres ahead of me the nocturnal stroller made no attempt to conceal himself. It was Rumple. He went to the first groyne climbed over it and continued along to the next and the next.

  As he made his way along the last stretch of beach he came to the base of a wide stone staircase, which twisted up to the road above. To begin my ascent before he had completed his would be foolish. He had only to glance down to be certain of spotting me.

  I gave him plenty of time to get to the top; then, keeping well to the inside of the staircase, I began to walk up.

  I watched carefully for anything that if trodden on would give my presence away, although the roar of the sea would have swallowed the noise of anything less than an avalanche. I paused as I neared the top, took the automatic out of my belt, breathed in and out very slowly and moved up on to the road. If he was waiting for me, a deep lungful of air could make all the difference.

  No one was waiting for me. To the right the road was completely empty as far as I could see. From the left came only the faint sound and red tail lights of an old MkI Jaguar as it turned a corner and then there was only the pandemonium of the sea. A little finger of grey cloud smudged the bright eye of the moon. It seemed as though Rumple had got a lift. Who did we know with a MKI Jaguar?

  I was losing friends faster than I could replace them.

  * * * By the next morning, big droplets of rain dabbed at the grey slate windows.

  The bad weather had moved in from the south west as the shipping forecast had predicted. The wind and rain gave no sign of relenting before late afternoon, so I worked on my report for LJ in the privacy of my bedroom.

  Sandbanks was an area designed for the sun to shine upon, so when the rain came it looked confused, and most of all betrayed. Along the main road rain dripped from the shop awnings, and in La Café the girls whiled away their time when not serving the odd customer, by gazing out of the window across the bay and drinking cappuccino.

  Mrs Rumple brought breakfast up to my room at around 10.00am. While she was there I asked how Rumple was after his brandy session.

  “Well, sir. You know Rumple, brandy never affects him. He was up at the crack of dawn as usual, and out the door straight after breakfast. Something to do with a spare part for the dinghy’s outboard motor. I think he said that there was nowhere local, and that the nearest stockist was in Brighton.” She didn’t think he would be back much before dinner.

  I left it at that, not wishing to arouse any suspicion by overly questioning her. When I’d finished typing up my report I emailed it straight to LJ.

  Afterwards, I decided to go down and check that the cargo we were baby-sitting was still stowed safely on the boat. When I opened the boathouse door I found Fiona wearing a swimsuit and shorts, her diving equipment lying around her bare feet.

  “Going for a dive?” I asked casually.

  “Why, Jake Dillon, what brings you down here? I hope you’re not spying on me?”

  “Now why would I want to spy on you? Unless…” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of one of the lockers where Rumple had stowed the raw opium. I climbed up onto the lower rear deck of the forty-six-foot cruiser. The locker door was just slightly ajar, and the handle had been wrenched round so far that the spindle had snapped clean in half and the strike plate carefully twisted back out of the way. This gave the impression that the door was locked, but in reality it had just been pushed too. Fiona came and knelt down by my side. “You’ve got it wrong, you know.”

  “Sorry, what do mean,” I replied, studying the damage to the door.

  “I know you think that I’ve been landed on you, and that I’m a pain in the arse that you really could have done without. But you’ve got me all wrong, I’m not here to spy on you, you know. I would really like it if we could be friends, Jake. As for who I work for, well, the only thing that I can tell you is that it’s Her Majesty’s Government, but usually behind a desk.”

  “I don’t know, Fiona, there are many things about you that don’t tally.”

  I slowly opened the locker door; inside everything was as it should have been. The brown wax packages were still neatly stacked liked miniature sandbags. Nothing seemed to be missing. I carried on and checked
the other two compartments, finding each with their cargo intact.

  “What is it that doesn’t tally about me, Jake?” She asked, her voice low and husky.

  I went to stand, her hand reached up for my arm. Looking down at Fiona I smiled in genuine admiration. Her face was alive and her eyes sparkling.

  There was a vibrancy I hadn’t noticed before. She wore a black skin-tight swimsuit and shorts. Her breasts loomed larger and her hips more slender than I had thought, her legs were long and athletic. She stood up and leaned against the cabin doorway, her pose was provocative and she moved with sensual vivacity.

  “So tell me, Jake. What is it that doesn’t tally?” She asked demurely. A bout of temporary shyness taking hold, as she dropped her gaze to avert any eye contact.

  “It won’t work, you know?”

  “What won’t work?” She said coyly, running a hand through her hair which shone under the lights of the boathouse.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Fiona?”

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Jake?”

  “Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it? Perhaps you can tell me this?”

  “Why does a desk bound civil servant sleep with a loaded Beretta under her pillow?” I said it with deliberate slowness, for full effect.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” I said.

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve lied to me, Fiona. One more, and as far as I’m concerned you can go to hell.”

  “It’s true, what they say about you. You’re an absolute bastard, aren’t you?”

  I simply shrugged my shoulders, and said nothing.

  “Is that it, a shrug. Got nothing to say, Jake. Well, I’ll tell you something, Mister. It’s not polite to rummage through a girl’s bedroom without an invitation.” The intonation in her voice, made it perfectly clear that she was far more annoyed at herself for having been careless, leaving the gun where anybody could have found it. Than she was at me for having found it.