“That was it, that’s all he asked, honest. Said, he had a helicopter waiting for him at the airport.” Bishop dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with a white handkerchief he’d taken from the inside pocket of his jacket.
Kurt looked menacing, standing larger than life in the fading light of the evening, and Albert Bishop backed away up the path. “I don’t know what your game is. But, you’d better leave now. You see, I’ve got my son and daughter in law coming for supper. They’ll be here in a minute. So you’d better be on your way.”
He dropped the basket on to the path, apples spilled across the gravel. Albert Bishop turned and hurried around to the rear of the cottage. He went through the open French doors at almost a run, tripped on the threshold, and went sprawling across the polished wood floor on his hands and knees. Hearing the German’s footsteps outside on the gravel. Albert scrabbled back up onto his feet and quickly moved back to the French doors that he’d just come through, and locked them. As he turned the key to lock them, Kurt appeared outside.
He was enjoying seeing the old man frightened. It was one of his passions, inflicting fear and ultimately pain on anyone, man or woman, who was unfortunate enough to be the focus of his attention. He was annoyed and angry with himself that Albert Bishop had seen through him. But that really didn’t matter now, because he wasn’t in any hurry, he thought. From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a pair of fine hand made Italian gloves. The feel of the fine leather, lightly brushing over his skin never failed to excite him as he pulled them on.
The wooden doors were old, and they gave in easily after the first good shove. And then the next moment, the
German was standing in Albert Bishop’s back living room. He’d hurried through the cottage, and up to his bedroom. Had locked the door, and was dialling 999, when he heard the heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. The next moment the door burst off its hinges, and Kurt was stood in the open doorway. Albert Bishop froze with fear, tears started to well up in his eyes, and then he wet himself. The German calmly walked over to where Albert was sitting on the side of the bed, and took the phone out of the old man’s hand. He put it to his ear, and could hear a male operator asking which emergency service was required. His eyes never left Albert as he spoke into the phone. “Hello operator. Apologies, but there is no emergency.
Sorry to waste your time.” Kurt said, calmly. And then put the telephone back on to its cradle.
Turning, he looked down at Albert, and said. “You’re a very foolish old man, you know? Now, tell me. What else did you tell the Englishman?”
“Nothing, I swear to you. Now please, will you leave me alone?”
“Unfortunately for you, old man, I don’t believe you.” And he slapped Albert, hard across the face with the back of his gloved hand.
“Look, whoever you are. Your bully boy tactics don’t frighten me.”
“Is that so?” He grabbed hold of Albert’s jacket collar, and in one easy movement, hauled him up onto his feet. The German immediately noticed with disgust, the stain on the front of the old man’s trousers, as well as the damp patch on the bed cover where he’d been sitting. Albert was pushed out of his bedroom, and onto the landing.
“Stand over there, you old fool.” Kurt said coldly, and pointed to the top of the staircase.
Albert looked at him with uncertainty, and foreboding. But, after a brief moment, did as he was ordered, and stood where the German had pointed. Kurt stood watching with obvious satisfaction, at the torment he was inflicting. He slowly paced up and down the narrow landing, and eventually said, “This is your last chance, Mr Bishop. Tell me what else you told the
Englishman, and I’ll be on my way.” Kurt moved closer to where Albert was standing.
“I’ve already told you, nothing else was said. Now why don’t you believe me? What is this all about anyway? I want you to leave now, leave me in peace. I promise you, I’ll not going running to the police.” Tears started to roll down over Albert’s ruddy cheeks, and then his whole body started to shake with his pitiful sobbing.
The German, put a hand on the back of his neck, and squeezed. “Tell me what you said, you old fool!” “Ahh, that’s hurting. I only said the things that I’ve already told you. Now please let me go!”
He released his grip on the old man’s neck, and then patted his shoulder. “Do you know, Mr Bishop? I believe you’re telling the truth.”
Kurt slid his left arm across Albert’s throat. Placed his right hand over the top of his head, and twisted it around in one smooth motion. Breaking the neck so cleanly that the old man was dead in an instant.
Kurt released his grip as the body went limp. The legs instantly buckled, and the body fell and tumbled awkwardly down to the bottom of the stairs. After a moment, he calmly walked down, and without hurry studied the scene that he’d created. Making absolutely sure, that it looked as if the old man had accidentally fallen.
Very quickly, he went back through the cottage, ensuring along the way, that there was nothing out of place.
He left through the French doors again, and then walked back to where the Porsche was parked. He glanced back at the granite building, before getting into the sports car and slowly driving off down the lane. Ten minutes later, he’d reached St. Helier and the car park where Vince had left the Range Rover. He parked the Porsche next to the luxury
4x4, and sat looking at it for quite some time.
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.