He’d instructed Quinn to see that none of his men carried any identification. He was positive Farrell didn’t have any. That should slow down the investigation.
The bigger question, and the most troubling, was why that man was chasing him? Why were two men chasing him? Surely, civilians and even local police wouldn’t know him. But he was definitely recognized by one of those men.
That left only one plausible explanation. It was the woman, even with a threat of death, that had given him up. That’s who it had to be. And those men at the harbor were possibly British or Americans and possibly from St. Mawgan. And if that were the case, he had to find out how much information she did give up, and to how many.
His fist came down hard on the dash, rattling the glove box… and Webb, who nearly drove the Rover into a hedgerow. “What the fuck?!”
It was unlike Labeaux to show any emotion, especially in front of someone, but this situation had rattled him to the core. He was always the man in charge, in control of every operation. Those who paid him to terrorize were usually the ones who feared him. The feeling coursing through his body left him with a strange sensation. Is this what fear felt like?
Things just weren’t going his way. And it started when he let the woman go. That was going to change.
Chapter 14
All the kiosks along the breakwater were closed up tight. Inside the lifeboat building a single light illuminated the orange craft. A small light burned above the adjacent rowing club office door.
Grant and Adler stood at the top of the hill observing the area. Curious onlookers had long since departed. Barricades had been removed. Not a constable was in sight. All evidence of the previous evening’s event had disappeared.
Most of the boats were moored to the south breakwater. Small rowboats and sailboats had been pulled out of the water, and rested on sand closer to the road.
The two men started slowly walking toward the harbor, keeping close to the stone wall, trying to stay in the shadows. As they rounded the corner, they stopped, hearing a faint sound of laughter. A large motor boat, moored to the breakwater, had a dim light glowing inside the cabin. A man stood at midships, helping a woman to board. They disappeared inside the cabin. It became quiet again.
Continuing on, Grant and Adler ducked into a passageway next to the lifeboat building. Peering around the corner, Adler scanned the area, zeroing in on the opposite side and the kiosks. Street lamps lined both sides of the entire length of the breakwater casting shadows across concrete.
He motioned for Grant to wait, while he crept towards the glass door of the lifeboat building. Seeing no one, he signaled Grant. Keeping low, they ran to the first small kiosk, immediately rushing around to the back. Staying close to the kiosk, they hesitated briefly before running to the next building, positioning themselves, one on either side of the door.
Grant signaled with a thumb’s up. This was the kiosk. Adler nodded, then got down on one knee. He took out his penlight then inspected the lock. It was a simple single-dial padlock. All he had to do was pull on the shackle, turn the dial until it stopped, and repeat the process until the combination was revealed. He held the light between his teeth; his nimble fingers began their task.
Grant rounded the corner, side-stepping along the west side of the kiosk until he was near the front corner. Not hearing anything, he leaned slightly, just far enough until he was able to see. A movement caught his attention. He ducked back. Putting his hand on his .45, he leaned forward again. Someone was inside the lifeboat building. Whoever it was seemed to be making a slow inspection around the orange craft.
Grant slowly stood up, then eased his way behind the kiosk, walking around Adler, maneuvering to the opposite side. Staying close to the building, he edged his way closer to the front. Just moving that short distance gave him a clearer view inside the lifeboat building. He recognized the figure as Harbormaster Roberts. Pressing his back against the wall, he took a breath then continued to listen for anything out of the ordinary.
A soft sound of music emanating from inside the motor boat made him pause. While he and Adler were trying their damnedest to prevent a tragedy, people around them were still enjoying the simple things in life, totally unaware. But maybe that’s the way it was supposed to be. He refocused his attention on the harbor.
Adler kept his eyes on the lock, as his fingers deftly turned the dial, back and forth. One last turn and he was able to pull up the shackle. He removed the lock and put it in his pocket for safe keeping. Then he quietly went to the edge of the building. Aiming his penlight toward the wall of the kiosk next to them, he flashed it twice. Grant turned and saw him give a thumb’s up.
Adler eased the door open, then poked his head inside the darkened, compact space, barely eight by eight. He made a sweep with the penlight. The only window was at the front. A metal accordion-type shade was pulled down, secured at the bottom.
Grant came in behind him, took out his penlight, then quietly closed the door.
Adler whispered, “What are we looking for?”
Grant went near the window, shining the light along the countertop. “A log book or receipts. There’s gotta be records for the rentals.” Moving the light beam to the second shelf, he thumbed through colorful brochures and pamphlets advertising boat tours and fishing expeditions.
Adler opened a door to a small, dilapidated wooden cabinet. Three shelves were spaced evenly apart, with the top shelf set at eye level. “Might have something here,” he whispered as he lifted out a green, hardcover book with a black spine. Embossed on the front, in worn gold letters, was the word: “Record.” He handed it to Grant.
Laying it on the counter, Grant turned to the first page. There were five columns, each divided by thin red lines. He flipped through the pages, looking for the latest date.
“Anything?” Adler asked, looking over Grant’s shoulder.
“Not yet.” Grant ran his index finger down the first column, finally taping his finger on a date. “Here’s the day Gunny and I were here.”
“See anything with a number five and a J?”
“Bingo!” Grant whispered, as he tapped his finger on the page.
They both looked at a signature, trying to make out the scribble. “Think he used his real name?” Adler asked.
“He probably had to show an ID, but that could’ve been phony.” Grant leaned closer to the book. “Looks like the initial ‘V’ and then there’s….” He looked at Adler, then he closed the book.
“You know who the hell it is, don’t you?” Adler asked.
“Does the name Victor Labeaux ring any bells?”
“Are you shittin’ me?! Why the hell would he use his real name?” Adler reached for the book, and put it back on the shelf.
“Part ego, I’ll bet, but I don’t think he expected anybody to look in that book, let alone recognize his name. But then he let his curiosity get the best of him when he showed up here last night.”
Adler tried to keep his voice barely above a whisper. “Wait a minute! Are you saying that was him, the guy we were chasing?”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. I’d only seen a picture of him one time at the Agency, but I’m positive it was the son of a bitch.”
Adler shined the light under his chin. “Well, skipper, it looks like you finally got the break you’ve been waiting for.”
“Hope so.” Grant shut off his penlight. “Lock up, then let’s haul.”
Driving up to the back gate, Grant turned off the headlights, leaving the parking lights on. He rolled down his window, handing the guard his and Adler’s IDs.