Shroud of Concealment (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) by Andrew Towning

living room, drinking a mature single malt whisky rather than his usual gin and tonic.
    Eventually, he said, “It was a bit of a bullish approach, wasn’t it? Not exactly subtle. I mean, it’s a bit early to have already burnt your bridges with Hart; wouldn’t you agree?” He sounded bitterly disappointed.
    Dillon replied, but kept his voice casual. “After reading Hart’s file it looked like the best course of action to take. And you know me better than most – tip-toeing around the bushes is definitely not my style. To my way of thinking, it was the only way to push this thing forward and I think I’ve managed to do just that. He’s not denying that the Vermeer could be the original that was stolen from the Boston museum, and even concedes that it most likely passed through many hands before it reached him. In fact, he hasn’t denied anything at all. What more do you want? If the Americans want it back, let them go through the appropriate legal channels. But I doubt very much that they’d get anywhere. And anyway, doing it my way has kept your expenses down.”
    “So on the surface Hart is clean?”
    Dillon looked surprised. “I thought you wanted me to look into the Vermeer, not the man. He’s an enigma.”
    “In what way?”
    “Well if I knew that, he wouldn’t be one, would he?” Dillon said incredulously, and handed Havelock the firm’s invoice for his services. His eyebrows went up and he whistled at the amount.
    “I say, this is a bit steep, isn’t it?” Havelock asked.
    “If you want the best, you have to pay for it. And if you don’t like it, then use someone else.”
    Havelock folded the invoice and put it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket.“I mean, all you did was phone the man, and then drive down to Dorset and harass him. Anyone could have done that.”
    Dillon smiled wickedly.
    “But not as creatively as I did. That takes a special kind of talent and a bare-faced nerve. That’s what you’re paying for, Dunstan. But, if you’re going to quibble over what the firm has charged you then it’ll be the last time that they, or I, work for you.”
    Havelock grimaced, and pulled out his cheque book.
    “A cheque will do nicely for the amount you owe the firm. But I’ll have my personal bonus in cash, please. Tomorrow will do. And I take it you won’t be wanting me to proceed any further with this matter?” Dillon asked.
    Havelock got up and helped himself to another generous measure of Dillon’s fine single malt whisky. Whatever they thought about each other, both men always pushed aside their differences whilst a guest in each other’s home. Havelock especially felt at home in Dillon’s penthouse; it was one place he could be himself and talk without having to worry whether their conversations were being recorded or listened to by certain eavesdroppers.
    “I think you should go to Delhi,” he said casually and returned to his seat.
    Dillon looked at Havelock, had heard him, but still blurted out, “Why India?”
    “That is where Delhi is located.”
    “No, I don’t think much to that idea. Not this time, Dunstan.”
    “A pity.” Havelock glanced at his watch.
    “I really must be getting back. I promised that I’d call back into the office before the end of the day.”
    He stood up and finished his drink in one gulp as if it were lemonade.
    “You’re not interested in the Vermeer painting at all, are you? Well, maybe a little. But you’re more interested in the man himself, and thought I’d continue because he intrigued me.”
    “Well, he obviously doesn’t, does he?” Havelock put his empty glass down.
    “Not sufficiently enough for me to fly to India on one of your whims. I’m sorry, Dunstan, but you’ve not really sold this one to me yet.”
    “Oh well, I’ll be off then. If you have a change of mind, let me know.”
    Dillon’s mobile phone started to ring. He answered it as Havelock stood by the door of the private lift that serviced the