Presumed Dead, page 12
‘Have it your own way,’ David said, ‘but I’m still convinced he did it, and as soon as I get back to London, I’m going to Scotland Yard.’
Mason stood up abruptly and said, ‘In that case, I feel we have nothing further to say to one another. Good day.’ With that, he marched back into the public bar and took up his original place with his friends.
David finished his drink, placed the empty glass on the bar with a ‘thank you’ to the barman, then walked out and along to the station to catch the next train back to London.
.
Around the same time, a little south of London, the medevac aircraft touched down at Biggin Hill. After clearing the main runway, it taxied to its company hangar and came to a halt on the apron outside to await the arrival of the customs inspector. Parked alongside the hangar, outside the company’s offices, was a black, unmarked undertaker’s van with two somber looking men sitting in the front seats.
Alex Crawford had been waiting with the customs inspector in the company office, and as soon as the pilot shut the engines down, they walked out to the aircraft and climbed on board. Ross had handed the pilot a large manila envelope containing all the necessary documents relating to the transportation of the body, which he now handed to the customs inspector. The inspector examined the paperwork closely, gave the body bag a cursory glance, then signed the necessary clearance documents and handed them over to Alex. As he was climbing off the aircraft, Alex leaned out of door behind him and signaled to the undertakers, who drove their van around and reversed it up to the aircraft. Less than five minutes later, they had the body loaded and were on their way back to London with Alex following in his own car.
.
A little further south still, Ross dropped the Golden Eagle gently onto the airstrip at Moor End Farm. He taxied up to the large barn, where Harry Perkins, an ex-RAF fitter he employed part-time to look after his fleet of aircraft, stood waiting with the battery operated tug, ready to haul the aircraft inside.
‘Afternoon Harry,’ Ross said cheerfully as he swung the split doors open and climbed out of the aircraft.
‘Good afternoon sir,’ Harry replied awkwardly. ‘We were all terribly sorry to hear about Her Ladyship. A tragic loss sir, tragic.’
Ross saw Harry was near to tears and suddenly remembered he was supposed to be in mourning himself, so instantly adopted a sorrowful look. ‘Very kind of you to say so, Harry,’ he said, doing his best to sound choked as he unlocked the luggage compartment.
Harry carried Ross’s bags to a Range Rover and loaded them into the back. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll want the Eagle for a while,’ he said as he slammed the back door of the Range Rover.
‘No, not for a week or so at least,’ Ross said, climbing into the driver’s seat. ‘Just give her the once over, top up her tanks and tuck her up in the barn if you would. I’ll let you know when I’m going to need you again after that.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Harry said as the Range Rover pulled away from the barn and followed the track down to the house.
When he got there, Ross didn’t even bother going into the house. Instead, he went straight to the garages, put the Range Rover away, transferred his luggage into his Jaguar XK8, then set off immediately for London.
Chapter 9
Of the three parties heading for London, David Wiseman, complete with his two tails, was the first to arrive. He grabbed a taxi outside Kings Cross and was back at his hotel within fifteen minutes. Digging out his wallet, he hunted through it for the slip of paper that Frau Schutz had given him in Weggis. After some difficulty with the dialing codes and a little help from the international operator, he was finally connected with the Schutz household.
‘Hello, Frau Schutz? This is David Wiseman calling from England.’
‘Ah, Mr. Wiseman, tell me, have you discovered anything?’ she asked eagerly.
‘I think so, but I need to ask you a couple of questions if that’s okay?’
‘Of course. What is it you want to know?’
‘Firstly, did my aunt Freda suffer from epilepsy?’
‘Epilepsy?’ Frau Schutz repeated with surprise. ‘Certainly not! She never had a day’s illness in her life.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ David sighed. ‘Now, this next question is very important. You told me the death certificate stated she died of a heart attack, but can you remember exactly what it said on the certificate?’
‘You mean the exact words?’
‘Yes, the exact words, if you can remember.’
‘I remember perfectly,’ Frau Schutz said with authority. ‘It said cardiac failure. I was not sure what that meant at the time so I went home and looked it up in my dictionary.’
‘And you’re sure those were the exact words? Nothing else?’
‘Absolutely… now, what is all this about? What have you found?’
‘I spoke with the doctor who attended her during the last week of her life and who wrote out the death certificate. He told me that the Baroness died of cardiac failure following a severe attack of grand-mal epilepsy, and that is what he wrote on the death certificate.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ Frau Schutz said.
‘I think I do,’ David said confidently. ‘Webley started poisoning the Baroness shortly after they were married, probably with some kind of rat poison that they already had on the estate. She started to have seizures because of the poison, so Webley hit upon the idea of cooking up a story about her being an epileptic to cover up what he was doing. When he had the local doctor believing it, he just gave her an extra large dose that killed her. The doctor thought it was heart failure due to an epileptic fit and made out a death certificate without any fuss.’
‘But how do you explain the change to the death certificate?’ Frau Schutz asked.
‘That’s simple. If he’d shown a death certificate mentioning epilepsy to anyone in Weggis that knew her, there would have been immediate questions asked. All he did was blanked out the part after cardiac failure in the cause of death box on the certificate before it was photocopied.’
‘I knew it!’ Frau Schultz cried triumphantly. ‘Did I not say she was murdered?’
‘You did, and I’m now convinced you were right.’
‘What about the will? Have you found out anything about that?’
‘Not yet, but you can bet your bottom dollar it was forged after her death,’ David said. ‘I don’t believe she would have forgotten all her loyal staff.’
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘I’m going to try to see someone at Scotland Yard this afternoon. There is just one more thing I need from you first, though. You remember you told me the Baroness’s lawyer died and his son took over his business?’
‘Yes, he moved it to Lucerne.’
‘I need to contact him to see if he still holds his father’s records,’ David explained. ‘Do you happen to know his name or the name of his company?’
‘Of course. The Baroness’s lawyer’s name was Franz Vogler and his son was named Joseph. I believe he is in partnership now with a man named Zimmer. If you wait a moment, I will give you the number from the telephone directory.’
After a few moments, with the sound of paper rustling in the background, Frau Schutz came back on the line and said, ‘Yes, here it is, Vogler und Zimmer, Lawyers.’ She gave him the number then said, ‘Thank God you came. Now maybe justice will be done.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ David said. ‘Thank you for all your help.’
‘Thank you Mr. Wiseman. God bless you.’
As soon as she’d hung up, David cleared the line and dialed another number, this time his own office in the States. He wanted to speak with his immediate superior and friend, Dan Piatowsky. His call was answered by his section’s secretary.
‘Hi Patty,’ he said cheerfully, ‘this is Dave Wiseman. Give me Dan, will you?’
‘Sure thing, Dave, hold on a second.’
There was a short delay before Dan Piatowsky’s deep voice came on the line. ‘Hey, Davy boy! How’s it hanging?’
‘Hi Dan. I got a problem over here and I need you to do me a favor,’ David said urgently.
Catching the tone in his voice, Piatowsky instantly became professional and reaching for his pen said, ‘Shoot.’
‘I need to speak with someone in the homicide department at Scotland Yard. You’ve got a contact there, don’t you?’
‘Sure, but they don’t call it homicide, they call it CID, that stands for Criminal Investigation Department. You want me to fix up a meet for you?’
‘If you could, today if possible, tomorrow at the latest. I fly out of here on Saturday.’
‘What gives?’ Piatowsky asked.
‘You know I was coming to England to visit my Aunt Freda’s grave?’
‘Yeah, I remember.’
‘I found out she didn’t die from a heart attack. I’m pretty sure her husband killed her.’
Piatowsky let out a long whistle. ‘Let me make a couple of calls and get back to you. What’s your number?’
David gave him the number then hung up. Fifteen minutes later, Piatowsky called back to let him know he’d arranged an appointment with Chief Inspector Hubbard at New Scotland Yard for three that afternoon. David thanked him, then took his notebook out and set about writing up a set of comprehensive notes for his meeting with the police.
.
Around the same time, Philippe was just pulling up outside his house. He hadn’t spoken to Alice during his drive home, preferring to wait until he saw her to talk face to face. The weather during the whole journey had been lousy, and although it wasn’t actually raining in Nîmes, it was overcast and unseasonably chilly. The weather forecast he’d heard on the radio predicted that the area of low pressure affecting the alpine region would spread south to cover the northern Mediterranean. It looked like they were right.
Before he’d even turned the engine off, Alice came out of the house and trotted down the steps to meet him. She was wearing a clinging, short sleeved, knee length dress made from dark blue cotton, which was more like a long polo shirt than anything else. Her hair hung loose on her shoulders and although she was wearing no makeup and was still covered in purple and yellow bruises, Philippe thought she looked stunning. She ran around to his side of the car as he got out and slipped her arms around his waist, kissing him on both cheeks in the traditional French style.
‘What a welcome!’ he said, returning her embrace. ‘You look fantastic.’
‘I’m sure,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘I’m covered in bruises and I look like hell… but thanks anyway.’ Alice broke away and said, ‘Come on, I’ve made us some lunch, you must be half starved. I’ll bet you haven’t had anything since this time yesterday.’ She linked her arm through his and they walked side by side around the car, up the steps and into the house.
Once in the kitchen, Philippe was amazed to see the table laid for a huge lunch. There was pâté, ham, tomatoes, three types of cheese, fresh baguettes, wine, and on the stove, something that smelled delicious bubbled in a saucepan. He turned to Alice with genuine wonder and asked, ‘You did all this for me?’
‘Of course, I knew you’d be hungry,’ she said.
‘But how? Where did you get all these things from?’
‘I hope you don’t mind, but I found some coins in a jar on the side there and walked into the village.’
‘I don’t mind, that is what the money was there for,’ he said frowning, ‘but to walk to the village, it is five kilometers there and back and you are not strong enough…’
Alice silenced him by putting her finger up to his lips, then said, ‘Stop worrying about me, I’m fine now, strong as I ever was. Come on, sit down and eat your lunch.’
Philippe shook his head saying, ‘You are incredible. Do I have time to get cleaned up a little before we eat?’
‘Sure, take all the time you want, this will keep.’
Philippe went through to his bedroom and was back in less than fifteen minutes, washed, shaved, changed and groomed. As he sat down, Alice ladled sautéed duck in a rich sauce with peas and bacon out of a saucepan onto his plate. He bent over the food and breathed in deeply through his nose, savoring the aroma, then said, ‘This smells delicious, it must have taken you hours to prepare.’
‘It took me about twenty seconds to open the can,‘ Alice said, taking her place opposite him, ‘then about ten minutes to heat it up on the stove. And now you know the secret of my success in the kitchen.’
They both laughed, but the mood soon became somber as over the long, leisurely lunch, Philippe told her about his trip to Chamonix and his abortive attempt to get past Batard.
‘I couldn’t believe it when he said Louisa was gone,’ Philippe told her. ‘What do you think your husband intends to do with her?’
Alice thought for a moment then said, ‘He’ll probably have her buried in his family vault, that’s what he did with his first wife, and I know that’s what he intends for himself.’
‘His first wife?’ Philippe asked with surprise. ‘I didn’t know he was married before.’
‘Yes, it was a long time ago. She was much older than him and died not long after they were married.’
‘Oh… and this vault, where is it?’
‘In a churchyard in a village called Minster at Stone, but don’t worry,’ Alice said positively, ‘we’ll get her back long before he has a chance to bury her.’
‘I’m glad you mentioned that,’ Philippe said, ‘because I have been thinking very hard all the way home, and I think I have a plan that will get you your divorce without any demands from your husband, and get me Louisa’s body back.’
Alice became instantly alert. ‘Tell me about it,’ she said.
‘From what you have told me about your husband, there are only two things that he really fears; loss of his social position and loss of his freedom. You told me that many times he begged you to pay his debts so that he did not end up in the hands of the police or in the newspapers.’
‘That’s right, those were the debts he ran up by buying expensive goods on credit. I also had to save him from his gambling debts because those guys can’t go to the police, they have their own way of dealing with people who won’t pay.’
‘Okay, so now we know what he is afraid of, we use that to blackmail him. This is my plan. We slip quietly over to England and you go to see him privately. You tell him you were found in the mountains by a couple, a man and a woman, who took you home and nursed you back to health. You tell him that they took you to their lawyer, and that you have made a sworn statement about his attempt to murder you. You tell him that if he will give you a quick divorce with custody of Charles and no demands for a share of your company, you will say you got lost in the mountains and were helped by those people, and not mention what he did to you.’
Alice thought about it for a moment then said, ‘But that would mean him getting away scot-free with trying to kill me. I want to make him suffer for what he did to me... and for what he’s doing to you.’
‘Don’t you see,’ Philippe said, ‘if he loses your support and your money, he will suffer a great deal. He will have to sell what is left of his property and will very soon be bankrupt. That is the best punishment you can give him.’
‘You’ve got a point there,’ she said with a frown,’ but there’s a problem, he’s a professional gambler, remember. He’d see right through me in a second, he’d know I was bluffing. What if he tried to kill me again? I’m already officially dead, so he’d have nothing to lose, and he’s got a terrible temper.’
‘I thought of that, and it is very simple. You take with you a copy of the statement and show it to him. That way he must believe you. You also tell him that if you do not report back to your lawyer within twenty-four hours, he has instructions to take the statement to the police. And one last thing, I will be nearby, and I will not allow him to hurt you.’
‘Are you suggesting we go find a lawyer and actually make a statement?’ Alice asked incredulously. ‘What about this imaginary woman who has saved my honor? Where do we get her from?’
‘No, I am not suggesting we go to a lawyer,’ Philippe said. ‘Your husband can play dirty, so can we. I have a computer and all the necessary equipment here to make our own lawyer’s statement, complete with official looking stationary and photographs of your injuries. We forge the whole thing.’
Alice thought about it then said, ‘You know, it might just work, but how am I going to get into England? I don’t have a passport.’
Philippe got up from the table, disappeared into his bedroom for a few seconds, then came back and handed Alice a French passport. ‘We travel as man and wife,’ he said.
Alice opened the passport and saw Louisa’s face staring out at her. ‘It would never work,’ she said emphatically. ‘I don’t think I look anything like Louisa.’
‘That might not get you through immigration control at an international airport,’ he said confidently, ‘but at a small airport or on the ferry where they hardly ever check EEC passports, you could get through easily, you speak perfect French. The other thing is, your face is covered with bruises. If there is a problem over the photograph, we could say you have been in a car accident, they would accept that.’
Alice looked at the photograph again, then stood up and walked to the mirror hanging next to the kitchen door and examined her own face. After a few moments she turned to Philippe, a cunning smile tugging at her lips. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I think it might just work. How soon can we get over there? He’s probably started spending the money already.’
‘We can do the statement this afternoon and fly to England first thing in the morning if you want. There is a very good air taxi service based at a small aerodrome just a few kilometers from here, I have used them many times in the past for business. They can fly us directly to a small airport in England, then we can hire a car.’
‘That sounds great,’ Alice said. ‘You get started on making up a fake letterhead while I clear away the lunch things.’
