Presumed Dead, page 25
‘He seems like a very nice man,’ Alice commented to Batard as she accepted the seat in front of his desk that he held out for her.
‘Yes, he is a good man,’ Batard said, walking around his desk to sit in his own seat, ‘and he has had a very bad time these last few months.’
.
An hour and a half later, just after one clock local time, Alice’s signed statement was running through the fax machine to Hubbard’s office. When it had gone, Batard thanked Alice profusely and she headed back to her hotel.
Within minutes of it being sent, a secretary delivered the fax to Hubbard, who was waiting in his office with Butcher. Hubbard scanned the statement then handed it to Butcher, who let out a low whistle as he read. ‘Clever bastard, isn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Hubbard replied, ‘and he’d have got away with it too if she hadn’t survived. The chances were a million to one against her coming out of those mountains alive.’
‘I remember a story about a tail gunner who bailed out of a burning Lancaster over Germany without a parachute,’ Butcher said. ‘Fell eighteen thousand feet and landed in a snow drift without a scratch.’
‘Yes, I remember that,’ Hubbard said. ‘I wonder if our friend Webley has ever heard the story. Let’s go and tell him it, shall we?’ With that, they headed down to the car park and set off across London to pay Ross a visit.
.
Alice arrived back at the hotel where the beaming manager was manning the reception desk. She took her key, then asked, as casually as she could, ‘Has a Monsieur Dulac registered? I met him earlier and told him there might be a room available here.’
‘Thank you Madame, yes,’ the manager gushed. ‘He mentioned he was a friend of yours, so we have put him in suite thirty-three, next door to you.’
Alice felt a tingle of excitement run up her spine. ‘Thank you, that was very kind,’ she said, turning away and walking to the lift. As soon as she reached her room she lifted the telephone and dialed the suite next door. When Philippe answered she said in French, ‘Hello Monsieur, this is room service, did you order a woman for lunch?’
‘Alice!’ he cried with delight, ‘come to my room, I’m just getting dressed.’
Alice checked herself in the bathroom mirror, then slipped out of her room and knocked on the door marked thirty-three. Philippe answered the door wearing just slacks and a crisp cotton shirt. As soon as she was inside, she rushed into his arms and he gave her another of his long, passionate, knee-trembling embraces. He’d obviously just got dressed after having a shower and shave because his face was smooth and smelt of spicy aftershave and as she ran her fingers through his hair, she could feel it was still wet. When he finally let her go, she said, ‘It’s a pity I didn’t come over ten minutes earlier.’
‘Now, now… we’re not married yet,’ Philippe scolded playfully.
Alice laughed, then went and sat on the bed while Philippe rummaged in his overnight bag for a pair of socks. ‘It was kind of Captain Batard to introduce us, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, but I nearly died trying to keep a straight face.’
‘Me too,’ Alice said, smiling. ‘Do you think he suspected anything?’
‘No, not a thing,’ Philippe said, pulling a sock over his foot, ‘in fact, I heard him telling that English policeman, Hubbard, that he had inspected the Couvercle Hut and was absolutely certain your story was genuine.’
‘He flew up there and checked?’ she asked.
‘Yes, then he picked me up and spent most of the time telling me how wonderful he thinks you are.’
‘Phew,’ Alice exclaimed, ‘if I’d have known that I’d have been terrified.’
‘He believes us both completely, and with Louisa’s body safe it has all turned out perfectly.’
Alice had forgotten about Louisa in her joy at seeing Philippe again, now she felt guilty and said, ‘Oh Philippe, I’m so happy you’ll be able to get her back. What are your plans?’
‘I’m going to have her taken back to Nîmes by air, then there will be a simple burial at the little church in the village. It is what she wanted.’
‘I’d like to be there if I may,’ Alice said somberly.
‘I’m relying on it,’ he smiled, stepping into his shoes. ‘Now, how about some lunch? You must be starving!’
‘Do you think it would be wise to be seen together?’ she asked doubtfully.
‘I don’t see why not… we have been introduced after all, and by no less a man than the chief of High Mountain Police!’
‘Okay,’ Alice said, still doubtful, ‘but we must make it look like a chance meeting. Why don’t I go up to the restaurant, then you follow a few minutes later. You can spot me sitting there then ask in front of the waiter if you can join me.’
Philippe laughed. ‘We can do it your way if you want, but this is a French hotel, the staff have seen these games played many times before.’
‘Maybe so,’ she said stubbornly, ‘but it would make me feel a lot easier. Do you mind?’
‘Of course not,’ he replied, taking her in his arms again. ‘Anything for you.’ He kissed her, then slapped her bottom playfully, saying, ‘Come on, let’s get going. I want to eat.’
Ten minutes later, the charade was played out and they were seated together in the all-glass restaurant on the roof of the hotel enjoying an apéritif and the spectacular panoramic views of the Mont Blanc range.
Chapter 18
Ross had recovered his composure and had been hard at work for about two hours on his account of the last days of Freda’s life when the doorbell rang. Sighing, he put his pen down, got up from behind his antique writing desk and went to answer the front door. By this time, he’d managed to convince even himself that he was innocent of any wrongdoing as far as Freda was concerned, and he was in a belligerent mood as he wrenched the door open expecting to find a journalist on the door step. Instead, he found Hubbard and Butcher. ‘I wondered how long it would be before I saw you two again,’ he said irritably.
‘Can we come in?’ Hubbard asked.
‘If you must,’ he replied, standing to one side. Once they were inside, he led them through to his study, then went to his desk and stuffed the pad he’d been writing on into a draw. Looking up, straight into Hubbard’s eyes, he said, ‘I suppose this is about the exhumation.’
‘So it was you I saw creeping about in the abbey ruins,’ Hubbard said. ‘I thought as much.’
‘I didn’t kill her, you know,’ Ross blurted.
‘Nobody said you did,’ Hubbard replied calmly. ‘We’re here on an entirely different matter.’
‘I didn’t kill Alex either,’ he said insistently.
‘We’ll see about that later. What I’d like to talk about now is the disappearance of Lady Webley. I had a call from the French Mountain Police this morning. It seems that one of their helicopters was on routine patrol this morning and they found her.’
Relief flooded through Ross. At least I’ll be able to get the money, he thought, then let them try to prove I murdered anyone. I’ll hire the best lawyers in the world! Keeping a poker face he said humbly, ‘So it seems I did make a mistake when I identified the other woman. Will I be required to fly over there for another identification?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Hubbard said, equally poker faced, ‘she’s already identified herself.’
‘What do you mean she’s identified herself?’ Ross asked with astonishment.
‘I spoke with her on the telephone earlier,’ Hubbard said smugly. ‘We had quite a nice chat.’
‘You’re lying,’ Ross screamed, ‘she can’t possibly be alive!’
‘Really?’ Hubbard queried with knitted brows. ‘Why ever not?’
Ross realized he’d said too much again and shut up.
‘Could it be because you and Crawford drugged her then you threw her out of your plane?’ Hubbard asked, looking him straight in the eye.
‘You’re bluffing,’ Ross said scornfully, ‘you’re trying to get me to admit to something you haven’t any proof of.’
‘I’ve got plenty of proof,’ Hubbard replied, ticking the items off on his fingers. ‘Firstly there’s your wife’s sworn statement, then there’s the report from the French police, then there’s the forensic evidence we’re bound to find in your plane… you want me to go on?’
Ross finally realized that he was in serious trouble. There’s no way I’m going to avoid a jail sentence this time, he thought, and no way I’m ever going to see any of that money. He felt his insides crumble as a wave of desolation swept over him, then he had an idea. ‘Where is she now?’ he asked innocently, looking down at the carpet.
‘Resting at an hotel in Chamonix,’ Hubbard replied. ‘She’s coming back tomorrow to swear out an official complaint against you.’
‘And I suppose you’ve come to arrest me,’ Ross said submissively.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Hubbard said, ‘you can make the usual telephone call when we get to the Yard.’
‘Do you mind if I just pop down to the kitchen and let my housekeeper know I won’t be in for dinner?’ Ross asked pleasantly.
‘Quickly then,’ Hubbard replied. ‘Sergeant Butcher will go with you.’
Ross led the way out of the study, along a corridor towards the back of the house, then down a steep flight of stairs. At the bottom, he paused outside the kitchen door, and as Butcher came up close behind him, he drove his elbow viscously backwards into the sergeant’s solar plexus, lifting him clean off his feet. As Butcher staggered and fell against the stairs, Ross dashed across the empty kitchen and out through the back door.
Upstairs, Hubbard had been wandering around the study, admiring the paintings and furniture when he heard a shout from the back of the house. Quickly, he ran to the rear window and looked out, just in time to see Ross run through the back gate, followed by Butcher who was staggering and holding his stomach.
As he threw the rear door of the study open and ran down the outside steps, he heard an engine roar and a squeal of tires from the mews. Within seconds, he reached Butcher, who was leaning, badly winded, against the rear gatepost. ‘Red E-Type,’ Butcher gasped, ‘AVF 299.’
Hubbard whipped his notebook out and made a note of the number, then helped Butcher back into the yard and sat him on a garden bench, pushing his head down between his knees. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Bastard elbowed me right in the guts then legged it,’ Butcher panted. ‘I’ll be okay in a minute.’
‘You stay here, Hubbard said, setting off for the car, ‘I’m going to call this in.’
By the time Hubbard had radioed the description of the E-Type with a request to have it stopped, Butcher had recovered and was back at the car. ‘Where do you reckon he’ll go?’ he asked.
‘If I were him, I’d be trying to get to my plane so that I could get out of the country,’ Hubbard replied. ‘Come on, let’s head down that way just in case. I’d better drive.’
Gratefully, Butcher climbed into the passenger seat while Hubbard slipped the car into gear and headed south.
Ross was reasonably certain that he’d managed to pull out of the mews before Butcher had got to the gate. He was now driving carefully within the speed limit towards Battersea Bridge, confident in the knowledge that the police didn’t have a clue of the type of car he was in. The idea that had sprung into his mind earlier when he’d heard Alice was still alive was simple. He was going to kill her. He’d lost everything, wasted years living with her, only to be cheated out of her money in the end… and it was all her fault.
He knew the game was up and that whatever happened, he was going to be in prison for a very long time, so he’d decided, quite calmly and rationally, that he was going to get hold of her, wring her neck with his bare hands, then kill himself.
If he could get down to the farm without being stopped, the rest would be easy. He knew there was a little private airstrip just outside Chamonix near the river where the owner kept a single engine Jodel. The gravel runway was much too short for the Golden Eagle, but he was sure he could drop it in there, even if it meant overrunning into the bushes at the end of the strip. He wouldn’t be needing it ever again anyway, so it didn’t really matter. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it.
The vision of her cornered in her hotel room, begging for mercy excited and aroused him. Maybe if I could find a cane, he thought, I could beat her, make her scream, make her bleed. That would be even better. He had to keep wiping the sweat from his palms onto his trouser legs as he drove on southwards, licking his lips with delicious anticipation.
The bright red E-Type was spotted by a patrol car in Purley, heading out of London on the Brighton Road towards the M23. When the call came reporting its position, Hubbard and Butcher were just half a mile behind in the high-powered, unmarked, Peugeot 406. ‘Looks like you were right,’ Hubbard said, with a sigh of relief, ‘he is heading for his farm.’
The patrol car had been going in the opposite direction, and by the time it had managed to turn around, Hubbard and Butcher were already ahead of it. ‘Call the other car off,’ Hubbard said as he spotted it coming up behind them with it’s lights and sirens going, ‘We can handle it from here. I want to make this arrest personally.’
Butcher made the call to control while Hubbard flipped the blue lights on, driving as fast as he dared along the busy, two-way road. As soon as they joined the M23 he took the Peugeot up to over a hundred in the outside lane. It was only a minute or so before Butcher shouted with satisfaction, ‘There he is, we’ve got him!’
The red E-Type was travelling in the middle lane at exactly seventy, apparently oblivious to every other car on the road, as Hubbard dropped in behind it. ‘Let’s pull him over,’ he said, hitting the switch that activated the car’s two-tone siren.
As soon as the siren started they saw Ross visibly jump and his head bob around as he scanned his mirrors. Then he dropped a gear, floored the accelerator, and with a puff of smoke from the exhaust the Jaguar took off like a scalded cat. ‘He’s making a run for it!’ Hubbard shouted as he shifted down and set off in pursuit. But the V6 in the Peugeot was no match for the V12 in the Jaguar. The police car ran out of steam as they touched a hundred and forty with the E-Type still accelerating away.
‘We’re never going to catch him in this thing,’ Hubbard spat as they sped along the M23 with the red car disappearing into the distance. ‘Better call for assistance from the local ASU and get them to follow from the air. Get the local boys at Lewes over to the farm as well. They can nab him when he arrives there.’
The huge engine in the Jaguar purred like a kitten as the speedometer nudged a hundred and sixty. Ross smiled with satisfaction as he watched the blue flashing light behind him fade into the distance. Within five minutes he’d covered the twelve miles to the beginning of the A23, then another seven minutes found him at the roundabout just north of Brighton where he slowed right down to normal speed and headed east on the A27. He was now only five miles from home and hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the police since leaving them standing near Gatwick.
All the way down the motorway his mind had been working flat out just driving the car at high speed and watching his mirrors, but now that he’d slowed, he had time to think. They gave up too easily, he thought, obviously didn’t want to risk an accident by trying a high-speed chase or a roadblock. That means they must have radioed ahead to have men waiting at the farm. They’re bound to have worked out that’s where I’m heading. Then, as he approached the turning for the village, he had a new idea.
Within a few minutes of losing sight of the Jaguar, there was a running commentary coming in from the Sussex Air Support Unit helicopter as it followed Ross at high speed down the A23, barely able to keep pace itself. Hubbard had kept up the pursuit, and by the time Ross was approaching the village turn off, they were just five minutes behind him.
Speaking on the radio directly to the helicopter, Butcher asked, ‘Echo Xray, can you confirm that the units are in position at the farm?’
‘That’s affirmative,’ the police observer replied, ‘one car at the entrance, two more blocking the lane just outside. Once he’s through the village, he’s got nowhere to go.’
Hubbard smiled grimly as they sped along the A27, then suddenly the police helicopter was transmitting again. ‘All units, all units, the target vehicle has turned left, left into Ranscombe Lane, half a mile west of the village.’
‘What the hell’s he up to?’ Hubbard barked. ‘Ask them where that lane leads.’
‘Echo Xray,’ Butcher transmitted, ‘can you see where the lane leads?’
‘Looks like it passes north of the farm then carries on towards Ringmer,’ the observer replied. Then, before Hubbard could issue any new instructions the observer shouted, ‘Target vehicle’s stopped, one occupant’s bailed out and running across what looks like an airstrip towards a farm building.’
Hubbard grabbed the microphone from Butcher and yelled, ‘All units, all units, converge on the building at the end of the airstrip, he’s going to try and fly out! Echo Xray, block that runway!’
As soon as Ross jumped out of the car and started running, he heard the helicopter overhead. ‘Damn!’ he shouted aloud as he climbed the high chain link fence that bordered his property, then headed towards the barn at a run. Within a minute he reached the building and swung both of the huge doors back, just as three police cars came into view, bumping along the track from the house, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
Quickly, he dashed into the barn, up the steps of the Golden Eagle, then slamming the doors shut behind him, leapt into the cockpit. Within seconds, the engines were running and he rammed the throttles forward, driving the sleek aircraft out of the barn towards the start of the runway, just as the police cars arrived.
Rapidly gaining speed with the cars in close pursuit, he swung the aircraft around as he reached the runway threshold and applied full power. As he looked forward, he saw with horror that the police helicopter was preparing to land about half way down the runway, but by this time he’d thrown all caution to the wind and headed straight for it. ‘You’d better get that bloody thing out of my way,’ he growled, ‘because I’m not going to stop.’
