Presumed Dead, page 8
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Back up on the glacier, the search was going slowly. At first light, the teams had traveled up the mountain on a train laid on especially for them, and had reassembled at the Montenvers Hotel, overlooking the Mer de Glace. The dogs had been tied up outside in the driving snow whilst the men crowded into the hotel’s restaurant for a briefing. They had been told the plan was to walk to the base of the Charpoua Glacier where it joined the Mer de Glace, then to spread out along its width and to climb, searching as they went.
By mid morning, they had managed to cover the first hundred yards or so of the Charpoua Glacier, but in near whiteout conditions. The men moved slowly up the steep ice, one step at a time, gently probing the snow filled crevasses with long poles whilst the dogs sniffed and snuffled around them on the ends of their leads.
The search was being hampered here and there by the recent avalanches, which had deposited huge mounds of snow on the glacier. The men had to probe through each mound carefully, sinking long poles down through the snow until they hit the solid ice of the glacier. It was slow and dangerous work.
Someone from the radio station in Chamonix had tipped the rest of the media off about the search, and a growing band of journalists, including a camera team from one of the national television companies, had invaded the Montenvers railway terminus and hotel. There was an air of excitement and expectancy among the ghouls from the press as they crowded around Jacques Batard from the PGHM, who was coordinating the search by radio. Each one, it seemed, was determined to be the first to get photographs or live footage when the body was finally found and brought up off the glacier.
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The shopping trip to Nîmes city center was going well. Alice had managed to get toiletries, plenty of underwear, two dresses, two shirts, a jacket, a pair of black jeans, a handbag, some open toed shoes and a pair of black boots. For a few hours, she’d allowed herself to forget her troubles and to enjoy shopping with a man, something she did very rarely.
She kept trying things on in the shops then coming out of the dressing rooms to get his reaction. Sometimes it was a nod of approval, and other times it was a shake of the head. She soon realized that he had an eye for fashion and knew what he liked. She suddenly realized she’d never had this kind of companionship before and couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed herself more
By lunchtime, they were both tired and hungry, so Philippe suggested a bistro he knew called Le Lisita, opposite the huge Roman amphitheater, right in the middle of the city. They sat in the afternoon sun at a table on the sidewalk, from where they could admire the magnificent architecture of the amphitheater. She allowed him to order for her, again, something she hadn’t done for years, and they enjoyed the bistro’s specialty, capon in a delicious white wine and cream sauce. After the meal, they had coffee and Alice sat back in her chair, quietly content.
‘This has been the nicest day I’ve spent in a long time,’ she said with a sigh.
‘For me also,’ Philippe said. ‘What a pity we will soon have to come down to earth and face reality.’
‘Can’t we leave that for now?’ she pleaded, ‘I’d like to pretend for a just little longer.’
‘And just what is it you are pretending?’ he asked softly.
Alice thought for a moment, then looking down at the table she said almost timidly, ‘That this is my real life, here, with you, and that everything that has happened over the last few days has just been a bad dream.’
Philippe reached over and ran his fingertips down her cheek saying slowly, ‘Maybe when the bad dream is over and everything is sorted out, this could be your real life… our real life.’
Alice sat with her head bowed for a few moments longer then looked up, smiling through her tears. ‘If only I was that lucky,’ she said.
They finished their coffee, and after Philippe had paid the bill, set off along Boulevard Victor Hugo to get some last bits and pieces of shopping, before returning to the car.
Later, on the way home, Philippe suggested they stop at the Carrefour hypermarket on the outskirts of the city for some groceries. He parked the BMW, collected a trolley, and they strolled happily through the entrance, chatting about what they would like for dinner. The supermarket was laid out so that the initial point of entry was the electrical section, with rows of television sets and stereo units on display. They had only been in the shop a few seconds when Alice stopped dead, put her hand to her mouth and staring at the bright row of live television sets groaned, ‘Oh my God!’
Philippe followed her line of vision and saw immediately what had caused her reaction. All the televisions were tuned to the same station and were all showing the image of a body, wrapped in a red blanked, strapped to an aluminum stretcher. Half a dozen men wearing climbing gear and helmets were manhandling the stretcher up a steep mountain path in what looked like a blinding snowstorm. The words Live from Chamonix were printed across the top of the screen, and although there was no sound coming from the televisions, they both knew exactly what they were looking at.
Philippe abandoned the trolley in the middle of the isle and ran to the nearest set. Kneeling down and fumbling with the controls, he managed to turn the volume up just in time to hear a commentator say, in a sad, melodramatic voice, ‘So here they come, those brave rescuers who have been scouring the Charpoua Glacier in appalling conditions since dawn this morning. They bring with them the body of a woman, believed to be Alice Webley, the American heiress who went missing while out walking on Monday.’
Philippe’s mouth dropped open and the color drained from his face. ‘They’ve found her,’ he said incredulously, staring at the screen. ‘They’ve found Louisa.’
Alice put her arm around his shoulder and hugged him tightly. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s get out of here.’
Philippe let her lead him to the exit like a zombie, but as soon as they were outside, he broke into a run for the car. He was inside with the engine running before Alice caught up and jumped in beside him. ‘I’ve got to get over there,’ he said as they sped out of the car park. ‘I’ve got to get to Chamonix and claim her body before they release it to your husband.’
‘Slow down a minute,’ Alice said firmly, ‘there’s no rush. I’ll just make a couple of phone calls, tell them it’s not me they’ve found, and once they realize there’s been a mistake they’ll hold on to her until you get there.’
Philippe hit the brakes and pulled the car into the side of the road. ‘No, I can not allow you to do that,’ he said resolutely. ‘It would ruin your reputation and your chances of a fair divorce. I will go to Chamonix and claim Louisa’s body without bringing you into it. Then we will decide together what to do to get you free of your husband.’
‘I don’t give a damn about my reputation,’ Alice started vehemently, ‘This is more important than…’
Philippe held his hand up cutting her off. ‘No, my mind is made up. I am going to drop you at the house where you will promise me not to make any telephone calls. Then I am going directly to Chamonix.’
Chapter 7
As the stretcher-bearers reached the top of the path in semi-darkness and driving snow, they were blinded by camera flashes and the arc lamps mounted on top of television cameras. Batard was waiting for his men on the observation terrace and had to fend off the jostling reporters who were all shouting questions and trying to shove dictaphones and furry microphones under the stretcher bearers’ noses.
The gang of rescue workers who had been bringing up the rear, helped him by surging forward and linking arms to form a safe corridor for the stretcher party who were making their way to the train. Batard saw the stretcher safely onto the train, had a few words with his men, then made his way back to the Montenvers Hotel, where Ross was waiting.
Louisa Dulac’s body had been found around noon under two feet of snow, roughly half way up the Charpoua Glacier, not far above the refuge hut where Philippe had nursed Alice. Louisa had been carried down onto the glacier during the night by an avalanche from her former resting place, high on the mountainside, where she had lain buried, undisturbed and frozen in the snow for three months.
A yellow Labrador named Miel had first detected her. He’d been working his way up the glacier in near blizzard conditions with his owner, Christian Lochet, a mountain guide from Chamonix, when he’d caught a faint scent of her under a freshly deposited mound of snow. He’d snuffled and pawed at the spot to indicate that there was something there until his master noticed and went over with his pole. Carefully probing the pile of snow, Lochet had soon found there was an area about the size of a human body where his pole would only go a little way in. He’d dropped to his knees and had dug the snow away by hand until he’d uncovered Louisa’s frozen corpse.
After that, he’d used his whistle to attract the attention of the other searchers, and together, they’d signaled for a stretcher to be brought up and had loaded her onto it, after first wrapping her in a red blanket.
Ross had heard the news on Jacques Batard’s radio along with everyone else who was crowded into the Montenvers Hotel. When the news came, there had been a mass exodus from the hotel and a stampede to the observation terrace, but they need not have rushed. It had taken the stretcher-bearers followed, by the rest of the search team, nearly three hours to bring Louisa up to the terminus.
Ross had been asked by Batard not to come to the observation terrace, and had been happy to comply with the Captain’s request. Instead, he’d gone to his comfortable room on the top floor of the hotel, from where he could see the action both through his window and on the television. As the stretcher came into view, he stood at the window and raised his brandy glass in a toast. ‘To you, my dear,’ he said aloud, before gulping down the neat liquor. After that, he turned the television off and sat down quietly to wait for Batard.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Ross called, ‘Come in.’
Jacques Batard opened the door and walked into the room with his hat in his hand and a somber look on his face. ‘Well Monsieur, that is that. My men are taking her down to the hospital now. I am very sorry.’
Ross was giving his best impression of a man devastated by bad news. ‘Did you see her?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes Monsieur.’
‘How did she die?’ Ross asked earnestly. ‘She didn’t suffer at all, did she?’
‘From what I could see, Monsieur,’ Batard said gently, ‘she must have fallen. Her head and face are badly injured.’
Ross buried his face in his hands and wailed, ‘Oh my God.’
‘Please Monsieur, I do not think she would have suffered.’
‘But how could it have happened?’ Ross pleaded, ‘Why did it happen?’
‘All we can think is that Madame must have decided to follow the path up the glacier and that she slipped and fell.’
Ross considered this for a moment then said, ‘So you are saying it was just a simple accident, an act of God?’
‘Yes, Monsieur, sadly we have many such accidents in the mountains every year,’ Batard said, shaking his head.
Ross made a great display of sobbing into his hands for a while longer, then looked up again and asked, ‘What happens now?’
‘Madame’s body will be taken to the mortuary at the hospital in Chamonix.’
‘Will there be an autopsy?’ Ross asked.
‘No Monsieur, that will not be necessary. A doctor will carry out a brief examination, write a report, then sign the death certificate, that is all.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Ross sighed. ‘I wouldn’t want her mutilated any more than she has been already.’
‘I understand Monsieur. Do not worry, in cases like this where the cause of death is obvious and there is no suspicion of anyone else being involved, we do not request an autopsy.’
‘When will I be able to take her home?’ Ross asked. ‘I’d like to get her away from here as soon as possible.’
‘As soon as the doctor has made his report and you have signed all the necessary paperwork, she can be released to you. We will try to get it all done tonight so you can take her first thing in the morning,’ Batard said.
‘I would be very grateful,’ Ross said with a brave smile.
‘There is just one other thing, Monsieur.’
A spasm of fear went through Ross. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, outwardly calm.
‘You must make a formal identification of the body.’
Ross relaxed and said, ‘Of course, I was forgetting. When do you want me to do that?’
‘As soon as you can, Monsieur. The doctor can not complete the death certificate without it.’
‘I’ll just pack up my things here and go straight down to the hospital then,’ Ross said. ‘Better to get it over and done with.’
‘Quite right Monsieur. I actually need to be there myself when you make the identification, so why don’t you go back to the Jardin du Mont Blanc and I will pick you up from there in about two hours, say at six?’
‘Six would be fine,’ Ross said. ‘I’ll be waiting.’
Batard saluted and was halfway out of the door when he stopped and turned back saying, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot!’ He came back into the room looking rather embarrassed and shut the door. ‘I hate to mention money at a time like this, but what arrangements have you made for paying the reward?’
‘The reward?’ Ross asked blankly.
‘Yes Monsieur, the reward you offered for finding Madame.’
‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten all about that,’ Ross said. ‘I’ve lodged the money with the Credit Agricole des Savoie bank in Chamonix. If you give me the name of the chap who found her, I’ll phone an authorization through, then he can go along and pick it up.’
‘Thank you Monsieur, I will write his name down for you. When can I tell him to go to the bank?’
‘I’ll phone them straight away,’ Ross promised. ‘He can go any time.’
Batard wrote Christian Lochet’s name on a piece of paper torn from his notebook, then saluted again and was gone.
As soon as the door was closed, Ross stood up and locked it, then he got his cell phone out. First he called the bank and gave them Lochet’s name and the authority to release the money. He thought it better to get that settled before he forgot it, because he didn’t want any trouble from Batard. The next call he made was to Alex, who was by now back in London. He answered it on the first ring.
‘We’re in business,’ Ross said simply.
‘Yes, I know, I’ve just been watching it on BBC News twenty-four, they were showing it live. Where did they find her?’
‘Exactly where I thought she would be,’ Ross said triumphantly, ‘half way up the glacier.’
‘Weren’t they suspicious as to how she got that high up?’ Alex asked with concern.
‘Not a bit. They reckon she walked up there, then slipped and fell. What else could they think… that she flew?’ Ross laughed at his own joke.
‘Very funny,’ Alex said. ‘What’s the next step?’
‘I’ve got to identify the body and sign a few forms, then they’ll release her. You know what to do your end, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I’ve already got a medevac plane on standby at Biggin, ready to fly out to Geneva.’
‘Good, get back to them and tell them to be down here first thing in the morning. After you’ve done that, find an undertaker and get them to meet the plane at Biggin tomorrow around noon.’
‘Check.’
‘Then book me a seat with British Airways to New York on Saturday morning and tell Scott Carver, the C.E.O. of Sanderson’s, to call an emergency meeting of the board of directors at their head office at midday on Saturday.’
‘Okay, will do. What about the funeral?’ Alex asked.
‘I’ll organize that when I get back from the States. I’ll have to go up and see the vicar at Minster at Stone personally to arrange for the family vault to be opened so she can be buried there. There’s no rush, we’ve got all the time in the world to give her a good sentimental send-off once we’ve got her home. The important thing is getting that death certificate and getting her away from here before they look too closely at her injuries and start asking questions.’
‘You think they might get suspicious then?’
‘I doubt it, but I don’t want to take any chances. Tripping over and banging your head is a bit different from being dropped three thousand feet onto solid ice. I’m hoping they’re not going to look at her too closely.’
‘Let me know how you get on,’ Alex said. ‘When are you planning on coming back?’
‘As soon as I’ve got her loaded on the medevac plane in the morning, I’ll fly straight back to the farm and then drive up to town. I should be with you shortly after lunch.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then… don’t forget to call me again later on, will you?’
‘I won’t. Speak to you later, bye.’
Once Ross had hung up, he quickly packed the few things he’d brought with him into his small overnight bag then made his way downstairs. He reached the ground floor and was about to walk into the lobby when he realized that it was packed with reporters, no doubt waiting to ambush him for his reaction to the discovery of his wife’s body. Having had to duck out the back way from many a casino in the past, Ross put his experience to good use and scooted down the hall and out through the kitchens. When he got to the railway terminus, there was a train about to leave with the last few rescue workers on board. He found a seat on his own and rode down the mountain to Chamonix, lost in the thought of half a billion dollars.
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David Wiseman had been having a tough day driving on the English roads. The trip from Dover to Central London, where he had a room booked at the County Hall Premier Inn, next to the London Eye, was only seventy-six miles and should have taken him around two hours, but he’d got hopelessly lost. He’d started out all right and had found his way onto the M20 motorway without any problem, but then he took a wrong turn and ended up on the M25 London orbital motorway, or, as the locals called it, the biggest parking lot in Britain.
