Presumed Dead, page 9
He’d crawled clockwise around the M25 for over three hours and had done one and a half circuits of London before the awful truth that he was going in circles had dawned on him. He’d then decided to abandon the motorway and had taken the next exit, which happened to be for Watford, in north London, and had started asking for directions. He’d been directed virtually street by street through Harrow, Wembley, Ealing, Chiswick, Kensington, Brompton, Westminster and eventually to his hotel in Southwark, where he’d just arrived, after nearly six hours on the road, completely exhausted.
During the drive up from Dover, he’d managed to totally confuse and bewilder the two men who were tailing him. They had been tearing their hair out with frustration as David had taken wrong turning after wrong turning, doubled back on himself, gone the wrong way up one way streets and even, at one stage, driven the wrong side of a keep-left sign. By the time they reached the hotel and saw him check in, they were both considering a change of career.
David had intended to drive out to Minster at Stone, which was near Hereford, that afternoon, but since he’d only just arrived at his hotel and it was starting to get dark, he decided to postpone the visit to his aunt’s final resting place until the following day. Instead, he grabbed an early dinner in the hotel’s restaurant, then fell asleep in front of the television set in his room.
.
Philippe’s journey had been going a lot better. He’d dropped Alice off at his house at around three-thirty and was now well on his way to Chamonix, where he expected to arrive by eight p.m. at the latest. Ever since he’d set off, he’d been thinking about Louisa. The shock of seeing her body being stretchered off the mountain had soon been replaced by a deep sorrow. He’d told himself over and over again during the past three months that she was dead, and he thought he’d come to terms with it, but now, actually knowing for sure, was like losing her all over again. The only balm he had was Alice. The way she had come into his life just three days ago, and everything that had happened since, seemed to him to be nothing short of a miracle.
Thinking forward now, he wasn’t sure how he was going to tackle the authorities when he got to Chamonix. It was going to be tricky insisting that the body they had recovered from the mountain was not Alice’s without being able to give any plausible explanation or proof. One thing he did know for certain though, was that he would keep his promise to Alice, no matter what.
Each time he thought of Alice he felt a warm glow, which calmed and strengthened him. He kept thinking of her back in Nîmes, waiting for him to come home, fantasizing about how she would rush to the door to welcome him, how she would hug and kiss him and say she’d missed him. He wanted her desperately and wished now that he’d let her come with him, just for company. He decided to give her a call, and punched the car-phone controls on his steering wheel. It rang five or six times until Alice finally answered it.
‘Hello?’ she said timidly.
Philippe’s heart leapt as her voice filled the car. ‘Hello Alice, it’s Philippe,’ he said into the hands-free microphone above his head.
‘Philippe, oh I’m so glad you called,’ Alice gushed, ‘I’ve been so worried about you.’
‘Worried about me… but why?’
‘You were so upset when you left here, I was just worried something might happen to you… you might have an accident or… I don’t know, I was just worried that’s all. I wanted to call you but I didn’t have your number.’
Philippe was touched, and said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. I just called because I wanted to hear your voice.’
‘That’s nice,’ Alice said softly. ‘I wish you had let me come with you.’
‘I wish that too, now. I’m sorry I acted the way I did earlier.’
‘That’s okay, I understand.‘
‘What are you doing with yourself?’ Philippe asked.
‘Nothing much, just sitting around.’
‘Why don’t you make yourself something to eat, you have got to build your strength back up you know. There are lots of things in the freezer.’
‘I might make something later,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel like it right now.’
‘Just make sure you don’t forget,’ he said. ‘Remember, it is my job to look after you, I don’t want to come home and find you have wasted away.’
Alice laughed. ‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that!’
There was a pause between them, then Alice asked, ‘Will you give me a call when you get there, just to let me know you’re safe?’
‘Of course I will, and if you look in the notebook that is in the drawer under the telephone, you will find my cell phone number in case you want to call me.’
‘Thank you,’ Alice said. ‘Speak to you later, take care.’
‘You too, au revoir.’ Philippe punched the disconnect button on his steering wheel.
Alice stood holding the telephone, staring off into space for a few seconds before placing it back on the cradle. Ever since he’d dropped her at the house with her shopping and sped away, she’d been feeling uneasy and worried, worried about Philippe, worried about young Charles and worried that her husband was about to have her declared dead and ruin her company. How, she wondered, would the headmaster at Eton tell her son that his mother had been found dead on a mountain? How would he feel? Her heart went out to him, but she knew she must play the game, Ross’s game, a little longer if she was going to save her company and the jobs of all those thousands of people who relied on her for their livelihood.
After she put the telephone down, she wandered outside and sat on the veranda for a while, but it wasn’t the same without Philippe. Getting up, she went back into the house and spotted her shopping bags on the kitchen table, just where she’d dumped them earlier on. She decided she’d better take them through to her bedroom and put her new things away, but before she could do that, she would have to move the clothes that Philippe had given her when she’d first arrived. She opened the drawers in her room and put Louisa’s clothes in a neat pile on her bed, then picked them up and went through into Philippe’s room.
It was the first time she’d been into his room, and its beauty and simplicity immediately struck her. The floor was polished wood, just like her floors at home, and there were brightly colored scatter rugs here and there. A small door led off to an en-suite bathroom, which was cool and pleasant with marble tiles on the floor and walls. The big double bed had a rustic antique pine frame, which matched the rest of the farmhouse style furniture in the room. On one of the bedside cabinets there was a silver-framed photograph of a tall, slim woman with long brown hair wearing climbing gear and leaning against a rock with a wonderful mountain view behind her.
Alice put the pile of clothes on the bed then picked the photograph up and studied it. This must be Louisa, she thought. As she looked at the other woman’s dark, handsome features, she suddenly felt an enormous pang of pity for Philippe. How long had he spent out there on the mountain looking for her? How must he have felt, week after week, trekking through the snow, searching, hoping to find just some sign of her? And how must he feel now to have her taken away by someone else, someone like Ross? The thought of Ross made her feel vicious. I hate that bastard, she thought vehemently, I hate him for what he did to me, for what he’s doing to poor Philippe and for how Charles must be feeling right now. I’m going to get even with him if it’s the last thing I do!
.
The subject of Alice’s intentions was at that moment enjoying a drink in the bar of the Jardin du Mont Blanc Hotel, waiting for Jacques Batard to turn up. Ross had been feeling particularly pleased with himself ever since his earlier conversation with Batard when he’d realized he was going to get away with it. He’d gone straight to the bar as soon as he’d arrived back at the hotel and had been drinking steadily ever since. The hotel staff had looked on with sympathy as he’d downed the best part of a bottle of brandy. ‘Poor Monsieur,’ they had said to each other, ‘drowning his sorrows. Such a beautiful woman, such a waste.’
But Ross was far from sorrowful. This was his own personal, private celebration, a celebration of five hundred million dollars that were coming his way. He’d drunk to his new Learjet, to his new yacht, to his new villa in Monaco, to having as much cash as he wanted, to unlimited credit at any gambling house in the world. By the time six o’clock came and Batard walked into the bar, Ross was, by his own admission, a bit squiffy. But surely that was understandable for a chap in his position, wasn’t it?
Batard seemed to think so, and took it in his stride when Ross hailed him. ‘Ah, there you are my friend, come and have a drink.’
‘No thank you Monsieur, I have a lot of work to do tonight before I get off duty. Are you ready to go to the hospital?’
‘Suppose we better get it over with,’ Ross said, climbing unsteadily to his feet.
Batard had a car parked outside, and opened the front passenger door for Ross. Going around to his own side, he jumped in and they were soon heading across town to the hospital.
The mortuary was located in the hospital basement and the two men rode the lift down in silence. When the lift opened, Batard let the way through a pair of swing doors into the morgue, where they were instantly enveloped by the sickly, penetrating smell of formaldehyde. In the middle of the room, there were two stainless steel autopsy tables on wheeled bases, both of them empty. Harsh overhead fluorescent lights reflected back from the scrubbed floor and white-tiled walls into Ross’s bleary eyes, making him squint.
A morgue attendant led the way to a wall of refrigerated body vaults, and, pulling back a heavy metal clamp, swung one of the doors open and slid a body pan draped with green sheeting half way out. The brilliant light in the room accentuated the contours of the body under the sheet and for the first time in this whole affair, Ross felt a twinge of nervousness run up his spine. The morgue attendant stood back to let Batard and Ross stand one either side of the tray.
As Batard lifted the sheet and folded it neatly back, just below the shoulders of the naked corpse, Ross caught his breath and stared down with horror on the bloated, blue lipped, half-crushed face, surrounded by light brown hair. Of all the things he’d been expecting to see, the body of a complete stranger was not one of them. Suddenly, his throat filled with bile and his legs gave way. He staggered backwards into the arms of the morgue attendant who guided him over to a steel chair and sat him down, forcing his head down between his knees. He spat the mouthful of bile out onto the floor.
Batard flipped the sheet back over Louisa and rushed around to Ross. ‘Are you all right Monsieur?’ he asked with concern.
Ross didn’t move for a while. After he’d recovered from the initial shock, his mind started working at full pelt. Who the hell was that on the tray? Could he get away with identifying her as Alice? He thought it was worth a try: after all, if anything happened, he could always say he’d made a mistake. He slowly lifted his head and looked up at Batard. ‘I’m all right thank you,’ he said. ‘It was just the shock of seeing her like that… she was so beautiful when she was alive… and now…’
‘I understand,’ Batard said sympathetically. ‘It must have been a terrible shock. If you will just sign the official identification document, we can get out of here and I will take you back to your hotel.’
Ross took the clipboard Batard offered him and signed the form confirming that he, as her next of kin, officially identified this body as Alice Webley. The deed was done. Now he’d have to make sure no one found out.
As soon as Batard dropped him outside the hotel, Ross rushed up to his room, locked the door, poured himself a drink from the mini-bar then sat on the edge of the bed and dialed Alex’s number on his cell phone.
The moment Alex answered he said, ‘We may have a problem.’
‘What? What’s gone wrong?’ Alex asked desperately.
‘It wasn’t her.’
‘What do you mean, it wasn’t her? Who wasn’t who?’
‘The body in the morgue, the one they brought down off the mountain, it wasn’t Alice.’
‘Have you been drinking?’ Alex asked.
‘Yes, but not enough to make me see things that aren’t there. I promise you, that was not Alice they found today.’
Alex paused for a moment to take it in, then asked, ‘What did you say when they showed her to you?’
‘Nothing. I felt a bit queasy and had to sit down. They took that as confirmation of her identity, asked me to sign a form, and that was it.’
‘So you identified her as Alice?’ Alex asked incredulously.
‘That’s right, and we’ll be fine provided the rightful owner doesn’t turn up.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean is that the sooner we get rid of this body, the safer we’ll be. I don’t want someone turning up claiming I’ve got his wife or daughter in my family vault. If they exhume the body and can prove it’s not Alice by DNA testing, that will invalidate her death certificate and cause all sorts of legal problems with ownership of the corporation.’
‘What are we going to do then?’ Alex asked.
‘Get her cremated as soon as possible. I don’t want to go off to the States on Saturday to take over control of Sanderson’s with the wrong woman lying at the undertakers. Until she goes up in smoke, we’re vulnerable.’
‘But what happens if Alice’s body turns up later on?’ Alex wailed. ‘What will we do then?’
‘I’ve already thought of that. I simply say I was distraught and had had a few to drink when I went to the hospital. I made a mistake and I’m very sorry. We then get a new death certificate for the real Alice, and that’s that,’ Ross said triumphantly.
‘So you want me to arrange to have her cremated on Friday?’ Alex asked flatly.
‘That’s right. I know it will be difficult, but phone around, see who can take her at short notice. There are plenty of crematoriums around London. Once you’ve got it fixed up, let the Head at Eton know so he can arrange a pass for young Charles to attend the funeral.’
‘Aren’t people going to think it a bit strange that you find your wife on Wednesday, fly her home on Thursday and cremate her on Friday? A man in your position would be expected to send out invitations, arrange a…’
‘I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks or expects,’ Ross snapped. ‘There’s too much money involved to take any chances. I want to get things rolling at Sanderson’s on Saturday, and I want that body out of the way first.’
‘All right,’ Alex sighed, ‘I’ll do the best that I can. See you tomorrow.’
Ross switched off his phone, swung his legs up onto the bed, and laid there with his hands behind his head, contemplating his own brilliance.
.
Philippe rolled into town about half an hour later, just before eight o’clock, and went straight to the headquarters of the Peloton de Gendarmerie de Haute-Montagne. He asked to see the duty officer and was shown into Jacques Batard’s office. Batard was still hard at work typing his report on the Webley case into his computer terminal. He knew Philippe, as most of the Platoon did, because of his frequent visits to the PGHM headquarters demanding renewed searches for his wife. In fact, Philippe was regarded as something of a pain in the backside by the Platoon.
Batard greeted him courteously and shook his hand. ‘Now, Monsieur Dulac, what can I do for you.’
‘I’ve come about the woman you found on the Charpoua Glacier today,’ Philippe said eagerly.
‘What about her?’ Batard asked.
‘I think it was my wife, Louisa.’
‘No Monsieur, it was not your wife. The woman we found today was the wife of Monsieur Webley, an American woman who went missing on Monday.’
‘How do you know?’ Philippe asked belligerently.
‘Because she has been identified by her husband,’ Batard said, as if explaining something to a particularly dense child.
‘How do you know he wasn’t lying?’ Philippe asked.
Batard looked at him with disbelief. ‘Look Monsieur, I was there when he made the identification. The man nearly fainted. He was so badly shocked that he puked. I’ve been to lots of these identifications and I can tell you, that was his wife he saw, no doubt about it.’
Philippe though for a few moments then asked, ‘Would it be possible for me to see the body?’
‘No Monsieur, it would not,’ Batard said firmly. ‘The cause of death has been established by the doctor, the body has been identified, the death certificate has been issued and now the case is closed.’
Philippe changed his tack and said reasonably, ‘Look, her husband really might have made an honest mistake. What about if I give you a photograph of my wife and a fuller description of what she was wearing, right down to the make of her boots and the color and size of her underwear, would you at least double check?’
Batard sighed, ‘I really do not have time for this Monsieur, I’m sorry about your wife, I know how you feel, but the woman we found today was not her. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a lot of work to do before I can go home. Goodnight.’
‘But surely it wouldn’t hurt to just call the hospital and…’
Batard cut him off firmly, ‘I said goodnight Monsieur. Now, are you going to leave, or do I have to call my sergeant?’
Philippe sighed then got to his feet. ‘Tell me just one thing before I go,’ he said wearily. ‘Who found her?’
‘I don’t suppose it will do any harm to tell you since it is common knowledge anyway,’ Batard said, ‘Christian Lochet.’
‘Where could I find him?’ Philippe asked.
‘Probably in one of the bars drinking his reward money,’ Batard replied, ‘but he won’t be able to tell you anything new.’
‘We’ll see,’ Philippe said, walking out of the office without saying goodbye.
Batard watched him go, then shook his head. ‘Poor bastard,’ he said to himself, ‘I hope he finds her one day, or he’s going to end up going crazy.’
