Presumed Dead (13 page)

‘And how were you treating her?’

‘There’s no specific cure for epilepsy, but
seizures can be prevented or reduced in frequency by using anticonvulsant
drugs. I tried her on several: phenobarbital, ethosuximide, and valproic acid.’

‘And did she respond to any of them?’ David
asked

‘No,’ Mason said gloomily. ‘I have to admit
she just kept getting worse. I had spoken to Sir Ross several times about
getting her to a clinic for some special tests. I particularly wanted to have
an electroencephalograph examination.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a device that records the patient’s brain
waves allowing diagnosis and study of the disease in the individual.’

‘And what did Webley say about it?’

‘He thought she would be better off at home
than in a clinic.’

‘Then what happened?’ David asked.

‘I had been going up to the Manor every day
for about two weeks, and she was getting steadily worse. She’d reached the
point where she was suffering repeated convulsions interspersed with bouts of
delirium, confusion and depression. On the day of her death, I visited in the
afternoon and she was so bad that I insisted to Sir Ross that she be moved to a
clinic. He finally agreed to let her go and asked me to fix it up for the
following day. Unfortunately, about ten o’clock that night, I had an urgent
telephone call from the Manor and rushed up there at once, but I was too late.
Lady Freda had suffered a massive seizure and her heart had given out.’

David thought for a few moments, recalling
his basic training at the FBI Academy at Quantico, where they’d covered
recognition of the affects of poisoning, then asked, ‘If you hadn’t been told
she had a history of epilepsy and she’d presented the same symptoms, what would
you have looked for?’

‘I don’t follow you,’ Mason said.

‘Say you were called to see a perfectly
normal, healthy woman who had suddenly started having convulsions and seizures,
would you automatically think she was epileptic?’

‘Of course not. I would consider epilepsy
as a cause, but I would look at other possibilities too.’

‘Like what?’ David asked eagerly, leaning
forward.

Mason realized where the conversation was
going and didn’t answer.

‘Like what, Doctor?’ David asked again,
more forcefully.

‘Like systemic poisoning,’ Mason answered
reluctantly.

‘Exactly,’ David said, leaning back in his
chair. ‘But you didn’t look for poisoning in this case, did you, because you’d
been told she had a history of severe epilepsy. Then when she died, the cause
was obvious, no need for an autopsy, you just wrote out a death certificate and
that was that.’

‘No. I won’t believe it,’ Mason exploded.
‘If what you say is true, it means Sir Ross murdered her right under my nose.’

‘That’s what I think he did,’ David said.
‘Tell me, if he’d been feeding her tiny amounts of one of the systemic poisons
like potassium cyanide or strychnine, would the symptoms have fitted?’

Mason rubbed his hands over his ruddy face
before answering. ‘Strychnine would certainly have given similar symptoms,’ he
admitted. ‘In very small doses, it causes extreme excitation of the nervous
system, which can trigger off convulsions. If given in a larger dose, it
paralyses the brain’s respiratory center causing death.’

‘Thank you doctor,’ David said softly.
‘You’ve told me everything I need to know.’

‘What are you going to do now?’ Mason
asked.

‘Go to the police, of course. I’m positive
that Webley murdered my aunt and stole her money. I’m going to make sure he
doesn’t get away with it.’

Mason took a large swig from his glass.
‘I’ll deny ever having spoken to you of course,’ he said, looking David
directly in the eye.

‘But why?’ David asked incredulously.
‘Doesn’t it worry you that one of your patients was murdered right in front of
your eyes?’

The doctor shook his head in exasperation
and, raising his voice, said, ‘Firstly, I do not believe she was murdered. She
showed all the classic symptoms of epilepsy and that is what I treated her for.
Secondly, the members of the Webley family have a long and honorable reputation
and are very highly regarded in this village. I am absolutely convinced that
Sir Ross had nothing whatsoever to do with his wife’s death, and I wouldn’t
insult him now by suggesting otherwise.’

‘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.

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.’