Presumed Dead (27 page)

‘Ah, there is nothing to beat a night in
the mountains,’ Philippe replied sincerely.

The whole exchange had seemed perfectly
natural to Batard, who said, ‘We have just had some good news concerning the
body of Madame Dulac.’

‘Oh?’ Alice exclaimed, turning to him with
interest.

‘Yes, it seems that she has not been
cremated after all. The English police were suspicious of your husband, so they
took the body to a hospital where it is now awaiting identification.’

‘That’s wonderful news!’ Alice cried,
turning back to Philippe. ‘I’m so happy for you!’ She wanted to hug him and
share his joy, but held herself back.

‘Thank you Madame,’ Philippe said formally,
adding for her benefit, ‘I intend to drive to England tomorrow, then go to
Scotland Yard on Tuesday.’

‘That’s a coincidence,’ Alice said, ‘I have
to go back to England tomorrow and to Scotland Yard on Tuesday too.’ She
pretended to think for a moment then said, ‘I know you may find this terribly
rude, but do you think I could trouble you for a lift? It’s just that with
everything that’s happened lately, I’m a bit nervous of flying.’

‘Quite understandable,’ Batard butted in.
‘I’m sure Monsieur Dulac won’t mind taking you with him, eh Dulac?’

‘I would be delighted to have your company
Madame,’ Philippe said nobly, with a little bow.

‘That’s settled then,’ Batard said
ebulliently, rubbing his hands together. ‘Now Monsieur, where are you staying,
just in case I need to speak to you again before you go?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Philippe replied,
rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. ‘I suppose I had better try to find
a hotel that has some room.’

‘I believe there are some vacancies at the
hotel where I am staying,’ Alice piped up. ‘You could try there. It’s the
Jardin du Mont Blanc Hotel, on the Rue Joseph Vallot. If you mention my name to
the manager, I’m sure he will be able to fix you up.’

‘I know the place,’ Philippe said. ‘Thank
you, Madame, I will try there. Maybe you will permit me to buy you a drink
later?’

‘I shall look forward to it Monsieur,’
Alice said, holding out her hand.

As they shook, the usual frisson of
excitement passed between them, then Philippe was gone.

‘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.

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.’

The lightly loaded Golden Eagle accelerated
rapidly, and before it had covered a quarter of the runway it was up to flying
speed. Pulling back hard on the yoke, Ross hauled the aircraft into the air
with the stall-warning horn howling in protest.