Presumed Dead (25 page)

‘Look, about last night,’ Ross started,
‘I’m sorry if I…’

‘Don’t say another word about it,’ Mason
said genially, holding his hand up. ‘You’d had a few too many, that’s all.
Could happen to anyone.’

‘Thank you for seeing it that way, ‘ Ross
said humbly. ‘I’m afraid I was rather rude.’

‘Nonsense … you were upset. Quite
understandable.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Ross insisted, ‘I had no
right to speak to you like that… I apologize.’

‘Apology accepted, now, let’s say no more
about it,’ Mason said, tucking into his breakfast. Ross tried not to watch him
eat because it made him feel sick.

After the doctor had mopped the last of his
egg yoke up with a piece of bread he said, ‘I shouldn’t worry about this
exhumation business too much if I were you. They’re not likely to find
anything.’

‘How do you mean?’ Ross asked innocently.

‘It’s been nearly twenty five years since
she was buried,’ Mason replied, eyeing him shrewdly. ‘I don’t suppose there’s
much left of her now, and besides, she was so full of the drugs I prescribed
for her, they’ll probably never find the stuff you gave her.’

‘Who said I gave her anything?’ Ross asked
angrily.

‘You did, last night. Up until then, I
hadn’t believed it, but you gave yourself away by coming here and getting so
upset.’

Ross jumped to his feet, sending his chair
flying backwards across the kitchen and shouted, ‘It’s a lie…it’s a damn lie. I
never gave her a thing, and if anyone tries to prove I did, it’ll be the worst
for them.’ With that, he stormed out of the doctor’s house, strode along the
road to his E-Type then sped away in a cloud of tire smoke, heading for London.

.

Back in Chamonix, Batard was at the
hospital helipad speaking with his crew. ‘Did she tell you what happened to
her?’ he asked.

The observer shook his head. ‘All she said
was that she’d been in the Couvercle hut since Sunday night.’

‘Sunday night?’ Batard queried with
surprise. ‘She means Monday night surely. She didn’t go missing until Monday!’

‘That’s what I said, but she insisted she’d
been up there since Sunday night and that she would explain everything to you
when you arrived,’ the observer replied.

‘And you’re sure she is Madame Webley?’

‘She looks just like the photograph you
gave us.’

‘Where is she now?’ Batard asked.

‘The doctor is examining her. She said to
go on up when you arrived.’

Batard dismissed his men then walked into
the hospital. After getting directions from the receptionist, he rode the lift
up to the second floor and went along to the private wing, where he found a
woman doctor was just coming out of Alice’s room.

‘Have you been examining Madame Webley?’ he
asked.

‘Yes, just finished,’ she said. ‘Nothing to
worry about, just a few cuts and bruises, mostly healed up now.’

‘How old would you say the injuries are?’

‘The lady tells me they happened last
Sunday, and I would have said that was right,’ the doctor said. ‘They look
about a week old.’

‘Can I see her now?’ Batard asked.

‘I don’t see why not,’ the doctor replied.
‘She can leave any time she wants.’

Batard thanked her, then knocked and
entered Alice’s room.

Vic Hubbard and his wife were sitting at
their kitchen table, leisurely eating breakfast and reading the Sunday papers.
After the rigors of the exhumation the previous evening, he’d been looking
forward to a day off.

The papers were full of the Webley story,
and Mrs Hubbard had been quite excited to see a picture of her husband leading
the prisoner away on the front page of hers. As well as the usual mix of fact
and speculation concerning the killing, they had also managed to dredge up some
background information about the victim that was news to Hubbard. The article told
of Alex Crawford’s career as a drag queen and even featured an old publicity
photograph of him in all his gear. Hubbard shook his head and thought, you can
never tell nowadays, as he looked at the photograph of what appeared to be a
stunningly beautiful woman.

It was shortly after nine when he finished
his paper, and he was just thinking about getting the lawnmower out when his
cell phone rang. Snatching it up from the side he could see it was Scotland
Yard calling, and with a sigh, he answered, saying, ‘Hubbard.’

A female voice spoke. ‘Control here. Sorry
to bother you sir, but we’ve had a call from the High Mountain Police in
France. They insist on speaking to the officer in charge of the Webley case.’

‘Did they say what it was about?’ Hubbard
asked.

‘No sir, they just left a number and asked
that you call them back as a matter of urgency.’

Hubbard sighed again. ‘All right, you’d
better give me the number and the contact name.’ He copied Batard’s name and
direct-dial number down, rang off, then dialed. The call was answered
immediately.

‘Batard.’

‘Good morning,’ Hubbard said. ‘Do you speak
English?’

‘Yes, a little. Who is that please.’

‘My name is Detective Chief Inspector
Hubbard from Scotland Yard in London. I have been given a message to call you
concerning the Webley case.’

‘Ah, thank you for calling back so soon. I
heard on the radio that you have arrested Monsieur Webley for murder. I have
some very important information for you. We have discovered that the body
Monsieur Webley identified and took away to England was not his wife. This
morning, the rescue helicopter found the real Madame Webley on the mountain.’

Hubbard’s pulse quickened. ‘Have you been
able to establish how she died?’ he asked.

‘How she died?’ Batard asked with surprise.
‘But she is not dead. I just drove her to her hotel!’

Hubbard was dumbstruck for a moment. He’d
been certain that Webley had killed her! Then a new thought struck him. ‘Where
has she been for the past few days?’ he asked.

‘That is why I wanted to speak to you
urgently,’ Batard replied. ‘She told me that last Sunday night her husband
drugged her then threw her out of his aircraft over the mountains. She says she
fell down a steep snow face then managed to crawl to a refuge hut. She has been
there ever since.’

‘Threw her out of a plane?’ Hubbard queried
incredulously. ‘And she wasn’t injured?’

‘Oh yes, she was injured. She is covered in
cuts and bruises which the doctor says are about a week old.’

‘But people don’t survive being thrown out
of planes,’ Hubbard insisted. ‘Do you believe her story?’

‘Yes I do,’ Batard stated emphatically.
‘Many strange things happen in these mountains. I have known people to survive
falling more than a thousand meters without a scratch, and others die after
falling just three meters. Besides that, she had no climbing equipment and no
proper clothing. It is not possible that she could have climbed up to the
position she was in when we found her. She must have been dropped up there.’

‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’
Hubbard asked again. ‘It’s very important that we establish her whereabouts for
the last three days.’

‘I can fly up to the area this morning and
look around if you want me to,’ Batard offered, ‘but I am sure she is telling
the truth.’

‘That would be very helpful if you could,
and maybe call me back?’

‘Certainly.’

Hubbard’s mind was racing. ‘Now, you say
she claims to have been thrown out of this plane on Sunday night? I thought I
read reports in the newspapers that said she was seen on Monday at her hotel.’

‘That is correct, but it seems Monsieur
Webley was very clever. He had someone dress like his wife so that she would be
seen alive on Monday when he was in Monaco. Madame Webley says it was her
secretary, Alex Crawford.’

‘That makes sense,’ Hubbard said, suddenly
seeing the light. ‘Mr Crawford was shot dead on Friday.’

‘Crawford is a man? But that is
impossible!’ Batard scoffed. ‘No man could pass himself as Madame Webley! She
is a very beautiful woman.’

‘Maybe so,’ Hubbard insisted, ‘but Crawford
was a professional female impersonator. There’s no doubt he could have done it…
and it supplies the motive for his shooting.’

‘I do not follow you.’

Hubbard explained, ‘Once Crawford had
impersonated Lady Webley and supplied her husband with the perfect alibi,
Webley had no more use for him. In fact, the knowledge Crawford had could send
him to prison for murder. Webley obviously decided to get rid of Crawford too.’

‘Madame Webley is very anxious to see her
husband in jail. She is coming back here after she has had a bath and changed
her clothes to make an official statement.’

‘Very good,’ Hubbard said. ‘As soon as you
have her statement can you fax a signed copy of it to my office? We released
Webley yesterday but in the light of what you’ve just told me, I want to
re-arrest him and hold him on a charge of attempted murder while we investigate
the Crawford shooting further.’

‘I will fax it as soon as it is finished.
What is your number?’

Hubbard gave the numbers for his office fax
and his cell phone, then said, ‘Now then, about the body Webley brought back
with him. Do you know who she is?’

‘I have a very good idea,’ Batard replied.
I believe she is a climber who went missing earlier in the year, Madame Dulac.
He husband was in my office only yesterday.’

‘Have you got a description of her?’
Hubbard asked.

Batard swiveled around in his chair and
reaching into a filing cabinet, pulled a file out marked Dulac, Louise.
Flipping through the pages in the file he pulled the original missing person
report out and started to read. ‘Louise Marie Dulac, age thirty seven, light
brown hair, brown eyes, one meter seventy-five tall, fifty-five kilos, no
distinguishing marks.’

‘That’s her,’ Hubbard said with delight.
‘Webley tried to have her cremated but we’ve got her safe at Westminster
hospital. Can you find the husband and tell him he needs to come to England to
make an official identification?’

‘Yes, that is no problem. I know exactly
where he will be. Leave it to me.’

‘One last thing,’ Hubbard said, ‘have you
got the telephone number of the hotel where Lady Webley is staying? I want to
speak with her.’

Batard gave him the number, then after
exchanging good-byes, rang off. Leaning back in his chair, he let out a long
whistle. This was turning out to be a lot bigger than anything he’d ever dealt
with before. His role as a captain in the PGMH was usually limited to
investigating climbing and skiing accidents and dealing with missing persons.
Violent crimes like attempted murder and shootings were very rare in the
mountains.

Then he thought of Philippe Dulac, up there
on the glacier, searching in vain for his wife. After all that has happened, he
thought, I must break the news to him personally. I wonder if he will be
relieved or sad, poor bastard. With that thought, he went through into the
control room and summoned the rescue helicopter back to its base at les
Gaudenays on the other side of town. After that, he pulled a flying overall on
over his uniform, changed into some heavy boots then set off in his car to meet
the helicopter.

.

Alice received an ecstatic welcome at the
hotel. The manager wept with joy at seeing her alive, kissed her hand and
escorted her to her suite personally. She was delighted to find they were still
holding her luggage pending instructions from her husband, and was pleasantly
surprised when the manager had it delivered to her suite, along with a bottle
of champagne to celebrate her safe return.

As soon as the porter and waiter had gone,
she sank down on the bed with a sigh of relief. The interview with Captain
Batard had gone well, but it had been one of the trickiest half-hours of her
life, especially when he’d told her all about Philippe and the mix up over his
wife’s body. She felt exhausted.

Gratefully, she poured herself a glass of
champagne and carried it out into the warm sunshine on the balcony where she
held it up towards the Mer de Glace and drank a silent toast to Philippe. As
she sipped the cool wine, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun on her face,
she thought about Philippe up there on the freezing glacier and hoped he was
all right. Then she thought about Charles and was suddenly anxious that he
should be told she was alive and well. Quickly finishing her drink she went
inside and was just about to put in a call to the headmaster at Eton, when the
telephone rang.

‘Lady Webley?’ a man’s voice with and
English accent asked as she picked it up.

‘Speaking,’ she replied.

‘My name is Detective Chief Inspector
Hubbard, from Scotland Yard. I wonder if I might have a quick word with you.’

Alice’s heart gave a lurch. Here we go again,
she thought. ‘Certainly Chief Inspector,’ she said crisply, ‘in fact you’re
just the man I want to speak with.’

‘I’ve just spoken to Captain Batard and he
tells me you want to bring charges against your husband for attempted murder.’

‘I certainly do,’ Alice replied adamantly,
‘and my secretary, Alex Crawford. They drugged me and tried to kill me.’

‘I’m afraid it won’t be possible to bring a
charge against Crawford,’ Hubbard said, ‘he was found dead on Friday.’

Alice made an excellent show of being shocked.
‘Alex dead?’ she asked incredulously. ‘What happened, was he in an accident?’

‘Not an accident,’ Hubbard said somberly,
‘he was shot with one of your husband’s guns at your farmhouse.’

‘That’s awful,’ Alice said with a catch in
her voice. ’Who did it, do you know?’

‘We’re working on that at the moment, but
most of the evidence points towards your husband.’

‘Why would my husband want to shoot Alex?’
Alice asked innocently. ‘I thought they were partners in crime.’

‘I’m not certain yet, but I’ve got a good
idea. Now, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’

‘Not at all, Chief Inspector.’

‘How many people know the combination to
your gun safe at the farmhouse?’

‘Just my husband and myself,’ Alice said
confidently.

‘That’s what I thought,’ Hubbard said. ‘Do
you know anyone who wears Hush Puppy shoes?’

Alice felt the cold hand of fear grip her
heart as she thought of Philippe, but managed to keep it out of her voice,
‘Hush Puppies?’ she asked calmly. ‘No… I don’t think so. Why do you ask?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Hubbard said.

Alice was getting uncomfortable with the
questions and decided the best form of defense was attack. ‘What do you intend
to do about my husband trying to kill me?’ she asked assertively.

‘Batard tells me you’re going to give him a
statement this morning. As soon as he’s faxed it to me, I intend to arrest your
husband and charge him with attempted murder. I will, of course, need you to
come here to make another sworn statement and answer some questions.’

‘Certainly Chief Inspector. I intend to
travel back to England tomorrow, then go out to Eton to collect my son first
thing on Tuesday morning. I could come to see you on Tuesday about mid-morning
if that would be convenient.’

‘That would be perfect, thank you,’ Hubbard
said. ‘As a matter of interest, why are you collecting your son?’

‘Because I have decided to take him out of
Eton and keep him with me from now on,’ Alice said firmly. ‘You see Chief
Inspector, I never wanted him to go away to boarding school in the first place,
it was my husband who insisted, but now I believe by his actions, he has
forfeited any say on the subject of our child’s upbringing.’

‘You intend to divorce him I take it?’

‘At the earliest possible moment,’ Alice
spat.

‘It shouldn’t take long,’ he assured her,
‘you’ve got plenty of grounds by the sound of it.’

‘I certainly have,’ she said.

After that, they exchanged good-byes and
rang off. Alice breathed a huge sigh of relief and poured herself another glass
of champagne. He’s no fool, she thought to herself. I’m going to have to be
very careful what I say on Tuesday. Then her thoughts went back to Charles, and
delving into her handbag, she retrieved her address book and picked up the
telephone.