Authors: Vince May
.
Back in London, Charles’s father was still
on his way home from Minster at Stone in the E-Type, still angry after his
confrontation with the doctor. As he pulled up at the traffic lights outside
Manor Park underground station, he glanced across at the news vendors stand and
was aghast to see a billboard announcing, Baronet in Shooting Sensation.
‘Damn!’ he said aloud, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.
As soon as the lights changed, he shot forward then pulled abruptly into the
curb causing the cars behind to swerve and blow their horns.
Ignoring them, he jumped out of the car and
ran back to the newsstand where he quickly scanned the headlines of the Sunday
papers with mounting horror.
Sir Slays Sexy Secretary
proclaimed one,
while another declared
Baronet Blasts Boyfriend
and another
Knight of
Passion
. Furiously snatching up a copy of each of the nationals, he pushed
a ten-pound note at the attendant, then without waiting for his change, dashed
back to his car and sped away.
Driving home, he scanned the papers with
growing fury. Ten minutes later he screeched to a halt in the mews, leaving the
car outside his garage. He let himself in to the house through his study door,
and going straight to the telephone, dialed the home number of his lawyer. As
soon as it was answered, he barked, ‘Have you seen the papers this morning
Jeff?’
‘Morning Ross,’ Jeff Barnes replied
cheerfully, ’I though I might be hearing from you about now. Got quite a bit of
exposure, didn’t you?’
‘This is no laughing matter,’ Ross
exploded. ‘I want you to sue every one of them for libel! I want an apology
printed in every single paper!’
‘Calm down Ross,’ Barnes said firmly.
‘First, the majority of what they have printed is true. You know that and so do
I. They may have dressed it up a bit, but essentially they’ve got the facts
right.’
‘But I didn’t shoot him!’ Ross insisted.
‘And if you read the articles carefully,
none of them actually say you did,’ Barnes pointed out. ‘All they say is that
you were arrested on suspicion of shooting him, which is true.’
Ross thought for a moment, then said, ‘All
right, but what about all the references to my being a homosexual?’
‘That’s true as well, isn’t it?’ Barnes
asked candidly.
‘Damn it, yes!’ Ross erupted, ‘but they
have no right to spread details of my private life all over their filthy
newspapers.’
‘I’m afraid they have,’ Barnes said
soothingly, ‘it’s called freedom of the press.’
Ross crumpled. ‘What am I going to do?’ he
asked, near to tears. ‘This will ruin me… I’ll never be able to hold my head up
in public again.’
‘Look, Ross,’ Barnes said comfortingly,
‘don’t worry too much about it. Lots of people have been crucified by the press
and survived. Remember, today’s newspaper is tomorrow’s fish and chip wrapper.
It’ll soon blow over. What you should be more concerned about is proving
yourself innocent of the Crawford shooting.’
By this time, Ross’s mood had swung
completely and he was feeling thoroughly sorry for himself again. ‘I suppose
I’d better tell you, we may have another problem to deal with,’ he said
morosely.
‘What’s that?’ Barnes asked with concern.
‘The police exhumed the body of my first
wife last night.’
There was silence on the end of the line
for a few seconds, then Barnes asked cautiously, ‘What are you trying to tell
me, Ross?’
‘I’m trying to tell you that they exhumed
her body and they are going to try to prove that I killed her too.’
‘And did you?’ Barnes asked.
‘No I damn well did not,’ Ross shouted.
‘She died after an epileptic seizure. Anything they find in her body was given
her by the quack who was treating her, not me.’
‘All right Ross, all right… calm down… this
is what I want you to do. Sit down and write an account of the events leading
up to her death. Include every detail, no matter how small. I want to be ready
for them if they try to arrest you or bring charges.’
‘I’ll do as you say,’ Ross said dejectedly.
‘Good, and bring it up to my office first
thing in the morning so we can go through it.’
‘All right Jeff,’ Ross said, now thoroughly
crestfallen, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow… and thanks.’
‘See you tomorrow old man, g’bye.’
Ross placed the receiver back on the cradle
then put his face in his hands and wept.
.
The blue and white rescue helicopter lifted
off and headed south at low level up the center of the Mer de Glace with Batard
on board, wearing the spare headphones so that he could speak to the crew. When
they drew parallel with the Charpoua Glacier, he borrowed the observer’s
binoculars and scanned the immense river of ice for Philippe, spotting him
after a few seconds high up near the source, where the recent avalanches had dumped
huge mounds of snow.
Less than a minute later, they passed out
of sight of the Charpoua Glacier and rounded the ridge into the next valley
where the Couvercle Hut was perched precariously high on the snow-covered
mountainside. The pilot climbed the helicopter up the valley and brought it to
a hover with one skid resting on the granite slab over the hut, just as he’d
done earlier in the day, while Batard stepped out of the machine. As soon as he
was clear, he gave the pilot the thumbs-up sign and the helicopter swooped away
as instructed, with orders to return ten minutes later.
Alone now on the slab, Batard made his way
down the slippery path and had a good look around the outside of the hut. He
could see no signs of footprints on the trail leading up from the valley, and
when he tried to walk a little way down it to take a closer look, he slipped
heavily on the ice and nearly plunged over the edge. Shaken, he managed to
recover his footing and clambered back up to the hut.
Once there, he shot the bolts on the heavy
insulated door and stepped inside. Taking a good look around, he checked the
logbook and noted the empty food packets and water bottles in the kitchen. He
also checked the oil and water levels in the storage tanks and had a look at
the radio to confirm it was dead, just as Alice had told him. Thoroughly
satisfied that he’d been told the truth, he climbed back up onto the slab just
as the helicopter was coming up the valley.
After he’d been picked up, he gave
instructions to fly up the Charpoua Glacier to the spot where Philippe was
probing the fresh snow with a ski pole, his rucksack and jacket lying on the
ice nearby. As they approached, Batard flipped the switch on the intercom
panel, which patched his headset microphone through to the loudspeaker mounted
below the machine.
‘Dulac,’ his voiced boomed across the ice,
‘this is Batard, we are going to pick you up, I need to talk to you urgently.’
Philippe waved his hand in assent, and
while the helicopter hovered about a hundred yards away, he collapsed his ski
pole and strapped it to the side of his rucksack. After putting his jacket back
on, he waved the helicopter in, and as the pilot brought the machine to a hover
against the ice nearby, Philippe passed his rucksack up to the observer then
scrambled aboard. There was too much noise in the cabin to speak and there
wasn’t another headset, so all Batard could do until they landed back at the
helipad was to smile and nod at Philippe.
As soon as they were on the ground, Batard
and Philippe jumped out and ran clear of the rotors as the helicopter lifted
off to resume its patrols. They watched it go, then when the noise had faded,
Philippe turned to Batard and asked, ‘What’s this all about, Captain?’
‘I’m afraid I owe you an apology,’ Batard
said, leading the way through the small maintenance hangar back to his car.
‘This morning, we picked a woman up from the Couvercle Hut. That woman was
Madame Webley.’
Philippe stopped dead and stared at Batard
with his mouth open, doing an excellent impression of shocked surprise. ‘Madame
Webley?’ he asked incredulously, ‘that means the body you found on Wednesday
must have been Louisa!’ Then he dropped his gaze to the floor and said sadly,
‘And that means she was cremated on Friday.’
‘I’ve got some good news for you about
that,’ Batard said buoyantly, ‘she wasn’t cremated…’
‘But I heard it on the radio yesterday,’
Philippe cut in.
‘And I spoke to the English police this
morning,’ Batard said emphatically, ‘they were suspicious of Monsieur Webley
having his wife cremated so soon, so they seized her body and it is now safe in
a hospital in London.’
This time Philippe was genuinely shocked
and surprised. All he could say was, ‘You mean…’
‘I mean,’ Batard finished for him, ‘that
you must go to London to identify her, then you can take her home for a proper
funeral.’
Philippe was choked. ‘I don’t know how to
thank you,’ he said with tears in his eyes.
Batard said. ‘You don’t have to thank me,’
he said. ‘If I had listened to you earlier, there would never have been a
mistake. Now come on, I’ll drive you back to my office where we can speak to
the English police and make arrangements for you to pick her up.’ On the way
back, he told Philippe the incredible story of what had happened to Alice.
.
It was ten-thirty in England, and Hubbard
was still at home when he took the call from Batard. ‘Chief Inspector? Batard
here. I have Monsieur Dulac with me.’
‘Hello again Captain, how did he take the
news?’
‘He is very happy, naturally,’ Batard said.
‘He would like to know when he can come to identify her.’
‘Anytime he likes, really,’ Hubbard
replied. ‘How soon can he get here?’
Batard turned to Philippe who was sitting
opposite his desk and asked in French, ‘When do you want to go?’
‘I have my car here so I could drive up
tomorrow and be in London on Tuesday,’ Philippe said.
‘Is Tuesday convenient, Chief Inspector?’
Batard asked.
‘I’ve got Lady Webley coming in to see me
on Tuesday morning,’ Hubbard said, ‘Tuesday afternoon about three would be a
good time. If he comes to New Scotland Yard and asks for me, I’ll take him
around to the hospital and arrange to have the body released to him. He’ll have
to lay on some transport back to France.’
‘That’s fine, I will tell him.’
‘About that other matter,’ Hubbard said.
‘Have you been up to the hut yet?’
‘Yes I have, and I’m completely satisfied
that Madame Webley is telling the truth.’ Philippe pricked his ears up and
listened as Batard continued. ‘The path up to the hut is absolutely impassable
without climbing equipment. Also, there are clear signs that the hut has been
lived in by one person for about a week. There is no doubt in my mind that
Madame Webley’s story is genuine.’
‘Thank you for that,’ Hubbard said with
satisfaction, ‘that leaves me with just one suspect for the shooting. As soon
as I get the statement from you I'm going to pick her husband up.’
They exchanged good-byes and rang off, then
Batard turned to Philippe and said, while writing the same on a piece of paper,
‘Tuesday afternoon, three o’clock at New Scotland Yard. Ask for Chief Inspector
Hubbard. You will need to arrange transport for her.’
Philippe took the sheet of paper with
thanks and had just got up to go when Batard’s desk intercom buzzed. ‘Yes?’ he
snapped, hitting a key.
‘Madame Webley is here to see you sir,’ the
desk sergeant said.
‘Excellent, show her in,’ Batard replied,
standing up, straightening his tie and running his fingers through his hair.
Philippe’s heart leapt at the sound of her
name, and he had to fight very hard indeed to keep from giving his excitement
away at the prospect of seeing her again so soon. ‘I’m glad you’re still here,’
Batard was saying as he came around from behind his desk. ‘I want you to meet
Madame Webley.’
Batard opened the door. Standing there,
looking divine in a blue and white striped summer dress, with her hair freshly
washed and groomed, wearing a hint of makeup, was the woman of Philippe’s
dreams. He felt his legs go weak at the sight of her.
‘Ah, Madame,’ Batard gushed in English as
he shook her hand gently, ‘thank you for coming. I would like to introduce you
to Monsieur Dulac, the gentleman I was telling you about.’
Alice’s heart had nearly stopped when the
door opened and she’d seen Philippe standing behind Batard, but she’d managed
to hide her shock and delight, and now walked towards him with a charming
smile. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ she said, holding out her hand, ‘and I
was very sorry to hear about your wife.’
As their hands touched in a formal
handshake, they both felt a thrill of excitement and passion in the simple act.
‘Thank you Madame,’ Philippe said, holding her hand and looking deep into her
eyes. ‘I’m very glad to see you looking so well. I understand you have been
stuck in the Couvercle Hut for the last week.’
‘That’s right, but I was quite comfortable…
especially last night when I finally managed to get some heat out of the
stove,’ Alice said, her green eyes burning into him.