Vince May - Presumed Dead

Ever since he’d left old lady Schutz in Weggis, his FBI-trained mind had been going over and over what she’d told him, trying to rationalize her very strong arguments. He could easily believe, having met Webley, that he was capable of murder. He’d met his type plenty of times before. And now, he thought, the second wife, who just happens to be worth five hundred million dollars, has mysteriously disappeared. That’s mighty convenient for Webley.

He put his glasses back on and re-read the story, hoping to pick up something he might have missed, but there was nothing. He knew for sure that Webley was on the boat on Sunday night, because that was where he’d met him. He was also sure Webley would have a watertight alibi for the whole of Monday. That meant there had to be someone else involved, someone who could bump his wife off and make it look like an accident. But one thing was certain, from what he’d learnt and seen of Webley, this was no accident.

He was still thinking it through when the announcement was made asking all foot passengers to make their way to the rear of the ferry for disembarkation.

The two men who had been following David had switched roles during the sailing. The man who had been driving the car now followed him onto the courtesy bus and into the terminal building, where he stood in line at the Avis car rental desk while David filled out a form. As soon as the tail had noted the registration number of the rental car, he hurried out of the door and joined his colleague in their car outside. David came out a few minutes later struggling with his luggage, and after looking around for a moment, headed across the road to the small lot where the rental cars were parked. He soon found the blue Rover, stowed his luggage, and gingerly pulled away from the ferry terminal in the unfamiliar right-hand-drive car, following the signs for London. His tails followed, still at a discreet distance.

Back up on the glacier, the search was going slowly. At first light, the teams had traveled up the mountain on a train laid on especially for them, and had reassembled at the Montenvers Hotel, overlooking the Mer de Glace. The dogs had been tied up outside in the driving snow whilst the men crowded into the hotel’s restaurant for a briefing. They had been told the plan was to walk to the base of the Charpoua Glacier where it joined the Mer de Glace, then to spread out along its width and to climb, searching as they went.

By mid morning, they had managed to cover the first hundred yards or so of the Charpoua Glacier, but in near whiteout conditions. The men moved slowly up the steep ice, one step at a time, gently probing the snow filled crevasses with long poles whilst the dogs sniffed and snuffled around them on the ends of their leads.

The search was being hampered here and there by the recent avalanches, which had deposited huge mounds of snow on the glacier. The men had to probe through each mound carefully, sinking long poles down through the snow until they hit the solid ice of the glacier. It was slow and dangerous work.

Someone from the radio station in Chamonix had tipped the rest of the media off about the search, and a growing band of journalists, including a camera team from one of the national television companies, had invaded the Montenvers railway terminus and hotel. There was an air of excitement and expectancy among the ghouls from the press as they crowded around Jacques Batard from the PGHM, who was coordinating the search by radio. Each one, it seemed, was determined to be the first to get photographs or live footage when the body was finally found and brought up off the glacier.

The shopping trip to Nîmes city center was going well. Alice had managed to get toiletries, plenty of underwear, two dresses, two shirts, a jacket, a pair of black jeans, a handbag, some open toed shoes and a pair of black boots. For a few hours, she’d allowed herself to forget her troubles and to enjoy shopping with a man, something she did very rarely.

She kept trying things on in the shops then coming out of the dressing rooms to get his reaction. Sometimes it was a nod of approval, and other times it was a shake of the head. She soon realized that he had an eye for fashion and knew what he liked. She suddenly realized she’d never had this kind of companionship before and couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed herself more

By lunchtime, they were both tired and hungry, so Philippe suggested a bistro he knew called Le Lisita, opposite the huge Roman amphitheater, right in the middle of the city. They sat in the afternoon sun at a table on the sidewalk, from where they could admire the magnificent architecture of the amphitheater. She allowed him to order for her, again, something she hadn’t done for years, and they enjoyed the bistro’s specialty, capon in a delicious white wine and cream sauce. After the meal, they had coffee and Alice sat back in her chair, quietly content.

‘This has been the nicest day I’ve spent in a long time,’ she said with a sigh.

‘For me also,’ Philippe said. ‘What a pity we will soon have to come down to earth and face reality.’

‘Can’t we leave that for now?’ she pleaded, ‘I’d like to pretend for a just little longer.’

‘And just what is it you are pretending?’ he asked softly.

Alice thought for a moment, then looking down at the table she said almost timidly, ‘That this is my real life, here, with you, and that everything that has happened over the last few days has just been a bad dream.’

Philippe reached over and ran his fingertips down her cheek saying slowly, ‘Maybe when the bad dream is over and everything is sorted out, this could be your real life… our real life.’

Alice sat with her head bowed for a few moments longer then looked up, smiling through her tears. ‘If only I was that lucky,’ she said.

They finished their coffee, and after Philippe had paid the bill, set off along Boulevard Victor Hugo to get some last bits and pieces of shopping, before returning to the car.

Later, on the way home, Philippe suggested they stop at the Carrefour hypermarket on the outskirts of the city for some groceries. He parked the BMW, collected a trolley, and they strolled happily through the entrance, chatting about what they would like for dinner. The supermarket was laid out so that the initial point of entry was the electrical section, with rows of television sets and stereo units on display. They had only been in the shop a few seconds when Alice stopped dead, put her hand to her mouth and staring at the bright row of live television sets groaned, ‘Oh my God!’

Philippe followed her line of vision and saw immediately what had caused her reaction. All the televisions were tuned to the same station and were all showing the image of a body, wrapped in a red blanked, strapped to an aluminum stretcher. Half a dozen men wearing climbing gear and helmets were manhandling the stretcher up a steep mountain path in what looked like a blinding snowstorm. The words Live from Chamonix were printed across the top of the screen, and although there was no sound coming from the televisions, they both knew exactly what they were looking at.

Philippe abandoned the trolley in the middle of the isle and ran to the nearest set. Kneeling down and fumbling with the controls, he managed to turn the volume up just in time to hear a commentator say, in a sad, melodramatic voice, ‘So here they come, those brave rescuers who have been scouring the Charpoua Glacier in appalling conditions since dawn this morning. They bring with them the body of a woman, believed to be Alice Webley, the American heiress who went missing while out walking on Monday.’

Philippe’s mouth dropped open and the color drained from his face. ‘They’ve found her,’ he said incredulously, staring at the screen. ‘They’ve found Louisa.’