Vince May - Presumed Dead

Finally, Philippe said awkwardly, ‘I’ve put some water on to boil so we can have some dinner soon. Are you hungry?’

‘Are you kidding?’ Alice asked with mock surprise, feeling just as awkward, ‘I’m half starved after that climb.’

‘Me too, I’d better get on with it,’ he said, getting to his feet and escaping to the kitchen.

Alice followed a few seconds behind him carrying a hurricane lamp. ‘Before you start cooking, could you spare a little of that hot water?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to freshen up before dinner.’

Philippe took a large saucepan down from the shelf and half filled it with boiling water. ‘Is that enough?’ he asked.

‘Plenty, thank you,’ she said, taking the pan and disappearing into the washroom.

Back in London, Ross was still drowning his sorrows in brandy. He’d got past mourning Alex and was now feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. All my plans, he thought dolefully, head in hands. The Learjet, the yacht, the place in Monaco, all put on hold for God knows how long until they either find Alice’s body or I can have her declared legally dead. It could be years! How the hell did the police find out that body wasn’t Alice? Suddenly he had another thought. Maybe they suspect me of killing her… and what about Alex? They obviously think I did that! If they tie the two together they might even convince a jury I’m guilty!

All at once, the prospect of going to jail seemed very real. With rising panic he jumped up out of his chair and started pacing the floor. They can’t do it, he told himself, can they? Even if they don’t get a conviction my reputation will be shot to pieces! The newspapers will have a field day, in fact they’ve probably already started digging! I’ll never be invited to another party again! Never be able to go anywhere without people pointing at me behind my back and saying, ‘There goes Sir Ross, they say he shot his male lover you know… yes my dear, that’s what I said, male lover!’

Ross had always sworn that if he ever had to give up the lifestyle he’d become accustomed to he would kill himself. Now that thought crept into his mind again. Walking slowly to his antique writing desk, he pulled the central drawer all the way out then reached into the opening and pressed a concealed lever. A secret draw, directly above, popped open, and there, wrapped in a piece of white linen was his service revolver, which he’d kept illegally ever since leaving the Guards.

He unwrapped the heavy pistol and fondled it affectionately. He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d wanted to use it on Alice over the past few months, as a quick route to her money, but that would have been messy and difficult to explain. Far better to plan things carefully and commit the perfect crime, he’d told himself. Suddenly he laughed aloud at the irony of it all. The perfect crime? Is that what it’s been? I can’t even bloody well prove she’s dead!

He looked down at the weapon in his hand then his face hardened. If I can’t prove she’s dead, he reasoned, the police can’t possibly prove I killed her either… and as for Alex, I know I’m innocent! Now he was getting angry. If they’re going to try to pin that on me, he thought viscously, they’re going to have a hell of a fight on their hands! ‘Just let ‘em try!’ he shouted aloud.

Having convinced himself that everything was going to be all right, he quickly wrapped the gun up, stuffed it back into the drawer then went to the telephone to call Jeff Barnes, but he wasn’t in. He’d just replaced the receiver after leaving a message for Barnes to call him back when the phone started to ring. Fearing it might be a reporter, he answering it cautiously saying, ‘Hello?’

‘Is that you, Ross?’ a familiar voice asked.

‘Yes, It’s me,’ he replied a little woozily, ‘who’s that?’

‘It’s me, Ricky, calling you from the sunny Riviera. I was sorry to hear about Alice. Are you all right, you sound terrible?’

‘Quite all right thanks,’ Ross lied, ‘just tired.’

‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news at a time like this, but you remember that little American we were talking about last week, Wiseman? Well, I think it’s you he’s after, not me.’

Ross suddenly started to pay more attention and tried to pull himself together. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.

‘After you tipped me off I put a couple of my men on his tail, and they’ve just come back to me with their report.’

‘And?’ Ross asked impatiently.

‘I won’t bore you by reading the whole thing out, but the gist of it is this. After leaving Monaco, he drove to Switzerland and stayed in a little town called Weggis, where he had a meeting with a couple named Schutz. After leaving them, he visited a lakeside chateau, then carried on and drove straight to Calais. He crossed to England, booked into a hotel in London then went by train to a village called Minster at Stone.’

Ross recognized the name Schutz, and listened with growing concern as his friend described Wiseman’s movements. ‘What did he do up there?’ he asked.

‘According to my men, he went to see the vicar then spent half an hour tidying one of the vaults in the churchyard… your family vault.’

‘That’s only natural,’ Ross said with relief, ‘his aunt is buried there after all. I expect he was just paying his respects.’

‘Maybe,’ Bonatti continued, ‘but you should hear the next part. Directly after leaving the churchyard he went to the local pub and had a heated discussion with a guy called Doctor Mason, then he went straight back to London. In the afternoon he went to Scotland Yard.’

‘Scotland Yard?’ Ross asked incredulously. ‘What was he doing there?’

‘I’m afraid my men couldn’t find out.’

Ross broke out in a cold sweat, then after a few moments asked, ‘When was this?’

‘Thursday afternoon,’ Bonatti replied.

‘And where is he now?’

‘Back in the States. He spent Friday going around the tourist attractions in London then flew back to New York early this morning.’

Ross’s mind was spinning. Surely Wiseman couldn’t have worked out what had happened to his aunt? And even if he had, the police wouldn’t listen to him… would they?

Bonatti was speaking again. ‘Ross… Ross, you still there?’

‘Sorry Ricky,’ Ross said, suddenly realizing he was still connected. ‘Just thinking. Thanks for the gen, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.’

‘I hope not. Anyway, see you later. Goodbye.’

Ross hung up then stood thinking for a moment. I must get up to Minster at Stone, he thought, and find out what that idiot Mason told him. Deciding to leave immediately, he slipped his jacket on and felt for his car keys. ‘Damn,’ he shouted aloud as he remembered he’d left the Jaguar at Reggie Fortesque’s place. Picking the phone up again, he dialed Reggie’s number.

‘Reggie? Ross here. Look old man, I’m in a bit of a fix and I need my car. You couldn’t run it over here for me could you? I’ll drop you back home straight away.’

‘Sorry old boy,’ Reggie replied cheerfully, ‘no can do. The police took it away this morning don’t you know.’

‘Took it away?’ Ross asked in disbelief.

‘Yes, stuck it on the back of a damn great lorry and carted it off. Said they wanted to test it for something or other, didn’t understand a word of it, not much I could do.’

Ross let the receiver drop from his ear as he thought about this latest development then hung up abruptly and headed out of the back door, down the steps, through the garden and into the garages in the mews. As well as the new Jaguar, he also had a bright red, 1960’s E-Type, which was kept in mint condition. Pushing the button to operate the electric garage door, he jumped into the vintage Jaguar, fired up the hugely powerful V12 engine, then spun the rear wheels as he accelerated out of the mews onto the dark London streets.