Vince May - Presumed Dead

‘You’ve got nearly an hour,’ the commander replied coolly, ‘just evacuate it if you’re worried.’

‘If the pilot is already dead, can’t you shoot the aircraft down?’ Batard asked hopefully.

‘Not unless it’s absolutely necessary,’ the commander said, ‘it would cause a hell of a stink, French fighters shooting down a British registered aircraft. Now look, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of time to get those people down from there. The sooner you get on with it, the better.’

‘All right,’ Batard said reluctantly, ‘but if there are still people up there at 16:45, I’m going to insist you shoot it down.’

‘Fair enough,’ the commander conceded, ‘I’ll keep the escorts in place and wait for your call.’

Batard said goodbye, slammed his fingers down on the cradle to clear the line, then dialed the number for the cable-car station at the foot of L’Aiguille du Midi in Chamonix.

Back up in Lewes, Hubbard was pacing the incident room. ‘I reckon it’s a trick,’ he was saying to Butcher.

‘You think he’s faking it?’

‘Yes. I reckon as soon as he saw those fighters he pretended to be unconscious so they couldn’t force him down. I’ll bet you as soon as he gets into the mountains he’ll dive off up a valley somewhere he can’t be followed and land.’

‘But why would he do that?’ Butcher asked. ‘He knows he’d be caught sooner or later.’

‘Maybe so, but I think he’s got unfinished business with his wife. I’m convinced he’s a killer, and now he knows we’re on to him, he’s got nothing to lose. Didn’t you see the look on his face when we told him she was still alive? I think he’s completely lost it, and he’s got nothing on his mind now but finishing her off before we get him.’

‘Hadn’t we better warn her?’ Butcher asked.

‘Better than that, we’ll warn the local police. They can protect her, and if Webley shows up they can nick him.’ With that, Hubbard pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his recent calls. ‘Here it is,’ he said, pushing the button to redial Batard’s number.

Batard had just finished speaking with the director of the STMB, the company that runs the Aiguille du Midi cable cars. He’d managed to convey the urgency of the situation and the director had promised an immediate evacuation. When his telephone rang again, he snatched it from its cradle.

‘Batard,’ he barked.

‘Chief Inspector Hubbard here,’ Hubbard said.

‘I am sorry Monsieur, I can not talk now, I am dealing with an emergency.’

‘The aircraft that is heading your way?’ Hubbard asked.

‘How did you know?’

‘That aircraft belongs to Sir Ross Webley, I believe he is on his way to harm his wife.’

Batard was flabbergasted. ‘I knew it was a British aircraft, but I had no idea it was him!’ he said. ‘I was told the pilot was dead!’

‘I don’t believe that,’ Hubbard replied urgently. ‘I think he’s faking, and at the last minute, he’ll land somewhere near Chamonix and go after his wife.’

Batard thought of Alice being harmed again by her husband and his blood boiled. ‘Do not worry Monsieur, if he comes anywhere near Madame Webley, I will shoot him personally.’

‘No need for that, Batard,’ Hubbard said, surprised by his vehemence, ‘just arrest him if you wouldn’t mind. He’s got a number of charges to answer here including manslaughter, murder and attempted murder.’

‘It will be done, you can rely on me,’ Batard assured him. ‘Now I must get on. Goodbye Monsieur.’ Batard hung up then grabbed his cap and headed out of the door.

Up in the cable car station on the summit of L’Aiguille du Midi, all hell had broken loose. The duty manager had made an announcement over the public address system in three languages asking everyone to make their way calmly to the disembarkation point for emergency evacuation. Mention of the word emergency had sparked panic. Women screamed, children cried and there was a crush of bodies as hundreds of people desperately tried to squeeze down the narrow staircase that led to the departure station.

As the next empty cable-car edged into the station, the crowd surged forward, piling into the gondola until it was impossible to slide the doors closed. Using a loud hailer and physically manhandling people out of the way, the station staff managed to drive the crowd back behind a barrier so that the doors could be closed and the cable-car could depart.

While they were waiting for the next gondola to arrive, the station manager reassured everyone that there was no need for panic, and that if everyone remained calm, they would all get down safely. That worked until the next car arrived…

Alice and Philippe had finished a long, leisurely lunch at about half past three, and had then moved onto the rooftop terrace outside the huge glass restaurant to sit on loungers in the sun, enjoy a glass of wine and admire the view. The restaurant had closed and they’d been out there for an hour, both nearly asleep, lulled by the warm sun and the wine when Batard rushed up to them.

‘I am sorry to bother you Madame,’ he said, ‘but I must speak with you urgently.’

Alice shot upright in her lounger, adrenaline pumping through her body, making her insides feel cold and watery. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked desperately. Philippe sat up more slowly to listen.

‘It is your husband, Madame,’ Batard said apologetically. ‘He is in his aircraft heading this way. The Air Force say he is unconscious and will crash into L’Aiguille du Midi just before five o’clock, but Monsieur Hubbard at Scotland Yard fears he is on his way here to harm you. He has asked me to ensure your protection.’

Alice was dumfounded. She just couldn’t get her mind around what she was being told. ‘Ross? On his way here? I thought he’d been arrested!’

‘It seems he escaped Madame, and now he is coming here.’

‘Oh my God!’ Alice cried, burying her face in her hands, ‘he’s going to try to kill me again.’

‘Not while I’m here,’ Philippe said, putting his hand on her arm.

‘Thank you Monsieur,’ Batard said, turning to Philippe. ‘I have a lot to do. Can I rely on you to look after Madame?’

‘Of course Captain,’ Philippe said. ‘I will not leave her side.’

‘I have already alerted the regular gendarmerie,’ Batard said, ‘if he tries to land near here, they will arrest him, do not worry.’

As Batard gave a small bow and rushed away, Philippe put his arm around Alice’s shoulder and said, ‘Don’t worry, he won’t get anywhere near you.’

‘You know why he’s doing this,’ she sobbed. ‘He knows I killed Alex. I’m the only one apart from him who could have opened the gun safe. He’s coming here to make sure I don’t get away with it.’

Batard drove across town as fast as he could to the cable-car station at the foot of L’Aiguille du Midi. He marched into the control room where the director was watching the television monitors. On the screens were images of men, women and children pushing and shoving, trying to get into a cable-car gondola while staff wearing their distinctive blue and purple ski jackets, fought to keep order. Finally, the doors of the car slid shut and Batard was relieved to see just one operator left in the small control booth.

Batard looked at his watch. The time was 16:45 exactly. Turning to the director, he asked, ‘How long will it take to get that car down?’

‘Time to the mid-station is eight minutes,’ he replied. ‘As soon as they pull in there, they’ll be safe.

Batard breathed a sigh of relief. ‘What about that man who’s left up there,’ he asked. ‘What’s he going to do?’