David thought for a few moments, recalling his basic training at the FBI Academy at Quantico, where they’d covered recognition of the affects of poisoning, then asked, ‘If you hadn’t been told she had a history of epilepsy and she’d presented the same symptoms, what would you have looked for?’
‘I don’t follow you,’ Mason said.
‘Say you were called to see a perfectly normal, healthy woman who had suddenly started having convulsions and seizures, would you automatically think she was epileptic?’
‘Of course not. I would consider epilepsy as a cause, but I would look at other possibilities too.’
‘Like what?’ David asked eagerly, leaning forward.
Mason realized where the conversation was going and didn’t answer.
‘Like what, Doctor?’ David asked again, more forcefully.
‘Like systemic poisoning,’ Mason answered reluctantly.
‘Exactly,’ David said, leaning back in his chair. ‘But you didn’t look for poisoning in this case, did you, because you’d been told she had a history of severe epilepsy. Then when she died, the cause was obvious, no need for an autopsy, you just wrote out a death certificate and that was that.’
‘No. I won’t believe it,’ Mason exploded. ‘If what you say is true, it means Sir Ross murdered her right under my nose.’
‘That’s what I think he did,’ David said. ‘Tell me, if he’d been feeding her tiny amounts of one of the systemic poisons like potassium cyanide or strychnine, would the symptoms have fitted?’
Mason rubbed his hands over his ruddy face before answering. ‘Strychnine would certainly have given similar symptoms,’ he admitted. ‘In very small doses, it causes extreme excitation of the nervous system, which can trigger off convulsions. If given in a larger dose, it paralyses the brain’s respiratory center causing death.’
‘Thank you doctor,’ David said softly. ‘You’ve told me everything I need to know.’
‘What are you going to do now?’ Mason asked.
‘Go to the police, of course. I’m positive that Webley murdered my aunt and stole her money. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get away with it.’
Mason took a large swig from his glass. ‘I’ll deny ever having spoken to you of course,’ he said, looking David directly in the eye.
‘But why?’ David asked incredulously. ‘Doesn’t it worry you that one of your patients was murdered right in front of your eyes?’
The doctor shook his head in exasperation and, raising his voice, said, ‘Firstly, I do not believe she was murdered. She showed all the classic symptoms of epilepsy and that is what I treated her for. Secondly, the members of the Webley family have a long and honorable reputation and are very highly regarded in this village. I am absolutely convinced that Sir Ross had nothing whatsoever to do with his wife’s death, and I wouldn’t insult him now by suggesting otherwise.’
‘Have it your own way,’ David said, ‘but I’m still convinced he did it, and as soon as I get back to London, I’m going to Scotland Yard.’
Mason stood up abruptly and said, ‘In that case, I feel we have nothing further to say to one another. Good day.’ With that, he marched back into the public bar and took up his original place with his friends.
David finished his drink, placed the empty glass on the bar with a ‘thank you’ to the barman, then walked out and along to the station to catch the next train back to London.
Around the same time, a little south of London, the medevac aircraft touched down at Biggin Hill. After clearing the main runway, it taxied to its company hangar and came to a halt on the apron outside to await the arrival of the customs inspector. Parked alongside the hangar, outside the company’s offices, was a black, unmarked undertaker’s van with two somber looking men sitting in the front seats.
Alex Crawford had been waiting with the customs inspector in the company office, and as soon as the pilot shut the engines down, they walked out to the aircraft and climbed on board. Ross had handed the pilot a large manila envelope containing all the necessary documents relating to the transportation of the body, which he now handed to the customs inspector. The inspector examined the paperwork closely, gave the body bag a cursory glance, then signed the necessary clearance documents and handed them over to Alex. As he was climbing off the aircraft, Alex leaned out of door behind him and signaled to the undertakers, who drove their van around and reversed it up to the aircraft. Less than five minutes later, they had the body loaded and were on their way back to London with Alex following in his own car.
A little further south still, Ross dropped the Golden Eagle gently onto the airstrip at Moor End Farm. He taxied up to the large barn, where Harry Perkins, an ex-RAF fitter he employed part-time to look after his fleet of aircraft, stood waiting with the battery operated tug, ready to haul the aircraft inside.
‘Afternoon Harry,’ Ross said cheerfully as he swung the split doors open and climbed out of the aircraft.
‘Good afternoon sir,’ Harry replied awkwardly. ‘We were all terribly sorry to hear about Her Ladyship. A tragic loss sir, tragic.’
Ross saw Harry was near to tears and suddenly remembered he was supposed to be in mourning himself, so instantly adopted a sorrowful look. ‘Very kind of you to say so, Harry,’ he said, doing his best to sound choked as he unlocked the luggage compartment.
Harry carried Ross’s bags to a Range Rover and loaded them into the back. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll want the Eagle for a while,’ he said as he slammed the back door of the Range Rover.
‘No, not for a week or so at least,’ Ross said, climbing into the driver’s seat. ‘Just give her the once over, top up her tanks and tuck her up in the barn if you would. I’ll let you know when I’m going to need you again after that.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Harry said as the Range Rover pulled away from the barn and followed the track down to the house.
When he got there, Ross didn’t even bother going into the house. Instead, he went straight to the garages, put the Range Rover away, transferred his luggage into his Jaguar XK8, then set off immediately for London.
Chapter 9
Of the three parties heading for London, David Wiseman, complete with his two tails, was the first to arrive. He grabbed a taxi outside Kings Cross and was back at his hotel within fifteen minutes. Digging out his wallet, he hunted through it for the slip of paper that Frau Schutz had given him in Weggis. After some difficulty with the dialing codes and a little help from the international operator, he was finally connected with the Schutz household.
‘Hello, Frau Schutz? This is David Wiseman calling from England.’
‘Ah, Mr. Wiseman, tell me, have you discovered anything?’ she asked eagerly.
‘I think so, but I need to ask you a couple of questions if that’s okay?’
‘Of course. What is it you want to know?’
‘Firstly, did my aunt Freda suffer from epilepsy?’
‘Epilepsy?’ Frau Schutz repeated with surprise. ‘Certainly not! She never had a day’s illness in her life.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ David sighed. ‘Now, this next question is very important. You told me the death certificate stated she died of a heart attack, but can you remember exactly what it said on the certificate?’