‘You mean the exact words?’
‘Yes, the exact words, if you can remember.’
‘I remember perfectly,’ Frau Schutz said with authority. ‘It said cardiac failure. I was not sure what that meant at the time so I went home and looked it up in my dictionary.’
‘And you’re sure those were the exact words? Nothing else?’
‘Absolutely… now, what is all this about? What have you found?’
‘I spoke with the doctor who attended her during the last week of her life and who wrote out the death certificate. He told me that the Baroness died of cardiac failure following a severe attack of grand-mal epilepsy, and that is what he wrote on the death certificate.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ Frau Schutz said.
‘I think I do,’ David said confidently. ‘Webley started poisoning the Baroness shortly after they were married, probably with some kind of rat poison that they already had on the estate. She started to have seizures because of the poison, so Webley hit upon the idea of cooking up a story about her being an epileptic to cover up what he was doing. When he had the local doctor believing it, he just gave her an extra large dose that killed her. The doctor thought it was heart failure due to an epileptic fit and made out a death certificate without any fuss.’
‘But how do you explain the change to the death certificate?’ Frau Schutz asked.
‘That’s simple. If he’d shown a death certificate mentioning epilepsy to anyone in Weggis that knew her, there would have been immediate questions asked. All he did was blanked out the part after cardiac failure in the cause of death box on the certificate before it was photocopied.’
‘I knew it!’ Frau Schultz cried triumphantly. ‘Did I not say she was murdered?’
‘You did, and I’m now convinced you were right.’
‘What about the will? Have you found out anything about that?’
‘Not yet, but you can bet your bottom dollar it was forged after her death,’ David said. ‘I don’t believe she would have forgotten all her loyal staff.’
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘I’m going to try to see someone at Scotland Yard this afternoon. There is just one more thing I need from you first, though. You remember you told me the Baroness’s lawyer died and his son took over his business?’
‘Yes, he moved it to Lucerne.’
‘I need to contact him to see if he still holds his father’s records,’ David explained. ‘Do you happen to know his name or the name of his company?’
‘Of course. The Baroness’s lawyer’s name was Franz Vogler and his son was named Joseph. I believe he is in partnership now with a man named Zimmer. If you wait a moment, I will give you the number from the telephone directory.’
After a few moments, with the sound of paper rustling in the background, Frau Schutz came back on the line and said, ‘Yes, here it is, Vogler und Zimmer, Lawyers.’ She gave him the number then said, ‘Thank God you came. Now maybe justice will be done.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ David said. ‘Thank you for all your help.’
‘Thank you Mr. Wiseman. God bless you.’
As soon as she’d hung up, David cleared the line and dialed another number, this time his own office in the States. He wanted to speak with his immediate superior and friend, Dan Piatowsky. His call was answered by his section’s secretary.
‘Hi Patty,’ he said cheerfully, ‘this is Dave Wiseman. Give me Dan, will you?’
‘Sure thing, Dave, hold on a second.’
There was a short delay before Dan Piatowsky’s deep voice came on the line. ‘Hey, Davy boy! How’s it hanging?’
‘Hi Dan. I got a problem over here and I need you to do me a favor,’ David said urgently.
Catching the tone in his voice, Piatowsky instantly became professional and reaching for his pen said, ‘Shoot.’
‘I need to speak with someone in the homicide department at Scotland Yard. You’ve got a contact there, don’t you?’
‘Sure, but they don’t call it homicide, they call it CID, that stands for Criminal Investigation Department. You want me to fix up a meet for you?’
‘If you could, today if possible, tomorrow at the latest. I fly out of here on Saturday.’
‘What gives?’ Piatowsky asked.
‘You know I was coming to England to visit my Aunt Freda’s grave?’
‘Yeah, I remember.’
‘I found out she didn’t die from a heart attack. I’m pretty sure her husband killed her.’
Piatowsky let out a long whistle. ‘Let me make a couple of calls and get back to you. What’s your number?’
David gave him the number then hung up. Fifteen minutes later, Piatowsky called back to let him know he’d arranged an appointment with Chief Inspector Hubbard at New Scotland Yard for three that afternoon. David thanked him, then took his notebook out and set about writing up a set of comprehensive notes for his meeting with the police.
Around the same time, Philippe was just pulling up outside his house. He hadn’t spoken to Alice during his drive home, preferring to wait until he saw her to talk face to face. The weather during the whole journey had been lousy, and although it wasn’t actually raining in Nîmes, it was overcast and unseasonably chilly. The weather forecast he’d heard on the radio predicted that the area of low pressure affecting the alpine region would spread south to cover the northern Mediterranean. It looked like they were right.
Before he’d even turned the engine off, Alice came out of the house and trotted down the steps to meet him. She was wearing a clinging, short sleeved, knee length dress made from dark blue cotton, which was more like a long polo shirt than anything else. Her hair hung loose on her shoulders and although she was wearing no makeup and was still covered in purple and yellow bruises, Philippe thought she looked stunning. She ran around to his side of the car as he got out and slipped her arms around his waist, kissing him on both cheeks in the traditional French style.
‘What a welcome!’ he said, returning her embrace. ‘You look fantastic.’
‘I’m sure,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘I’m covered in bruises and I look like hell… but thanks anyway.’ Alice broke away and said, ‘Come on, I’ve made us some lunch, you must be half starved. I’ll bet you haven’t had anything since this time yesterday.’ She linked her arm through his and they walked side by side around the car, up the steps and into the house.
Once in the kitchen, Philippe was amazed to see the table laid for a huge lunch. There was pâté, ham, tomatoes, three types of cheese, fresh baguettes, wine, and on the stove, something that smelled delicious bubbled in a saucepan. He turned to Alice with genuine wonder and asked, ‘You did all this for me?’
‘Of course, I knew you’d be hungry,’ she said.
‘But how? Where did you get all these things from?’
‘I hope you don’t mind, but I found some coins in a jar on the side there and walked into the village.’
‘I don’t mind, that is what the money was there for,’ he said frowning, ‘but to walk to the village, it is five kilometers there and back and you are not strong enough…’
Alice silenced him by putting her finger up to his lips, then said, ‘Stop worrying about me, I’m fine now, strong as I ever was. Come on, sit down and eat your lunch.’
Philippe shook his head saying, ‘You are incredible. Do I have time to get cleaned up a little before we eat?’
‘Sure, take all the time you want, this will keep.’
Philippe went through to his bedroom and was back in less than fifteen minutes, washed, shaved, changed and groomed. As he sat down, Alice ladled sautéed duck in a rich sauce with peas and bacon out of a saucepan onto his plate. He bent over the food and breathed in deeply through his nose, savoring the aroma, then said, ‘This smells delicious, it must have taken you hours to prepare.’