‘Got something here sir,’ she said, pointing to smudges on the rug and a series of footprints that were now clearly visible.
‘Get them measured and photographed,’ Potter told her, then turning to Hubbard, he said, ‘Looks like our man went out through the back door.’
Hubbard was looking thoughtful. It was the first bit of evidence that didn’t tie up. Why would Webley leave by the back door when his car was bound to be at the front of the house? Why would he want to walk all that way in the pouring rain? His train of thought was broken when Potter said, ‘Let’s see what fingerprints have turned up.’
They walked through into the study, where the fingerprint expert had just finished with the gun-safe. ‘What have you got?’ Potter asked.
‘Two sets on the handle, man’s and a woman’s I’d say, judging by the size. Same man’s prints on the gun here in the safe, but none on the gun upstairs.’
‘What, none at all?’ Potter asked with surprise. ‘What about the cartridges?’
‘Both wiped clean,’ the expert replied. ‘Interesting point about the gun though, the safety was on, but it’s obviously been fired.’
‘Probably happened when it was cleaned,’ Potter surmised.
The two detectives walked out into the hall where the lights were now back on. ‘Looks like the suicide theory is out,’ Hubbard commented.
‘Looks like it,’ Potter admitted grudgingly, ‘and judging by the prints on that safe, Webley is our man, unless there’s an unknown woman involved.’
Hubbard stuck his head back into the study and addressed the fingerprint expert again. ‘Have you found the woman’s prints anywhere else?’
‘All over the place,’ he replied, ‘and the man’s. I reckon they must live here.’
‘Thanks,’ Hubbard said, then turning back to Potter, ‘I don’t think his wife’s involved. My guess is that she’s already dead, somewhere in the Alps.’
As the sixty-mile drive to Ashford progressed, Alice, very much alive, did the map reading, and in between, gave Philippe a detailed account of everything that had happened from the moment that she had entered the house. Often she had to stop as tears engulfed her, but getting the details out into the open and discussing it with a friend helped her a great deal. By the time they had been over it completely, she felt a lot better. She’d been particularly worried about the police finding her fingerprints on the gun-safe and brought it up again.
‘Would your fingerprints be on the safe normally?’ Philippe asked.
‘I guess so,’ she replied. ‘It was the most secure place in the house. I used to put my jewelry in there if we were going to be away for a while.’
‘There you are then,’ he reassured her, ‘they have no way of knowing if your prints are fresh or a few days old, not without special tests, which they would have no reason to do.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ she sighed. She thought for a few moments then said, ‘One thing I still don’t understand though, how could the gun go off if the safety was on?’
‘That’s easy,’ Philippe explained. ‘The safety catch just locks the triggers to stop you from pulling them accidentally. The mechanism inside the gun is still cocked and ready to fire. In an old gun, if the mechanism is worn, the firing pins can be released if there is a shock, like you would get if the gun was dropped. Many people have been accidentally shot over the years that way.’
Alice nodded her head as she understood what had happened. ‘I never knew that,’ she said. ‘I guess I should have taken the cartridges out to be completely safe.’
‘Don’t start blaming yourself again,’ Philippe said firmly. ‘It was an accident. It was not your fault. Now stop thinking about it and tell me how much further we have to go.’
They arrived at Ashford International Station shortly after eight o’clock, and just had time to drop the hire car keys in and buy two first-class tickets before boarding the 20:23 service to Paris. Once on board, they took turns to freshen up, then settled down to enjoy the complementary dinner, which was served airline style at their seats.
Although Alice felt hungry, when she started to eat, the fork shook in her hand and all she could do was poke the food around her plastic tray. ‘I don’t think I can manage this,’ she said, looking pale and weak.
‘You must eat something,’ Philippe insisted, ‘your stomach is empty.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ she said ruefully.
The drinks trolley came along. Philippe asked for two brandies and a bottle of red wine. Pouring one of the brandies out, he handed it to Alice. ‘Drink this, it will steady your nerves.’
She took the glass gratefully and drained it.
‘I think you had better have mine too,’ Philippe said, refilling her glass.
‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘I think I need it.’
After she’d drunk the brandy, Alice managed a little of her dinner, then they finished the bottle of wine between them. By the time they arrived in Paris at eleven-twenty local time, she was just a tiny bit tipsy, but glad to be that way because it softened the anguish she felt in her heart.
They found a taxi outside the Gare Paris Nord railway station and had it take them across the Seine to the Gare Paris Austerlitz, where Philippe bought tickets on the midnight train to Nîmes, managing to get them a couchette or berth each, albeit in separate, single sex compartments. They boarded the train and Philippe carried Alice’s case into her compartment for her, where three other women were already making themselves comfortable for the eight-hour journey.
After claiming her berth, they stepped outside into the corridor. ‘Sleep well,’ Philippe said, putting his arms around her and kissing her on the cheek.
Alice clung to him and whispered, ‘Thank you for looking after me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
They held each other a few moments longer, then Alice stepped into her compartment while Philippe set off towards the next carriage to find his.
As the train pulled out of the station dead on midnight, it was still only eleven p.m. in Pinner, where Butcher had just dropped Hubbard outside his house. Before they had left the farm at nine-thirty, the forensic team had managed to make a positive identification of the victim when they had found his photo-card driver’s license in his wallet upstairs. Hubbard had also asked Potter if he could get his fingerprint expert to e-mail the prints he lifted from the gun-safe and the handle of the whip directly to the lab at New Scotland Yard so he could look for a match as soon as Webley was picked up.
Halfway home, Hubbard had received the call he’d been waiting for. The team that had been phoning around the airlines had come up trumps. Webley was booked to fly British Airways to New York at ten in the morning, but Hubbard was going to make it his business to see he missed his flight.
As he got out of the car, he said, ‘See you in the morning, Paul, eight o’clock sharp.’
‘I’ll be here,’ Butcher replied, ‘handcuffs polished.’
As he pulled away, Hubbard trotted up the path and his wife opened the front door. The delicious aroma of cooking greeted him and he knew his dinner would be waiting. After what he’d seen this evening, he was very glad to be returning to his haven of normality.
Chapter 13
The sun was shining at the start of a beautifully warm day as the train pulled into Nîmes, a few minutes after eight a.m. local time. Philippe carried Alice’s case as they walked out through the glass doors of the station onto Boulevard Sergent Triaireinto, looking for a taxi. The journey had been smooth and comfortable, but Alice had had difficulty sleeping. The few times that she had managed to doze off, she’d woken again almost immediately with visions of Alex’s tattered body in her mind.