Using a false name, he hired a private plane to take him to Palma, Majorca. It was the only place he could think to go without having to show his passport. Once there he rented a run-down apartment overlooking a pottery factory. Not until he was installed in it did he relax. At least without Wilcox he felt less vulnerable. He did some grocery shopping and hurried back to the apartment. Having spent many summers with his family in Spain, he had a good grasp of the language, but he still sounded like an Englishman, and worse, he knew he would stick out like a sore thumb if he didn’t change his appearance. He decided to grow a beard, get a good suntan, and hide out. He knew he had to use his cash sparingly; there had been no big payday yet, and there might never be one. After reading all the English newspapers from cover to cover, he felt sick. Most were a day old, but they made no mention of the robbery, which scared him more than big headlines. It was always that way before the police swooped in.
Wilcox took from the villa anything he could selclass="underline" bed linen, cutlery, and Driscoll’s clothing. He loaded up the Jeep, knowing it would have to be the first thing he sold as it was licensed in Driscoll’s name. His main problem was where he was going to hide out, and he had to resolve it fast. Taking Driscoll’s advice, he wondered about shacking up with one of the girls he’d met on his first night there. Sharon was a waitress in a cocktail bar down on the harbor. If not her, there was Daniella, a masseuse who worked at the Marbella Country Club. She’d come on to him in a big way, and he’d arranged a date for that night.
Wilcox drove toward Sharon’s villa in the hills, but at the last minute he decided against it as she shared with two other girls. He turned round and headed for Daniella’s. By that evening he had sold the Jeep to a rental company, signing it away as Anthony Driscoll, and bought an old Suzuki for cash. He drove to Daniella’s small apartment on the outskirts of Nueva Andalucia. Even though Daniella was unsure how she felt about her new houseguest, he was charming and persuasive, and she finally relented. She warned him, however, that if he messed around with her he would have her brothers to deal with. As it was, they wouldn’t like her cohabiting with him.
He gave her money toward the rent immediately to show that his intentions were honorable, and that night he was introduced to Daniella’s family. He did not mention that he had six children and an irate mistress in England but gave an elaborate story about falling in love and wanting to make a new life with Daniella, outlining his intentions to look for work the following day. One of Daniella’s brothers offered him a job in his holiday apartment block as a general handyman, painting, decorating, and cleaning up after the clients had gone home. It was a far cry from what he was used to, but at least he felt safe, for now.
Neither Wilcox nor Driscoll had attempted to contact de Jersey. Wilcox decided that he should not even contact Françoise or Rika for some considerable time. At least the boys were with their mother, and he felt sure that Rika would not stay solo for long.
Christina was nervous but so hurt and betrayed that she felt her salvation lay in what she was about to do. Once confronted by Chief Superintendent Rodgers and three senior officers, however, she became flustered and tearful. She was offered tea or coffee but asked for water. She remained silent, head bowed, as Rodgers gently began trying to encourage her to talk. She agreed to the interview being tape-recorded.
“Why have you come to see us today?” he asked.
“I feel compelled to voice my suspicions of someone’s involvement in the robbery of the Crown Jewels and the death of Sylvia Hewitt,” she replied in a flat, unemotional voice.
Rodgers glanced at his officers. “Who are you referring to, Mrs. de Jersey? We have asked for the public’s assistance in many areas.”
“Philip Simmons.” She did not look up.
“Do you know who he is?”
“Yes, I think so.” They waited as she coughed and sipped the water, her head still bowed. “I think he’s my husband.” She looked up then and began to talk quickly, explaining how she thought she had recognized him from the television program but she had not wanted to believe it.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. de Jersey, but until you saw that program did you have any reason to believe your husband was Philip Simmons?”
“No, not really. He had been worried about money and-”
“Once you’d recognized him from the depictions on the TV program, what did you do?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, was he at home? Did you confront him?”
“Yes.”
“So you confronted your husband and accused him of being this man we are trying to contact, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“You asked him if he was Philip Simmons?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he wasn’t.”
“He denied it, then?”
“Yes, to begin with, until…”
The tension in the room was almost palpable, and Christina hesitated. “Until… I found the diamond.”
Rodgers sat back in his chair with disbelief. “Mrs. de Jersey, are you saying you found the stolen jewels?”
Christina’s hands were clenched. “One of them. It was in the toe of one of his boots.” She described how she had found the stone and said she was now sure that it was the Koh-i-noor. She told of how she had confronted her husband, how he had said it was a fake, and how she had then used the stone to cut the dressing table mirror, proving that it was real.
“What did he do then?”
“I asked him point-blank if he was involved in the robbery.”
Rodgers and the other officers leaned forward. “And what did he say?”
Christina paused. “He said he was.”
The silence in the room was deafening. This was the confirmation they had all been waiting for. She continued, “When he told me… I didn’t know what to say. It was like I was in shock. He made me some tea and…” Tearfully she explained how he had laced it with sleeping tablets and how she’d awoken to discover he had left during the night in the helicopter. Then she broke down, and Rodgers called for a break.
Once they resumed, she was questioned again about Sylvia Hewitt and was able to recall the night of the woman’s death.
“Are you aware that Sylvia Hewitt died from a mix of morphine and ketamine?” Rodgers asked quietly.
“I didn’t know how she died. I believed it was suicide. I told you this when you came to the house.”
“Ketamine is a strong horse tranquilizer, and vets also use it for putting smaller animals to sleep.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said, with a dull-eyed stare.
“Would your husband have had access to this drug?”
“I suppose so… he did run a racing stable. You should ask Mr. Fleming. I don’t know.”
“You say he fed you sleeping tablets the night before he left?”
She looked up, shocked at what he was suggesting.
“Did you suspect that he may have been trying to silence you? You have told us he left the same night.”
“Yes, that is correct, but there were pills left in the bottle, and if he had wanted to kill me he would have used them all.” Her voice rose.
“So, you do not think your husband meant to harm you?”
“No!”
Rodgers remained silent, then leaned close to her. “When we came to the house, you said nothing of this to me, Mrs. de Jersey. Not a word about finding the diamond, not a word about confronting your husband, not a word about his admission of guilt. And that makes me suspicious.”
For the next hour, Christina was forced to repeat many times the moment she confronted her husband. When she was accused of aiding his escape, she stood up. “I didn’t know! I didn’t know! I didn’t know!” she yelled and broke down sobbing. “I didn’t think he would leave me,” she cried, and it was Trudy Grainger who took Rodgers aside and said that Christina should be allowed to rest.