should be out of here by tomorrow."
"Stay in touch."
In spite of his irritation, George found the island of
Corsica enchanting. It had almost a thousand miles of
coastline, with soaring, granite mountains that stayed
snow-topped until July. The island had been ruled by the
Italians until France took it over, and the combination of the
two cultures was fascinating.
During his dinner at the Hotel, he remembered how
Frank Harold had described Robert Stanley. "He was the
only man I've ever known who was totally without
compassion ... sadistic and spiteful... "
Well, Robert Stanley is causing a hell of a lot of trouble
even in death, George thought. On his way to his hotel,
George stopped at a newsstand to pick up a copy of the
International Herald Tribune. The headline read: WHAT
WILL HAPPEN TO WHOLE STANLEY EMPIRE? He paid
for the newspaper, and as he turned to leave, his eye was
caught by the headlines in some of the other foreign papers
on the stand. He picked them up and, looked through them,
stunned. Every single newspaper had front-page stories
about the death of Robert Stanley, and in each one of them,
Capitaine Duval was prominently featured, his photograph
beaming from the pages. So that's what's keeping him so
busy! We'll see about that.
At nine forty-five the following morning, George
returned to Capitaine Duval's reception office. The sergeant
was not at his desk, and the door to the inner office was
slightly open. George pushed it to open and stepped inside.
The capitaine was changing into a new uniform, preparing
for his morning press interviews. He looked up as George
entered.
"Qu'est-ce que vous faites ici? C'est un bureau privet.
Allez-vous-en! "
"I'm with The New York Times," George Brown said.
Instantly, Duval brightened. "Ah, come in, come in.
You said your name is ..."
"Jones. Tom Jones."
"Can I offer you something, perhaps? Coffee? Cognac?"
"Nothing, thanks," George said.
"Please, please, sit down." Duval's voice became
gloomy, dark, depressing, mournful and very serious.
"You are here, of course, about the terrible tragedy that
has happened on our little island. Poor Monsieur Stanley."
"When do you plan to release the body?" George asked.
Capitaine Duval sighed. "Ah, I am afraid not for many,
many days. There are a great number of forms to fill out in
the case of a man as important as Monsieur Stanley. There
are protocols to be followed, you understand..."
"I suppose, I do," George said.
"Perhaps ten days. Perhaps, two weeks." By then the
interest of the press will have cooled down.
"Here's my card," George said. He handed Capitaine
Duval a card. The capitaine glanced at it, and then took a
closer look. "You are an attorney. You are not a reporter?"
"No. I'm Robert Stanley's attorney." George Brown rose.
"I want your authorization to release his body."
"Ah, I wish I could give it to you," Capitaine Duval said,
regretfully. "Unfortunately, my hands are tied. I do not see
how..."
"Tomorrow."
"That is impossible! There is no way ..."
"I suggest that you get in touch with your superiors in
Paris. Stanley Enterprises has several very large factories in
France. It would be a shame if our board of directors decided
to close all of them down and build in other countries."
Capitaine Duval was staring at him. "I ... I have no
control over such matters, monsieur."
"But I do," George assured him. "You will see that Mr.
Stanley's body is released to me tomorrow, or you're going
to find yourself in more trouble than you can possibly
imagine." George turned to leave.
"Wait! Monsieur! Perhaps in a few days, I can..."
"I said tomorrow." And George was gone.
Three hours later, George Brown received a telephone
call at his hotel.
"Monsieur Brown? Ah, I have wonderful news for you! I
have managed to arrange for Mr. Stanley's body to be
released to you immediately. I hope you appreciate the
trouble ..."
"Thank you. A private plane will leave here at eight
o'clock tomorrow morning to take us back. I assume all the
proper papers will be in order by then."
"Yes, of course. Do not worry. I will see to..."
"Good." George replaced the receiver.
Capitaine Duval sat there for a long time. Merde!
What bad luck! I could have been a celebrity for at least
another week.
When the plane carrying Robert Stanley's body landed
at LAX International Airport in Los Angeles, there was a
vehicle in which coffins are transported, waiting to meet it.
Funeral services were to be held three days later.
George Brown reported back to Frank Harold.
"So the old man is finally home," Harold said.
"It's going to be quite a reunion."
"A reunion?"
"Yes. It should be interesting," he said. "Robert Stanley's
children are coming here to celebrate their father's death.
Thomas, William, and Carmen."
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком,