Then He Was Gone

by Stephen Edger

  Becky allowed her eyes to close for a moment. She was exhausted. In the hour since the gendarmerie had started their investigation, both she and Julia had been bombarded with questions they couldn’t answer: who is the figure in the baseball cap; why did Noah take his hand and leave the shopping centre; what are you hiding?

  How could Durand possibly think they were involved in something so traumatic? He was a dour man: every question was delivered without emotion. The men working for him, which had now increased to six agents in this office alone, seemed to be carrying out his instructions to the letter. Not that she could be certain. Even the occasional word she recognised didn’t help her understand what was going on.

  Antoine and his unkempt eyebrows had remained after she’d asked him to. He had done his best to keep them informed of what was happening, but even he looked lost in the mire.

  Becky’s chin was on her chest when the office door burst open. The sudden furore woke her, and she had to blink several times as she remembered where she was. The gendarme who had just entered the room was speaking quickly; whatever his message was, it was delivered with urgency.

  The first hint of a smile broke out on the judge’s face. He relayed instructions to the two officers huddled around their laptops. They frantically typed and then showed him the screen.

  Becky wiped the edge of her mouth. ‘What’s going on? Have they found him?’

  Antoine was craning his neck to try and hear what the judge was saying. ‘They think they’ve found the van…it’s in a car park…they are setting up a camera so the judge can watch his men approaching the van.’

  Julia raised her head from Becky’s shoulder. ‘Wh-what’s going on?’

  Becky looked at her with excited eyes. ‘They’ve found the van.’

  ‘Where? Is Noah there? Do they have my boy?’

  ‘Slow down, Jules. We’re waiting to hear.’

  Durand turned to face them. The stern look was back. ‘We were called by the port authorities at Dunkerque. A van matching the description of the one in the picture has been found. It is in their…uh…long-term parking. Is that the expression?’

  ‘What about my boy: is he there?’

  He held up his hands. ‘My men are getting in position, and then they will intercept the vehicle. I should warn you: this may not be the same van.’

  Becky frowned. ‘What do you mean? You said it matched the image from the exit camera.’

  ‘The van that we have found has different…uh…how do you say…registration plates? It is the same colour, and also has a large scratch on the bonnet like the one from here.’

  ‘So it is the same van? Or it isn’t the same van?’

  Durand’s radio crackled, and he put it to his ear. ‘They are ready.’

  Three of the agents huddled around the judge and the laptop, shutting out Becky, Julia and Antoine.

  Julia grabbed Becky’s hand. ‘What if he’s there? I need to know what’s happening.’

  Becky extracted her hand. ‘I’ll push through and watch. I’ll tell you what’s happening.’ Becky moved forward to the small gathering. She pried one of the agents away from Durand and pushed her head between their arms. The agent rolled his eyes, but didn’t ask her to move.

  She focused on the two laptops in front of the wall of screens. The streams were from two different bodycams, being worn by officers. She counted five officers in total, each clad in black Kevlar, with helmets, and carrying automatic weapons.

  The dark grey van appeared on the screen. She’d expected to see the vehicle abandoned, with all its doors open and the hull ablaze. Instead, she saw an ordinary-looking dark van, neatly parked between the yellow lines of its space. She tried to remember the image the security guards had captured from when the van had exited the car park.

  She noticed the large scratch on the van’s bonnet as the officers moved closer to it. She didn’t remember seeing a scratch on the earlier image, but if they said it was there, then it must have been.

  Durand’s radio crackled again as one of the armed officers relayed what they could see. The judge spoke into the radio, and one of the cameras moved closer to the van’s front licence plate. Suddenly a gloved finger prodded one of the screws holding the plate in place. There was more chatter on the judge’s radio.

  Becky made more space for herself. ‘What’s he saying? Is it the van?’

  The judge tutted. ‘He said the screws look new. There is no dirt or rust. It may mean nothing, but it could mean the plates have been changed recently.’

  The officer who’d prodded the screws stood, and stepped back. The screen filled with the front of the van, but the other four officers could be seen flanking the vehicle in a star formation. Two of them looked through the windows of the front cabin, but reported the cabin was empty. They joined their colleagues at the rear of the vehicle.

  On the laptop, Becky saw one of the men step forward to examine the doors’ handles. He shone a torch on the gap between the doors, before giving a thumbs up.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘He was checking that the doors weren’t fitted with a charge.’

  ‘You mean like a booby trap?’

  He sighed. ‘Oui.’ He put the radio to his mouth and gave the order to proceed.

  The officer tried the handle, but the door didn’t open. He ushered a second officer over, and stepped away. The new officer reached into a small zipped pocket on his uniform and removed a small round magnetised box, which he secured to the door’s locking mechanism. The box was the size of a golf ball, with a single LED bulb on the front, and a switch. He flicked the switch and held up five fingers as he rushed back to his position. The fingers bent one-by-one and when his fist was raised there was a small boom, and the doors flew open.

  The men moved forward as one, their laser sights dancing around the van’s interior. As the small cloud of smoke cleared, the screen filled with an empty interior. Becky didn’t need to translate the radio’s next message.

  She turned back to face Julia and Antoine. ‘He’s not there. The van is empty.’

  Durand spun her back round. ‘Look.’

  Becky hadn’t noticed it at first, as she’d been too busy looking for Noah’s face. On the floor of the van there was a small inflatable bed with a cartoon print. Becky gasped as the officer pushed the small duvet back and revealed a harness securing the bed to the van floor. There were crumbs and a discarded crisp packet.

  Becky’s hand shot up to her mouth. ‘He was in there. That’s the van. Oh my God! Where is he? Where is Noah?’

  Julia sprung up at the sound of her son’s name. ‘What’s going on? Where’s my boy? He’s there?’

  Becky nudged the agent out of the way, and steered Julia to the image on the laptop screen.

  Julia gasped at the sight of the Paw Patrol duvet. ‘Oh my God, that’s his favourite show. How did they know that was his favourite show?’

  Durand considered them for a moment. ‘It is safe to assume that this is the vehicle that your boy was in, but we need to determine where the boy is now. The port have sent us the video from the cameras in their car park. I want you to watch it with us. You may be able to identify the driver of the van. Are you ready?’

  Becky and Julia exchanged glances and nodded.

  Durand tapped the shoulder of the man seated in front of him. The agent minimised the live stream and clicked on one of two attachments in an email. A new video screen opened. He dragged the time bar until he reached the moment the van reversed into the parking space. He pressed play.

  The driver’s side door opened. The figure in the baseball slipped out of the van, keeping his head bent low, and moved towards the back of the vehicle.

  Becky coughed. ‘Do you have a view from the front?’

  ‘No the video is limited to this. The second video shows the van arriving at the entrance. Port security said this is the better video.’

  The figure unlocked the rear of the van and opened the doors. Becky held
her breath. The figure picked out a large holdall, and closed the doors again.

  Becky’s knees wobbled. ‘I don’t…where is Noah? The van was empty when he parked it?’

  Durand asked the officer to replay the clip, pushing the women out of the way. Antoine led them back to their seats. Neither spoke. Both were lost in their own heads, asking the same unanswerable question: where’s Noah?

  TEN

  At level one, he exits the lift, and proceeds to the turnstile. He pushes the ticket into the slot, and the machine whirs as it validates his travel information, before ejecting the ticket for him to collect. The gates separate and he proceeds through. He hands over his passport.

  On the outside he is relaxed and composed; just another businessman returning to London. Beneath the tailored suit, carefully sculpted quiff, and designer briefcase, it is all he can do to stop himself from shaking, and giving away the game.

  The British immigration officer looks at his face, before she flips open the French passport that cost him two thousand euros. She reviews the image, and takes a second look at him. He needs to remain calm. The country is on high alert.

  The images of him in the faded t-shirt and baseball cap have been plastered over the television screens for more than an hour now. They are looking for him. His business attire, first class ticket, and the fact that he is travelling alone, should be enough to prevent the authorities identifying him.

  The immigration officer scans the passport and reviews her monitor. She sees frequent travellers like him a lot. She thinks there’s something familiar about him, but can’t quite place what it is. She dismisses the thought and hands the passport back to him. She waves him through without as much as a smile.

  He sits on a vacant bench on the platform, and pulls out his iPhone, pretending to read through the string of fake emails he has added to the device. A wave of exhaustion washes over him, as he reflects on the day.

  The Mercedes was due to arrive in Ashford any minute now, if all had gone to plan. From there, she would drive to the rendezvous in Oxford, and he would join them there in the morning.

  The motorbike ride from Dunkirk to Lille had left him plenty of time to consider the actions that had led to this point. People had been underestimating him all his life.

  Not anymore. He has come too far now.

  The communications system sounds overhead, signalling it is time to board the train. He returns the iPhone to his pocket, and takes a final glance around to make sure nobody is paying him undue attention. Satisfied, he stands and picks up his briefcase. He is not used to wearing a shirt and tie, and the collar is rubbing his freshly shaved neck. He tries to ignore it, as he follows his fellow commuters down towards the platform.

  It is three hours since he pulled out of the car park at Cité Europe.

  In fifty-eight minutes he will arrive in Ashford, Kent.

  In seven days, the world will know it was wrong to ever underestimate him.

  ELEVEN

  DAY TWO

  Becky’s attention was on an elderly German couple eating when the waitress coughed to announce her presence.

  Becky looked up, and forced an apologetic smile. ‘Can I have a pot of tea, please?’

  The waitress scribbled on a small pad of paper. ‘Oui. And for food?’

  Her English needed improvement, which was probably the reason her father had put her to work in the hotel. She couldn’t have been much older than sixteen.

  Becky really couldn’t remember how to order breakfast in French, so held up the small laminated menu as she spoke, pointing at the item. ‘Fruit salad, croissant, and jam.’

  The waitress nodded and headed back to the kitchen to relay the order.

  The shopping centre had closed at eight the previous night. Becky and Julia had remained huddled in the security office until they’d been told they would have to leave. They’d missed their Eurostar return crossing at six, but neither had felt ready to return to the UK. Durand had promised to keep them informed of any updates, but encouraged them to go home.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until I’ve found Noah,’ Julia had insisted, and Becky had vowed she would stay with her friend until they found him, even though she was beginning to doubt whether they would.

  Antoine had remained with them until they’d left. His shift had finished at four, but he hadn’t told them, until his brother had questioned why he was hanging around. Becky had thanked him for the support, but he had waved off the gratitude. He’d even helped them find this hotel.

  The Ibis and Novotel hotels within walking distance of the shopping centre were both fully booked, as were the next three, close to the Eurotunnel. He’d eventually told them of a little family-run hotel owned by a friend of his. He’d said it was closer to the centre of Calais, but he would drive them there. He’d explained their situation to the hotel owner, and they were able to stay for as long as it took to find Noah.

  How could they refuse such generosity?

  They’d arrived at the Hôtel St Pierre just before nine, and although Antoine had offered to drive them to a restaurant for food, Becky had politely declined. They’d both been exhausted, and needed a good night’s sleep after such a stressful day.

  The waitress placed a pot of tea on the table, before moving to another table to take an order.

  Julia had cried herself to sleep. The only room available had a double bed, rather than twin singles. It was just as well. Becky had held Julia, until sleep had eventually claimed them both. Julia had screamed out during the night, haunted by the memories of seeing her son being led away by a faceless stranger.

  Becky’s sleep hadn’t been much better.

  She’d left Julia showering while she claimed a table in the busy dining room. Julia was keen to return to the shopping centre, ready to hear the latest news about the judge’s investigation.

  Becky looked up as a shadow fell across the pale tablecloth. She expected it to be the waitress with her order, but she was surprised to see Antoine Lemaire standing there.

  He bowed his head. ‘Pardonnez-moi. I did not mean to frighten you. May I sit?’

  She was relieved to see a friendly face. ‘Of course, please sit.’

  He pulled out the chair across from her, and signalled for the waitress. She came over and kissed him on both cheeks, before they exchanged pleasantries in French. The teenager scribbled something on her pad, and left them alone.

  ‘Where is your friend this morning?’

  ‘She’s showering and getting dressed. She should be here soon, I think. Can I just thank you again for all you’ve done for us? You really didn’t need to stay for so long yesterday.’

  He shook his head. ‘It was nothing. What are you going to do today?’

  ‘Julia wants to go back to Cité Europe. She thinks that by being there…somehow, we’ll find something…I don’t know. She feels like we missed something yesterday; some kind of clue. Does that make sense?’

  ‘I understand, but is impossible.’

  ‘I know…we should leave it to the gendarmes to deal with, but we can’t just sit around doing nothing. At least if we’re there…I don’t know what I’m trying to say.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. Is impossible to go to the centre commercial. It is Sunday: Cité Europe is closed.’

  ‘It’s closed? It doesn’t open on Sunday?’

  He shook his head. ‘Most shops in France are closed on Sunday. There is maybe a bar or restaurant open, but no shops.’

  ‘Even in Paris?’

  ‘Ah no, in the big cities, par example Paris, Lille, Marseille, some shops are open. But in the villages and towns, Sunday is a rest day. We spend time with friends and family. Cité Europe is closed today.’

  ‘So where will Judge Durand be? Does he not work on Sunday?’

  ‘The gendarmes and le juge d’instruction will be at their headquarters in Calais. I do not know if Durand works today. I can ask my brother, if you want?’

  ‘No, that’s okay. I pre
sume if he isn’t working, someone will continue the investigation?’

  ‘I would think, yes, but I do not know.’

  The fruit salad arrived, and the waitress brought Antoine a mug of coffee.

  ‘Are you not seeing friends and family today, Antoine?’

  ‘My brother is working today. I may see him tonight for some food, but it depends when he finishes.’

  ‘Do you not have any other family in the area? Are you not married?’

  ‘I am divorced. It was, how do you say…?’

  ‘Messy?’

  ‘Compliqué. It was complicated.’

  ‘You said you had a daughter. Do you see her much?’

  He lowered his eyes. ‘Non.’ The look of shame on his face belonged to an estranged father who had not seen or heard from his daughter in some time.

  ‘Does your wife live nearby?’

  ‘She is in Bordeaux. I do not see her.’

  Becky didn’t want to pry. Whatever had happened between Antoine and his ex-wife was none of her business, and she was in no position to judge him for being an errant parent. Every person carries regrets in their luggage, and sometimes it is best left hidden.

  ‘Can I ask you a question, Antoine? I don’t want this to sound rude, so please don’t be offended.’

  His eyes met hers. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Why are you here? Don’t get me wrong, you have been so kind to Jules and me, and I am so grateful, but why are you helping us?’

  ‘I know what it is to lose contact with a child.’ He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened and flattened it on the table. Becky recognised the image immediately: a still from the security footage. ‘I saw you and your friend enter the hypermarché yesterday. I remember waving to the boy, and he waved back. Then…I saw the boy leaving with the man…I should have known it was wrong. I should have realised the boy was not with his mother. I should have stopped him, but I failed.’

  ‘You saw him? Then you can give the police a description.’

  He shrugged. ‘I have told my brother what I remember, but it is very little. The man had a beard, but I cannot offer more than that. I am sorry.’