Then He Was Gone

by Stephen Edger

  She was a better version of herself with him in her life, but that also meant she wasn’t her true self with him around. She sipped her wine again. Right now, all she wanted to do was order the rest of the bottle, kick back and then devour a large bar of chocolate.

  She dialled his number and put the phone to her ear. ‘Hi, Caleb.’

  ‘Bex, do you want me to call you back? Calling the UK from France will cost you a fortune.’

  ‘No, it’s alright. I don’t mind. I’m sure it won’t be that much.’ The truth was she had no idea how much this call would cost her. She hadn’t accepted the foreign calls bolt-on her provider had offered, and couldn’t remember the pence per minute ratio they’d warned her about. It didn’t matter. It was just nice to hear a friendly voice. ‘What have you been up to today?’

  ‘Not a lot. I read the papers, and ate brunch alone.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did you see my message earlier? Do you understand why we had to stay?’

  ‘Oh, of course, of course. I was only joking. I understand why you had to stay. I take it there’s no news?’

  She sighed. ‘No. The senior investigator thinks Noah is alive and still in France, but he is concerned that they are no closer to finding him or the man who snatched him.’

  ‘Do they have any idea who took him? I take it he was nobody you recognised?’

  ‘It was too difficult to see. He had his baseball cap pulled down. They’re putting together a photo-fit based on eye witnesses who were in the centre yesterday and provided descriptions. They’re going to show it in the press conference in a little bit. Maybe that’ll trigger some more calls.’

  ‘And then you’ll be back?’

  ‘Back? Home? No, I’m going to speak to work and see if I can take some extended leave. I don’t want to leave Jules alone.’

  ‘You’re both planning on staying in France? For how long?’

  She didn’t like the tone of his question. ‘As long as it takes to get Noah back.’

  ‘You’re not being serious? What good does staying do? You’d both be better getting home and getting on with work.’

  ‘I couldn’t concentrate on work, and God knows what Jules would be like.’

  ‘So, what, that’s it? You’re giving up work for good?’

  ‘What? Why are you being like this? My friend needs me, and I’ll stay with her for as long as she requires.’

  ‘Bex, I’m not trying to be insensitive, but let’s face it: he may never be found. What happens in a month, or two months? If he’s still missing, how are you going to support yourself? Staying in hotels won’t be cheap. And what will you do each day? From what you said, the French police are doing all they can to find him, what more can the two of you do that they can’t?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re being like this.’

  ‘Being like what? Practical? Pragmatic? It’s time you started to accept that the boy is gone.’

  ‘So you’re not going to come out here and join me? That’s why I phoned. I’ve missed you, and thought you could lend your support.’

  ‘No. I’m going to Edinburgh this week for a training course. It’s too late to rearrange.’

  ‘I’m sure your boss would understand if you explained -’

  ‘Absolutely not! It is out of the question. There’s nothing I can do over there. I don’t even speak French.’

  ‘You could support me!’ She disconnected the call before he could answer.

  She drained her glass of wine in anger. She promised herself she’d only have one more before going back to check on Julia, though she wasn’t certain she’d stop at just one.

  SEVENTEEN

  The room Louis Durand had chosen was the largest available at the Gendarmerie Nationale headquarters in Calais. Journalists with cameras were already seated and waiting when Becky and Julia were led through and invited to sit behind the table. Julia squeezed Becky’s hand so tightly, as she stared out wide-eyed at the gathered press who were salivating for information. Behind Durand an enlarged image of a smiling Noah was being projected onto the wall. Cameras flashed as Durand cleared his throat and studied the typed speech. He introduced himself and the ladies in French.

  A painfully thin woman, who looked like she’d just been released from a library was perched on a seat between Julia and Durand. She translated Durand’s message. ‘This is Monsieur Louis Durand, who is the investigative judge leading this inquiry. To my left is the victim’s mother Madame Julia Saidi, and her friend Mademoiselle Becky Townsend. Please reserve your questions for the end of the meeting, and allow time for me to translate any questions and answers for the benefit of Madame Saidi.’

  Julia flinched at the sound of her name. It was a bad dream she desperately wanted to be woken from. Becky’s cheeks were warm from the wine she’d had at the hotel, but she was feeling calmer than when she’d hung up on Caleb. Antoine had driven them over, but when she’d invited him to come and observe, he’d declined, stating he would wait in the car to drive them home. He’d been such a Godsend. She wished Caleb was as considerate.

  Durand began his speech, pausing every few seconds for the translator to speak. Her knee bounced beneath the table, as she looked into the large camera lenses. ‘Shortly before three o’clock yesterday afternoon, this boy, Noah Saidi was led away from the Carrefour hypermarché at Cité Europe, here in Calais. Noah is three years old. He is able to walk for short periods, and communicate a limited number of words in English. He does not speak any French. This image is the most recent photograph taken of him. Noah is vulnerable, and his mother is desperate to see him again. This appeal is to the person who is holding Noah, and to anyone who may know where Noah is being held. Please come forward and speak to us. Noah is ninety centimetres tall, and was last seen wearing a red t-shirt and cream-coloured shorts.’

  The image on the wall changed to the man in the faded khaki-coloured t-shirt. ‘We believe the boy was taken from the hypermarché by this man. Video captured this figure leading the boy away from his mother, and down to the lower level car park. We have been unable to identify this individual, but we believe his intentions towards the boy are not pure.’

  The image on the wall was replaced by the photo-fit image. ‘This picture has been created based on eye witnesses who saw him at the shopping centre yesterday. If you were at Cité Europe yesterday at three o’clock, and you have not spoken to the Gendarmerie Nationale yet, please contact them urgently. The man is described as between one hundred and seventy five centimetres, and one hundred and ninety centimetres tall. He is of light build, with a dark beard covering his face and neck. We believe he has dark brown or black hair. He was last seen wearing a faded khaki-coloured t-shirt with Superdry branding in faded red letters. If you know this man or have seen anyone matching his description, please contact the Gendarmerie Nationale.’

  The van was next to flash up on the wall. ‘We are also interested in this vehicle. To be clear, this vehicle is now in our possession. We believe Noah was transported from Cité Europe along the A16 autoroute between three and four o’clock yesterday in the back of this van. However, he was not in the van when it was found abandoned at the port in Dunkerque. It is possible that the van stopped en route so that the boy could be unloaded and taken somewhere else. So we want to hear from anyone who saw this van on the A16 autoroute or surrounding area. We also want to know if you saw the van approaching Cité Europe before its arrival yesterday or at any point in the last week. The van is dark grey in colour, and has a distinguishable scratch across the bonnet. We do not know the actual registration number for the van, as two sets of false registration plates were used on the day. We know that the registration plates were false, as we have made contact with the owners of the vehicles with those numbers.’

  A close up of the two registration numbers appeared on the wall. ‘If you remember seeing the van with either of these numbers, or you remember seeing someone changing the numbers on a grey van, then please contact us. It is a grey Renault Trafi
c, with a side door, as well as two doors at the rear of the vehicle.’

  Cameras flashed as Julia wiped her eyes, as she began to weep. Becky hugged her close and whispered. ‘I’ll read the statement. Don’t worry. Just try and stay strong for a bit longer.’

  The translator continued. ‘You can contact the Gendarmerie Nationale on the number and email address on the screen. The full details of the investigation are on the website now, and the Alerte-Enlèvement will remain in place until we find Noah. Madame Saidi will now read a prepared statement in English. A translation of the statement is available on the Gendarmerie Nationale website. Once the statement has been read, there will be an opportunity for questions.’

  The room erupted in a storm of flashing lights. Becky dragged the statement across the table, and gave Julia a final squeeze. ‘My name is Becky Townsend. I am Julia Saidi’s best friend, and Noah’s Godmother. I was with them both when this horrible incident occurred. I will read the statement on Julia’s behalf.’ She looked down at the statement, and took a deep breath. ‘First of all, I would like to thank Judge Durand and his men for all the effort they have gone to so far in the search for Noah. No parent should have to go through what I am feeling right now. To know my boy is out there somewhere, wondering why I’m not with him, it is enough to bring me to tears. There are a number of photographs of Noah’s face on the Gendarmerie’s website, and I urge each and every one of you to look at those photographs. If you see a boy that looks like my Noah, please contact the police immediately. Do not hesitate. I don’t know where my boy is, but I want him back.’

  Julia leapt to her feet, and dived for the door they’d stepped through moments earlier. Her sobs echoed as she tore off down the corridor. Becky looked at the door and then at Durand, who nodded for her to continue with the statement. The sound of camera flashes echoed off the walls.

  ‘If you were near Cité Europe yesterday and you saw Noah or the man who took him, please contact the police. Even if you think that what you saw is insignificant, it could be just the piece of the jigsaw we need. All information received helps the police to understand exactly what happened yesterday and where Noah might have been taken to.’

  Becky reached for the cup of water on the table. She couldn’t stop her fingers trembling as she sipped. ‘Noah is a bright and friendly boy. His favourite things are Paw Patrol, ice cream, and singing songs from Disney films, though he usually gets the words wrong. He answers to his name, and he is able to hold a conversation with a grown-up, and he is not afraid to ask when he doesn’t understand a particular word.’

  Durand was about to speak again, when Becky stared straight at the cameras. ‘To whomever took Noah yesterday, I say this: let him go. I beg you. You cannot understand the pain and hurt your actions are causing. I don’t care who you are or why you felt the need to take him. We just want him back. Please, just take him somewhere safe, and then let the police know where he is. We can forgive you, if he comes home to us safely. We love him dearly, and will do anything to have him back with his family, where he belongs. Please, just let him come home.’

  Becky scraped her chair back and headed for the door. She could hear her name being called by journalists desperate to ask her questions, but she didn’t care. She needed to get to Julia, and check that her friend was okay.

  There were more cameramen waiting outside the building, as Becky pushed through the doors. She could see Antoine had moved the Clio to the back of the car park. She waved to him and he immediately drove over. Julia was curled up on the back seat, her head buried beneath her cardigan.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Just get us out of here, please.’

  He didn’t wait to be told again, and pressed his foot to the accelerator, nearly clipping one of the cameramen with a wing mirror.

  EIGHTEEN

  DAY THREE

  The British press had been camped outside the small Calais hotel all night. It was like they’d been offered a bonus to scoop the first interview with Julia. Even as Becky wandered through reception to the small dining room, all she could see at the doors were camera flashes. The hotel’s owner was watching it all unfold from behind the safety of the reception desk.

  ‘I’m so sorry for all of this,’ Becky offered.

  He waved the apology away glibly. ‘I cannot complain. I have never had such good publicity. We have taken so many bookings for next summer already. We are now fully booked from April to September. I should thank you.’

  ‘Have the other guests not complained about the intrusion?’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘One family has left, but that is all.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Please do not worry. You stay as long as you need.’

  ‘I want you to let me pay the bill when we eventually leave. Jules doesn’t need that stress. Is that understood? I get the bill, not my friend.’

  ‘As you like.’

  Becky continued into the dining room, but couldn’t help but notice the stares from everyone else in there. She wanted to shout at them: to tell them it was rude to stare, but she didn’t want to make a scene. She ordered a basket of croissants and an orange juice, and headed out onto the veranda, which was empty this morning, as it had rained overnight. She rested the basket on a table and dialled the office. It connected on the third ring.

  ‘Hi, it’s Becky Townsend. Can you put me through to Graham, please?’

  Graham Ingles was one of the founding partners of ‘Shaw, Tate and Ingles Associates’, and Becky’s mentor. He had plucked her out of university and offered to fund her years of law school if she came to work for him. He was also the one who had encouraged her to take the additional exams to become a solicitor-advocate, allowing her to represent clients at the Crown Court as a barrister would. It was no secret that Becky was Graham’s favourite, a situation Becky had taken advantage of on more than one occasion.

  Graham was due to retire from the firm at the end of the month, having become embroiled in a blackmail scandal during a case in the summer. He had fallen on his sword and agreed to sever his ties with the firm he’d founded. He was still in the office, but his workload was restricted.

  ‘Graham Ingles,’ he said, in his unmistakeable Scottish accent.

  ‘Morning, Graham. It’s Bex. How are you?’

  ‘Do my ears deceive me? Is that the celebrity Becky Townsend who has been on every television screen in Europe this morning? I think you’re more famous than that fella who won Strictly Come Dancing.’

  She couldn’t help but smile. ‘You saw the press conference then?’

  ‘Saw it? I recorded it. What was it Andy Warhol said about us each getting fifteen minutes of fame? You were on for about five minutes, so I guess you’ve got another ten minutes to use in the future.’

  ‘How has it been received?’

  ‘Well, we’ve been fighting all the offers of further television work. Someone asked if you were available to present next year’s OSCARs ceremony, but I said we’d have to check.’

  It felt good to smile. ‘Ha-ha, Graham. I’m being serious. How did it come across?’

  ‘Have you not watched it back?’

  ‘I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it. I hate the sound of my own voice at the best of times. Jules wasn’t keen on watching it, so we’ve been avoiding the television.’

  ‘It was fine, Bex. In all seriousness, I thought you sounded sincere and professional, and did a better job than that stick-thin woman who was sitting next to the detective. What morgue did they drag her out of? She was so pasty white, it looked like the blood had been sucked out of her.’

  ‘I didn’t look fat then?’

  ‘In fairness, next to her, you all looked enormous, but no, you didn’t look fat. I’ve always told you, Bex, you’re a fine-looking woman. And if I was maybe ten years younger, I’d be putting the moves on you.’

  ‘Only ten years? Maybe if you were thirty years younger, I wouldn’t fight off your advances.’
>
  ‘I forgot you like them young.’

  ‘Graham!’

  ‘That boyfriend of yours is barely out of nappies isn’t he?’

  ‘You know very well that Caleb is twenty-nine. He’s only four years younger than me.’

  Graham chuckled down the line. ‘I’m only teasing you. To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  ‘I’m hoping you’ll agree to me taking a few days off work. I know it’s short notice, but -’

  ‘Say no more. When I caught the press conference on last night’s news, I figured you’d need a bit of time off. I’ve already reassigned your caseload for this week.’

  ‘Oh, Graham, I could kiss you right now. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Listen, it’s not something the firm can sustain forever, but it’s important for you to support that wee girl. I can’t begin to imagine what she’s going through.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Say, who did you pass my work too?’

  ‘Oh just some young whippersnapper eager to make a name for himself.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He calls himself Ingles. I think he’s got illusions of grandeur. Reckons he owns the place, so he does.’

  ‘You’re taking it on?’

  ‘Well, I’m only sat twiddling my thumbs. It’ll be good to put some cats among those barrister pigeons.’

  ‘I really appreciate it, Graham.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘I’d better go. Are you sure it’s okay?’

  ‘Take the week, and listen, you give our love to that friend of yours. Tell her she’s in all of our prayers, and if there’s anything we can do, you let me know.’

  ‘Thank you, Graham. I will, and you’ve already done enough. I’ll call you if I hear anything.’

  ‘Oh, there’s just one more thing, Bex: can I have your autograph?’