‘Do something!’ she shouted at the screen, to break the enduring silence.
Durand spoke into the radio. The agent with the camera bobbed up, and stepped around the corner. A bearded man at the end of the corridor appeared on the screen. He was dark-skinned with a thick black beard; his hair tied in a bun on top of his head. He was wearing a vest and boxers, so apparently a client of the hotel, rather than one of the guards. The face of the child being used as a human shield was covered by a pillowcase. The bearded man was pressing the gun against the child’s temple. The agent slowly stepped forward.
The man with the beard shouted something unrecognisable, presumably a warning to stop him moving. The agent edged forwards, his weapon trained on the man, shouting a warning of his own.
‘Just shoot him!’ Becky growled.
The agent crept closer. They could see saliva pooling in the man’s beard. His eyes were wide with fear. The wrong move and the pillowcase would be red.
As with a traffic accident, she couldn’t look away now. She offered a silent prayer to a God she didn’t believe in. The bearded man pointed the gun at the agent and shouted again. The agent slowed.
The bearded man’s gun fired suddenly and the camera seemed to drop, before falling face down on the carpet. Gunfire reverberated off the walls of the narrow corridor as the edges of the screen flashed with light.
Becky’s breath caught in her throat. ‘What’s going on? Who’s shooting? Why can’t we see? Durand, what is going on?’
He ignored her questions, and shouted into the radio. He too needed an update. There was no reply. He repeated his commands. The camera remained facing the carpet.
What were they hiding? Did the boy get killed? Was Noah dead?
She looked over her shoulder at the building. Three armed agents had secured the entrance, so nobody would get past without their agreement. She wanted to run over, barge through them and check on Noah.
How could she tell Jules that he was dead? How would she cope?
Her breaths came in short, sharp bursts. She needed to sit down, but needed to stand. She needed to wee, and her mouth was as dry as it had ever been. She wanted a cigarette, but she wanted to be sick. Time seemed to move in slow motion.
Finally, the radio crackled, and Durand lowered his head, throwing the radio into the van and stalking off towards the hotel. The siege was over. Becky knew she should sit and wait, that he would get to her in his own time, but she couldn’t. She raced after him, biting her tongue to stop the hundreds of questions she wanted to hurl at him.
As they neared the secured entrance, a female agent emerged, carrying the thin boy with the pillowcase. Becky stopped still as her eyes scanned for red patches. The pillowcase was clean, and that could only mean one thing. The boy’s leg wriggled in the agent’s grip.
He was alive!
Becky burst forwards towards them. Durand reached out to stop her, but she evaded his grasp.
She was crying as she made it to the female agent. ‘Noah? Noah, it’s Auntie Bex.’
The female agent paused, glancing over at Durand, her face demanding to know who the deranged woman was.
Becky pulled the pillowcase from the boy’s head, but then stepped back in shock. The tearful eyes of a blonde-haired five year old stared back at her. His face was bruised and grazed.
Becky fell to her knees and sobbed, as the agent carried the boy over to the emergency services. Durand crouched at her side, and pulled her into an embrace. ‘It wasn’t Noah. My team have searched the hotel, and he is not here.’
Becky sobbed louder. To have come so close to losing him for good, she couldn’t decide whether to be relieved that he wasn’t being held in such a hellish place or disappointed that they were still no closer to finding him.
Durand continued to hold her, until she could cry no more, and then he helped her back to the van.
The monitor was still showing the carpet from the corridor. ‘What happened to…?’ She couldn’t finish the sentence as the reality dawned. ‘Your agent…he’s dead?’
Durand closed his eyes and nodded. ‘He had a wife and two sons.’
Becky felt the saliva bubbling at the back of her throat, bent over and threw up on the grass. The agent had saved the boy, but it had cost him his life. She didn’t want to think about what cost she would have to pay to see Noah again.
Durand passed her a paper towel and a bottle of water. She thanked him, before setting off back across the field towards the Clio. Antoine had been right not to tell Julia about the raid. Whilst it had been one of the most traumatic experiences of Becky’s life, it would have been far worse for Julia.
She thought about the women who had been held in the rooms upstairs. Were they missing too? Did they have family and friends desperate for information about their whereabouts? How long had they been there? How many different narcotics had they been forced to ingest to keep them compliant? Would they ever be able to forget the torment of their prison?
Antoine knew not to ask about the outcome by the pained expression on her face. He climbed out of the Clio and opened her door, helping her in.
‘He wasn’t there,’ she finally admitted. ‘Can you take me back to the hotel please?’
He started the engine, and was about to pull away, when a Blue Citroën skidded to a halt behind them. They stared at the wing mirrors as two uniformed officers emerged from the Citroën and approached the Clio with their weapons drawn. They demanded Antoine exit the vehicle. He opened his door and was dragged to the floor, and his wrists cuffed behind his back.
‘Antoine, what’s going on? Where are they taking you?’
He shrugged, a panicked look on his face.
‘Wait,’ Becky said, chasing after them. ‘If this is about him bringing me here, it’s not his fault; it’s mine. I forced him to tell me about the raid and drive me here. You should arrest me, not him.’
The officers ignored her, and pushed Antoine into the back of the Citroën.
‘Please tell me what’s going on?’ she begged.
One of the officers pointed over her shoulder, before climbing into the driver’s seat and pulling away. She turned to where he had pointed and saw Durand approaching. She ran over to him and demanded to know why he had arrested Antoine.
He gripped her arms and spoke slowly. ‘We received a telephone call about your friend Antoine Lemaire. It seems he has been lying to you from the start. He knows where the boy is.’
TWENTY-TWO
Becky’s mind raced as the blue Fiat zipped along the A16 autoroute, back to Calais.
Antoine couldn’t have been in on it? They must have been mistaken.
Durand hadn’t offered any more detail other than his final statement: he knows where the boy is.
Becky had known Antoine for barely three days, and even then she couldn’t really say she knew him, yet every bone in her body was screaming that Durand had to be wrong. Antoine had been nothing but helpful. From that first moment when he’d stepped in to help them search for Noah in the large hypermarket, he had been so genuine. He’d stayed with them as Durand’s men had carried out their investigations at Cité Europe. He’d translated for them, kept them informed. He’d found them the hotel to stay in, and had driven them to Gravelines to show Noah’s picture around. Everything he’d done had been to aid them. And why? To ease a guilty conscience?
She remembered back to the conversation they’d shared at breakfast the previous morning. She’d asked him why he was helping. Telling her that he felt guilty about the boy slipping past him had been delivered with such compassion that he couldn’t have been involved. She refused to accept what the judge had said.
And yet, Durand had arrested him. Surely the senior investigator in an operation as high profile as this wouldn’t arrest someone unless he was certain of their guilt. Unless things worked differently in France, which she doubted. Evidence was evidence and it was required in every trial, certainly in the developed world. But what evidence did they ha
ve?
She’d tried to ask Durand more questions at the scene, but he’d waved her away. She’d told him she couldn’t get back to Calais, as she wasn’t insured to drive Antoine’s car. Durand had said he would arrange for her to be driven back. She was certain he had put her in a car with non-English speaking personnel on purpose. At least, they were claiming not to speak English. She’d peppered them with questions for the first ten minutes of the drive, without any kind of response. Either they didn’t know how to speak to her, or they were choosing not to.
But if Antoine was involved and knew where Noah was, why would he pretend to help them? He could have left them at the hotel on Saturday night and they never would have questioned his disappearance. There was no reason to suspect that he was involved. Why would he hang around, drawing unwanted attention to himself? It made no sense.
Becky had no idea where the two gendarmes were taking her. She assumed they would take her back to the hotel, which she was dreading. How could she tell Julia what had happened? That she had snuck off to a raid on a sex factory, had witnessed an agent being killed by a wild-eyed Albanian pimp, and then discovered that the only friend out here helping them had turned out to be complicit in Noah’s disappearance. She promised herself a stiff drink before she’d head upstairs, if not more than one. It wasn’t the weekend, but to hell with it!
She was surprised when the Fiat pulled up at the entrance to the Gendarmerie headquarters. Perhaps they didn’t know where her hotel was, not that they’d asked. Even if they had, she couldn’t have told them, as Antoine was the only one who knew the address. They parked the Fiat, and released her from the back, leading her into the building. She was directed to a row of seats and told to wait.
Twenty minutes had passed when a different agent approached and asked her to follow him. She was dehydrated and tired, and longed for a cigarette. She wondered whether the hotel’s tiny bar sold cigarettes. She hadn’t smoked in ten weeks, but Caleb wouldn’t complain. That was if he was even still waiting for her. He hadn’t phoned or sent a message since their disagreement last night. In fairness, she hadn’t contacted him either. Maybe it was just fate’s way of telling her it wasn’t meant to be. She’d miss the sex.
The agent led her to a small office towards the back of the building. The blinds inside the office were pulled shut. The agent knocked before opening the door and leading her in. Durand thanked the agent, who closed the door on his way out.
Durand invited her to sit. ‘Would you like something to drink? Coffee, water, tea?’
‘Tea, please.’
He picked up his phone and ordered her a tea.
‘Can you tell me exactly what is going on? Why have you arrested Antoine?’
‘How well do you know Monsieur Lemaire?’
‘I don’t. I only met him on Saturday.’
‘He drove you to Boulogne this morning, correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he speak to you when you arrived at the hypermarché on Saturday?’
She frowned. ‘Not that I remember. I don’t remember speaking to anyone except Jules at the hypermarket.’
‘When did you first meet him?’
‘It was after Noah had wandered off. Julia and I went around the store looking for Noah and calling out his name. When we couldn’t find him we went to the guard’s station.’
‘When you told Monsieur Lemaire that the boy was missing, how did he react?’
‘He was as worried as we were. He called his team together and they began to search for Noah. His team were still looking for Noah when Antoine took us to view the security video.’
Durand chewed the end of his pen. ‘How many times have you seen Monsieur Lemaire since Saturday?’
‘He stayed with us at the shopping centre and then helped us to find a hotel. He came to check on us at the hotel yesterday morning and took us to Gravelines to look for Noah.’
‘Why did you go to Gravelines? Was it your idea or his?’
‘It was his idea. He wanted to drive us to Dunkirk to show photographs of Noah to local people. He said Gravelines was the largest town between Calais and Dunkirk and that it would be worth checking out.’
‘Did he say why he wanted to take you to these places?’
‘He said he felt guilty.’
‘Guilty about what?’
‘He said he was at the guard station when the figure walked past with Noah. He said he felt guilty that he didn’t realise that Noah was being abducted from the store.’
‘He didn’t say he was paid to look the other way?’
‘No! Is that what happened?’
Durand puffed out his cheeks. ‘I do not know what happened. Monsieur Lemaire has not answered any of our questions so far. We have interviewed him for half an hour, and he hasn’t even asked to speak to his avocet. I think you would say solicitor?’
‘Yes. I know. I am a solicitor.’
Durand raised his eyebrows. ‘What type of law do you practise?’
‘Criminal law. Why do you think Antoine is involved? You mentioned something about a telephone call?’
‘Oui. We were called this morning and we were told this isn’t the first time Monsieur Lemaire has been involved in a missing child inquiry.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Fifteen years ago, Lemaire was questioned about a girl who went missing. He was released as there was not enough evidence to prosecute, but the girl was never found.’
It felt like someone had just punched Becky in the gut. ‘What? I don’t believe it! Who phoned you?’
‘One of my agents looked into the case, and Lemaire was the lead suspect for a long time. The case is unresolved.’
‘But Antoine didn’t take Noah. The man in the baseball cap took him.’
‘It is possible that Monsieur Lemaire had an accomplice. Perhaps he told his friend that the boy was in the shop, and then looked away when the friend left the store with the boy.’
‘I just…I can’t believe it. There must be some mistake.’
‘I find it odd that he has shown so much interest in your situation. He is just a guard at a hypermarché. What other reason is there for him to be so helpful?’
‘If you’re right, where is Noah now?’
Durand shrugged. ‘As I said, he has not answered our questions.’
There was a knock at the door, and a mug of tea was placed on the table with two sachets of sugar. Becky ripped open both and tipped them into the cup. She needed the energy.
‘So what happens next? Will you charge him?’
‘That depends if he confesses.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m confused. You said he had refused to answer your questions.’
‘C’est vrai. Pardon, it’s true. However, he says he will make a full confession, if we allow him to speak to you first.’
Becky nearly spat out her tea. ‘Me? Why does he want to speak to me?’
‘Je ne sais pas. I do not know. Maybe it is all part of his sick game. Either way, he says if we take you to him, and leave, he will tell us everything.’
‘Do you believe him?’
Durand shrugged again. ‘At this point, I think we should try anything. It has been two days since the boy disappeared, and we are no closer to finding where he is, so, I think, maybe, yes you should meet with Lemaire.’
Becky placed the mug back on the corner of Durand’s desk. ‘Okay. I’ll speak to him. But first I need a cigarette.’
TWENTY-THREE
Antoine was already sitting behind the table when Becky entered the small windowless interview room. She could see his hands were cuffed to the table in front of him. She’d never seen someone looking so sorry for himself. He avoided eye contact until she was seated, and the agent had left them alone. His eyes were puffy from crying. As much as she wanted to believe he couldn’t be involved, his body language was putting up a strong argument against it.
She couldn’t understand why she felt nervous; she wasn’t the one at fault here.
>
She hadn’t felt this anxious since receiving the results of her degree. Her palms were clammy, and she was sure Antoine could hear every beat of her heart, which seemed to echo around the room.
The agent had left a plastic cup of water on her side of the table, which she sipped from, before taking a deep breath and looking at him. His uncontrollable eyebrows arched down at the middle, as if the weight of the wrinkles in his frown was just too much.
The silence was unbearable. It reminded her of just how little she really knew about the man before her. She’d happily let him drive her around, when he could have pulled over and attacked her. She’d trusted him implicitly, but she couldn’t think of a single question she could ask to break the tension. She was usually so good at small talk and breaking ice with new clients, but her mind was blank.
Still he didn’t speak. She wished the French authorities hadn’t banned smoking in public places. She’d choked down the cigarette Durand had found for her, and had felt light-headed, but she had the taste again, and longed for another. She thought about leaving the room. If he was just going to sit in silence, there were other things she could get on with.
He continued to watch her, summoning the strength to speak. ‘Have they told you why we are here?’
She shuddered. ‘Durand said he arrested you because you know where Noah is. Is that true?’
He looked down at his hands. ‘Did I tell you what job I had before I became a security guard?’
‘No.’
‘I owned a farm. It was my parents’ farm, but I inherited it when they died. It wasn’t big, but we grew wheat, and had animals too. I think I was happiest on that farm. We ate what I grew, and what we sold paid for the land. It was hard work, but it was honest work. My wife milked the cows in the morning, and prepared meals for me and our daughter. This was maybe fifteen years ago. We lived in Normandy in the northwest. Do you know Normandy?’
‘I’ve been to Normandy, yes.’
‘I would give anything to go back to that time. Waking up early and working with my hands all day.’ He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. ‘At harvest time, we would employ students, or travelling people, uh, I think you call them gypsies? They would help collect the crops, for a small fee. We would only hire five or six, and we would let them stay at the farm for free. My wife was studying to become…uh…an accountant. She would go to school three nights a week, and I would stay home while my daughter slept.
Then He Was Gone Page 9
