Ken McClure: Tangled Web

‘No,’ replied Lisa, sounding even more puzzled.

‘Did she say anything to you about where she was going?’

‘Their daughter? Of course not. She couldn’t have been any more than three or four months old,’ exclaimed Lisa.

‘But Charlotte Trool is three or four years old!’ said Gordon. He looked at Mary and asked, ‘What on earth is going on?’

‘The child couldn’t have been their daughter. That’s the only explanation.’

Gordon turned to Lisa again and asked, ‘Can you tell us anything else about the baby?’

‘Not really. She giggled when I tickled her tummy. I remember thinking she was a little short in the body but I’m not sure why I’m saying that.’

Mary suddenly paled and said, ‘It was because she had no legs.’

Gordon’s nodded. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘It was Anne-Marie they were taking out of the country!’

‘I’m sorry, you’ve rather lost me,’ said Mrs Roberts.

Gordon ignored her. He made a pyramid with his two hands and tapped his fingertips rapidly against his chin while he thought through the implications. ‘So where’s their daughter?’ he murmured.

‘The neighbour said she went into a clinic,’ Mary reminded him.

‘But not here!’ exclaimed Gordon. He turned to Mrs Roberts and said, ‘Could you check to see if Mrs Trool made another trip to Paris a few days ago with her daughter?’

‘I suppose...’

‘Please. I promise you — it’s very important.’

Mrs Roberts turned to her computer screen and started her search. Gordon turned to Mary and said, ‘They’ve gone to Paris to have the operation done there — I’m sure of it.’

‘But we still don’t know where!’ whispered Mary. ‘Maybe you should get in touch with Inspector Davies and tell him that Anne-Marie is still alive. It might make a difference if he can tell the French police that.’

Gordon nodded his agreement.

Mrs Roberts announced, ‘Yes, here it is, five days ago. She travelled to Paris with her daughter, but without her husband on that occasion.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Roberts, and you too, Lisa. You’ve been most helpful.’

Gordon and Mary left the office and returned to the main concourse. ‘I should have realised earlier that there was no way that the operation could have been carried out in such a short space of time. Davies’s idea of recuperation in France was really a non-starter. The Trools just came up with a clever way of getting Anne-Marie out the country; they pretended she was their daughter.’

‘They seem to have thought of everything,’ said Mary.

‘God, I wish I knew where they’d gone,’ exclaimed Gordon.

‘The sooner you phone Davies the better. Make sure the French police are checking the Paris hospitals and clinics,’ said Mary.

‘Clinics!’ exclaimed Gordon. ‘Dawes’s clinic!’

‘You’re not making any sense,’ said Mary, now having to watch Gordon search through all his pockets as if he were on fire

‘When I was at the house in Aberlyn,’ said Gordon, ‘I found a leaflet about a French clinic. It was being used as a bookmark. I didn’t think too much about it at the time but now I see, it has to be the place. Anything else would just be too much of a coincidence.’

Gordon found what he was looking for and unfolded it. ‘See!’ he said, showing it to Mary.

‘Phone Davies and tell him right now!’ said Mary.

Gordon made the call on his mobile phone after finding a quiet corner behind a row of cleaning trolleys. Mary waited nearby. ‘Did you get him all right?’ she asked when he rejoined her.

Gordon said that he had. ‘He’s going to contact the French police right away.’

‘Good,’ said Mary, her shoulders sagging in relief. ‘I only hope they get there on time to stop it. Meanwhile, I suppose we’re back to playing the waiting game.’

‘Wait?’ echoed Gordon. ‘Us? Oh no. We’re off to Paris.’

‘You’re not serious,’ exclaimed Mary, although more in hope than expectation.

‘We can do more good there than we can here,’ insisted Gordon. ‘Here, we’re just waiting around.

‘But surely the French police will...’

‘Think about it! The French police can’t possibly have a real understanding of what’s going on, just on the basis of a couple of phone calls from the North Wales Constabulary. It would be much better if they actually had someone there on the ground to answer questions and give advice.’

Mary took a moment to consider Gordon’s claim then she came up with a valid objection. ‘We don’t have passports with us,’ she said.

‘Shit!’ exclaimed Gordon, bringing the heel of his hand to his forehead. He stood there like a statue for a few moments before he took hold of Mary’s arm and started leading her through the crowds.

Mary’s puzzled protests were lost as Gordon led her towards the airport shops to start scanning the shelves of a book and souvenir stall anxiously. He found what he was looking for and pointed them out to Mary. She was looking at leather passport covers. They looked like the old style of British passport, issued before the EEC ones took over.

‘We could chance it with these,’ said Gordon. ‘Passport control between European countries is notoriously lax.’

Mary hesitated and Gordon said, ‘I really think there’s a good chance she’s still alive.’

Mary gave in and shook her head, saying, ‘All right, what the hell, in for a penny...’

Gordon bought the covers and slipped them into his inside pocket then they came out and started looking for information on the Departures screen. An Air France flight was scheduled to leave for Paris in forty-five minutes. Another struggle through the crowds and Gordon was attempting to persuade the staff at the Air France counter to let them fly on it. ‘I know, I know,’ he countered their objections with raised palms and smiles, ‘I understand, but it really is vitally important that we get to Paris a s quickly as possible. ‘Please make an exception... just this once?’

Finally the two staff members smiled and gave in. Gordon paid for the tickets with his credit card and accepted the two boarding cards.

‘You must go straight to the gate.’

‘Of course,’ said Gordon.

As they headed for the International Departure hall, Gordon turned to Mary and said, ‘Now for the big test, are you okay?’

‘I feel sick,’ Mary replied.

They could see the passport control desk up ahead. Gordon said, ‘Keep talking. Say anything you like but keep talking.’

Mary started to chatter, using a series of medical statistics as her chosen subject. The nearer they got to the desk the faster she seemed to speak. They were almost on it when Gordon, still looking at Mary as if totally wrapped up in what she was saying, took out the two covers from his inside pocket and waved them in the general direction of the desk while interrupting Mary. ‘No, no, no,’ he exclaimed, without breaking stride. ‘You simply can’t start that kind of patient on chemotherapy at that point. It’s much better to wait until...’

At no time did either of them look directly at the man on the desk. They walked straight past, both fearing a call to halt but it never came. Ever so gradually, relief replaced fear.

‘I’d better sit down before I fall down,’ whispered Mary. ‘I’m not cut out for this kind of thing.’

‘To be perfectly honest, neither am I,’ confessed Gordon. ‘I hated every second of it.’

Mary looked at him sideways and smiled, ‘You were brilliant, you should change your name to Bond.’

‘Be a change from, Mud,’ he said wryly and she laughed.

The flight was only three minutes late in taking off. Gordon and Mary lapsed into silence and communed with their own thoughts until the aircraft reached cruising height and the flight attendants started a round with the drinks trolley.