‘Just,’ replied Gordon. ‘But if she is it’s going to be a pretty close-run thing. If the Trools’ daughter has been in a clinic for a few days... the chances are frankly, not good.’
‘What kind of people are they?’ exclaimed Mary. ‘How can they see a child as a bag of spare parts? Trool’s a doctor, for God’s sake. He took the Hippocratic oath just like we did. Medicine is supposed to be about helping people, all people, not about the survival of the fittest or the richest?’
‘It is,’ Gordon assured her. ‘That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?’
‘If you can call stitching up the heads of three drunks who had a fight after a football match and extracting an aniseed ball from the nose of a teenager, who “did it for a laugh”, helping people, then I suppose it is,’ replied Mary, summarising her most recent activities.
‘Of course it is. It means you’re one of the good guys,’ said Gordon. ‘And thank God there are still a lot more goodies than baddies in the game.’
‘Sometimes I wonder,’ said Mary.
‘Just a few bad apples.’
‘Get some sleep, Tom.’
Mary had a point, thought Gordon as his head hit the pillow. People expected such a lot of certain professions, doctors, policemen, nurses. Bad apples could do an untold amount of damage in these particular barrels.
Gordon was woken at seven by a call from the police in Caernarfon. It didn’t come from Davies personally — he was off duty — but he had left instructions that Gordon should be informed if there were any developments during the night.
‘We’ve heard from Manchester Airport that Dr and Mrs Trool and their daughter were on a BA flight to Paris two nights ago.’
‘Paris,’ repeated Gordon flatly, not knowing what to make of the news, then it registered that the officer had said their daughter was with them. ‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked.
That’s what it says here.’
‘So what’s happening?’
‘We’ve asked the French police for urgent assistance in finding them.’
Gordon put down the phone but it rang again almost immediately. This time it was Davies himself. ‘You’ve heard?’
Gordon said that he had. ‘Paris, and their daughter was with them.’
‘Don’t understand that,’ said Davies. ‘Their neighbour was adamant that the child had gone into the clinic a few days ago and that the Trools were alone when they left.’
‘Must have picked her up somewhere along the way,’ said Gordon.
‘So what the hell are they doing?’ asked Davies.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Gordon slowly. ‘This Paris thing has thrown me a bit but they’re up to something.’
‘If the kid’s already had the operation, maybe they’ve taken her away to recuperate?’ suggested Davies. ‘I mean, Paris doesn’t have to be their final destination, does it? The south of France can be very nice at this time of year.’
‘Then why not fly there directly,’ said Gordon.
‘Maybe flights were difficult. It doesn’t take that long on the TGV from Paris.’
‘Hmm,’ said Gordon, unconvinced.
‘Look, if they’ve booked into a hotel in Paris, the French police will find them,’ said Davies.
‘And if they haven’t booked into a hotel?’
‘Then it could take a bit longer,’ conceded Davies. ‘But if the operation has already taken place... then I don’t see...’
‘What the hurry is,’ said Gordon, completing his sentence. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘If they’ve done it, Anne-Marie will be dead already. But we don’t know that for sure. We have to keep trying.’
‘Understood,’ said Davies.
Gordon put the phone down and it rang yet again within seconds. It was Mary. ‘I thought I’d see how you were this morning,’ she said. ‘I thought if you were okay, we might meet up when I come off duty in half an hour?’
‘I’m fine. Good idea,’ said Gordon, rubbing his chin gently.
Mary was aware of Gordon seeming very tense as they sat talking and drinking coffee in a small café near Bangor Cathedral. Although polite and apparently attentive to what she was saying she noticed his gaze drift off and the muscles in his cheeks were a dead give-away.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked gently.
‘It’s probably just the prospect of yet more waiting. I keep thinking there must be something I can do.’
‘Not if you don’t know where they are,’ said Mary. ‘It’s really up to the French police now.’
‘The airport!’ said Gordon suddenly. ‘Maybe someone at the airport spoke to them and they said something about what their plans were. I’m going over there!’
Mary looked at him with a slightly anguished expression on her face. ‘You’re doing it again,’ she said.
‘It’s worth a try,’ insisted Gordon. ‘What harm can it do? And it’s better than just sitting here doing nothing.’
‘Oh, I suppose,’ conceded Mary. ‘But I’m coming with you.’
‘But you’ve been working all night,’ protested Gordon.
‘I’m coming,’ Mary insisted. ‘If only to stand behind you and make sure that no one hits you over the head again!’
There was a moment when Gordon didn’t know whether to take offence or laugh. In the end, he did the latter and agreed to her coming along. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
Manchester Airport was unpleasantly crowded. Early morning fog had persisted until well after ten causing a number of delays to both inbound and outbound traffic.
‘Where do we start?’ asked Mary, as they came to a halt in the crowds.
‘The police said they took a British Airways flight, let’s try the BA information desk if we can find it,’ said Gordon.
It took them some five minutes to find it and another ten, waiting in the queue before they got close enough to see that the desk was manned by two ladies in navy blue uniform who were fending off complaints and dealing with enquiries with stock replies and autopilot smiles. ‘Sorry sir, your flight will be leaving as soon as possible... Of course, Madam, just ask the flight attendant when you board... Your baggage will be checked right through to Warsaw, sir. No need to worry.’
Gordon reached the head of the queue and addressed the glazed smile with the name badge saying, Angela. ‘I’d like to speak to someone about passengers on your Paris flight last Tuesday evening.’
Angela’s brittle smile was extinguished as suddenly as if a fuse had blown. ‘I’m sorry?’
Gordon repeated his request.
‘I’m sorry,’ the woman stammered. ‘We don’t actually give out that kind of information.’
‘It’s very important,’ said Gordon.
Mary intervened. ‘We’re doctors,’ she said. ‘These passengers are our patients. It’s extremely urgent that we trace them.’
‘I see,’ said Angela thoughtfully. ‘I’ll have to call my supervisor. She picked up a house phone and after a slight pause, spoke to someone she addressed as, Mrs Roberts. When she’d finished she asked Gordon and Mary to wait to one side while Mrs Roberts ‘came down’. A few minutes later, Mrs Roberts, a woman in her early forties, wearing the same uniform as Angela, appeared and asked them to accompany her to her office. This turned out to be a small room with no windows on the first floor.
Gordon noted that Mrs Roberts appeared neither over-friendly nor defensively aggressive when he explained to her what he wanted to know. He wondered if such neutrality were a practised skill for dealing with the public. ‘We were hoping that the Trools might have said something to one of your staff about their plans?’
‘Angela tells me that you are both doctors?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you for some proof. I’m sure you understand.’
Mary showed her hospital staff card. Gordon provided a range of ID from his wallet.