‘This is Dr Hallam from Ysbyty Gwynedd in Wales; we’ve come here to take Anne-Marie Palmer back home with us. Where is she?’
‘I’m not sure I know what you are talking about, Doctor. Wasn’t Anne-Marie Palmer the baby who was murdered by her father back in Wales?’
‘No, she’s the baby you and your husband paid Ranulph Dawes to clone so that your child could have her sight restored,’ said Gordon. ‘Now, where is she?’
‘This is bizarre,’ protested Sonia. ‘I’ve never heard such nonsense in all my life.’ She made a move towards the door but Gordon blocked her way.
‘Let me past,’ she demanded.
‘Where, Sonia?’
‘Dr Balard, would you please call the police!’ said Sonia.
‘They are already on their way, Madam,’ replied Balard, ill at ease with what was going on in front of him.’
His reply brought another little flicker of uncertainty from Sonia but again she recovered well and said, ‘Good, then I’ll be able to have these people charged with keeping me here against my will.’
‘Do you deny that your child is here to have her sight restored?’ Gordon asked her.
‘Of course I don’t deny it,’ retorted Sonia. ‘A donor has become available and tissue is being flown in.’
‘From where?’
‘I didn’t ask,’ replied Sonia. ‘I... find that sort of thing just too upsetting.’
‘And you are such a sensitive soul, Sonia,’ said Gordon.
Sonia’s eyes flashed with anger.
‘Where’s James?’
‘Mind your own business,’ snapped Sonia.’
The police arrived and Le Clerc came into the room.
‘Inspector, these people are harassing me. I wish to leave,’ said Sonia, making a move towards the door but finding her way still blocked, this time by Le Clerc as well as Gordon.
‘Not just yet, Madam,’ said Le Clerc. ‘I need you to answer a few more questions for me.’
‘She won’t say where they’re holding the child or where her husband is,’ said Gordon.
‘Then perhaps you would be kind enough to empty out your handbag, Madam,’ requested Le Clerc politely.
‘This is outrageous,’ stormed Sonia, who looked for a moment as though she might explode but on seeing that Le Clerc seemed less than impressed with her histrionics, she capitulated quietly and emptied her bag out on Balard’s desk.
Le Clerc sifted through the contents that comprised mainly make-up items and paper tissues from what Gordon could see from his sentry position in front of the door. ‘No cards, no notebook,’ said Le Clerc.
‘But a mobile phone,’ said Mary.
Le Clerc looked at her and smiled. He picked up Sonia’s phone and started to check the call register as Sonia’s face began to register panic. Le Clerc muttered to himself, ‘UK, UK, UK... France.’ He pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear. He listened to the reply without saying anything then he switched the phone off. Still without saying anything, he took out his own phone and said into it, ‘Get me the address of the Clinique Martin, will you?’
Sonia collapsed down on to a chair in front of Balard’s desk and started sobbing loudly. ‘Le Clerc said to Gordon and Mary, ‘Let’s go. We can get the information in the car.’
As they left the room, the gendarme who had been stationed outside was sent in to take charge of Sonia Trool. Gordon and Mary got into the back of Le Clerc’s car while he and the driver sat in the front, waiting for the address of the clinic. It seemed unnaturally silent, apart from the sound of rain on the roof and the driver’s fingers drumming quietly on the steering wheel. Thirty seconds later the information came through and Le Clerc snapped, ‘Rue Dauphine!’
The silence changed in an instant as the car’s klaxon filled the air and flashing lights cleared the way ahead as the car leapt forward to start carving its way north through the evening traffic. Mary had to close her eyes on several occasions when the driver seemed to head for gaps that weren’t there in her view but always — and usually at the last moment, one opened up. When they were racing up the Boulevard San Michel, the driver asked Le Clerc, ‘Which end of Dauphine?’
‘Nearest the river,’ replied Le Clerc, who had been seeking the information on his radio. They reached the head of San Michel and turned west along by the river to finally enter Rue Dauphine on their left. The car drew to a halt outside the brightly-lit entrance to the Clinique Martin, its sign illuminated above its ambulance bay and flanked by two red crosses. It was clearly a much larger clinic than the St Pierre and larger than many small hospitals back home, thought Gordon.
They all went in together. The reception desk was staffed by two young ladies wearing smart maroon uniforms with their names displayed on enamel badges and with a red cross nestling below angel wings on their collar. Le Clerc did the talking after showing his ID to each in turn. He asked about Trool and was rewarded with what sounded to Gordon like a comprehensive reply. He didn’t catch all of it but Mary did and she whispered to him, ‘Trool is here... he’s with his patient who has been in a coma and is now close to death. He can’t possibly be disturbed at this time... his patient’s life is hanging in the balance... A theatre has been prepared in case Dr Trool feels there is a chance that an operation might save her life...’
Le Clerc turned to Gordon, uncertain of his ground and feeling ill equipped to make any kind of judgement on his own.
‘We have to stop him,’ said Gordon. ‘Right now!’
Le Clerc turned back to the receptionists and demanded to know Trool’s whereabouts in the hospital.
‘Third floor, room 316.’
Le Clerc turned on his heel and made for the elevators with Gordon and Mary hard on his heels.
‘C’mon... c’mon!’ urged Gordon as he watched the floor indicator fall with painful slowness. Even the doors seemed to take an age to slide back when the elevator finally arrived.
The arrows on the wall immediately opposite the doors as they stepped out on the third floor pointed to the right for 316 and with Le Clerc in the lead, they all hurried along the thirty metres or so to the room. Le Clerc and Gordon listened outside the door for a moment. They heard Trool’s voice saying calmly, ‘She’s fading fast — warn the theatre team to expect us in ten minutes.’
Le Clerc opened the door and stepped into the room. He said to the nurse who had just lifted the telephone, ‘Don’t bother. Other arrangements are being made for your patient.’
Trool got up from the bedside, his eyes wide with astonishment. He was wearing surgical greens with a mask slung round his neck. Anne-Marie lay unconscious with tubes inserted in her mouth and nose as a bank of electronically controlled apparatus behind her did what it had been programmed to do.
‘This is outrageous!’ blustered Trool.
‘We can certainly agree on that,’ said Gordon bitterly as he moved to examine Anne-Marie along with Mary.
‘Is she who you thought she was?’ asked Le Clerc.
‘Without a doubt,’ said Gordon, fighting against a lump in his throat. ‘This is Anne-Marie Palmer.’
Gordon’s full attention was now given to Anne-Marie as he fought to assess her condition quickly but he was aware of Le Clerc informing Trool that he was under arrest. It didn’t really register that the policeman had stopped talking until Mary let out a scream and he turned in time to see Le Clerc’s face open up in a huge crimson gash. He fell to the floor and Gordon saw the scalpel that had appeared in Trool’s hand. His eyes had a wild look in them as he first looked to Gordon and then at Mary.
Gordon pushed Mary behind him as Trool started to come towards them, exuding malice. At the very last moment when Gordon had backed away as far as he could, Trool suddenly turned his attention back to Anne-Marie. He threw down the scalpel and snatched the child up from the bed, freeing her from all her tubes and lines with a vicious tug that made Gordon wince. He ran to the door with the child under one arm, removing the key with his free hand and then locking the door behind him a fraction of a second before Gordon got to it.