wanted criminals. Montrichard rarely got foreign or Interpol enquiries, six years since the last if Lacombe remembered right, and he was eager to prove that the Montrichard Gendarmerie was nothing if not efficient.
He visited the Richault himself assisted by two gendarmes, sent a team of two simultaneously to the Chateauville, and one man to each of the other three hotels, emptying all but two men from the Gendarmerie. Lacombe personally saw and, via the receptionist, questioned the only two British residents at the Richault — a single man and a family of four. His other men ran through the same exercise at the remaining four hotels: seven British registrations, but only one close to the description passed on of a forty-something mother and a child of ten. But the interviewing gendarme who had sight of them said that the mother was blonde, no more than 1 metre 55, and was quite plump, probably close to 70 kilos.
Crowley did some quick mental arithmetic: four inches shorter and twenty-pounds heavier than Elena Waldren, even if she had dyed her hair.
Lacombe had liaised with all his other men while still at the Richault and as a precaution had asked for the passports of all British guests to be photocopied.
Almost as an afterthought, Crowley asked where the two British registrations at the Richault were from. ‘A clue is the last page of their passports, emergency contact addresses.’
‘It’s okay, I know from my interview notes where they’re from,’ Lacombe proudly announced back through Sally. ‘The family of four are from Maidstone in Kent and the man on his own is from Poole, Dorset.’
‘Forty-five, maybe fifty.’
Crowley was pretty sure he knew what had happened: the Waldrens had got a friend to run decoy with her cash card. He thought of sending Lacombe back to question him, but there was little point: he probably wouldn’t admit it or give any clue to where she’d gone, even if they had been stupid enough to tell him, and using someone else’s cash card with consent was no crime. But at least Crowley had a clearer view now on where she’d probably headed: three or four main options, as far as he could see.
He made use of Lacombe’s eagerness to ensure that Elena Waldren hadn’t continued on to the next town, Loches, by having him check by phone with their hotels also. And when Lacombe phoned back twenty-five minutes later with a blank there also, he asked Sally to re-contact Interpol to urge them to concentrate their focus on border posts with Belgium, Germany and Switzerland, and Paris airports: Orly and Charles de Gaulle.
Elena was frantic within half an hour of waiting at the airport.
Gordon’s elaborate plans might have worked — the train journey for the last stretch so that her car wasn’t visible on the road for too long, the decoy run with her cash-card — if it wasn’t for their flight being delayed by almost two hours. More than enough time for the police to work out possible alternatives and start circling in on her.
She heard the news first at the check-in desk and it made her head spin. Walking away, she felt nauseous, faint, as if her legs could hardly carry her. The blaring airport tannoy echoed and reverberated inside her head, made it all the worse. She feared she was going to black-out at any second and eased herself down at the first bank of seats only twenty paces from the check-in. Lorena asked if she was okay.
‘Yes, I’m fine. Just tired from driving and all the rush.’ Elena didn’t want to let on how frightened she was, her nerves at breaking point. Each police car they’d passed, the ticket guard on the train, another man not far behind who looked from side to side, seemed to be observing everyone as he walked down the aisle… each incident had raised her nerves another notch. ‘And now I’ve just heard that we’ve got a bit of a wait for our flight. Let’s grab a coffee.’
She smiled and went to take Lorena’s hand, then realized that her own shaking hand would give away her panic — so in the end she just draped her arm over Lorena’s shoulder.
But her hands were shaking openly on her coffee cup, and seeing the concern in Lorena’s eyes she felt she had to explain. ‘I’m worried that the people who’ll have been looking for you — probably now for the past few hours — might be able to catch up and find us because of this delay now with our flight.’ Elena kept her voice low in case anyone nearby might overhear, but as an extra caution said ‘people’ instead of police.
‘But we left that tape to tell them that there was nothing to worry about. I was okay.’
Elena shook her head and smiled. The naivete of children. If only she could take the same simplistic view to dampen the combined-harvester of nerves churning her stomach. ‘I know. But I think they’ll still come looking for you — for us.’
Lorena’s eyebrows knitted. ‘But even if they find us — nothing will happen to you, will it?’
‘Well, I’m not so…’ Elena’s eyes flickered past Lorena’s shoulder, to a uniformed policeman shifting into view at the back of the room, going over to talk to a man in a grey suit with a walkie-talkie in hand. They seemed to be paying little attention to anyone in the coffee area, but still Elena felt uncomfortable with them so close. ‘I’m more concerned though about you.’ She reached over and gently patted Lorena’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
They spent the next twenty minutes browsing in airport shops, picking up a walkman and two tapes and a Harry Potter from a section with English books to keep Lorena occupied during the flight. Or was it equally for herself so that she didn’t have to brave out any more awkward questions from Lorena: Where are we going? How long will it take? How long will we stay there? Two or three days… it seems a long way to go just for that. Lorena was animated, excited; to her, this trip was an adventure. Whereas Elena felt like a condemned prisoner, too occupied with her impending doom to take up her last moments with idle chat.
At least she felt less conspicuous rummaging in the back of airport shops, away from open concourses and the view of everybody. But still the occasional policeman or airport security guard would pass and make Elena’s heart leap. And as they finally came back out into the main throng of activity, Elena’s nerves were back to hammering intensity: more policemen, security men with walkie-talkies, customs officials, anti-terrorist guards with sub-machine guns. Just passing the occasional policeman every forty minutes or so on the way to the airport had put her nerves on edge — now she was surrounded by them! Having to pass two whole hours trapped here was Elena’s worst nightmare come true.
She glanced at her watch: still one hour and eighteen minutes to go. The question was whether to go through customs now and wait out the remaining time airside, or only go through at the last moment? If any alert had come through, that’s where the main check would be. The more she waited, the more the chances of something coming through. But if she went through early and the alert came through afterwards, would her name then be down so that she was just a sitting duck trapped airside for them stop upon boarding?
‘It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be alright.’ Lorena reached out and slipped her hand into hers, lightly clasping.
‘Thanks. You’re probably right.’
Elena dragged Lorena into a gift shop to grab a moment’s more clear thought away from the hustle-bustle — before finally deciding to go through customs straightaway. Not just because she felt she should be putting on a braver face for Lorena, but that with her growing panic if she waited any longer she might not be able to face going through at all.
‘Okay. Let’s go.’ She gave Lorena’s hand a re-assuring squeeze, though it was more for herself.
But within minutes in the customs queue, she was having second thoughts. She was shaking heavily and her legs were weak again, the airport announcements back echoing dizzily — she could hardly understand a word, for all she knew it could be rallying all guards to immediately apprehend her. And at that moment she noticed the plain-clothed guard with earpiece and walkie-talkie a few yards behind the three customs desks ahead, watching hawkishly each person that went through.
But it was too late to leave the queue and turn back — eight or ten people now behind them — they’d be spotted by the guard ahead, singled out. And so she just continued shuffling numbly forward like a condemned person, almost certain now that there would be no last minute reprieve.
