People Trafficker (11 page)

Carol looked at her friend. “Why would they want the parents to contact them, surely they have all the details of the winners?”

“I’ve no idea, but I’m going to give them a ring and find out,” Beryl replied.

For the next ten minutes, they couldn’t even get through, the line was constantly engaged. Then all of a sudden Beryl could hear the ringing tone and at last it was answered by a man.

“Hello, this is Angela’s mother; I’m ringing about Conort Travel Agency.”

“Yes Madam,” the man replied in perfect English. “Is Angela on holiday with Conort Travel?”

“Yes she left at the beginning of last week, is there a problem?”

“I cannot tell you Madam, I do not know. This is a request from the local police for contact information. Can you give me your full name and address, also the name and age of your daughter?”

Beryl gave him all the details.

“Have you spoken to Angela at all?” he asked.

“No, not since she arrived at the hotel in Morocco, she’s due back at the hotel tomorrow and she promised to call me as soon as she got back. Do you want me to ask her to ring you?”

“No, that won’t be necessary; we will be at the hotel. Anyway thank you for the information, we’ll be in touch.”

Beryl replaced the telephone on its cradle. “Well that was a strange conversation. He just took details and virtually cut me off. I hope it was a genuine Moroccan policeman, you never know you hear all sorts of things these days.”

Carol shook her head. “It must be genuine, Beryl, the BBC is hardly likely to put out a prankster’s number.”

“Yes I suppose so. But I’ll be glad to hear from her tomorrow, it’s been really quiet and lonely around the house with her gone. God knows what it’ll be like when she goes to university and only comes home on holidays.”

At Scotland Yard, Senior Detective Russell Joyce of the Child Investigation Division settled down in the video conferencing lounge with three other detectives. On the other end of the video link were two Moroccan policemen.

“Gentlemen,” one of the Moroccan police began in perfect English. “We have a problem. An hour ago it was confirmed that the two men found shot in a remote cove, were the drivers who collected the five English girls from the Hotel Crispin. Estimated time of shooting is nine days ago. The daughter of one of the victims is also missing. We believe the girls may have been abducted and we are at this moment trying to ascertain just who these girls are, and what they look like. We’ve already had nearly a hundred calls from concerned parents whose children are alone in Morocco and haven’t heard from them. This was to be expected, as lots of kids don’t keep in touch. However, we are only concerned about the competition winners who were taken to Hotel Crispin. We’ve been informed, by the proprietor of the Hotel Crispin, that there were five girls of around sixteen to eighteen who left in the two vehicles. Unfortunately the hotel did not take details of the girls, as they are required to do for guests staying in the hotel. We are not sure if it was deliberate, or an oversight. Either way this will be investigated. In the meantime we’ll pass all the names and addresses on to you, of the people who have called our contact number, for your local police to investigate. We’d appreciate if you would confirm back to us, as soon as possible, the names and photos of the actual girls we’re looking for.”

“Holy cow,” Russell muttered. “We’ve just got one back and now we might have lost five more. The shit will really hit the fan now.”

The Moroccan policeman nodded. “I can understand that, we also are in the firing line as they were taken while in this country. There is no way out of the cove except by the single track dirt road and there are no extra wheel tracks, so they must have been taken by boat. So at this stage we are assuming they were taken to a waiting ship and we’re currently studying the movements of ships in our territorial waters at the time the girls left the hotel. Like you say the shit will hit the fan. We, like you will have people in government demanding action, so we’ve already placed over thirty detectives on the case and will leave no stone unturned. However, using the cover story of the girls being taken on an outward-bound type holiday, the traffickers have had a considerable time to get the girls to another country without any alarm bells ringing. The only reason the drivers of the vehicles were found, was some local kids go snorkelling sometimes from that cove, they had time off from school and decided to spend the day there.”

By ten that night Angela’s parents were distraught. With the strange telephone call and the failure of Conort Travel and no contact from Angela, already they feared that there had been an accident and they weren’t being told. The television was still on the news channel and coming up to the hour.

After the usual welcome the newsreader carried on.

“Tonight the country is reeling with the news that yet again British children have been taken by people traffickers. Scotland Yard tonight have confirmed that it is almost certain five girls aged between seventeen and eighteen have been snatched. A travel company called Conort Travel, which was found earlier today not to exist, took these girls on a so-called desert trip ten days ago. Alarm bells began to sound when in Morocco, the two vehicles hired to take the girls, were found abandoned and their drivers dead. We understand names are being withheld until all the families have been contacted. These abductions follow close on the heels of that of Karen Marshall who was snatched some weeks ago. She of course escaped and vowed to use the money raised by her story to help children taken by these people. Already reporters are assembling outside Karen’s house trying to get her reaction to these latest abductions. In the meantime it is understood that the Prime Minister has asked Sir Peter Parker of Special Branch to head a high powered investigation team to find these girls.”

He fell silent a moment. “We are going over live to our reporter outside Karen Marshall’s house.”

The picture changed to show Karen stood outside her house surrounded by reporters.

“I feel very sad to hear the reports.” Karen had just answered a reporter’s question.

“Will you be assisting the police in finding the girls?” another asked.

“I don’t think so, after all they could have been taken by anyone and they could be anywhere in the world by now. How parents could allow their daughters to be away with strangers with no means of communication is unbelievable.”

“But you wouldn’t refuse to help if you were asked?”

“No of course not. But like I said, I can’t see what I could do.”

“What in your opinion will these girls be going through?” the BBC reporter asked.

Karen looked at him. “What sort of question is that? You’re talking about girls just out of school. Kidnapped for the sole intention of being used for some man’s sexual gratification and you wonder what they will be going through?”

“Did you know there was a girl of only fourteen taken?”

“No I didn’t, but if it is true her mum and dad must be devastated. The little girl terrified.”

Beryl was just staring at the television, her mouth open, tears beginning to run down her face. She couldn’t believe what the reporters were saying. It was a mistake, it must be, nobody would take their Angela? She was such a kind and thoughtful girl, never did anyone any harm. She looked away from the screen towards the telephone willing it to ring and hear their daughter’s voice, but it was keeping steadfastly silent.

“What are we going to do, Donald?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I don’t know, Beryl, and that’s the truth. I pray to God that there is some simple explanation and the girls are safe.”

She looked at him with tears running down her face. “She will be all right won’t she? Promise me, Donald, our little girl will be all right?”

He didn’t reply, just held her hand tighter. How could he promise her that Angela would be all right?

It was six o’clock the following morning when the doorbell rang. Donald opened it, the police were standing there. He asked them in.

Beryl was still sitting on the settee staring at the telephone, she looked up, her heart was racing.

“Angela, you’ve found Angela?” she whispered.

The policeman shook his head. “I’m sorry, but it has been confirmed by Special Branch, who are in contact with the Moroccan police, your daughter is one of five abducted. The two locals who’d driven them away from the hotel have been found. They are both dead and also a daughter of one of them is missing. The vehicles were abandoned on a narrow lane leading to a cove. Interpol is now involved, so too is Special Branch.”

Beryl put her hand to her face, her eyes wide with fear. Suddenly everything she’d listened to about Karen’s ordeal was flooding into her mind. Then seeing her on the television only hours before, she realised what sort of girl Karen must be. But her Angela was not like this Karen, a girl obviously relaxed with herself, tough, well used to survival, where Angela was very feminine, with no capability of dealing with what was possibly going to happen to her.

However, it was Donald who brought up a problem, a very serious problem. “What about her medication, Beryl?”

Beryl gasped. “God yes, her medication,” and then she looked up at the policemen. “Angela needs regular injections; she has a serious blood problem. We go every six weeks; she was due her next one three weeks after she would have come home from holiday.”

“And if this medication is not available to your daughter, what would be the result?” he asked.

“Our daughter will fall very ill, we are waiting for the results of tests she took a week ago to determine what the underlying problem is,” Donald replied.

Beryl grabbed her husband’s hand, her voice faltering as she spoke. “Please, Sir, you have to get our daughter back from these people no matter what it costs. She wouldn’t be able to cope, with their demands and her illness, it would destroy her.”

“We understand, Madam. I can assure you very experienced police officers are involved. This is not only a serious abduction of six young girls, but murder as well. You can be assured we will be working with many police forces to find them.”

As they left the officer turned. “There will be a policeman outside your door for the next day or so. He will be in constant contact with control and inform you of any progress. I’m afraid you can expect the press to be here in force. These girls came from all over the country so it is a national story.”