Evan Blessed (20 page)

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Authors: Rhys Bowen

BOOK: Evan Blessed
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“Bronwen?” he shouted.
“She hasn't come home yet. I thought you went to pick her up.” Evan's mother rose from the armchair where she had been sitting, watching television. “Didn't you find her?” She stopped short when
she saw him. “Nothing's wrong, is it? You look dreadful. Come here and take off your jacket—you look all in.”
“Ow, leave me alone!” Evan yelled as she tried to yank off the jacket. “I've hurt my shoulder, Ma. I got—we've had a spot of trouble.”
“A spot of trouble?” She helped him ease off his jacket. “You're all strapped up. What happened?”
He looked at her worried face and found that he couldn't tell her about the bunker. He couldn't tell her about Bronwen either.
“I fell,” he said.
“Just like when you were a little boy, always falling down, you were. I spent half my life taking you to the casualty department.” She smiled at him.
“And I don't suppose you've had anything to eat yet, either?”
“No, I haven't.”
“Well, Mrs. Williams sent you a pot of her lamb
cawl.
I've been keeping it warm on the stove. Now sit down and I'll serve you.”
Evan allowed himself to be waited on. He tried to eat the soup but it was almost impossible to swallow.
“Come on, now. Eat up. It's not like you to be off your food.” Mrs. Evans sat beside him and watched each mouthful into his mouth. Evan got the feeling that she would have spoon-fed him if he'd stopped. He managed to get a few mouthfuls down before he shook his head. “I really can't, Ma. They gave me a shot of pain medicine at the hospital and it's made me feel queasy.”
“Then the best thing you can do is go to bed. I'll bring you up a cup of tea, or would you rather I made you Ovaltine, like I did when you were a little boy?”
“Tea would be fine, thanks.”
“Do you need help getting undressed?” she called after him as he ascended the stairs.
“Ma, I'm a grown man.”
“Sometimes even grown men need looking after by their mothers,” she said.
Evan managed to get into his pajamas and into bed before the tea arrived. Mrs. Evans placed it on the bedside table, stroked back his hair, and smiled down at him. “Now, isn't this nice. Just like old times. Soon you won't be my boy anymore and it will be up to Miss—up to Bronwen to look after you.”
Evan squeezed his eyes shut to try and shut out the pain. He was supposed to be looking after Bronwen. That's what husbands promised to do—love and cherish and take care of her for the rest of her life. He had let her down.
Bronwen opened her eyes to total darkness. She had no idea where she was. When she tried to move, she found that she couldn't. Her wrists and ankles were somehow bound together. She felt tape sticking to her, pulling at the hairs on her skin. She tried to open her mouth and found that it too was taped shut. Her head felt heavy and confused and she realized that she must have been drugged. The cup of coffee. He had offered her a cup of coffee and had watched her as it clattered from her lap, as her speech slurred and she lost consciousness. He must have kidnapped her, got her out somehow and brought her here—wherever here was. Am I in another bunker? she wondered. She rolled onto her side.
She was lying on what appeared to be a mattress. When she extended her arms, she touched cold concrete. It took her a long while to stand up, and when she finally achieved an upright position, her head swam around and she fought back nausea. She stood there in complete blackness, afraid to move, afraid what she might find, afraid of falling over and bumping into God knows what. She took a deep breath, then she started moving forward in tiny hops, taped wrists extended in front of her, until she bumped into walls. Bigger than the bunker Evan had described. But cold and dark. And musty-smelling.
She completed a tour of the walls without finding a door. Then another fit of nausea swept over her and she had to retreat back to the mattress on the floor. At first she couldn't locate it and panic threatened to overwhelm her.
Calm, she told herself. Stay calm. You are alone in a small room and it's only a matter of time before you find the mattress again. She inched her way along the wall and around the corner until her feet kicked at it. There she huddled, shaking, with her knees drawn up, until the nausea receded. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real.
A deep rumble made her lift her head. She felt the floor shaking. An earthquake? The rumble subsided. When the second rumble came, she identified it. A train. A railway line passed close by. Her first thought was the Snowdon Railway and that this was another bunker dug on the mountainside. Then came a third, more violent rumble, this time accompanied by a distant mournful shriek that changed pitch as it faded. An express train siren. I'm near the main line, she thought, and somehow that made her feel more hopeful. Along the main line were cities and towns and people. Someone would come and find her and she would be rescued.
Evan dosed fitfully and uncomfortably. Every time he drifted into sleep, it was into nightmares. He couldn't wait for dawn. When the first light appeared over the eastern mountains, he got up and dressed awkwardly. If anything he ached more than the night before. The painkiller had worn off and his shoulder hurt every time he moved. Added to that were bruises and muscle pulls from the various falls he had taken.
He came downstairs and was relieved to find that his mother had gone back to Mrs. Williams's house. With any luck he'd be gone before she showed up wanting to cook his breakfast and asking more questions. He called the police station and asked to be picked up, then he cooked himself an egg while he was waiting.
When he arrived at the station, just before seven, he found
Watkins and Hughes sitting together in the cafeteria. He suspected that they hadn't been to bed all night.
“Here's Sleeping Beauty, looking fresh and lovely,” Watkins commented in an obvious attempt to keep things light.
“I didn't get much sleep,” Evan said, pulling up a chair beside them. “Any news?”
“Not much,” Hughes said, staring into his empty teacup. “Several people in your village saw her getting on a bus just after two. The bus driver thinks he remembers her but he can't remember where she disembarked. He says the bus was crowded and a lot of people got off at every stop. Fair enough, I suppose. But we've intercepted the next letter.”
“Can I see it?” Evan asked.
Hughes looked up now. “I think perhaps you'd rather not see it. It will only distress you. It's just … rather spiteful threats.”
“Written in musical notes?” Evan asked.
“In musical notes, as you say.”
“Then at least we know he has got her.”
Hughes nodded. “Yes, I suppose we can conclude that.”
“What about the antiques dealer? We let him go?”
“Yes, we let him go. The search turned up nothing.”
“Pity,” Evan said. “So what do we do now? What do we have to go on? He must have slipped up somewhere. There must be one fingerprint on something …”
“And if there is?” Watkins said quietly. “Unless he has a record, we won't be able to identify him. We can hardly fingerprint the whole of North Wales.”
“What about a footprint?” Evan asked. “It was wet up there. He must have left a footprint in the mud by the bunker.”
“And we've had half a dozen men tramping over it since,” Watkins said. “Not to mention that it's been raining steadily all night. But it's worth a try, I suppose.”
Glynis Davies came into the cafeteria. “Ah, there you all are,” she said. “They've just been running a piece on the early morning radio
show. If everyone in North Wales knows that she's missing, at least that will put more pressure on her kidnapper.”
“Let's hope it's not too much pressure and he decides she's a liability,” Hughes said. Evan wished he hadn't.
“What we should be doing,” Glynis said, pulling up a chair beside Evan, “is working out why he singled Evan out. This is obviously designed to punish Evan specifically—the musical request and the letters, all directed to him. And he calls him Bad EE. Why?”
“Any ideas, Evans?” Hughes asked.
Evan frowned and shook his head.
“It could be a payback,” Watkins suggested.
“Payback?” Evan asked.
“For a case you've worked on,” Watkins said. “Someone you sent to prison who is now out? Someone with a major grudge.”
“Then the first step is to go through all the cases you've been involved in, Evans,” Hughes said. “Not necessarily just the big ones. A deranged man could carry a grudge from a traffic fine.”
“The obvious one is that choir director we arrested for murder,” Evan said, “but he's still in prison. Apart from that, I really can't think. I'll go through the records.”
“And if it's not someone that Evan has previously arrested,” Glynis said thoughtfully, “it could be something to do with this case we're working on right now. The first kidnapped girl. Maybe Evan was getting too close and this was to warn him off.”
Hughes looked sharply at Evan. “What aspects of the investigation were unique to you, Evans?”
“The National Parks people,” Evan said. “I was the only one who interviewed them.”
“Any likely candidates?”
“I would have said Roger Thomas,” Evan said slowly. “He's passionate about music. He's just bought a new caravan. He lied about where he was the day that Shannon Parkinson disappeared. The only thing against that is that I interviewed him yesterday afternoon, around five o'clock. Bronwen wouldn't have reached Caernarfon
much before three if she caught that bus. Would he have had time to kidnap her, hide her, and get all the way back to his house in Harlech by the time I showed up?”
“It's doable,” Watkins said. “A bit of a rush, depending on where he hid her. He could have brought her home with him.”
Evan closed his eyes. Surely it wasn't possible that he had sat on a sofa in a living room while Bronwen was in another room in the same house?
“He wouldn't have invited me in if that was the case,” he said, finding it hard to get the words out.
“It depends on his personality type,” Hughes replied as easily as if he was discussing the weather. “I rather get the feeling that this chap enjoys the thrill and the challenge. Maybe having you in the house gave him extra kicks.”
“Anyway, we'll bring him in for questioning and give his house a thorough going over,” Watkins said. “What was the address?”
Evan gave it to him.
“Any other park rangers we should consider? Any other lines of inquiry you've been taking—you and nobody else?” Hughes asked.
“There is Rhodri Llewelyn,” Evan said. “Inspector Watkins was inclined to dismiss him as a suspect, but I always had a gut feeling about him.”
“Rhodri Llewelyn?” Hughes said. “I don't think his name has come up before.”
“Young chap who works at the bank,” Watkins said. “Evans became suspicious about him after a Peeping Tom incident involving a young female bank employee. But he was working at the bank on the day that Shannon disappeared and I felt we had nothing on him other than Evan's gut reaction.”
“Gut reactions are not to be scoffed at,” Hughes said. “Bring him in as well.”
“He may be hard to find,” Evan said. “He decided to take spur-of-the-moment leave and he's gone off hiking.”
“Let's get the details on his vehicle and have him tracked down,”
Hughes said. “Any other gut reactions we should follow up, Evans?”
“Not that I can think of, sir,” Evan said.
“Right. We all have work to do then, don't we? Let's get on with it.” He stood up, brushed away imaginary crumbs, and strode from the canteen.
“Are you all right?” Glynis asked Evan quietly. “You look terrible.”
“There's nothing wrong with me apart from an aching shoulder and a few bruises,” Evan said. “As you can imagine, I didn't sleep well.”
Glynis looked at him with sympathy, started to say something, then shook her head. “Back to work then.”
Evan left the canteen and headed for the computer. He wasn't too comfortable with computers, but looking up the list of cases he'd helped to solve shouldn't be too difficult. He wondered how quickly they'd find Rhodri Llewelyn. He should have mentioned that Rhodri had a motorbike. He changed course and poked his head around Inspector Watkins's door. The room was deserted and he was about to leave when he saw the letter lying on Watkins's desk. Again two lines of musical notation. He couldn't help himself. He knew it was going to cause more pain, but he had to see it. He walked across and picked it up. The letters had been written in pencil under each of the notes. And at the bottom of the page was something new. A row of symbols that looked like circles and crescent moons, then an arrow pointing toward them and the letter U.
Evan read the letters, fighting the bile and rage that rose in his throat.
CAGE CAGE CAGE
GAG FEED BED CEDE
Then a row of suns and moons. Not just for decoration, surely. He counted three pairs and realized what they were saying. U have three days.

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