Evan Blessed (5 page)
Authors: Rhys Bowen
“Yes, we should definitely do that.” Watkins looked strainedâtired and old and strained. “Can you arrange a team, Howell? See if you can get help from the Parks Service again. Pay special attention to areas where she could have fallen as well as looking for any signs of a scuffle.”
“And what's our next step with the bunker?” Glynis asked. She
looked at the faces around the room. “Do you want me to check the national sex offenders database? Find out if anyone has been released from a mental facility and is now living in the area?”
looked at the faces around the room. “Do you want me to check the national sex offenders database? Find out if anyone has been released from a mental facility and is now living in the area?”
“How about seeing whether the modus operandi has come up before?” Watkins suggested. “That would narrow it down for us. Any cases of girls abducted and taken to bunkers, bodies with signs of handcuffs on the wrists.”
“The National Criminal Intelligence Service should have that kind of thing on file, shouldn't they?” Glynis looked up from the pad on which she was scribbling notes. “That would save contacting every regional police force.”
“Start off with them, definitely, but I think we should double-check with the regions too, just in case something hasn't made it to the database yet. If they've got an ongoing investigation that's similar, it might not have been put into a database yet.”
“So you want me to contact NCIS and all the regions?”
Watkins grinned at her. “You're our computer whiz.”
“I wish I'd played the helpless female when I first arrived here,” Glynis said. “And while I'm at it this morning, do we have access to a profiler, or should I check who does?”
“Excuse me, sir,” Evan interrupted. “It seems to me that we're jumping the gun a bit with this sex offender database and profiler.”
“The sooner someone can give us a profile on the type of man who might have built the bunker, the sooner we know who we're looking for,” Glynis countered.
“What are you getting at, Evans?” Watkins asked.
“Well, sir, I was thinking that one of us should start with the boy who reported the missing girl. Maybe go over their route with him, and talk to the other hikers at the hostel. Something might have been going on there.”
“Like what?” Watkins asked.
“All sorts of strange people stay in hostels, don't they? One of them may have had his eye on her and waited for an opportunity to get her alone. Perhaps someone overheard or noticed something out of the ordinary. We know she had a row with her boyfriendâ”
“I didn't know that,” Watkins interrupted. “Nobody told me that.”
“That's how they became separated on the mountain. She wasn't as good a hiker as he was. He said she was going too slowly. They had words and she told him to go on ahead. He did, then felt guilty and came back to look for her.”
“I see. Well, maybe you're right, Evans. We'd better go and question him again. And ask around at the hostel.”
“A couple of other suggestions,” Evan said. “Apparently she had a mobile phone on her. So why didn't she call if she was in trouble? We can check if any calls have been made from it since she disappeared.”
“I can do that, I suppose,” Glynis said, jotting down notes on a pad.
“And we can make sure your search team keeps an eye out for the phone, Jones,” Inspector Watkins said. “If someone grabbed her, he may have discarded it.”
“And check with the local police stations in case someone has found it and handed it in,” Evan added. “And I think we should ask around Llanberis and higher up the pass too, just in case anyone saw her trying to hitch a ride.”
Watkins nodded. “All worth doing. I'll drop all those in your lap, then. I'm going to meet the forensics team at the site and we're going to take another look at that bunker in daylight. Then maybe I'll catch up with you, Evans. At any rate, let's meet again down here at two o'clock.”
Sergeant Jones got to his feet. “You plainclothes types can go to your computers and your forensics,” he said slowly, “but there's one thing that seems obvious to me that nobody has mentioned.”
Heads turned in his direction.
“What I want to know is how someone carried a bloody great shovel and all those supplies up a mountain path. Who could have done that without drawing attention to himself?”
Red fury seethed inside his head. How could they possibly have stumbled upon his hideaway, after he'd put in so much effort and planned so well? Meddling, interfering little busybodies. Well, he'd show them. They weren't going to stop him now. He was going to go ahead in spite of them. Let them do their worst.
His breath came in rapid gasps as he opened the door to the piano room, sat down, and thumped out the somber chords of the Funeral March. Then a smile crossed his face as an idea came to him and he jumped up from the piano again.
“Maybe,” he said to himself, a slow smile spreading across thin lips. “Their wits against mine. No challenge at all, really. Peasants, the lot of them.”
He turned from the piano and began to write.
As Evan drove into the small tourist haven of Llanberis, he realized what a difficult task it would be to find anyone who had spotted the missing girl. On this sunny August morning, the town was crawling with tourists. Tour buses from strange corners of Europe belched diesel smoke as they disgorged their passengers. Families wandered across the road, trailing children and pushing prams. Serious
climbers, with ropes slung over their shoulders and big, solid boots, seemed intent on getting out of the crush as quickly as possible. There was already a long line for the little train up Snowdon. If Paul Upwood's girlfriend had come down the mountain and into this town, she could have drifted unnoticed among the crowd. Even if she had walked alone down the pass, or tried hitch-hiking, she would have joined a procession of other young people doing the same thing. A hopeless task, really.
climbers, with ropes slung over their shoulders and big, solid boots, seemed intent on getting out of the crush as quickly as possible. There was already a long line for the little train up Snowdon. If Paul Upwood's girlfriend had come down the mountain and into this town, she could have drifted unnoticed among the crowd. Even if she had walked alone down the pass, or tried hitch-hiking, she would have joined a procession of other young people doing the same thing. A hopeless task, really.
Anyway, first he needed to meet Paul Upwood again and get a detailed description of the girl from him, and hopefully a photo. Then they could make posters and he'd have a photo to show around on the Sherpa bus and in the cafés.
Evan stopped off at his house as he passed through Llanfair to change into hiking gear. Bronwen was nowhere in sight. He suspected she'd be up at the new cottage, trying to put her belongings into some kind of order. He grabbed his hiking boots and an anorak and raced out again before the bush telegraph which worked so efficiently in Llanfair could alert his mother to his presence. As he drove past the two chapels he noticed that the minister of Capel Bethel, the Rev. Parry Davies, was out pasting up a new biblical text on the billboard outside his chapel. It read: Faith without works is dead. St. James.
Evan couldn't resist looking across at the identical billboard outside Capel Beulah and saw instantly why Mr. Parry Davies had made his selection. The other minister, Rev. Powell Jones, had chosen as his text: St Paul says, “You will be saved by your faith.”
In spite of the grimness of the day, he smiled as he drove on. By the time he reached the youth hostel at the top of the pass, the cloud had closed in, so that the young people who loitered smoking outside the door were huddled in little groups, shivering in the cold wind. Evan changed into his hiking boots in the car, then hurriedly put on his jacket as he got out. Cloud swirled, turning the hostel into a ghostly shadow in the mist and obliterating the peaks beyond. If it had been a day like this when Shannon disappeared, Evan could have understood it. He'd been on the mountain enough times himself
when the world was suddenly swallowed up into the mist and one false step could have sent him tumbling over a cliff. But yesterday had been sparkling clear.
when the world was suddenly swallowed up into the mist and one false step could have sent him tumbling over a cliff. But yesterday had been sparkling clear.
He paused on the gravel outside the hostel, thinking. If someone had kidnapped her, how could he have done it? Where could he have taken her without being noticed on such a bare and well-populated mountain? Then he reminded himself that the bunker had existed, unnoticed, almost within shouting distance of a well-traveled path and a railway. The person who dug it had taken a terrible risk by situating it there. Obviously a person who enjoyed taking risks. He'd remember to mention that to Glynis when she was making her profile.
Paul Upfield was sitting in the common room, halfheartedly flicking through a magazine, as Evan came in.
He jumped up, letting the magazine fall to the floor. “Any news yet?”
Evan shook his head and pulled up a chair beside the boy. “I'm afraid not. Have you been in touch with her family again this morning?”
“No, I've been putting off talking to them until I really have to. They don't like me very much,” he said.
“Why's that?”
The boy's face flushed. “They don't approve of us going out together. They told her she was too young for a serious boyfriend, and she's almost eighteen. Some people get married at eighteen, don't they?”
Evan nodded. The boy sighed and sank his head into his hands. “They'll probably blame me for this. Her mum didn't want her to go on this holiday with me, you know. She thought we'd get up toâyou know. They keep her in a cocoonâdon't let her go dancing or anything.”
“So you don't know whether she's shown up at home this morning?”
Paul Upwood shook his head.
Evan pulled out his phone. “I think they'd like to hear from you, Paul. What's their number again?”
Paul Upwood winced as he gave Evan the numbers.
“Hello?” The woman's voice sounded tense.
“Mrs. Parkinson? It's D.C. Evans of the North Wales Police.”
“You've found Shannon?”
“Not yet, I'm afraid. We still have men out there looking. I've got Paul Upwood here with me andâ”
“I knew I should never have let her go with that boy,” Mrs. Parkinson said bitterly. “She's never been allowed off on her own before and now look what happens.”
“Accidents happen, Mrs. Parkinson. People get lost in the mountains all the time. The good thing is that it was a fine night and quite mild.” Even as he said it he noticed Paul Upwood staring out of the window at the swirling mist.
“That no-good boy promised to take care of her.” Her voice trembled this time.
There was no answer to that one.
“Please rest assured that we are doing our very best to locate her as quickly as possible, Mrs. Parkinson,” Evan said. “You have our phone number and if you hear from her at all, please let us know.”
“Why wouldn't she have called us before? That's what I want to know.” The voice trembled. “If she's all right somewhere, she'd have been able to call home, wouldn't she?”
“There may be a simple explanation for all this,” Evan said. “She could have dropped her phone, taken a wrong turn on the mountain, finally fallen asleep, and just now be making her way down to us.”
“But why was she by herself? Why wasn't he looking after her?” Mrs. Parkinson insisted.
Evan decided not to mention the tiff they had had. No sense in putting the boy even deeper in their black books. “He feels as badly about this as you do, Mrs. Parkinson. In fact, he's waiting to tell you how sorry he is. But try not to worry too much. I'll call you again when I've got any news.”
“All right.” The voice sounded defeated, almost as if she suspected she wasn't going to hear from her daughter again.
Evan handed the phone to Paul, who took it reluctantly.
“Look, I'm really sorry, Mrs. Parkinson,” Paul stammered. “I looked everywhere. I won't rest until we find her, I promise.” Then he hung up quickly before anything else could be said and handed back the phone.
“All right. Let's get moving,” Evan put a hand on Paul's shoulder.
“Moving?”
“That's right. You and I are going to retrace your steps up the mountain, exactly as you went yesterday, and you're going to look out for any cluesâ”
“Clues?”
“Anything she might have dropped along the way. Anything that might have belonged to her.”
“In this weather?” Paul asked. He was wearing a T-shirt and his adam's apple danced up and down nervously. “Isn't it dangerous to go up there in weather like this?”
“You want to find her, don't you?” Evan asked. Then he took pity on the hunched shoulders and patted the boy's back. “Don't worry. I've been up and down that mountain so many times I can do it in my sleep. You won't come to grief if you're with me. Go up and put your boots and jacket on. And while you're about itâdo you happen to have any photos of Shannon? I'd like to show one around and get it blown up into flyers.”
“Just this one.” Paul pulled out a wallet and extracted a snaphot. It was of him with his arm around a pretty, petite girl. They were gazing at each other, smiling. “It's not very clear, but it's better than nothing,” he said as he handed it over.
“Good-looking girl,” Evan commented as he took the picture.
“Yeah. Best-looking bird in her class at school.”
“Are you still at school?”
“No, I'm at university, studying accountancy.”
Evan wondered why a mother could possibly disapprove of a young man who hiked and studied accountancy. “Go on, get those boots on,” he said.
The moment Paul had disappeared up the stairs, Evan went looking for the hostel warden. He found him in the kitchen, scraping
out the last of a giant porridge pot. “The fun part of breakfast, and guess who gets stuck with it?” he said, looking up with a smile.
out the last of a giant porridge pot. “The fun part of breakfast, and guess who gets stuck with it?” he said, looking up with a smile.
Evan explained why he was there and showed the warden the photo.
“What can you tell me about this couple?” he asked.
“Quiet. Keep themselves to themselves. You say she's missing?”
“Yes, she didn't come back from a hike yesterday.”
“Is there a search team out looking for her?”
“Yes, we had men out there yesterday evening and more today.”
“I could round up some additional chaps if you'd like,” the warden said. “I'm sure everyone staying here would want to help find her.”
“Thanks. You're very kind. I'll relay that message to the officer who's coordinating the search,” Evan said. “I'm about to take Paul up to retrace their route. I just thought I'd ask whether anything might have happened here that was worth mentioning.”
“What sort of thing?”
“I don't know, really. Paul says he and his girlfriend had a disagreement while they were hiking. Had they quarreled at all while they were here? Had there been anyone else staying here who might have tried to pick her up? Or given them a hard time? I'm just trying to come up with a reason why she didn't come down the mountain.”
The warden scratched his luxuriant dark beard, then shook his head. “I can't say I noticed them interacting with any of the other hostelers. There is usually a lively group in the common room. Someone has a guitar. Lots of laughter. But as I told you, they kept themselves to themselves. I don't recall them in the common room at all in the evenings.”
Evan thanked the warden and showed the photo to all the other young people he could find, but the response was shrugs and blank faces. Some of them remembered seeing them at breakfast, but that was all. Nobody had overheard any quarrels.
Paul Upwood clomped down the stairs in hiking boots, now wearing a dark green anorak and carrying a stick.
Evan grinned. “I must say, you're prepared for the worst, aren't
you?” He led the way out of the hostel and across the car park to the start of the path up the mountain.
you?” He led the way out of the hostel and across the car park to the start of the path up the mountain.
“Did you say you took the Miner's Path or the Pyg Track?” Evan asked as they reached the first grassy slopes beyond the car park.
Paul Upwood looked around uncertainly. “I'm not sure which is which. This path here.” He indicated a well-defined trail going off to the right.
“That's the Pyg Track,” Evan said. “The Miner's Path drops down to Llyn Llydaw. You'd remember if you'd taken that one because it crosses the lake on a causeway.”
“Not that one, then,” Paul said. “I didn't cross any causeways.” He looked cold and miserable and a little scared. Well, who wouldn't, Evan thought. I'd be scared if Bronwen had vanished. I'd be out of my mind with worry.
They started up the track and instantly the youth hostel was swallowed into mist. The only world was a few tussocks of grass and rocks around their feet and their footsteps echoed from unseen crags. As they came to the top of the first crest, the wind hit them full in the face, swirling cloud around them. Paul Upwood stood breathing heavily, leaning on his stick.
Evan glanced in his direction. For someone who had criticized his girlfriend for her slow pace, Paul Upwood wasn't exactly in the greatest shape himself. The real ascent didn't even begin until they had passed the first lake, Llyn Llydaw, which now lay invisible below them. It suddenly occurred to Evan that perhaps they were both novice hikers and they hadn't made it to the summit at all.
“You said you parted company right after picnicking above a lake,” Evan said. “You didn't mean the lake right here, did you? You went all the way up to the summit first?”
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