Evan Blessed (6 page)
Authors: Rhys Bowen
“Oh, are there two lakes?” Paul asked, then shook his head. “I'm getting confused. No, I must mean the lake below the summit. Little round lake, isn't it?”
“That's right,” Evan said. “A little round lake. Okay, then you did make it all the way up, then. Come on, let's get cracking. We've got the hard slog ahead of us.”
The path dipped slightly, then rose again, now narrow and rocky as it hugged the side of a steep slope. The clouds parted suddenly, revealing a long, thin lake below them. The water was so still that it looked like black marble. There was a sudden flapping sound, making both men start, and a pair of ducks rose from the smooth surface. Then the cloud closed in again, shutting them off into a private world.
After a while Paul Upwood was panting like the little steam engine that climbed the other flank of the mountain. “How much farther?” he gasped. Perspiration ran down his face.
Evan couldn't resist commenting this time. “I thought you said you were the great hiker and your girlfriend couldn't keep up with you?”
“I'm too tense to breathe properly today,” Paul replied. “My legs feel like jelly. I'm so scared that we'll find her and ⦠.” He let the rest of the sentence trail off.
“We had a team of men searching yesterday,” Evan said, “and dogs, and there were hundreds of people out on the mountain. So it's hardly likely that she's just lying somewhere, waiting to be found.”
He put a friendly hand on the boy's shoulder. “You are keeping your eyes open for any signs of her, aren't you?”
Paul nodded. “I'm not sure what signs of her we'd find. She isn't the sort of person who'd drop chocolate wrappers.”
After a long, hard climb, during which they had to stop to rest several times, Evan pointed at a stone pillar beside the path. “This is where the Miner's Track comes up from Glaslyn to join this one,” he said. “You didn't actually go down to the little lake for your picnic, did you?”
“No, we stopped and ate beside the track, looking down at the lake,” Paul said.
“So you stuck to this route. You didn't do the circle like a lot of folk, up on the Pyg Track and back on the Miner's?”
“I didn't,” Paul said slowly. “But we may have separated above this point. Might it be possible that she took the other route, by mistake?”
Evan stared down into swirling grayness. “I suppose if she saw other people taking that route, she might have followed them. So maybe we should go back that way, just to make sure.”
“Is it longer?” Paul's voice sounded exhausted.
“About the same. A little steeper, especially the first part. In this kind of mist you have to make sure you follow the path exactly because there are abandoned mine shafts dotted all over the place.”
“Mine shafts?” The words echoed back at them.
“There used to be copper mines all over the mountain. That's why it's called the Miner's Path.”
“Mine shafts she could have fallen down, you mean?” Paul Upwood's voice quavered.
Evan was annoyed with himself for not considering this possibility.
“I think they are well signed and blocked off, butâ”
“But she could have slipped and fallenâif she was in a hurry. If she was trying to catch up with me andâit's all my fault. I should never have been so bloody stupid. I suppose I was tired and when I'm tired, I get cranky.”
Evan looked at the serious, owlish face with more sympathy.
“We'll call out a team to check the mines. Watch your step.” He grabbed at the young man's jacket as he slithered on the loose shale. “We don't want you disappearing over the edge.” It came to him that Paul Upwood was completely ill at ease in such conditions. Not a hiker, then. Shannon must indeed have been a delicate flower if she had seemed slow to Paul.
“I'll go first,” he said, “then you can grab onto me if you feel yourself slipping. Watch where I put my feet.”
He started off again, stepping down from rock to rock. The round outline of Glaslyn became visible through the cloud, then disappeared again. Suddenly Paul shouted, “Wait. What's that?”
Evan stopped. Paul was staring down a steep face of loose scree. “There. Down by the water's edge.”
Evan had to wait until the clouds parted again before he saw what Paul was pointing at. A tiny patch of red, close to the waterline.
“She had red gloves with her,” Paul said.
“Stay there,” Evan commanded, and started to pick his way down the slope. Of all the things he disliked most, maneuvering across scree was one of them. With every footfall it was possible to set off a miniature avalanche that would gather momentum and send him plummeting downward, unable to stop. He slid, clambered, slid some more, until at last he was standing at the lakeshore. Then he picked his way across the scree slope to retrieve the red object. It was indeed a glove. He piled a cairn of stones to mark its position and started the long, treacherous ascent back up to Paul. Thoughts buzzed inside his head. Had she stumbled, stepped off the path, and slid down out of control toward the lake? In which case, had she gone in? Wouldn't someone have noticed or at least heard her cries? Would someone have heard the splash? And, unless she was first unconscious, why hadn't she been able to scream for help? If she had been wearing a heavy backpack, would it have dragged her under?
Evan regained the path and handed Paul the glove. The latter let out a sob when he saw it. “It's hers. It's Shannon's glove. Then she did come back this way. But what was it doing down by the lake?” He peered downward. Strands of mist hid the surface again. “You don't think she fell in, do you?”
“I don't know,” Evan said. “Was she wearing a backpack?”
“Yes, she was. It was quite heavy, too. You don't know Shannon. She always has to have her makeup and hairbrush and then she had her jacket and a camera. I carried it for her for a while, but I gave it back to her after lunch, because I thought it would be lighter after we'd eaten the food.”
Evan took out his mobile phone. “I'll call my boss and let him know what we've found. He'll take it from there. I just hope the phone works up here.”
“Watkins here,” came the voice on the other end.
“Sir, it's Evans. We've found the girl's glove. At the bottom of a steep slope beside Glaslyn. It looks as if she could have fallen down the scree and gone in.”
“Bloody hell,” Watkins said. “Right. I'll get men onto it. And how fast can you get down here, Evans?”
“Down where, sir?”
“My office. Forensics was able to match one set of fingerprints on a can of baked beans we found in the bunker. Young bloke who was arrested last year for beating up his girlfriend. He's being brought in as we speak. I'd like you present when I question him.”
It took a frustratingly long time to get Paul Upwood back to the youth hostel. He was so tired that he stumbled frequently and seemed close to tears.
“Sorry to rush you like this,” Evan said, “but my boss wants me down at the station right away.”
Paul looked up sharply. “Have they found something you're not telling me?”
“It's someone they've brought in for questioning,” Evan said. “Nothing to do with this.”
“You mean finding Shannon isn't even your number one priority? You've got other cases?”
“We're doing all we can to find Shannon, trust me,” Evan said. “We've got men out on the other side of the mountain right now ⦔
“Why would they be looking on the other side?” Paul asked. “She wouldn't have gone back to the summit and then down that way, would she?”
“You can't think of any reason why she would?” Evan asked, looking directly at the young man.
“Such as what?”
“If she was really upset after your row and decided to go home without you?”
“Shannon wouldn't do that,” Paul said, but Evan could see the doubt written on his face.
“Maybe she was just too tired to walk down and decided to take the railway,” Evan suggested.
“In which case, why would they be looking for her on the mountain. She'd catch the train and it would take her all the way to Llanberis, wouldn't it?”
Evan sighed. “I don't know the answer any more than you do, Paul. I just know that they gave this side a pretty good going over yesterday.”
“But they missed her glove, didn't they?”
“That's true. We'll know more when they bring in a team of divers.”
Paul stood shivering. “I just wish I knew, one way or the other. Not knowing is the worst.”
“You're right. Not knowing is the worst.”
The indistinct black humps of cars in the car park loomed ahead of them. “Do you want to ride down to Caernarfon with me?” Evan asked. “At least you can get a cup of coffee and wander around a bitâbetter than sitting and biting your nails at the hostel.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Paul said.
“And you'll be on hand in case Inspector Watkins wants to talk to you.”
“Inspector Watkins?” The boy looked startled.
“He may want to talk to you himself. After all, he's only had all the information secondhand so far. Hop in.” He opened the car door and the young man climbed in. They set off down the pass. Just as they reached Llanfair, they saw the Sherpa bus groaning its way up the pass. Evan stopped, got out, flagged it down, and climbed on board.
“Hello, Constable Evans,” the driver said. “Got car trouble, have you?”
“No, I just wanted to show you a photo,” Evan said. “We've got a young girl missing on Yr Wyddfa. I just wondered if you remembered giving her a ride yesterday.”
The driver took the snapshot and looked at it carefully. “I think I recognize her,” he said. “Yes, I'm pretty sure she's ridden on my bus before, with the young man. I recognize him too.”
“But not yesterday? Not on her own?”
The driver chewed on his lip. “Not that I can remember,” he said. “But it was a sunny day yesterday. We were chock ablock full all day. Standing room only, so I probably wouldn't have noticed her.”
“Right. Thanks again. And if you do see her, or you can think of anything that might be useful to us, give me a call, will you?”
“I'll do that, Constable Evans. And I hear you have a wedding coming up?”
“I do, but I can't stop to talk now. I'm wanted down at the station.”
“Looks like you're also wanted up here,” the driver said, glancing in his rearview mirror. “There's an elderly lady running up the street waving her arms.”
Evan turned around to see his mother making a beeline for the parked car.
“Oh no,” he groaned and sprinted across the street. “All settled in, Ma?” he called as he put the car into gear and pulled away.
“Yes, but I need to talk to you aboutâ” Mrs. Evans shouted.
“Later, Ma. I've got a dangerous suspect here I'm taking into custody,” he called back and drove away as fast as he dared.
“What was all that about?” Paul asked nervously. “You don't think I'm a suspect, do you?”
Evan laughed at his worried face. “That was my mother, and if I hadn't stopped her, she'd have kept us there for hours. She's been in the village all morning so she's probably already come up with at least twenty things to complain about.”
“Sounds like Shannon's mother,” Paul said. “Nothing's ever good enough for her.”
“Mothers can be difficult,” Evan agreed.
“What have you been doing? Driving here by way of Scotland?” Inspector Watkins demanded as Evan finally entered the Caernarfon police station and found his boss pacing the reception area.
“When I talked to you I was halfway up a mountain,” Evan said, “and since you didn't send a helicopter to pick me up, I had to get down on my own two feet.”
“I've got an angry young man in the interview room, demanding to see his lawyer and threatening to tell the newspapers about police harassment.”
“The one whose fingerprints were on the tin?”
Watkins nodded. “Name's Dave Matthews. We had him on file for an assault charge last year. He was never prosecuted because the girl withdrew her complaint, but he's a nasty piece of work. Works as a stockboy at Tesco's when he's not playing in a local garage band and riding around on a motorbike pretending to be a Hell's Angel.”
“So we've brought him in just on the basis of his fingerprint on the tin?”
“It's the only match we've come up with. In fact, there were suspiciously few fingerprints, making me think that our man wore gloves most of the time, or wiped items clean after him.”
“Someone who thinks ahead thenâconsiders all possibilities.”
“Right.” Watkins nodded. “Ready to face the raging bull then?”
Evan grinned as Watkins pushed open the interview room door. The man sitting at the table was swarthy-complexioned, overweight, with a lot of unkempt black hair. He was wearing a black leather jacket with studs on it and he stood up immediately, almost knocking his chair over. “About bloody time,” he said. “What have you been doing keeping me waiting like this? I've missed my effing lunch break. And I'd better not be docked any pay for this.”
“Sit down and shut up,” Watkins said. “We'll ask the questions. You give us the answers and you can go back to work. Start the machine please, Evans.”
Evan saw the man react nervously at the mention of the word “machine”. He walked across to the table and pressed the button on a tape recorder. “The date is August third. Time one forty-five p.m.
Present at the interview Inspector Watkins and D.C. Evans.” He turned to the man, who was now glaring at them, elbows on the table. “Would you state your full name and address please?”
Present at the interview Inspector Watkins and D.C. Evans.” He turned to the man, who was now glaring at them, elbows on the table. “Would you state your full name and address please?”
“David Merion Matthews. Twenty-five Bangor Street, Caernarfon.”
“And your occupation, Mr. Matthews?”
“I play bass guitar with a rock band and I also work for Tesco.”
Inspector Watkins moved in to take over from Evan. “And last year we had the pleasure of your company when you were involved in a case of domestic violence, Mr. Matthews. You came home drunk and knocked around your lady friend. Is that correct?”
“You can't hold that against me,” Dave Matthews said, looking at them defiantly, “because she dropped the charges. It never got to court. So as far as you're concerned, it never happened.”
“But one thing that did happen was that you were fingerprinted,” Watkins said.
“So?”
“Would you mind telling us what you were doing yesterday?”
The reaction was complete surprise. “Yesterday? What the bloody hell is this about? Yesterday I was working the early shift at Tesco, mate, then I came home and had an afternoon kip because I'd been up since five, and then me and the band practiced over at Gareth's house in the evening. Not exactly the most thrilling day of my life.”
“You ride a motorbike, is that correct?”
“That's right. A Harley. My pride and joy.”
“Ever take it off road?”
“What's this all about? That old git down the street complaining about me revving the engine and waking him up late at night again?”
“Ever drive up Llanberis way and onto the mountain?”
“What on earth for?”
“So you've never ridden your bike through Llanberis?”
“I might have done, although I can't think why. Deader than a doornail once you get to those bloody villages, isn't it? Not recently anyway. And I don't take her off road. I'm not risking mud on the chrome.”
“What time did you clock out yesterday?”
“Two o'clock.”
“And you said you took a nap when you got home. Anyone vouch for that?”
“Yeah, I've got my harem waiting for me, haven't I? Of course nobody can bloody vouch for it.”
“Your girlfriend? Are you still together?”
“We don't live together no more. She's a bloody pain in the arse, nagging about my smoking all the time.”
“So nobody saw you come home yesterday and nobody saw you leave again?'
Matthews shrugged. “Someone on the street might have done,” he said. “The old biddy opposite has got nothing better to do than sit behind her curtains.”
Watkins glanced at Evan. “Anything you'd like to ask, Constable?”
Evan wasn't at all sure where this was going. He couldn't equate this unkempt, overweight individual with the builder of the bunker who had meticulously stacked supplies, made the bed with hospital corners, and who listened to Bach.
“Not really, sir,” Evan replied.
Watkins gave him a swift look before he said, “All right, Matthews, you're free to go for now.”
Dave got to his feet. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
“Not at the moment. We may be calling on you again.”
“Then do you mind calling my supervisor and telling him that I ain't done nothing wrong. I don't want him getting ideas about me when I'm a law-abiding citizen.” The big man pushed his way past them and stumped out of the interview room.
“So what do you think?” Watkins asked when Matthews had been escorted out.
“If you want my opinion, he had nothing to do with it,” Evan said.
“Why's that?”
“Wrong type,” Evan said. “Men who bash their women around don't have to fantasize about keeping one of them in chains. And
you saw how neat and ordered that bunker was. This bloke probably only takes a wash once a week.”
you saw how neat and ordered that bunker was. This bloke probably only takes a wash once a week.”
Watkins pushed back his sandy hair, which was now showing the first signs of gray at the sides. “I can't disagree with that. But the fingerprint on the baked beans tin?”
“He does work at Tesco,” Evan pointed out. “He was probably the one who put it on the shelf.”
Watkins nodded again. “But why was there just this one clear set of prints and no others?”
“Because the man we are looking for is very meticulous. He wears gloves. He wipes things clean. He overlooked a couple of prints.”
“Pity. It all fitted so nicely. Violent with women, rides a motorbikeâ”
“What's all this about the motorbike?”
“Oh sorry, I didn't get a chance to tell you. The team found bike tracks near the bunker. Someone might have carried stuff up there on the back of a bike. We'll have forensics look at Matthews's tires, but I suspect you're right and he's not the type we're looking for.”
“We do know one thing,” Evan said.
“What's that?”
“Our man shops at the local Tesco.”
“And what help is that?” Watkins demanded. “Do you think we can go into Tesco and ask if they saw anybody suspicious buying a tin of baked beans recently?”
“It wasn't just one tin of baked beans. It was a good quantity of tins and packets. If he bought them all at once, one of the checkers might have remembered.” Evan smiled. “And it does tell us one thing. It's more likely that he's a local and not someone from outside who came to the area looking for a remote spot.”
“But that's just the point,” Watkins said angrily. “It's not a remote spot. It's within a few yards of the most popular path up Snowdon. If I were going to capture a helpless female and hold her prisoner somewhere, there are plenty of really remote places.”
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