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Authors: Rhys Bowen

BOOK: Evan's Gate
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“So you’ve finally turned up, have you?” Bronwen stood at her front door looking at him with not exactly warmth in her eyes. Instead of her usual long skirts and baggy sweaters, she was smartly dressed in tailored black pants and a silky shirt. “I thought it was Saturday evening, and we were supposed to be going out.”
“I’m sorry,
cariad.
” Evan kissed her as he stepped into her living room. “A lot’s been happening today.”
“But I can tell you started partying without me,” she said. “I can smell the booze on your breath. What did you do, pop into the Dragon for a quick one?”
“No, I had to go and interview some people who were celebrating an eightieth birthday, and someone shoved a glass of champagne into my hand. By that time I needed a drink, so I downed it.”
“Eightieth birthday, eh? I hope they weren’t being cited for drunk and disorderly. Were they having a rave up?” Her smile disappeared as she looked at Evan’s face. “What is it, love?” She put her hand up and touched his cheek.
“It’s all rather horrible actually,” he said. He took her hand and held it against his cheek.
“Not that little girl? They haven’t found her, have they?”
“Not that little girl, no. Another one.”
“Another child was taken?”
He turned away, staring at the flames from a new log leaping up into the chimney. Bronwen liked a fire in the evenings, even in summer. “This one was long ago. A little girl disappeared and she was never found, in spite of extensive searches. Well, today I was digging out the sewer line at the cottage, like I told you I was going to, and I dug up a skeleton—a child’s skeleton, Bronwen, and I’m pretty sure it’s her.”
She came up behind him and rested her hand gently on his shoulder. “Outside our cottage? Evan, how horrible for you.”
“It’s funny,” he said, still staring at the flames, “but I’d put it out of my mind for all this time. Never thought about it once when we moved down to Swansea, and now I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to know who the hell took her and what exactly he did to her before he buried her outside our cottage.”
“Evan, you don’t have to make this too personal,” she began.
“Of course it’s personal. It’s too damned personal. Don’t you understand, I knew her. I played with her. I should have been there to protect her.”
“Now that’s rubbish and you know it. How old were you when this happened?”
“Seven,” he said. “She was six, a year younger. I thought she was the most lovely thing in the world—probably a lot like you as a child. I always took good care of her when we went up into the mountains, but that day I’d decided to go fishing with my dad. When we got back, the search parties were already out. We joined them. They had dogs and everything, but we never found her.”
“How very sad.”
He nodded. “It was more than sad; it was so bloody unfair. Who could have done that to such a beautiful child?”
“Did they ever have any suspects?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m going into HQ in Colwyn Bay
tomorrow to look up the old files. Whoever took her must have carried her right over the Glyders and down to our cottage. That’s quite a feat.”
“Unless he took her down to a car and drove her here.”
Evan hadn’t considered that possibility. “But to take her down to the road, he’d have had to come through the Thomases’ farm or my
taid
’s farm. There were always farm dogs around, and she could have cried out.”
“Unless she was already dead.”
“Right.” He looked away.
Bronwen went over to the kitchen table and poured a glass of red wine. “Here,” she said, “drink this.”
Evan sank into the chair in front of the fire. “Thanks,” he said.
Bronwen came to sit on the arm.
“So you’re going to get the case reopened, are you? If they didn’t find anybody then, it will be darned near impossible now, I should have thought.”
“We absolutely have to get the case reopened, Bron. Don’t you see, it’s just happened again. A sweet little blonde girl has disappeared—vanished without a trace.”
“Oh, I do see. So you’re suggesting that it might not have been the child’s father who took her after all, but the same man who killed the first little girl.”
“Sarah,” he said. “Her name was Sarah. And do you know what I just found out this evening? They are celebrating her grandfather’s eightieth birthday at this very moment. All the family members who were here twenty-five years ago and haven’t been back since. They’ve all come back again.”
“Evan, you’re not suggesting that one of her family did it, are you?”
“I’ve been wondering about that. I remember how they couldn’t wait to get away. How they’d closed ranks and wouldn’t speak to anyone. And if it was a family member, she’d have gone willingly enough with him, or her.”
“But you weren’t talking about grown-ups, were you? She was playing with other children, surely?”
“Two of them were older boys, probably twelve at least. Then there was a bigger girl and a little boy not much older than me. And she was a fragile little thing. I lifted her down from a rock once, and she weighed almost nothing.”
“But members of her own family, Evan,” Bronwen insisted. “Surely not.”
“I don’t want to think that way, but it’s funny that the same thing happens the moment they come back, isn’t it? I’d like to take a look at where they’re all living these days and see if there are any other missing children on the police files.”
He looked up at her, noticed the makeup and earrings and silky blouse, and felt a sudden flush of guilt. “Sorry,
cariad.
You were expecting us to go out tonight, weren’t you? Would you really mind if we put it off for another time? It’s been quite a day, what with the skeleton and all. And you’ve gone to all that trouble to dress up too.”
Bronwen ruffled his hair. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to this if I’m going to be a policeman’s wife, won’t I? Are you hungry or did someone happen to shove a lamb chop into your hand while you were at the birthday party?”
“They were barbecuing lambs,” Evan said, with a wistful smile. “They smelled wonderful, but no, I didn’t stay to eat. I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, if you want to know the truth.”
“It just happens that I have lamb chops in the freezer,” Bronwen said. “I can defrost them in a jiffy if you like.”
Evan wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close to him so that her breasts were level with his face. “Did I ever tell you that you’re a bloody miracle worker?” he asked.
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Being a bloody miracle worker would be teaching you to cook,” she said. “I’m just a wonderful human being taking pity on a poor, undernourished public servant.”
Evan snuggled his face into the silk of her blouse, conscious of the fresh, clean scent of her, with just a hint of perfume. “Of course, we could always forget about the food,” he muttered.
She pushed him away, laughing. “I’ll go and defrost those chops. You’ll need your strength.”
The last of the stragglers was finally leaving the marquee. In one corner the band was packing up instruments and amplifiers. In another old Mrs. Morgan was busy stuffing leftover cheese squares into her handbag. Hugh Bosley-Thomas came up to his father and clapped him on the shoulder. “That was some party, eh, Dad? Had a good time, did you?”
“Bit noisy for my taste,” the old man said. “All that modern music blasting away.”
“Modern? Grandpa, that was the Beatles,” Val said, laughing. “Forty years old. Positively antediluvian.”
“It all sounds the same to me,” Tomos said. “All thump thump thump and no decent tune to it. Not like the old days. Ivor Novello—now that was music.”
“Apart from the music, did you have a good time?” Hugh asked. “You certainly have a lot of friends in the community. Look how many people turned out for you.”
“Go anywhere for free food, this lot would,” Tomos Thomas said. “And even farther for free drink. Did you see the Misses Dawson from the rectory knocking back the wine? They always claim they’re teetotalers. I suppose they’ll claim this was medicinal.”
“Well, I think it went splendidly.” Henry joined the group. “A real compliment to your position here in the community, Grandpa.” He glanced around at his sister, who was busy stripping tables and piling up primrose table centers. “Leave those, for God’s sake, Suzanne. We’ve got people coming in the morning to pack everything up.”
“But they’d just throw all these away,” she said, lifting another primrose basket from a table and holding it protectively. “It seems
such a shame. I was going to plant them beside the house so Grandpa could go on enjoying them.”
“Sheep will make short work of those,” Tomos said.
“But you don’t have any sheep at the moment, apart from those few lambs,” Suzanne said.
“I will soon. As soon as I’ve got the herd built up again, they’ll be grazing down by the house and then your primroses won’t last five minutes.”
“Dad, I wish you’d give up this absurd idea of restocking the sheep,” Hugh said. “Take it as an sign from God that your farming days are over and start enjoying life.”
“Taking pottery classes and ballroom dancing lessons, you mean? Not me, boy. I’m going to die right here on my land, doing what I’ve done all my life. They’ll find me cold and stiff one day, up on the hillside where I belong.”
Nick had come to join them. “I didn’t want to spoil the mood earlier, but I’m afraid I’ve got some unpleasant news,” he said. “A policeman was here this evening—who, by the way, was none other than Evan Evans, who used to live next door. It seems they’ve found some—remains.”
Suzanne gave a little cry and put her hand up to her mouth. The basket of primroses fell to the floor and smashed.
“They think it could be Sarah?” Hugh asked, after a long silence.
“The cop was pretty sure it was. He’ll let us know when we can meet with the forensic anthropologist and work on positive identification. He mentioned dental charts and photos.”
“We must call Mother right away,” Suzanne said. “She’ll want to be here.”
“And I don’t think that photos will be a problem,” Henry muttered. “Mother’s shrine is full of them.”
“How strange that she should be found at this moment,” Val said. “It’s almost as if she was waiting for us all to come back.”
“Bloody rubbish!” Hugh said angrily. “What nonsense you talk. Sarah is dead and gone.” He pushed past them and strode away.
Tomos Thomas looked at his grandson with understanding. “Don’t mind him, boy. He’s been hurting too long.”
“Haven’t we all?” Henry said. “But I don’t see what good this will do. We might have found her remains, but we won’t find out who took her, will we? They couldn’t do it then, and they won’t do it now. It will just be opening old wounds.” He glared down at Suzanne, who was now on her hands and knees attempting to salvage the primrose basket.
“For God’s sake, leave that, Suzanne,” he snapped. “They’ll clean it up.”
“But I want to plant it,” she said mechanically. “Plant it in memory.” She lifted the plant from the smashed pot and held it gently in front of her. “I need to keep busy, Henry, so that I don’t have time to think.”
“Any news, sir?” Glynis Davies came into the incident room at eight o’clock on Sunday morning looking cool and efficient in a gray pinstripe suit. In that outfit she would have looked just right in the middle of the City of London, stockbroking or running a multinational company, Evan decided. Up here in the wilds of Wales, she’d stand out like a sore thumb. Nonetheless he gave her an appreciative look. The skirt was just short enough to show off those long legs. Glynis caught the tail end of the look, and her challenging stare let Evan know she was very well aware what he’d been thinking. “Any sightings yet?” she asked, grinning as Evan blushed.
Watkins waved a pile of paper at her. “Look at these—apparently it ran on all the evening news broadcasts, and we’re inundated with bloody sightings. You and Evans are going to be spending the morning following up on these reports, deciding which ones are credible enough to warrant investigating further, and then persuading the local police to check them out for us.”
“Are you sure you really need me to do that, sir?” Evan asked. “I’d sort of hoped to be there when you interview the Thomas family.”
“It won’t take two people to talk to them,” Watkins said impatiently.
“We’ve presumably got everything on record from the time when the child vanished. All we need are current addresses. One of the uniform boys can do that.”
“But, sir—they’ll leave the area, and then we’ll have lost them again. Don’t you think we should be checking out their backgrounds and seeing if any of their locations match with other missing children?”
“I think you’re going overboard with this one, Evans,” Watkins said. “I agree the discovery of your skeleton and these people showing up again is mildly interesting, but I still don’t think it impacts on the crime at hand. You say they came up here for a birthday party near Llanwryst? Then what in God’s name would they be doing at a caravan park on a deserted beach twenty miles away?”
“Whoever snatched Ashley must have been waiting and watching for some time,” Glynis added. “He picked exactly the one moment when the mother disappeared. Either he knew the mother’s habits well enough to know that she’d have to go for a cigarette, or he’d studied her enough to know that she did this from time to time.”
“Good point.” Watkins nodded in agreement. “Look, Evans, I know you’ve been right on hunches before, and I know it’s an amazing coincidence that the two little girls looked alike and all that, but I have to think that’s what it is—just an amazing coincidence.”
“So we’re not going to pursue the Thomases at all?” Evan bit back his annoyance.
“Obviously we’d like a positive identification of the skeleton from them—a DNA sample if necessary, but I’ve made it quite clear that we are looking for Ashley’s father and we’re not going off on any bloody tangent until we find him. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” Evan said. He thought back longingly to the good old days when he and Watkins were mates, teaming up against the tyranny of the then D.I. Hughes. “So here.” Watkins dropped the pile of papers on the table. “Divide these between you, see
which ones look credible, and follow up on them.”
“This might not take as long as you think,” Glynis said kindly as they settled down at a desk together. “Listen to what this person says—‘You ought to check out the man upstairs. He looks just like your photograph and he speaks a foreign language and he’s got shifty eyes. He looks just the type who’d kidnap a little girl.’” She laughed. “It’s from Kent. It should be easy enough to find out if he was away long enough to drive to Wales and back.”
“I wish we knew what type of car he might be driving,” Evan said. “And where he’d been for the past month. That would make it so much easier to narrow these down.”
“Maybe we should ask Inspector Watkins if he’d consider letting one of us go to London and take up the trail personally. Mrs. Sholokhov said he had a group of Russian friends there. He must have discussed his plans with somebody.”
“That doesn’t mean they’d tell us, especially if they’re Russians,” Evan said. “They’ll all gang up and want to protect their friend, won’t they?”
Glynis sighed. “Oh well, I suppose we’d better get down to the task in hand or we’ll be here all day.”
“Right. Stuck here all day when I’m dying to find out more about those Thomases.”
Glynis smiled. “You get too involved, you know. Not a good quality in a policeman.”
“You’re right. I am involved, but only because I don’t want a murderer to slip away for a second time. If he killed little Sarah and wasn’t discovered before, then he must have been pretty slick, wouldn’t you say? They had search teams out everywhere that very evening. And yet he managed to get her right over the mountains and down to Llanfair—and bury her without being discovered.”
“They probably didn’t suspect foul play at that time,” Glynis said. “He could have walked among them as one of the search team, knowing where he’d hidden her and steering them away.”
Evan thumped his fist on the desk, making the pile of papers
jump and teeter. “I’m going to find him, Glynis, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“If you don’t get down to working your way through these, the D.I. will make sure this is the last thing you do.” Glynis laughed. She had a wonderfully sexy, throaty laugh that didn’t match her professional and sleek exterior.
Evan smiled as he started reading the first reports. Maybe he was being melodramatic about finding Sarah’s remains. They didn’t even know yet that the skeleton was Sarah. He’d look rather stupid if they found this was quite another child, buried long before his time. He picked up the phone and started dialing.
By noon they had five credible leads and had been in touch with local police in Sussex, Hampshire, Birmingham, North London, and South Wales. Of these, the one in Cardiff looked the most hopeful. A fair-haired man and child had been seen playing in a park. He was pushing her on the swings. He spoke with a foreign accent. Cardiff would be a good place to lie low and wait for a chance to slip away. There were car ferries from several points in South Wales across to Ireland and from there a flight to Europe.
“Let’s leave the D.I. a memo about what we’ve done and go and get some lunch,” Glynis said. “He had us in very early this morning, and I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”
“Me too,” Evan agreed. “I wonder what delicacy the canteen ladies have thought up for us today?”
“Oh, not the canteen, please,” Glynis rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. There are many things I will do for love of my job, but eating canteen food is not one of them. And I flat out refuse to drink what they have the nerve to label coffee. There’s that nice little coffee bar on the other side of the roundabout. They do a decent cappucino and a good Greek salad.”
Evan foresaw teasing if he was seen eating Greek salad for lunch, but he decided the teasing would be tempered with envy if he was seen having lunch with Glynis. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
As it happened, they had a comprehensive Greek menu and Evan ordered gyros.
“Lovely,” he commented. “Lots of garlic.”
“I’m surprised at you, Evan,” Glynis commented, as he tucked in with satisfaction. “A real Welshman enjoying foreign food cooked with garlic. Won’t you be drummed out of chapel?”
“My fiancée’s been educating me,” he said. “She likes cooking exotic dishes, and I’ve developed quite a taste for them.”
“Have you now?” Her smile hovered at the very edge of flirting. “And how did she learn about foreign cooking?”
“Oh, she’s a very cultured person. She went to Cambridge, you know.”
“The university?”
“No, the bloody football club,” Evan said, half joking and half not.
Glynis blushed and had to laugh. “I’m sorry. That was very ham-fisted of me. There’s no reason at all why your fiancée shouldn’t have been to Cambridge. I was caught off guard because I was surprised that—” She broke off in embarrassment.
“That she chose to be a schoolteacher in a village school or that she chose to marry me?”
“I didn’t mean either, Evan.” She toyed awkwardly with her salad.
“It’s all right. I ask myself the same questions quite often in fact. How did someone as bright and beautiful and worldly as Bronwen wind up with an ordinary chap like me?”
“I don’t think you’re at all ordinary,” Glynis said.
“Well, compared to people like Bronwen, or like you. I mean, you’re another one I wouldn’t have expected to find in a backwater like Caernarfon.”
“I like it here,” she said. “I like being a big fish in a small pond. I expect Bronwen does, too.”
Evan nodded and took another bite of gyro. He was suddenly conscious that gyros were impossible to eat delicately when sitting next to a young woman. Glynis took a stab at an olive and glanced
up at him. “So you’re really going to get married soon?”
Evan nodded. “In August. Bronwen’s school holidays.”
“Ah. That’s not long, is it?”
“No, not long.”
She ate another mouthful in silence. “So tell me something—when we first met, did I read it wrong or did you actually fancy me?”
“Of course I fancied you,” Evan said. “You’re a real looker, Glynis. Any man with a pulse would fancy you. But it didn’t mean I was planning to do anything about it. Just window-shopping, not intending to buy, if you get my meaning.”
She laughed. “Nicely put. And if it’s of any interest to you, I fancied you too.” She paused, watching his reaction. “Lucky we didn’t do anything about it, wasn’t it? Especially now that we have to work together so closely.”
“Yes, very lucky,” he said. “Those sort of things can become very awkward—”
“Ah, so this is where you’re hiding out!” D.I. Watkins exclaimed as he pushed open the coffee shop door, causing several little bells to tinkle. “So my team’s turning snooty on me, are they? Cafeteria not good enough for you? Plotting behind my back—or don’t tell me this is a secret assignation?”
“All of the above,” Glynis said with a laugh, while Evan was still phrasing an answer.
“Well, either way, your time’s up. I need you both on duty pronto. The North Wales Police doesn’t pay for assignations on the firm’s time.” He was grinning at Evan’s discomfort.
“We have actually only been here long enough for a cappucino and a bite,” he said.
“A cappucino—you’re going very upmarket suddenly, aren’t you? And I don’t think Bronwen will approve of the biting part either,” Watkins said, as he drove them before him, like a skinny beige sheepdog.
“So has any news come in since we talked to you last?” Evan asked.
“Your Germans—criminal record in Germany. We’re onto the German police about them, and I’ve put out the word that I want them found and brought in for questioning.”
“Criminal record, eh?” Evan said, as they waited to cross at the roundabout. “They didn’t look the type. Clean-cut, outdoorsy, and all that. Do we know what they were arrested for yet?”
“Civil disturbance. Probably some of these greenies or peaceniks.”
“That’s not exactly the same as trafficking in stolen children, is it?”
“You think those Germans could have taken Ashley?” Glynis broke into a trot to keep up with Evan as he crossed the road.
“It did cross my mind, since they were so anxious to do a bunk. I wondered whether they were being paid to take her because the father dared not show up himself.”
“It’s a possibility, isn’t it, sir?” Glynis asked Watkins. “Anyhow, if they’re driving a car with German plates and they’re staying at campsites, it should be easy enough to locate them again.”
“Yes, hopefully we’ll have them picked up in the next day or so,” Watkins said. “If the other police forces don’t think we’re a lot of hysterical Welshmen and sit on their rear ends, doing nothing.”
“Oh, surely not,” Glynis said.
“Strange though it may seem, Glynis love, the Welsh are not universally popular in the rest of Britain,” Watkins said, with the hint of a smile. “I can’t think why.”
Evan held open the station door so that Watkins and Glynis could go through ahead of him. Watkins let Glynis go inside then stopped Evan. “Not you, Evans. Glynis, you man the shop—or do I have to say woman the shop to be PC?”

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