Evan's Gate (14 page)
Authors: Rhys Bowen
“You could try saying staff the shop,” Glynis suggested.
“Right. You can reach me on my mobile if anything at all comes in. I need Evans with me.”
He set off across the parking lot. “Where are we going, sir?” Evan asked.
“I decided that your hunches haven’t been far off the mark before. I’ve got a free hour. We’re going to talk to these Thomases.”
Evan gave Watkins a quick glance and then a smile flickered across his face. “Thanks, sir.”
“Nothing to thank me for,” Watkins said. “It makes all the sense in the world to have you there if you’ve met them before. You can chat about old times and make them more relaxed.” He went across to his car. “And you can drive,” he said. “That way I can take five minutes’ kip.”
Evan took the A road out of Caernarfon, looking across the Menai Straits to the island of Anglesey with green hills and white cottages sparkling in clear light. It was one of those rare clear, glass blue days and Evan felt a pang of regret that he never seemed to be free to take advantage of good weather anymore. How long had it been since he and Bronwen had done a day’s hiking together? Life seemed to be all work and responsibility these days. His mind went back to the carefree time on his grandfather’s farm when summer had seemed endless and bad weather no deterrent to a day in the outdoors. He had grown up tough and healthy and able to scramble up the hillside as nimble as any sheep. He remembered setting off after breakfast with a lump of bread and cheese and an apple wrapped in his pocket in case he got hungry and only returning from the mountains when it was getting dark.
Had anybody worried about him? he wondered now. Life had seemed so safe then. In all his long days in the hills, he had never come across anything more frightening than the occasional aggressive dog. And yet somebody had snatched Sarah from those same hills. Somebody had buried her.
He had worried that he would never see her again and had tried to recall a clear image of her during the long months of winter. Then the next summer the Jaguar had turned up again with the Thomas children. They hadn’t seemed any more willing to include him in their games than the year before, even though he had hung around hopefully, watching them from the other side of the drystone wall. Sarah may have
grown a little, but she hadn’t changed, still looking frail and lovely. Sometimes she looked across at him and smiled before her brother and sister called her away.
grown a little, but she hadn’t changed, still looking frail and lovely. Sometimes she looked across at him and smiled before her brother and sister called her away.
It might have turned into another summer of futility except that this year the Thomases brought a puppy with them. Old Grandpa Thomas was none too pleased.
“Only dogs around here are working dogs,” he said. “That thing will scare the sheep and distract my dogs from their job.”
“Nonsense, Pah. It’s only a tiny puppy. It can’t possibly do any harm,” the children’s father had said. And indeed it was a sweet ball of yellow fur that might someday grow into a golden retriever. Evan had long wanted a puppy and gazed at it almost with the same longing that he felt for Sarah.
Then one day he was in his room with the window open when he heard that something was wrong. High children’s voices were shouting, “Barley. Where are you, Barley? Here, boy.”
He tied his sneakers hurriedly and ran outside. The Thomas children had fanned out and were walking through the sheep meadows.
“What’s the matter?” he asked Nick, who was around his age and had always been the most approachable.
“We’ve lost our new dog,” Nick said. “Only a puppy actually. Someone left the door open, and now he’s gone.”
“I’ll help you find him,” Evan said. “I know these hills really well.”
“Thanks. That’s awfully nice of you,” Nick had said. He had the same posh English voice as the other boys, but he had a friendly smile.
Evan left them scouring the lower meadows. He scrambled up the hillside until he came to a vantage point on an outcropping of rock. He eased himself into a position perched with the whole valley below him. Where might a puppy have gone? The road below the farm was a possibility, of course. But if the dog had come out through the back door and up the sheep track, then it would have passed this way. It was only a puppy with little legs. It couldn’t have wandered too far.
As he sat there, his senses fine-tuned to the song of an invisible lark, the bleat of a distant sheep, his ears caught another sound on the breeze—the high-pitched yelp of a frightened or injured animal. He
followed it across the mountainside and found the puppy at last, wedged in a deep crack in the rocks. It took time to extricate the puppy without hurting it, and by the time he clambered up, he was also scratched and bruised. But he didn’t notice the hurts as he ran down the hill, the puppy in his arms, and carried it in triumph to the Thomases.
followed it across the mountainside and found the puppy at last, wedged in a deep crack in the rocks. It took time to extricate the puppy without hurting it, and by the time he clambered up, he was also scratched and bruised. But he didn’t notice the hurts as he ran down the hill, the puppy in his arms, and carried it in triumph to the Thomases.
“Barley! You’ve found him. He’s all right.” They snatched the puppy, kissing it and petting it, while Evan stood awkwardly at the doorway.
Finally he controlled himself enough to say, “Well, I’ll be going then.”
“No, don’t go. Stay and have ice cream with us.” Sarah was the only one looking at him.
Then the others became aware of his presence, and one of the mothers said, “Yes, do stay and have some ice cream. We’re most grateful to you. Most grateful.”
Then they all turned to him and gave him the same attention they had given the puppy, patting him and telling him what a good chap he was. This was more awkward than being ignored. Evan winced with discomfort and was glad to attack the dish of ice cream. When he explained where he had found the dog, they were all impressed.
“You’re allowed up in the hills by yourself?” the mother asked.
“Oh, yes. I know my way pretty well everywhere,” Evan said.
“Then you can come with us next time and show us a good place to build a fort,” the other big boy, not the stuck-up one, said.
And Sarah just sat opposite him, watching and smiling.
The marquee was still standing in the Thomases’ meadow, but two men were wheeling stacks of chairs out of it and into a van with the words NOSON LAWEN, EVENTS CATERING, CONWY on the side. The area beside the driveway had been churned up by tire tracks.“Oh, we’re here, are we?” Watkins asked, reviving from his doze as the tires crunched on the gravel outside the farmhouse. “Nice place. A bit of money here, I’d have thought.”
“Oh, yes. They were never lacking for cash,” Evan said. “Sarah’s father always drove a Jag.”
“But he isn’t the one who owns this place, is he?” Watkins opened his door and stepped out onto the gravel.
“No, that’s the grandfather, old Mr. Tomos Thomas.”
Watkins smiled. “Tomos Thomas. The Welsh give their kids bloody stupid names, don’t they?”
“Like Evan Evans, you mean?”
“Tomos Thomas sounds even more daft somehow.”
Evan grinned. “They used to call him Tomos Dau around here.”
“Two times Thomas, eh?” They started for the front door. “So he’s the grandfather?”
“And he had two sons, both of whom did very well for themselves, I understand, and it was their kids I played with.”
“And they’re all here now?”
Evan nodded. “The kids are. It was Henry and Suzanne in one family; Val and Nick are the cousins.”
“And the little girl belonged to—”
“Henry and Suzanne. Their father drove the Jag. We never saw much of him. He used to be away on business all week and just showed up here on weekends.”
“I hope this won’t be too much of a shock for them,” Watkins said. “How did they take the news last night?”
“I only spoke with Nick—he’s a priest now, by the way. I thought it best not to spoil the party, but I presume he’s told them all by now.”
There was a brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head on the front door. Watkins gave an impressive rap, and they could hear footsteps coming down a tiled hallway.
“Yes?” The man’s hair was graying at the temples, and he had deep frown lines etched into his forehead. Evan tried to work out which one of them this was but couldn’t place him. He was older than any of the kids Evan had played with, but perhaps they’d had an older brother he’d never met.
Watkins produced his warrant card. “North Wales Police, sir. I’m Detective Inspector Watkins and this is Detective Constable Evans.”
The man’s face broke into a smile, and Evan suddenly recognized him. “It’s Henry, isn’t it?” he asked.
“And you’re the little Evans boy. My God, you’ve changed.”
“So have you, Henry. It has been a long time, you know.”
“I do know. Twenty-five years,” Henry said, and the smile faded. “Nick told us that they’ve found a skeleton somewhere in the mountains. I don’t suppose they can tell yet …”
“Not definitely, sir,” Watkins said. “That’s where we hope you’ll be able to help us out.”
“Oh, of course. Won’t you come in? We’ve all dutifully been
to chapel with Grandfather, and we’re just finishing up lunch.” He led the way down the dark hallway into a dining room on the right. Evan only remembered the bright kitchen at the back of the house. This room was dark, with windows that faced east and brown wallpaper. The family was sitting around a large mahogany dining table, on which the remains of a roast and some serving dishes of vegetables still rested. They had evidently finished their dessert and were in the process of drinking coffee. Evan noticed there was only one woman present—easily recognizable as Suzanne. She, at least, had not changed or aged much since he’d seen her last, especially because she still wore her hair long and straight over her shoulders. She glanced up nervously as Henry showed them in.
to chapel with Grandfather, and we’re just finishing up lunch.” He led the way down the dark hallway into a dining room on the right. Evan only remembered the bright kitchen at the back of the house. This room was dark, with windows that faced east and brown wallpaper. The family was sitting around a large mahogany dining table, on which the remains of a roast and some serving dishes of vegetables still rested. They had evidently finished their dessert and were in the process of drinking coffee. Evan noticed there was only one woman present—easily recognizable as Suzanne. She, at least, had not changed or aged much since he’d seen her last, especially because she still wore her hair long and straight over her shoulders. She glanced up nervously as Henry showed them in.
“This is Detective Inspector Watkins,” Henry said. “And this skinny little chap is young Evan from next door.”
“Evan? The little boy who found the puppy?” Suzanne stared hard at him as if she somehow believed he was an imposter.
“The very same,” he said. “And I recognize you all right. You haven’t changed at all, Suzanne.”
“So you’re with the police now?”
“I am. I just moved across to the plainclothes branch.”
“And you’re here about Sarah?” Suzanne asked.
Evan detected a collective intake of breath.
The old man had risen to his feet. “So it’s true then. They’ve found her at last?” In contrast to his grandson’s public school tones, Tomos Thomas sounded much like Evan’s own grandfather, and he was tempted to speak to him in Welsh—if D.I. Watkins gave him a chance to talk at all.
“We’re not sure yet, sir,” Watkins said, “but it’s a child’s skeleton of the right age. We’re hoping her family has dental X rays or pictures that will help us make a positive identification.”
“My mother is coming up from Surrey tomorrow,” Suzanne said. “She’s bringing pictures with her.”
“That’s good, because if we need to make a DNA match, it’s
maternal DNA that we use.” Evan couldn’t resist the chance of establishing himself as an authority here.
maternal DNA that we use.” Evan couldn’t resist the chance of establishing himself as an authority here.
“They could also use Henry or me, I’m sure,” Suzanne said, “since we both carry the same maternal DNA.”
“Of course,” Evan said quickly, “but we hope we can establish identity without DNA testing as it takes a long time and it’s expensive.”
“Won’t we be able to tell by what she’s wearing?” Val asked.
“There’s nothing left, sir. Only shoes and small scraps of cloth.”
A half sob escaped from Suzanne, who covered her mouth and looked away.
“And where was the body found, Inspector?” the man at the far end of the table asked. Evan focused on him for the first time. Sarah’s father. He had aged well too, Evan decided, sleek and gray like his Jaguar.
“That’s the strange thing, sir. It was discovered buried inside the gate of a shepherd’s cottage above the village of Llanfair.”
“Llanfair—but that’s on the other side of the mountains, isn’t it? On the Llanberis Pass?” Sarah’s father asked in surprise.
Watkins nodded. “That’s right.”
“Then what in God’s name was she doing over there?”
“That’s one of the things we hope to find out, sir,” Evan said. “The cottage was occupied at the time by a shepherd called Rhodri George.”
“Rhodri?” Old Mr. Thomas’s voice was sharp. “I remember him. Cottage up above Llanfair, you say? He worked for me at one time. In fact we used to have land over on that side—right up to the top of Glyder Fach and down to the road in those days.”
“So the cottage was on your land, then?” Evan asked.
“I’m not sure about the cottage any longer, but I certainly had land over there, and Rhodri worked my sheep for a while. Then I sold the land to a chap called Owens in the early eighties, and I believe Rhodri went to work for him instead.”
Evan could feel his pulse had quickened. A connection at last.
A piece of the puzzle maybe falling into place. “So what do you remember about Rhodri?” he asked.
A piece of the puzzle maybe falling into place. “So what do you remember about Rhodri?” he asked.
Thomas shook his head. “Can’t say I remember much. Didn’t smell too good. One of the older generation who took a bath once a week. Had a real shrew of a wife. Knew his animals well, always had well-trained dogs—in fact, I believe one of his dogs won the county sheepdog trials once.”
“But his personality, I mean,” Evan insisted. “How did you get on with him? Did he have a temper?”
“What’s that?” Tomos Thomas asked; then a look of amazement and horror spread across his face. “You’re never suggesting that Rhodri had anything to do with—with Sarah, are you? He was as normal as you or I are.”
“I just wondered if you and he ever had a falling-out? Whether he could be the kind of man who carried a grudge.”
“A grudge enough to kill a little child?” Tomos was almost shouting now.
Watkins stepped in to intervene. “Easy now, Mr. Thomas. We’re just trying to make sense of this. There had to be some reason that the child was buried outside Rhodri’s cottage, when whoever took her had the whole wilderness to bury her in. Among other things, you have to wonder how anybody could bury a child outside Rhodri’s front door without his noticing.”
“I think I might be able to explain that, sir,” Evan said. “The water pipes to the cottage were connected around the time Sarah disappeared. The front path may have been dug up for that purpose.”
“Now that could be important. Make a note to check on the timing of the water pipes installation, will you, Evans?” Watkins said.
Evan scribbled on his notepad, rather annoyed that Watkins had reduced him so clearly to subordinate.
“Old Rhodri is long gone, I suppose?” Grandfather Thomas asked. “He was older than me, I think, and I’ve just turned eighty.”
“He was alive a couple of years ago. He sold the cottage and went to live with his daughter in Bangor,” Evan said. “I’ll be checking on him as soon as I can find the time.”
“Find the time?” the gray-haired man demanded. “I should have thought this would become a top priority for you. God knows you boys made a balls-up of the last investigation twenty-five years ago. I’d have thought you’d have jumped at the chance to put things right.”
“Oh, definitely, sir,” Watkins said, “and we’ll give it all the manpower we can spare, but you see we’ve got another case on the books at the moment—another little girl has vanished, and from what I’ve been told, she looks very like your daughter.”
Evan noted that every single one of them reacted to this, their eyes darting around the table at their fellow diners.
“Did she live around here?” Nick, the young priest, asked.
“No, she was a visitor, staying in a caravan park on the coast.”
“Oh well, that’s all right then, isn’t it?” the grandfather said.
What did he mean by that? Evan wondered. Was he inferring that it couldn’t have been one of them?
“It’s probably just coincidence that the two girls looked alike,” Watkins said.
They were nodding, staring silently at their empty dessert plates, willing themselves to believe this.
“If we could just get the details on each of you while we’re here,” Watkins went on.
“Details—what for?” Sarah’s father demanded.
“So that we can contact you again if we have any more information for you or questions we want to ask,” Watkins said easily. “Are you all family members?”
“That’s right,” Henry said. “I’m Henry Bosley-Thomas and I think you already know Tomos Thomas, our grandfather here.”
“Henry Bosley-Thomas,” Watkins said. “And what relation were you to the little girl?”
“Her older brother.” He stared coldly at the detective.
“And do you live in the area, sir?”
“No, I live in Surrey, just outside Guildford. Stockbroker belt.” He fished in his wallet. “Here’s my card.”
“So you’re just here for the weekend then, are you, sir?” Watkins asked.
“I was. I should have been driving back today. I’ve got a big case coming up in a couple of weeks and I really can’t spare the time—but of course everything has to be put aside if we can finally discover what happened to Sarah.”
“You’re a lawyer then? Barrister?”
“No, solicitor. Mainly civil law in my practice. I had no wish to spend my life reliving what we suffered with Sarah.”
“I quite understand, sir,” Watkins said. “Do you have other siblings here?”
“Yes, me,” Suzanne said. She pushed her long, blonde hair back from her face. “I’m Suzanne Bosley-Thomas.”
“And you live?”
“Thirty-eight A Kenmore Gardens, Clapham. Not stockbroker belt. And no card.”
“You’re not married, madam?”
“Divorced. I have gone back to using my maiden name.”
“Suzanne made an unfortunate marriage when she was very young. Naturally it didn’t last,” her father said.
She turned to glare at him. “Made an unfortunate marriage. I like that. And who forced me into it?”
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