Evan Blessed Read online

  “I just need to talk to him, Mrs. Llewelyn. Could you tell me where I can find him?”

  “He’s away. He packed up his rucksack and he’s gone off walking. I don’t know where. Could be anywhere in Wales. That’s what he likes doing when he can get away—setting off with his rucksack and walking. Doesn’t seem like much of a holiday to me. Why don’t you go abroad this year? I asked him. You make decent money at the bank. Why don’t you take one of those package holidays to Spain? You might meet a nice girl there. But no, he likes Wales, he likes walking and he likes being alone.”

  “He doesn’t have a girlfriend?” Evan asked.

  “Not at the moment. He’s had his eye on a couple of girls, but neither of them were suitable. There are so few nice girls around these days. Little tramps, most of them. Rhodri’s so sensitive. I wouldn’t want him to be hurt.” The implication was obvious—it was Mother’s standards they hadn’t lived up to, not Rhodri’s.

  “Does he like music?” Evan asked casually.

  Her fact lit up. “Music? He loves music. He’s always been very musical. Well, the Welsh are, aren’t they? He plays the piano so nicely and recently he’s taken up all kinds of strange instruments—dulcimers and zithers and heaven knows what. I can’t say I like that kind of music myself, but he seems to enjoy it. I’m only glad he’s got interests outside his work so he won’t turn out like his good-for-nothing father. Finished your tea?” She took the cup without waiting for his answer, washed and dried it, and hung it back in its place.

  Evan got to his feet. “Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Llewelyn. When do you expect Rhodri back?”

  “Sunday evening, ready to go back to work on Monday.”

  “And you don’t know where I can find him until then?”

  “No idea. He’ll send his mum a postcard, I expect, but the way the post office is these days, I won’t get it until after he’s back. What can you expect with lazy louts like my husband sorting the letters?”

  She led Evan back along the hallway. Through the open sitting room door Evan glimpsed a highly polished upright piano, the top almost covered in china dogs, photos, and various other ornaments. No wonder Rhodri needed to get away for a few days, Evan thought.

  Chapter 15

  Evan put his foot down and drove as fast as the traffic would allow. Surely Watkins could no longer deny his hunch about Rhodri Llewelyn. A loner with a dominating mother, shy around girls, a music lover who was at home tramping the hills—what more could they want, for God’s sake? Was the holiday leave taken at the last minute like this because he had the girl hidden away somewhere?

  A car pulling a large caravan swung out into the traffic from an adjacent field, causing Evan to brake hard and slowing everything to a snail’s pace. Good God, but these holidaymakers were clueless! For a second he wished he were a traffic cop. He gripped the wheel, fuming with impatience, but there was no chance to overtake until he turned off at the roundabout and into the police station car park. He hurried into the building and was about to enter D.I. Watkins’s office when Glynis Davies’s head came around the adjacent door.

  “No use looking in there. He’s not in,” she said.

  “Where is he?”

  “Gone to fetch the profiler. Chief Inspector Hughes decided he wanted to talk to the man in person rather than just read a report.”

  “Lucky profiler,” Evan said. “And where is the great man himself?” He dropped his voice.

  Glynis grinned. “Nowhere to be seen for the moment. And I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

  “What have I done?”

  “Not kept him away long enough. You could have made that tour of the bunker last at least a couple of hours and given us a chance to get on with our work. As it was, he was back here before I’d even had a chance to get going. He stood breathing down the back of my neck as I searched the various databases. And when I was actually in the process of e-mailing the NCIS, he picked up the phone behind me and was calling them at the same time with exactly the same questions. I felt like an idiot!”

  “Sorry,” Evan said. “The moment we saw that wall with the handcuffs gone, we came rushing back here.”

  “And then you conveniently managed to disappear.” She frowned at him.

  “I did have instructions to follow up on the music issue.”

  “And you found something? You came down the hall like a man with a purpose.”

  “I have come up with one lead that may be worthwhile,” Evan said. He glanced up and down the empty hallway.

  “I was about to pop across the street to that Greek place for a coffee,” Glynis said. “Do you want to come with me?”

  “Coffee? My stomach feels as if it’s lunchtime.”

  “It is.” Glynis glanced at her watch. “Maybe they’ll make us a gyro to go. Quick, before the big guns return and catch us.”

  They made for the front door and had crossed the street before Glynis asked, “So what did you find out?”

  “You remember the girl at the bank and the Peeping Tom incident?”

  Glynis nodded. “And you were suspicious of the young man who worked with her at the bank?”

  “He was distinctly uncomfortable, all the time I was there. Why would anyone feel uneasy in the presence of a policeman, unless they’ve got something to hide?”

  “But I thought he’d been checked out and cleared of the Peeping Tom incidents?”

  “The report says so, but I went to have a word with him on my way back and I find that he’s taken time off from work. So I went to visit his home and he lives with a very domineering mother and he likes music and walking in the hills by himself.”

  “Sounds like the type, all right,” Glynis said, “but I imagine that description fits a lot of young men who are perfectly harmless. You should go and talk to the officer who checked him out last time—in Bangor, was it?”

  Evan nodded. “That’s right. D.I. Jenkins, I believe. Do you know him?”

  “I’ve met him. Not the brightest button in the box, I would say. But I expect he’d do a thorough job. So did you turn up anything else, during your music search?”

  “Nothing. Frankly I didn’t expect to.” Evan pushed open the café door and held it as she passed through. For once she let him do so without comment. “We’re dealing with a meticulous loner. He probably had all this planned out in minute detail.”

  They ordered their coffees and gyros and once they were outside again, Glynis asked in a low voice, “What do you make of the handcuffs vanishing like that?”

  “That’s pretty alarming, wouldn’t you say?”

  Glynis shrugged. “He may just be showing us that he can come and go as he pleases under our noses. In fact, I rather think that whoever is doing this is enjoying baiting us. It’s his idea of sport.”

  “So what about you? Did you get anywhere this morning with Hughes breathing down your neck?” Evan asked.

  “Not really. We looked into a couple of abductions, but they didn’t seem to have much in common with this one. And Inspector Watkins talked to the Birmingham police about the girl called Debbie who disappeared. They have an idea who might have been involved from the description of a van, but they haven’t been able to pin anything on him.”

  They stood together outside the front door, sipping their coffees.

  “That’s what’s so strange about this case,” Evan said. “Usually somebody sees something. In Birmingham they spotted a van. This time we’re on a well-trafficked mountain and nobody sees a thing.”

  “I know. It’s so frustrating.”

  “Perhaps we’ll find out more when Rhodri Llewelyn comes back on Sunday,” Evan said.

  Glynis looked up at him, squinting in bright sunlight. “I hope you haven’t jumped to a conclusion too quickly and based on too little. Make sure you leave your mind open to other possible suspects, okay?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Evan said.

  Glynis smiled. “And speaking of mothers, how are you surviving with yours here?”
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  “Luckily I’ve been away most of the time. It’s poor Bronwen who is stuck with her. She keeps trying to take over my kitchen and cook for me, and tells Bron that she’s not feeding me properly.”

  “I expect Bronwen can handle her. She seems like the kind of person who can handle most things.”

  “She’s amazing. She’s virtually had this whole wedding dumped on her. We were planning a quiet little ceremony and drinks for a few friends and then her parents jumped into the act and now it’s a major production, but Bron seems completely unfazed.”

  “I hope we get this case solved before the ceremony, or the church may be lacking a bridegroom.”

  “Don’t say that.” Evan grimaced. “Bron would kill me.”

  “Eat your gyro,” Glynis said, “I can see a squad car approaching. We’ll be back to work in a second.”

  Evan unwrapped the wax paper and took a big bite of warm pita and spicy lamb.

  “I’m glad you suggested grabbing take-out food,” he said. “I would have probably settled for a warmed-over sausage roll in the canteen.”

  “I never eat in there as a matter of principle,” Glynis said. “There are certain levels to which one should not be expected to sink.”

  Evan examined her. She was indeed a most unlikely police detective—well bred, well educated, smooth, elegant, stunning-looking …

  “What?” she asked. “Do I have food on my face?”

  “No, you look just fine.” Evan smiled. “I was just wondering whatever made you decide to go into the police force?”

  “To annoy my family, mainly.” She took another bite of pita bread. “They’re rather like Bronwen’s folks—county set, manorhouse, hunting, all that kind of outdated stuff. My mother was even presented at court, if you can imagine it.”

  “Interesting you should say that.” Evan took the final bite and tossed the crumpled wrapper into a nearby bin. “Bronwen suggested that the Deb in the message could have been a debutante and not somebody called Debbie.”

  “But there haven’t been any debutantes in my lifetime, so it would have had to be a long-ago crime. Which would make our man at least sixty. Do men of sixty-plus go around abducting young girls?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Evan said. “And even if there haven’t been any official debutante presentations, girls are still introduced at royal garden parties, aren’t they? And some parents still give balls and that kind of thing?”

  “I suppose they do,” Glynis agreed. “I can’t think of anything worse, personally.”

  “So do you think it would be possible to get a list of that type of girl?”

  “Are you giving me more work?” She looked at him with a half-smile.

  Evan shrugged. “Just a thought. I’m sure you’re right about this man wanting to play games with us. Since he’s giving us a clue, he obviously expects we can solve it. We haven’t come up with any girls called Deborah who’ve been abducted or murdered in recent history. Do you think it’s possible that we’re looking at a really old crime? In which case, why has he been inactive for so long?”

  “Perhaps he hasn’t, but nobody’s caught him. Perhaps he’s abducted or killed other girls, only their names don’t fit into the first eight letters of the alphabet,” Glynis suggested.

  They broke off as Inspector Watkins came toward them accompanied by an elderly man with a trim white beard.

  “Ah there you are, Evans, Davies,” Watkins called out. “Is the D.C.I. back yet?”

  “I don’t know, sir. We just popped across the street to get a coffee,” Glynis said.

  “Well, this is Dr. Hirsch, our profiler. The D.C.I. particularly wanted to meet him in person.”

  Dr. Hirsch inclined his head in an old-fashioned gesture, then stepped through the door that Watkins had opened for him.

  “Tell the D.C.I. we’re waiting for him in my office, will you?” Watkins called as he went inside.

  As Evan and Glynis watched them go, Glynis turned back to him. “I’ll see what I can do about the debs,” she said. “The Lord Chamberlain must have a list.”

  “A most interesting profile challenge,” Dr. Hirsch said, looking with satisfaction around the little group that had assembled in Watkins’s office. Hughes had commandeered the best chair. Watkins perched on the corner of his desk, Sergeant Jones sat on the stackable metal chair, and Evan and Glynis were left to stand by the door. The tension was almost palpable.

  “You must understand,” he continued, “that I created this document before I was informed of the latest facts, but I think you’ll be interested in the conclusions I came to. Right. To proceed.” He paused and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “He has presented us with a most interesting scenario in that bunker. In a way it struck me as too perfect—almost as if he was creating a stage set, designed to elicit certain responses.”

  Evan looked at him with interest and nodded. He realized that he had felt something of the same all along.

  “But based on what I observed, this is what I have come up with. Middle-aged white male, middle class or above. Well educated. Good brain, but may be unappreciated at work or stuck in a dreary job he considers beneath him. Appearance is important to him. Definitely obsessive/compulsive. Represses emotions, appears well controlled. Neatness and order are paramount to him. He is fit and probably has some experience in the outdoors. He may like to build things as a hobby.”

  He glanced up and smiled. “My next conclusion may interest you in the light of yesterday’s communications. Music is an important part of his life.”

  The silence in the room was complete. Outside, a thrush was singing in a tree.

  “Fascinating,” Hughes said at last. “Most interesting.”

  Watkins turned to Dr. Hirsch. “Do you mind if we ask questions?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I was just wondering how you came to some of those assumptions. Middle class, middle-aged, white male?”

  “His choice of supplies and his choice of music. The tins of food represent basic supplies to him—baked beans, tinned spaghetti, beef stew. All English childhood comfort foods, aren’t they, but maybe not for the current generation, indicating that he may be a little older. But he has also added some freeze-dried meals that you can only buy at upscale camping stores.”

  “Is that what made you think he has experience in the outdoors?” Evan asked.

  Hirsh shook his head. “The camp bed,” he said. “It’s an expensive, lightweight model for serious campers, but it’s also a model that was discontinued about ten years ago. I presume he’s owned it for some time and used it, since it shows signs of wear. Unlike the bed linen, which was brand-new, as was the mattress. No chance of picking up skin particles for DNA samples, I’m afraid.”

  “Obsessive/compulsive?” Watkins asked.

  “The CDs were arranged in logical order. The very choice of so much Bach indicates that order is important to him, but he’s arranged the Bach in order of composition date, showing he knows and values his music.”

  He looked around the group. “You’ll note also that he has stocked an ample supply of music but no reading material. In his mind one has to have music to survive. Not books, however.”

  “It could also be that one can listen to music in the dark but one needs good light to read,” Glynis suggested. “A prisoner left in that bunker may not have wished to risk using up the last of the batteries.”

  “Good point, Davies,” Chief Inspector Hughes couldn’t resist saying.

  “Absolutely,” Hirsch said. “And of course the perfectionist, obsessive /compulsive behavior is exhibited in the precision in the construction of the bunker—it is extremely well constructed, you know—and the way the bed was made. Perfectly folded hospital corners—”

  “Could that mean that he has some kind of hospital training?” Watkins asked.

  “Possible.” Dr. Hirsch considered this. “I feel it’s more likely that he is obsessively neat. And Inspector Watkins has told me about the mu
sical clue received yesterday. Most gratifying, as it verifies my conclusions—the importance of music, his belief in his own intellectual powers, his own cleverness. He’s throwing out a challenge because you are not solving things quickly enough for him. He is confident that he can give you clues and yet he’ll always manage to stay one step ahead of you. This is fun for him.”

  “Why the bunker? Is that part of his fantasy and fun?” Watkins asked.

  “He may not live alone.”

  “Surely this kind of man would be a loner?” Hughes said.

  “He may live with a relative—his parents, perhaps?”

  “And the handcuffs?” Watkins asked. “Are they his idea of fun?”

  “More probably his fantasy. They do elicit a gut response, don’t they? A psychological torture. If he brought a girl there as a prisoner and he didn’t use them, she’d be conscious of them on the wall and wonder when and how he was planning to use them.”

  Evan swallowed. “Excuse me, sir,” he ventured, “But you said before that your feeling was that the man had created something like a stage set, to elicit certain responses. I have to confess I felt the same way. So now I’m wondering whether this whole scenario was designed as a smoke screen and he has the girl somewhere quite different.”

  Hirsch looked at him and nodded slowly. “That is possible. If he captured the girl the afternoon before you discovered the bunker, it makes one wonder why he didn’t take her there right away. Unless, as you suggest, he never intended to.”

  “Why go to all the trouble of building the bunker, which would have taken a lot of effort, if he never intended to use it? And the lack of fingerprints?”

  “Again it could be amusing to him to watch you chaps responding.”

  “This is all most interesting,” Hughes interjected, “but if he’s taken the girl somewhere else, where do we start looking?”