Evan's Gate Read online

  “Do your best, won’t you?” Evan said. “The family has been trying to find out what happened to their child for twenty-five years. We owe it to them to get to the truth.”

  “It must be bloody awful for them,” Gwynne said. “I’d help if I could.”

  He closed the door. Evan stood in the blowing sand outside with frustration and disappointment rushing through his brain. He had wanted this to come to a conclusion—he had wanted it to be Richard Gwynne so badly. Now he realized that they might never know what happened to Sarah. He’d suggest to Watkins that each of the men be brought in for questioning, and that they should run background checks on all four of them, but he hadn’t much hope that the background checks would prove anything.

  He returned to his car and started to drive away. Did he really believe it wasn’t Richard Gwynne? Gwynne had seemed to be concerned, but then, as D.I. Watkins had said, lots of child molesters and serial killers seemed to be nice chaps. A small voice echoed through his brain that if he were anything of a real detective, he’d be able to get to the truth. If only they knew where the molester had found Sarah. Surely there must have been some kind of struggle, and some scraps of evidence must have been left to find? He drove through Porthmadog too fast and swung the car up the narrow curves of the Aberglasslyn Pass. He could call Dr. Telesky and find out if any hairs or fiber scraps found on the skeleton didn’t belong to Sarah, and he could trace the most likely route back over the mountain … .

  Stop it! He told himself. You are being absurd. We are talking about a crime that happened twenty-five years ago. Nothing will remain. No evidence. Nothing. But still he couldn’t give up. As he drove through Llanfair, the children were out on the playground with Bronwen. He watched as they held hands and danced around in a circle, playing some kind of singing game as Bronwen clapped. Some of the little girls had long hair that blew out behind them as they skipped, so lightly that their feet barely made contact with the ground … just like Sarah. Now that the memory had been reawaked, he was never going to be able to put her out of his mind again. And if it was Richard Gwynne who’d buried her at the cottage gate, he owed it to Sarah to prove him guilty.

  He pulled the car to a halt and started the steep climb up to the cottage. The crime-scene tape had been removed from the hole that had been dug, and water had seeped into the bottom. Evan squatted, staring at his reflection in the muddy water. Footprints. Gwynne must have worn boots, and the crime squad must have found footprints on the other side of the mountain. Did they take any casts? He’d go back to Superintendent Meredith and quiz him again.

  He jumped a mile as he saw a face appear above his in the reflection and nearly lost his balance as he scrambled to his feet. He was surprised to see Daft Dai standing there, staring down at the hole.

  “What are you doing up here, Dai?” Evan asked. “How did you get up here from Porthmadog?”

  “The bus,” Dai said. “The bus driver knows me. He lets me ride for nothing.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” Evan said. “Now if you don’t mind, Dai. I’m rather busy at the moment.”

  “She’s gone then, has she?” Dai asked. “They came and took her away?”

  Evan looked at Dai’s innocent, childish face. “Now how did you hear about this?”

  “It was in the paper,” Dai said. “I heard Mrs. Presli talking with the milkman. They were saying that the same man had probably taken the two little girls, but they were wrong.”

  “Yes, they were,” Evan said, “but how did you know?”

  “Because it was me,” Dai said, his face still soft and innocent, devoid of frown lines.

  Evan smiled at Dai. “Come on, Dai. You know it wasn’t you. You’re just saying that because you like to go to the police station and have a cup of tea and a bun, aren’t you?”

  “No, it really was me. I buried her here.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, Dai.” Evan was still smiling. He remembered his first encounter with Daft Dai as the locals called him. He’d claimed to have killed two men who had fallen to their deaths on Mount Snowdon. In those days, when Dai’s mother was still alive, he lived with her somewhere in the area and roamed the mountains—when he wasn’t locked up for a spell in a mental institution. It turned out, of course, that he had had nothing to do with the deaths.

  “You’ve never killed anyone, have you, Dai?” Evan said kindly. “You aren’t the kind of person who’d want to hurt anybody.”

  Dai shook his head violently. “I didn’t say I killed her,” Dai said, “but I was the one who buried her. She needed a proper burial, didn’t she?”

  Evan stopped smiling and stared at the little man. He was gazing up at Evan with his soft, childish eyes. “Why did she need a proper burial, Dai?” he asked gently.

  “Everyone has to be buried properly, don’t they, or they don’t go to heaven.”

  “What did she look like—this little girl you buried, Dai?”

  “Pretty,” Dai said. “Pretty hair, and pretty shoes, too. She had flowers on her shoes.”

  “And was she wearing a skirt with flowers on it, too? A red skirt?”

  “That’s right. Did you know her?”

  “Yes,” Evan said. “I knew her. Did you know her too?”

  “No. I didn’t know who she was, or I’d have given her back to them. That’s why I buried her myself.”

  Evan could hardly get the words out. “Where did you find her, Dai?”

  “Up there. The other side of the mountain,” Dai said. “Up above Llyn Ogwen. Do you know where that is? Over on the other side.” He named the lake beside the road just above the Thomas farmhouse.

  “And—and was she dead when you found her then?” Evan could hardly bring himself to say the words.

  “Of course she was. Been dead for some time, I reckon.”

  “Would you tell me all about it?”

  “Am I going to get in trouble?” Dai asked.

  “I don’t think so. But we could go to the police station, and you’d get a cup of tea and a bun if you tell me the whole story.”

  “Or gore. Let’s go then.”

  “You can tell me the story first, Dai. Then we’ll go and get the bun,” Evan said, trying not to show his impatience, “then you can tell it to the other policemen again when you’ve had your tea.”

  Dai nodded. “I was walking up in the hills up there, the way I always did those days. I used to live up there with my mother, you know. She’s dead now. Did you know that my mother died?”

  “Yes, I heard, Dai. I’m sorry,” Evan said.

  “I miss her. It’s lonely without her, but Mrs. Presli is nice to me. She lets me use her binoculars sometimes.”

  “I’m glad for you. Now go on with the story.”

  “When you get to the high part, just before you’d go to the top of Glyder Fach—do you know that hill? Right before it gets steep?”

  “Yes, I know it,” Evan said. “Just before you go to the top of Glyder Fach.”

  “It’s boggy up there, isn’t it?” Dai asked.

  “Yes, I seem to remember it’s pretty boggy.”

  “Well, that’s where she was. It had rained a lot that year, and it wasn’t just boggy—there was a proper little pond in the middle of the bog. Well, I was walking past and I looked across, look you, and I saw this hand. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was this hand coming out of the bog. For a moment I thought it was waving at me. Of course I thought it was one of the Twlwyth Teg beckoning me, so I wasn’t going to have anything to do with it, cos they take you down to their kingdom forever if they catch you, don’t they?”

  He paused for Evan to nod in confirmation.

  “Well, I didn’t want to be taken down to their kingdom forever. But then I got curious because it didn’t move or anything, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake and it wasn’t really a hand, so I went to see. It was very boggy. I had to be careful, or I would have sunk in myself. I had a terrible job getting her out.”

  “I bet you d
id.”

  “And it turned out to be this little girl. She was already dead, you know. I couldn’t bring her back to life. I didn’t want to leave her up there, where the foxes might get her. I didn’t know who she was. So I thought I’d carry her down to the nearest police station. I knew there was a police station in Llanfair. You weren’t the policeman there in those days, were you?”

  “No, Dai. Not in those days.”

  “I thought not.”

  “Tell me more about the little girl, Dai.”

  “She was heavy, you know. She didn’t look as if she’d be heavy cos she was only a little thing, but she was. I was sweating like a pig by the time I got her to Llanfair. Then I remembered that I’d been in trouble with the policeman. He said I’d been looking in windows and if I did it again, I’d go to prison. So I got scared. The policeman might think that I killed her. I didn’t want to go to prison. So I decided not to tell anyone. Someone had been digging holes outside this cottage, and they’d left one of their spades behind. So you know what I did? I dug the earth out again, and then I gave her a lovely burial. I picked flowers to put all around her and I laid her out nicely. Then I said all the prayers I knew and I sang ‘Calon Lan.’”

  “And you never told anybody, not even your mother?”

  Dai shook his head. “I didn’t want to get in trouble. You’re sure I won’t get in trouble now?”

  “No, Dai. You won’t get in trouble,” Evan said.

  Later that day Evan drove to the Thomases’ farm. The old man listened attentively, his face wrinkled with concentration as Evan spoke. Then he nodded politely.

  “Thank you for coming to tell me, young man. We’re much obliged to you. It’s good to know she didn’t suffer too much.” He cleared his throat gruffly.

  “I presume your family members have all gone home by now,” Evan said. “Will you be calling them?”

  “I’d rather it came from you, if you don’t mind,” old Tomos Thomas said. “I’d rather not talk about it if I don’t have to. She was very dear to me, you see. A very special child. The light of my life and when she went …” He turned away abruptly. “Thank you for coming, young man. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got sheep to see to.”

  Evan watched as he stomped away, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

  “So she got trapped in a bog and drowned,” Henry Bosley-Thomas said, after Evan had phoned to give him the news. “Where was this again?”

  “In the high country, on the way up to the Glyders.”

  “My God. What was she doing up there?”

  “Perhaps she wandered off and got disoriented,” Evan said.

  “But she’d never have gone that far alone. Someone must have taken her up there and abandoned her. Perhaps someone threw her in the bog.”

  “I think it was just a horrible accident, Henry. She wandered off. She was very persistent when she wanted to be.”

  “Yes. Very stubborn.”

  “At least it must be a relief to you to know,” Evan said.

  “A relief? Do you know what you’ve just done to me?” Henry’s voice was bitter. “You’ve condemned me to hell for life.”

  “But why? It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Of course it was my bloody fault.” The words resounded in Evan’s ear. “I was in charge of her. I was supposed to take care of her. I cared more about winning a stupid game than looking after my sister. I’ve had to carry that guilt around for my whole life. I really hoped that someone had snatched her away because then I could have argued that he was bigger than me. I was just a boy. There was nothing I could have done to save her. But it was all my fault after all.”

  “You were a child, Henry. You thought like any child would. You can’t be blamed.”

  “I blame me. My wife thinks I did it, you know. Because of the guilt, I suppose. She really believes in her heart that I killed Sarah. That’s why she won’t have kids—just in case. My wife, who is supposed to be the one person I can trust and turn to.” He paused then asked. “So you don’t think one of us would have had time to take her up there and push her in a bog?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I told you I saw Suzanne going down, didn’t I?”

  “Henry, Suzanne won the game, remember. And she would never have done a thing like that. Your own sister.”

  “You’re right. This has driven us all crazy—made us think things we should never have thought. Of course Suzanne has paid, too. A ruined life. All of us have paid. Will you call her for me?”

  “Suzanne?”

  “Yes. Call her and tell her the news?”

  “I think you should do that,” Evan said. “And while you’re at it, you might apologize.”

  “You mean because I suspected she had something to do with Sarah’s disappearance?”

  “That and other things, I’d imagine.”

  Henry sighed. “You’re right. I—we all made Suzanne pay for not being Sarah.”

  Chapter 32

  A blustery week mellowed into a mild, soft weekend, with cotton wool clouds and a good amount of sun. Evan had finally received a communication from the inspector of listed buildings and met him up at the cottage on Saturday afternoon.

  “So what do you think?” Evan asked, as he stood beside the shell of his future cottage.

  The scholarly little man continued to stare, frowning with concentration. He wore round wire glasses, which managed to look hip on rock stars and beautiful people but made him look like an aged Billy Bunter, the prep-school nerd.

  “What do I think?” he echoed. “If you want to know what I think, I think it’s an old ruin and not worth rebuilding.”

  “So you don’t think it’s a historical building that has to be grade two listed?”

  “Good Lord, no. Probably no older than mid-eighteen-hundreds,” the man said. “Who told you it should be listed?”

  “Mr. Pilcher, from the National Parks.”

  “Those blokes—pen pushers, the lot of them. They wouldn’t know a listed building if it jumped up and bit them.”

  Evan grinned. “So you see no reason why permission should not be given to rebuild this place.”

  “I’d recommend that you tear it down and start again, young man,” the man said, “but you do what you like. I’m certainly not about to list every shepherd’s cottage in Snowdonia.”

  Evan shook his hand. “Thank you very much. You’ve made my day.”

  That evening he took Bronwen to the Red Dragon for a celebration drink.

  “You’ve been staying away, haven’t you, Evan bach,” Betsy said, looking around him to give Bronwen a lukewarm smile. “Too busy with other things, I suppose.”

  “I do have a job, Betsy. Now that I’m in the plainclothes branch, I don’t have regular hours anymore.”

  “Did Miss Price tell you I paid you a visit the other night?” Betsy asked, making Evan instantly hot around the collar. “I wanted to show you my new outfit, but you weren’t there. I wanted to get a man’s opinion, look you. Barry says I’ve got good legs and a good figure, but he doesn’t like me to be too revealing, do you, Barry-my-love?”

  Barry looked up from his conversation at the far end of the bar.

  “I’ll make mincemeat of any man I find ogling you. I’ve made that very clear.” He went back to his drink.

  Betsy turned back to Evan and Bronwen. “Luckily for me, I could see that Miss Price didn’t think much of the outfit, so I took it back. I like to keep him on his toes, but I don’t want him to go around punching anyone.”

  She grinned. Evan gave Bronwen a glance and was pleased to see that she blushed. He handed her a glass of chardonnay, and they went to join the group by the fire.

  “I saw you coming down the mountain with some bloke this afternoon,” Evans-the-Meat said. “Not another of these forensic people, I hope.”

  “No, that’s all finished with. We know who the little girl was, and we know how she died.”

  “I hope you’ve got the bastard,”
Charlie Hopkins said.

  “There was no bastard. Just a tragic accident. She wandered into a bog.”

  “Then who buried her?”

  “Daft Dai. He thought he was being helpful.”

  “Daft Dai. We should have thought of him?” Charlie said. “Of all the stupid things …”

  “So who was the old chap up there today, Evan?” Evans-the-Meat insisted.

  “The listed buildings inspector, taking a look at my cottage. He says it’s nothing special and as far as he’s concerned, I can do what I like with it, so I’m going to press Mr. Pilcher to give me my planning permission on Monday.”

  “Mr. Pilcher!” Mr. Owens almost spat out the words. “Don’t mention that hen diwal’s name to me.”

  “Is he still giving you grief about your barn, Mr. Owens?” Evan asked.

  “Giving me grief? Driving me crazy, that’s what he’s doing.” Bill Owens glared at the assembled crowd. “He was back at my place last week, and you know what he told me? He said I could finish my new barn, but I’d have to paint it green so that it blended in well with the grass.”

  “Paint it green?” There was general laughter.

  “What did you say, Bill? Are you going to do it?” Charlie Hopkins asked.

  “I told him it was the daftest thing I’d ever heard. And what about when it snows? I asked him. Do you want me to nip out and bloody well paint it white?”

  The next day Evan and Bronwen drove to Llyn Ogwen, then parked and hiked up the hill. The Thomases’ farm spread out below them. The lake glittered in the morning sun. Larks sang, as they rose in the warm air.

  “This is lovely,” Bronwen stopped to admire the view. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. It’s been ages since we’ve had a day off to take a walk.”

  Evan watched her standing there relaxed and happy, wisps of ash blonde hair blowing around her face.

  “I’m glad you’re here with me,” he said. “I felt I had to come here again, just to see for myself, and to share it with you.”