Evan's Gate Page 5

  The whole of this second row of caravans was untenanted and locked. Evan decided he should visit the site owner, rather than waste more time poking into empty rubbish bins and storage lockers. He headed for the white bungalow close to the gate. There was smoke coming from the chimney, and a hand-painted sign directed him to OFFICE. REGISTER HERE.

  He let himself into a registration area with a high counter and sliding-glass panel, like that seen in any motel. There were voices coming from a room behind the glass. He rapped on the panel, heard the voices suddenly quiet as a TV set was switched off; then the panel slid open.

  “Can I help you?” The speaker was a large woman, wearing an old-fashioned pinny over a flowery dress. It was hard to say how old she was, as her hair was bright orange, but Evan guessed at least fifty.

  “North Wales Police, madam,” he said, this time producing his warrant card for inspection. “I know you’ve already been questioned about the missing little girl, but we have some more information now and we’d like to get everything straight.”

  “So they haven’t found her yet? Oh, that’s too bad. Lovely little thing, weren’t she? I watched her running over the grass—light as a fairy.”

  “No, we haven’t found her yet, but we’ve got all our manpower out looking.”

  “That’s good. About time you boys earned your wages. Never much crime around here, is there? I used to say to my husband when we drove to do the shopping in Porthmadog, ‘All you ever see is policemen sitting on their backsides drinking coffee.’”

  Evan ignored the insult and managed a smile. “Are you from these parts then, Mrs.—”

  “Paul,” she finished for him. “Brenda Paul. And no, we’re not from here, although we’ve been here almost twenty years now. From the Birmingham area originally. My husband, Jimmy, had a bad heart and had to take early retirement from work, so we looked around for a place on the coast and found this. He died ten years ago now, and I’ve been running the place alone ever since. Of course I take on extra help in the summer, but the rest of the year there’s not much happening so I manage on my own—apart from the handyman who comes to cut the grass and that sort of thing.” She paused suddenly as if the idea had just come to her. “Look, do you want a cup of tea? I’ve got the kettle on.”

  “Thanks. I could use one.” He rubbed his hands together. “That wind’s still cold out there.” He was finding that people often relaxed when they went back to their regular routine and told him things they might not otherwise have done.

  “I know, it’s been a terrible spring so far. I’ve got people come here regular in April and May called to cancel this year. And dropins are way down too.” She went on speaking as she moved out of Evan’s view and then opened a door to his left. “Come on through, love,” she said.

  Evan followed her into a warm, comfortable room with both bars of an electric fire going and bright, crocheted rugs thrown over the backs of two easy chairs. A cat was sitting in one of them. Mrs. Paul motioned for Evan to take the other.

  “Won’t be a jiffy,” she said, and true to her word she returned with a tray containing a bone china tea service and a plate of chocolate biscuits. “Here, take one.” She offered them to Evan as soon as she put the tray on a coffee table. “Keep you going until the tea is brewed properly. I can’t stand weak tea, can you? My husband, Jimmy, always said you could stand a spoon up in a cup of my tea. They say tea drinking is good for the heart, don’t they? Didn’t do much for poor Jimmy though. He went just the same. That’s why I was so interested in the little girl.”

  “Oh right. Her mother said she’d had an operation.” Evan paused with the chocolate biscuit in front of his mouth.

  “Heart transplant.” The woman leaned confidentially forward. “Didn’t you know that? One of the youngest recipients ever in Britain. Poor little mite was born with a badly deformed heart. They didn’t think she’d live long enough to attempt the transplant, but she came through just fine.”

  She broke off long enough to pop into the kitchen and come back with a teapot sitting under an equally bright crocheted cozy.

  “That should have brewed enough by now,” she said, and started to pour into the teacups. “I reckon a heart transplant might have saved my Jimmy,” she continued, “but of course he was too old. If they have hearts, they give them to the young people first, don’t they? And very right too. They’ve got their whole lives ahead of them.”

  She handed Evan a cup. “Milk and sugar’s there on the tray, love. Help yourself.”

  Evan poured a generous amount of milk into the black liquid, still digesting what she had told him. “A heart transplant—are you sure? But wouldn’t she need to be taking all kinds of drugs?”

  The woman nodded. “I know she had to take some kind of antirejection drugs. Her mum told me.”

  “Then why didn’t she mention that to us? I’d have thought that was very important.”

  Mrs. Paul nodded. “She’s a strange one, isn’t she? I let her stay here cheap because I felt sorry for the little one, and between you and me, I thought we could have some nice chats. It gets lonely this time of year. But she’s hardly said two words to me since she came here. Off and out all day—I don’t know where she goes. It’s not like she knows anybody around here.”

  “She goes out a lot?”

  “Oh yes—sometimes she’s gone all day. I see that little blue car going past early in the morning and doesn’t come back before dinnertime.”

  “I thought she brought the little girl here to be out in the fresh air and play on the beach.”

  “Oh, she does that too, when the weather’s nice enough. Maybe she just feels hemmed in—that van isn’t big enough to swing a cat, but she asked for the very cheapest thing we’d got. I gather they’ve no money, since the husband walked out on them. Not that he was any use when they were married. Seems he wouldn’t even look for a job, she said. He expected her to go out to work, even when she was pregnant and then after the baby was born. Of course, when they found the little girl was sickly and needed constant attention, then she had to stay home and they had to live on the public assistance check. So I think she’s had it hard, and she’s getting on her feet now, she says. Got a job and a good safe place to live and trying to get on with her life without that bastard.”

  “He was a bastard—did she say that? What, just because he wouldn’t work?”

  “And he had a terrible temper and bouts of depression. Never really took to living in England, she said. She thought he only married her because it guaranteed he wouldn’t be sent back to Russia again, but then all he wanted to do was to go home.”

  Evan thought that for a person who hadn’t said two words to the landlady, Shirley Sholokhov had divulged a lot. He decided to risk divulging a little himself.

  “She thinks that her ex-husband might have snatched the child,” he said. “You’re in here most of the time, are you? I notice this window looks out on the gate. You didn’t see any strange cars this morning, or any strange men?”

  She shook her head. “I’d have noticed if a strange car came through that gate. Of course if he was on foot, and he parked the other side of the hedge, there are several places where he could have slipped in and out without me seeing him. So she thinks the husband came to get his kiddy, does she? She did tell me he was very fond of her and he wanted more visits, but she had said no. She’s a tough lady, I’ll say that for her, so maybe she pushed him too far.”

  “At the moment we have to keep all options open,” Evan said. “We’ve got men scouring the area in case the child just wandered off. Kids do that, don’t they? I know I gave my parents a fright several times.” He smiled at her and she gave him a coy smile in return. “So who else might have been around this morning?”

  “The park’s almost empty,” she said. “I’ve just got that Gwynne fellow, the one who makes those dreadful obscene sculptures.”

  “Obscene? He told me most people didn’t know what they were supposed to be.” Evan looked
amused at the horror on her face.

  “I know breasts when I see them—and other parts of the anatomy too, dangling down. And there was one of two of them together once, and you could see what they were doing right enough. I’ve told him it isn’t wholesome, having those indecent things on view where kiddies can see them. He told me they were great art and I didn’t appreciate them. I said they were junk as far as I was concerned, and if they appeared outside again, he could find somewhere else to park his van.”

  “Yes, I’ve spoken to Richard Gwynne,” Evan said. “And the German couple. Tell me about them.”

  “Oh, they’re the kind of people I like,” she said. “No trouble. Clean-cut, healthy young people. No drugs or booze. Paid for a week up front, they did.”

  “And they’ve been here a week, have they?”

  “No, only four days.”

  “Well, they’re leaving early then,” Evan said. “They were packing up when I left them.”

  “They are? That’s strange. They didn’t tell me. I hope nothing’s wrong. Anyhow, they’re not getting a refund. It says no refunds, clear as crystal over the desk.”

  Evan decided to pay the Germans another visit when he left Mrs. Paul. “And who else is here?”

  “That’s the lot right now. There are those holiday bungalows a little farther down the beach. They’ve got people staying in them because I passed there this morning and I saw several cars parked and some boys kicking a football around.”

  “So you went out this morning?”

  “Only to get the paper at the newsagents. I do that every day, about nine o’clock. It was proper miserable then—drizzling and blowing hard. It’s on days like this I wonder why I ever left Birmingham.”

  “Yeah, and then the sun comes out and makes you realize it’s one of the loveliest places on God’s earth,” Evan finished for her.

  She gave him a motherly smile. “You’re from these parts, I can tell. Do you speak the language? I know all the police have to these days, but I mean really speak it?”

  “Oh yes. It’s my first language. We always spoke it at home.”

  “I never got the hang of it myself,” she said. “I tried learning it once, but it was beyond me. I can say Yacky Da and Dee-olch and that’s about it.”

  Evan got the feeling that she’d keep him there all afternoon if he didn’t make a move. He drained his teacup and got to his feet. “Thanks very much for the tea, Mrs. Paul. That was just what I needed. Lovely. And thanks for all your help too. I expect you’ll be seeing more of us if the little girl isn’t found quickly, so if you see or hear anything strange, don’t hesitate to call, will you?”

  “I won’t, love. I want that little girl found as much as you do. Poor little thing. What kind of father would put his child through something like this? They’re all the same, foreigners, aren’t they? You can’t trust them an inch—like those Germans taking off early. I’ve a mind to slip down to my caravan and count the crockery and blankets.”

  “You do that, Mrs. Paul. And you’d better do it in a hurry because they were rushing to make their getaway.”

  “Right.” She got to her feet also and grabbed a cardigan from the back of another chair.

  Evan smiled to himself in satisfaction. He couldn’t look at their car or the caravan without a search warrant, but a nosy landlady could do both.

  As they came out of Mrs. Paul’s bungalow, they were just in time to see a green Volkwagon Beetle bouncing over the springy turf and out through the gate.

  Chapter 7

  Fr. Nicholas Thomas stood at the doorway to the bar at the Everest Inn and looked around with distaste. Even at this hour of the afternoon, a smoky haze curled around the oak beams. Having lived in Canada for so long, he had forgotten how much the British smoked. Then he spotted his brother at the far end of the bar at the same time that Val looked up and waved.

  “What can I get you?” Val Thomas asked.

  “It’s a little early for me, thanks,” Nick said.

  “Aw, go on, we’re on holiday,” Val insisted.

  “Okay. A white wine then please. A chardonnay.”

  Val threw back his head and laughed. “Do real men in Canada drink wine? I’m surprised you weren’t chased out of town.”

  A momentary spasm crossed Nick’s face, then he smiled too. “You forget, I’m not a real man. I’m a priest. We’re supposed to be different, aren’t we? And Canada has become very European these days.”

  “Funny, isn’t it?” Val said. “You and I—what very different lives we lead. Who would have thought it when we were kids? You a priest! You were never particularly holy, were you?—I seem to remember you sneaked out of chapel at school as often as I did. And our parents certainly didn’t encourage any more observance of our religion than church on Christmas Day.”

  “And who would have expected you to be an artist?” Nick countered. “I always thought you’d take over the family business and be the driven CEO type.”

  “I discovered I don’t like being tied down to one thing,” Val said. “I get bored easily, and I seem to have a knack for painting pictures for which people pay large sums of money. Suits me just fine. I don’t think I could ever have been the proverbial starving artist, any more than you could have been the humble, starving priest. We were obviously brought up to expect the good life.”

  “After boarding school? The food was abysmal, and we had to have cold showers.”

  “Ah, but that made men of us, didn’t it?” Val laughed and tossed across some pound coins to the young woman who had put a glass of wine in front of Nick. “Between you and me, I was damned glad to go away to school. I don’t think I’d have survived if we’d been stuck at home.”

  “Me too. I couldn’t wait to get away. That was why I went to Canada, I suppose. The farther, the better.”

  “You can’t go far enough though, can you? I don’t think even Australia would work.” There was no longer a smile on Val’s attractive face.

  Nick nodded agreement. “No, it sort of follows you, doesn’t it?”

  After leaving Mrs. Paul, Evan visited holiday bungalows farther down the beach. Two of them were occupied by families who recalled seeing the little girl on the beach on several occasions but had only been on the beach briefly that morning. They had seen no strange men or cars parked along the road. But then they wouldn’t, would they? Evan reasoned as he walked back toward the caravan park. When he’d been on holiday as a boy, he’d been so intent on having fun and making the most of his time on the beach that a spaceship could have landed nearby and he wouldn’t have noticed it. And parents on the beach watch their own children, not other people’s.

  He was walking toward his car, when he remembered what Mrs. Paul had told him about the heart transplant. It was just possible that she had got it wrong, but if not … he was sure that transplant patients had to take antirejection medication on a regular basis. And it could be fatal if they stopped taking it. Mrs. Sholokhov had been clearly distraught when she’d spoken to them, but how could she have forgotten to mention such an important factor for the child’s survival? Evan almost broke into a run as he crossed the caravan park. The small blue car Mrs. Paul had mentioned was parked in front of Shirley Sholokhov’s caravan, but when he tapped on the door, he got no answer. He knocked louder, wondering if she’d fallen asleep, then clambered up on the wheel to peep in the window. The caravan was empty.

  He turned and hurried back across the field. Did that mean the child had been found? Had he missed all the action while he was out here, doing useless legwork, repeating what had been done before? He sprinted the last few yards and jumped into the car.

  As he drove back along the road, the wind got up and sand peppered the seaward side of his car. Evan glanced down at the beach where there was a gap between the dunes, then pulled over abruptly. A man was standing on the beach, looking up at a flight of gulls through binoculars. A bird-watcher with binoculars might be just the break they needed. He might not even know a lit
tle girl was missing and might have witnessed something he hadn’t understood that morning.

  Evan crossed a field and waded through the soft sand of the dunes. The man continued to stare through his binoculars. Evan didn’t want to startle him, so he yelled out, “Hello there!”

  The man put down the glasses and turned toward the sound of Evan’s voice.

  “Could I have a word with you, sir?” Evan asked.

  “Am I going to get in trouble?” the man asked in Welsh. As Evan came closer, he saw a small, skinny man whose clothes seemed to be one size too big for him and a head that seemed too big for the rest of his body. He was looking at Evan with an innocent, boyish face, but his graying hair and the creases at the sides of his eyes indicated that he was probably a lot older than Evan. There was something familiar about him, and Evan tried to place him. “Have you come to take me away?”

  “Why, what have you done?” Evan asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’ve been arrested before. They gave me nice tea and buns and they showed me how the car radio worked. I thought the police had come to arrest me when I saw all the cars this morning. Are you with the police?”

  Now the penny finally dropped. Daft Dai. He almost said the words out loud, then checked himself at the last moment. He was well-known in the area around Llanfair, up in the mountains where Evan lived. He had turned himself in for a murder he hadn’t committed when Evan was first a constable in Llanfair. He was a few sandwiches short of a picnic was the general consensus. Crazy but harmless.