Evans Above Read online

  Bronwen touched his arm.

  “I’d better be getting back to correcting my science tests,” she said.

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” Evan looked down at her. She looked just right, somehow, standing there in her red cape with the mist swirling about her, like a heroine from an old novel. He had an absurd desire to take her into his arms, and told himself sternly that this was neither the time or the place. “And I better be getting back to work too,” he added. “I should get out the road map and study the best route for tomorrow. I don’t fancy driving all those congested roads through Manchester.”

  Bronwen put her hand on his sleeve. “Take care of yourself, won’t you, Evan,” she said. “If someone really has pushed two men to their deaths, he or she wouldn’t hesitate to do it a third time. I don’t want you getting yourself into something you can’t handle alone.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Evan said. “I can take care of myself pretty well. And don’t you go wandering up mountains alone again in the mist, Bronwen Price.”

  “I can take care of myself too, Evan Evans.” She flashed him a smile. “Let me know if you find anything in Yorkshire, won’t you?”

  “I will,” he said. He watched her go ahead of him until she was safely to the schoolhouse door before he hurried down the path to the police station.

  The figure who had perched unseen among the rocks gradually straightened up and stretched cramped legs. The conversation had been most interesting. It paid to hang around and listen. Eventually someone would give the right piece of information. The figure turned and took off up the tortuous track with the easy grace of a wild animal. The mountain watched and waited.

  Chapter 9

  Evan slipped out of the house at six o’clock the next morning. If he’d told Mrs. Williams he had a long drive ahead of him, she would have had eggs, bacon, and possibly kippers on the table waiting for him. Evan pictured kippers lying on a plate in the dawn’s early light and decided to creep out unnoticed.

  It was a clear, fresh morning and the mountains stood out as if they had been etched against the sky. Again Evan was breathtaken by their loveliness. The sight of them made him want to forget about his expedition and put in an early morning hike, but then he remembered those two battered bodies lying broken on the rocks. It didn’t seem right that something so lovely could also be so deadly. They had come here unsuspecting, out of compassion for a friend only to meet the same fate. Evan owed it to them to find out the truth and let them rest in peace.

  He put his foot to the floorboards as he picked up the A55, heading east for the big cities of Lancashire and Yorkshire, praying that the ten-year-old car would make the trip without breaking down. His early start enabled him to clear Manchester before the rush hour and the motorway whisked him past the worst of Leeds. It was just before ten when he pulled up outside the main gate of Caterick army base.

  A gloomy-looking spot if ever he’d seen one, he thought, his eye travelling over the rows of barracks with the bleak moors as backdrop. He could have understood it better if a soldier had been lost and frozen to death in this setting. Why did they have to go all the way over to Wales to do it?

  The guard at the main gate was no more helpful than the phone operator had been. He was sorry, he said, but he couldn’t let Evan into the base without a pass.

  “Look, mate, I’ve driven all this way,” Evan said. Usually he didn’t have trouble with people, only those who felt themselves puffed up with authority. He pulled out his badge. “North Wales police. We’re trying to solve a murder case—”

  “What seems to be the problem, sergeant?” A crisp, upper-class voice demanded. Evan turned to see a young officer approaching.

  “He says he’s a policeman, sir,” the gatekeeper said, “but I don’t rightly know who to direct him to.”

  The officer held out his hand. “Lieutenant Pitcher. How can I help you?”

  Evan shook the hand that was offered. “Evans, North Wales police,” he said. “I’m here looking into a couple of suspicious deaths. We think that both of the men might have been stationed at this base.”

  “Two of our men killed? We haven’t heard anything about it.”

  “Not stationed here now,” Evan said, hoping the man wasn’t going to be too slow on the uptake. “The only connection between them seems to be that they were mates in the army once.”

  “And you think that might have had something to do with their deaths?”

  Evan nodded encouragingly. “Their deaths might have been linked to an earlier incident. There was a soldier from this base who died during a survival training exercise on Mount Snowdon about six years ago.”

  The friendly expression faded from the man’s face. “I don’t think you’ll find anybody here who wants to bring that up again,” he said. “It was before my time, but there was an awful fuss, I gather. We had the top brass asking questions and quite a few stripes got ripped off. There are still hard feelings.”

  “I don’t really want to bring it up again,” Evan said. “I just need to find out if there was any connection between the two men that died on the mountain last Sunday and the man who died six years ago. There is some evidence that they used to be mates.”

  “And if they were?” the lieutenant asked.

  “Then their deaths have to be linked somehow,” Evan said. “For two of them to die in the same place, at the same time of year as the first tragedy would be too much of a coincidence.”

  The lieutenant nodded. “Yes, I see your point,” he said. “I’m not sure what I can do to help you. Any official enquiry would have to be made to Major Harrison, of course.”

  “You could be a lot of help to me if we could just take a peek at the records and confirm that they were here at the same time,” Evan said. “That wouldn’t need to go via Major Harrison, would it?”

  “I suppose that would be easy enough,” the lieutenant said. “We’ve got it all on computers now. Ten years behind the outside world, of course, but the army’s finally catching up. Let’s go and see what we can do, shall we?”

  It only took a few minutes in a clerk’s office and there were the names on the screen. Hatcher, Thomas, private. Intake 137F, spring 1990. Potts, Stewart, private. Intake 137F. Bartholomew, Danny, private. Intake 137F.

  “They all got here at the same time,” Evan commented. “That’s a start, isn’t it?”

  “And what now?” Lieutenant Pitcher asked. He looked quite excited about the chance to join in solving the murders.

  “Is it possible that anyone here might remember them?” Evan asked. “If they were mates, then there had to be another mate in the picture—the one who sent the card. The one who’s still alive.”

  “The card?” Lieutenant Pitcher asked.

  “A postcard was sent to Tommy Hatcher inviting him to a memorial for Danny up on the mountain, on the anniversary of the day he died. Someone had to have sent that postcard.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean,” Lieutenant Pitcher said. “There is Sergeant Spinks. He’s been here for ever. All the new recruits get him at some stage and God, do they hate him. His name is Abraham Spinks and they call him Bad Ham Stinks.” He grinned boyishly. Evan decided he probably wasn’t much over twenty and tried to picture himself with authority over a lot of men at that age. Maybe an equally young officer was in charge of Danny Bartholemew that night on the mountain and gave him the wrong orders which resulted in his getting lost …

  At first glance Evan thought that he’d get nothing out of Sergeant Spinks. The man had an impassive face, so weather-worn that it looked as if it was made of old leather.

  “Yeah, I remember the incident all right,” he said. “Stupid bugger lost his pack. What’s the first thing we tell them? Hang onto your pack!”

  Evan wondered if his were some of the stripes that got ripped off as a result of the enquiry.

  “You remember Danny Bartholomew then?” Evan asked. “Can you tell me anything about him? Would you say he was the sort of soldier w
ho would lose his way and his pack?”

  The old sergeant stared out across the parade ground, then shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “I remember that bunch in hut 29. Cheeky buggers, all of them, but not stupid like some of the blokes we get. No, I remember being surprised when I heard. Potts—I wouldn’t have put it past him. He never had an inspection he passed first time, always forgetting something. But not Bartholemew. He tried hard. I always thought he was one of the ones who was going to make a soldier some day.”

  “You remember Potts then?” Evan asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. “He was one of Danny’s mates?”

  The sergeant stared out across the parade ground again. “Potts, Bartholemew, Hatcher, and Marshall—that was it. I always used to catch them after lights out. I bet they made good husbands—they certainly learned how to peel enough spuds here.” The leather face cracked into a grin.

  “Marshall?” Evan asked. “Remember his first name or anything about him?”

  But the sergeant shook his head. “He was Marshall to me. That’s all I remember.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Evan said, shaking Lieutenant Pitcher’s hand as they walked back to the main gate.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t find out any more for you,” Lieutenant Pitcher said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to send in an official request if you want to look at their army records and get current addresses.”

  “At least I’ve got something to go on now, haven’t I?” Evan said. “At least I’ve proved they were all friends. That’s a good start.”

  As he drove back to Wales, he tried to put his thoughts in order. Marshall was the missing link. Now that he had something definite to go on, he could ask Sergeant Watkins to officially request Marshall’s army records and they could find out his address. Then he’d know if Marshall was the one who sent the postcard and if he was on the mountain that day.

  The clear morning had turned into a gray afternoon as Evan arrived back in Llanfair at four o’clock. Clouds hung low over the mountains, giving the impression that Llanfair existed in complete isolation, cut off from the outside world. A cold wind swirled fingers of mist down the mountainsides, and Evan drew his jacket around him as he headed for the police station door. As he turned the key in the lock, he suddenly had the feeling that someone was watching him. He looked around but saw nobody. I’m turning into a nervous old lady, he told himself.

  There was no message light flashing on his answering machine and he let out a sigh of relief as he sat at his desk. He looked up and started as a shadow fell across him.

  “Its’ only me,” Betsy’s voice said. “Keep your hair on, Evan Evans.”

  “Oh, Betsy. I didn’t hear you come in,” Evan said. “you made me jump.”

  “They say I’m very light on my feet,” Betsy said, smiling down at him. “That’s why you didn’t hear me coming. And speaking of being light on my feet, I was wondering about the dance on Saturday.”

  “Saturday?” Evan’s mind was momentarily blank. He wondered if he had recently been drunk enough to have promised to take Betsy dancing.

  “You know, the teen dance at the hall? I heard you were going to be a chaperon.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Evan said. “So much has happened this week that it completely slipped my mind.”

  “Pity I’ve already turned twenty, isn’t it?” Betsy said, her eyes teasing him. “Or you’d have finally had to dance with me. Of course, they might still need chaperons, if Harry would let me off early on Saturday night.” She paused and left the sentence unfinished.

  Evan swallowed hard and wondered what important criminal event could come up on Saturday that would take him far away from the village hall. The thought of dancing with Betsy, her voluptuous body pressed against his, was too disturbing.

  She perched herself on the edge of his desk. “So where have you been gone all day?” she asked. “There was a strange police car up here, looking for you.”

  Evan’s heart sank. “Looking for me? Did they say why?”

  “No. It wasn’t me they asked. Maybe it had to do with those two poor men on the mountain.” Evan decided that Betsy might look like the typical dumb blonde, but she was sharp enough when she wanted to be. “Charlie was talking about it in the pub at lunchtime today,” she went on. “He said something about those men being up on the mountain for a memorial.”

  Evan nodded. “Something like that.”

  Betsy made a face. “Funny old place to hold a memorial, wouldn’t you say? If it was me, I’d hold it in the pub, not up on a windy mountain.”

  “A girl after my own heart,” Evan said and instantly wished he had chosen his words more carefully. Betsy was too eager to find encouragement in any innocuous comment. “If ever you’re in charge of my wake,” he went on hurriedly, “make sure it’s held at the Red Dragon. Tell Harry free drinks all around.”

  Betsy looked alarmed. “You’re not thinking of dying just yet, are you Evan Evans? Not when there’s so many people who need you.”

  As she talked she slipped off the corner of the desk and inched herself closer to him until she had eased herself onto the arm of his chair. “People who are counting on your being around here for a long while yet.” Her hand crept along his shoulder.

  A sudden wind sent the papers on his desk swirling and Evan looked up to see Bronwen standing in the doorway. She was wearing a red parka and the wind had given her rosy cheeks to match it. Her normally tidy braid was loose, and stray curls framed her face as it quickly changed from happiness to a stony mask.

  “Oh, sorry, I see you’re occupied,” she said, her voice clipped. “I just stopped by to see how your mission went. I can come back later.”

  She made a rapid exit.

  “Bronwen, wait,” Evan called, trying to get up without pitching Betsy to the floor. But she had gone.

  “She doesn’t like it that we’re such good friends,” Betsy said, giving Evan’s shoulder a little squeeze as she got up. “Well, I should be getting on my way too, Evan Evans. See you at the dance on Saturday then. Save a slow dance for me, won’t you?”

  “Damn,” Evan muttered as she closed the door behind her.

  Almost immediately the phone rang. “Where the hell were you all bloody day?” Sergeant Watkins demanded. “There was a breaking and entering in your village and nobody knew where you were. We had to send a car from HQ. They asked me if you were on assignment for me.” He paused. “I saved your damned skin and said we’d had a report that Daft Dai might have been seen up on the mountain.”

  “Thanks, sarge,” Evan said. “What was the breaking and entering about?”

  “A Mrs. Powell-Jones,” Sergeant Watkins said. “She wasn’t very helpful to our blokes. She said she wanted you to handle it but she couldn’t reach you.”

  Evan sighed. “I wonder what it was this time? Stolen brussels sprouts?”

  “She’s one of those old biddies who make trouble, is she?”

  “You can say that again,” Evan said. “I suppose I’ll have to go up and see what she wants. Look, sarge, I really appreciate the way you covered for me.”

  “Just out of curiosity, where were you?” Sergeant Watkins said. “Was it official business or were you ‘just playing hookey?”

  “Oh it was business all right,” Evan said. “Look, sarge, I think I might have found an interesting line of enquiry on our two mountain murders. I went to Yorkshire and—”

  “Hold on a minute, Evans,” Sergeant Watkins voice became hard. “You went to Yorkshire? Who gave you permission to do that?”

  “Nobody but—”

  “Let’s get one thing straight. If those two deaths weren’t accidents—and I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt on that—then there’s only one suspect we’re pursuing and our men are out looking for him right now. So stop playing detective, okay?”

  “Okay, but sarge—” Evan began when Watkins cut him off.

  “Listen here, Evans. You’re a village policema
n, not bloody Inspector Morse. If I find you poking your nose in where it’s not wanted and going off on hare-brained schemes of your own again, I’ll report you to your chief. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly clear, sarge,” Evan said. “And I promise I’ll stop interfering if you’d just do me one favor and have the War Office look up an army record for me.”

  “The War Office? You can go up on the mountains and find Daft Dai for us if it makes you happy, but that’s it. My DCI is not giving anyone time to breathe until we’ve brought in Lou Walters and solved the little girl’s murder. That’s all I care about right now.”

  “Any closer to finding him?”

  “We know he’s been seen in the area,” Watkins said. “We suspect his mother knows where he is, but she’s not saying. These mothers make me sick. Their sons might be Hitler and the devil rolled into one, but they won’t think of turning them in. You’ll be getting a description. We’re sending them out to all the small stations, just in case he’s staying away from the towns.”

  “Right-o, sarge. I’ll keep my eyes open then,” Evan said.

  “I’d give anything to catch that bastard, Evans,” Sergeant Watkins muttered. There was a click as he put down the phone.

  Evan sat there, staring at the Beautyspots of Wales calendar on his wall. So Sergeant Watkins wasn’t going to be any help in getting Marshall’s address. Evan wondered how he could hope to find it himself, now that he’d been forbidden to pursue the case any further. He wondered what the punishment might be in a situation like this. Surely they wouldn’t fire him for being overzealous? The worst they could give him would be a stern warning and that as a risk he was willing to take, if it solved a couple of murders.