A cold wind rushed up the pass, rattling branches and making Evan shiver. He didn’t believe in rubbish like psychic powers, and yet he had been a witness at the extraordinary events that night. Was it also possible that she had used those newly awoken powers subconsciously to bring about Bronwen’s illness? If not, why wasn’t Bronwen getting better?
Chapter 15
“Nothing too heavy, please,” she said as she handed him the books she had finished. “I don’t seem to have the strength for more than the lightest books—I can’t concentrate or hold them up either.” She gave a sweet smile that twisted Evan’s insides. She looked like a pale shadow of herself lying there. Why wasn’t she getting better?
“I’ll be back as quick as I can,” he said. “Maybe we could play Scrabble later and I’ll let you beat me as usual.”
Bronwen nodded. “That would be nice, although you might even win for once.”
He was just putting the books in the front seat of his old bone-shaker when his pager sounded. With a muttered damn he went back inside and dialed HQ.
“Constable Evans?” It was Megan, the witty dispatcher. “D.C.I. Hughes would like a word with you. One moment, please.” He heard her say, “I’ve got Evans on the line for you, sir.”
Then Hughes’s clipped, high voice. “Ah, Evans. Good man. I want you to meet me at that place—the Sacred Grove—in half an hour.”
Evan could hardly remind a newly appointed D.C.I. that it was his day off. Besides, if something was going on, it was a miracle that he was being included.
“Has something happened, sir?” He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice.
“Interesting development. Look, I understand there is a young woman who claimed to have had a dream that led people to the body. And I’m told she’s working at the Sacred Grove as well. So I’ll find her down there, shall I?”
“I think she has the weekend off, sir,” Evan said, tempted to add, “like me.”
“Then I’d like you to find her and bring her down to me, so that I can ask her some questions. Let’s say—ten o’clock.”
The phone went dead. Evan stared at it for a second, then replaced the receiver and went in search of Betsy.
“What’s it all about then?” Betsy asked. “He wants to hear about my dream, does he? How exciting. Do you think he might want to use me as the police psychic someday? The police do use psychics, don’t they?”
She grabbed her coat and ran out of the house. “Can we go on your new bike?” she asked. “I’ve always wanted to ride a motorbike.”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to give rides,” Evan said.
“Oh, come on, don’t be a spoilsport,” Betsy pleaded. “It’s official police business, isn’t it? And you’re taking me along as a witness. And that’s your official police transportation.”
“I suppose it is,” Evan said. “All right. Jump on.”
Betsy let out little yells of delight as they went around each of the hairpin bends down the Nantgwynant Pass. Evan had picked up some of Betsy’s excitement. He had suspected that Randy Wunderlich’s death hadn’t made sense. Now maybe he was going to find out the truth.
The security gate swung open for them. As Evan pulled up in the car park, D.C.I. Hughes appeared from the security post. As usual he was immaculately dressed in a well-cut suit, a royal blue bow tie, and a white handkerchief showing in his top pocket. Not an iron gray hair out of place. Neat little moustache trimmed to a slim line on his upper lip. He always looked as if he should be working in a high-class gentlemen’s clothier’s, not a police station.
“Evans!” He strode across to the motorbike. “What do you think you’re doing, man? Giving joyrides on a police motorbike?”
“Sorry, sir, but you did ask me to bring the young lady down here, and this is my only official police vehicle.” Evan stared the D.C.I. in the eye.
“Oh, yes, well, I suppose it is.” Hughes gave an embarrassed cough at the back of his throat. “Well, I’m glad you got here so quickly. I’ve spread the word that I want to question people up at the main house. Come along then, this way.” He set off with quick, mincing strides, like a large windup toy. Again, as Evan watched him, he found himself wondering how such a person could rise so easily to the rank of detective chief inspector, while he, Evan, was still firmly planted on the very bottom rung.
“Rum sort of place, isn’t it?” Hughes slowed to let Evan catch up with him. “Not quite real, if you know what I mean.” Evan did know. He nodded.
“Still, I suppose there are enough people interested in New Age kind of things these days for them to make a go of it,” Hughes commented.
Evan kept his views to himself.
“I’ll need you to take notes, Evans,” Hughes continued. “I thought Watkins and his team would be here to assist me, but there was a nasty hit-and-run outside Caernarfon this morning so I’ve sent them over there instead.”
“Very good, sir.” Evan tried to hide a smile. For once he wasn’t being dismissed as soon as things got interesting. That was hopeful.
“And you, young lady.” Hughes addressed Betsy for the first time. “I think we’ll start by talking to you. A most interesting case, by the way. Fascinating.”
“Excuse me, sir, but have they found out anything more about Randy Wunderlich’s death?” Evan asked. “Is that why we’re here?”
“What have you heard so far?” Hughes asked.
“Only that it wasn’t a heart attack, there was no sign of external injury, and cause of death was drowning,” Evan said. “But I always suspected there had to be more to it.”
“Why was that?”
“A young, fit man doesn’t wait in a cave to be drowned.”
“Ah.” Hughes gave a satisfied little nod. “Quite perceptive of you, Constable. As it turns out—” he moved closer to Evan so that Betsy couldn’t overhear “—the lab has done a splendid job of hurrying through the toxicology, and we got the report this morning. It indicates that Mr. Wunderlich stayed in the cave, waiting to be drowned, because he was fast asleep at the time.”
“Fast asleep. You mean in a trance?”
“No, I mean a damned great dose of flurazepam.”
“What’s that?”
“Sleeping pills. Sold under the name of Dalanine. Either he took them intentionally, to kill himself, or someone made damned sure he didn’t wake up when the tide came in.”
“I’d be inclined to go along with the latter,” Evan said.
“Oh, and why is that?”
“I met Mr. Wunderlich. He thought a lot of himself. He acted the part of the famous psychic. He wasn’t the sort of man to die in a cave where his body might never have been found. If he was going to commit suicide, he’d make damned sure he staged a good one.”
Hughes nodded. “Interesting. I’ll bear that in mind. So if he didn’t kill himself, then someone else fed him enough drugs to knock him out.”
“And then put him in the cave?” Evan asked. “It would take a strong person to carry him the length of the beach and up the rocks, besides its being damned risky that they would be seen.”
“That’s something we’ll have to find out, won’t we?” Hughes gave his birdlike nod again. “Interesting case, Evans. Come on then. Let’s get started.” They had reached the former stately home that now housed administration and reception. Hughes went up the front steps, pushed open the swing door, and walked through as if he owned the place. Evan and Betsy followed. “I’ve taken over Lady Annabel’s office,” Hughes said, as if this were a perfectly natural thing to do. “Let her know that I’ll be ready for her in about half an hour. We’ll start with you, my dear. I’m sure you’ve got some fascinating things to tell us.”