by Rhys Bowen
“Sergeant Watkins is supposed to be on duty today. I don’t know whether he’s here yet—oh, hold on a second, he just walked in. Constable Evans at Llanfair for you, sir.”
“So they’ve got you working bloody weekends as well, boyo, have they?” Watkins sounded cheerful in spite of the early Sunday morning hour. “I’ve had to miss my DIY program on the telly and they were going to be doing shelves today—which the missus has been nagging me to put up for months. What’s the problem?”
“Maybe it’s nothing, Sarge, but I thought I’d better report it right away. One of my film crew is missing.”
Watkins chuckled. “Ooh dear. How embarrassing for you, boyo. You’re assigned to look after them and you bloody well go and lose one. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, explaining that to the chief.”
“It’s not funny, Sarge. The stupid man’s missing and his colleagues are very worried.”
“Missing in the mountains, you mean? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about that. You’re the mountain rescue whiz, aren’t you?”
“It wasn’t in the mountains, Sarge,” Evan interrupted tersely. Being roused by the phone on a Sunday morning hadn’t done much for his temper. “He was last seen up in Blenau Ffestiniog early yesterday morning. He didn’t check in all of yesterday. He didn’t get in touch all last night and this morning his Land Rover was found parked by the docks in Porthmadog.”
“It was Saturday last night. What’s the betting he had one too many in a pub and is quietly sleeping it off somewhere?”
“He doesn’t seem like that sort of bloke and the expedition leader is very worried.”
“So you don’t know what would have brought him down to Porthmadog?”
“No idea. I know he was interested in the narrow-gauge railway and the depot’s down there. And there’s a main-line station as well.”
“And you think he might have gone somewhere by train?”
“His colleague thinks he might have gone to London.”
“Well then, there you are. He’s a grown man, after all. He can go to London if he wants, can’t he?”
“But they can’t imagine why he hasn’t called them. They’re in the middle of shooting up here—they’ve got the crew standing by idle. They want me to file a missing person report.”
“You can’t file a missing person report just because some bloke takes it into his head to go wandering off,” Watkins said. “It isn’t as if he’s mentally incompetent or a runaway, is it?”
“No, but … .”
“He’s a grown man, Evan, for God’s sake. He might have met a bird and spent the night with her, and calling his colleagues might have been the last thing on his mind.” He paused. Evan said nothing. Watkins cleared his throat and continued. “Okay. I can’t do anything officially yet. They’re not even next of kin, but if he hasn’t shown up by tomorrow … .” He left the words hanging. “And if I was in your shoes, boyo,” he added, “if I was the one who’d lost him, I’d show willing and start looking right now. Check out the area where that car was found and where he was last seen. Ask at the railway station to see if anyone remembers selling him a ticket—well, I don’t have to tell you how to go about it, do I? You know how to solve a case as well as I do; better, in fact.”
“Yes.” Evan wasn’t in the mood to be magnanimous. “I’ll start looking, then. I hope that Roberts in Porthmadog doesn’t think I’m treading on his turf. He doesn’t like me much.”
“Tell him you’re there with my blessing,” Watkins said. “Call me if you get any flack. And let me know when the bugger turns up.”
“Right. I will.”
Evan hung up and stood frowning at the phone. “Damn Grantley Smith,” he muttered and dialed Porthmadog.
“So what great case are you solving now, Evans?” Constable Roberts asked. He was an ambitious young man and seemed to have resented Evan’s brief moments in the limelight. “Land Rover stolen, was it?”
“No, it belongs to a bloke who’s missing—one of the film people I was assigned to. Last seen early yesterday in Blenau Ffestiniog, I understand, and hasn’t checked in with his colleagues since. I suppose the Land Rover was empty?”
“Absolutely. Parked on the street in a two-hour parking zone. Lucky he didn’t get a ticket, but we’re short-staffed at the moment.”
“So it’s still there?”
“That’s right. And it bloody will get a ticket if it’s not moved today.”
“Mind if I come down and take a look?” Evan asked. “And then maybe we’d better have it towed to a garage, just in case.”
“You suspect funny business, then? This bloke hasn’t just wandered off and not told anyone?” Roberts now sounded interested.
“We don’t know yet.”
“You’re right,” Roberts agreed. “Better safe than sorry, eh? And I’ll spread the word about your bloke down here. What did he look like?”
“Young, arty type, black curly hair, speaks with a posh English accent,” Evan said. “I think anyone would remember him.”
“Right, then. We’ll do what we can.”
“Thanks, mate. Diolch yn fawr.” Evan hung up. Roberts wasn’t so bad after all.
He got dressed in a hurry and made his way up to the Inn.
Howard and Edward were sitting in the window, a coffeepot and undrunk coffee on the table between them. Evan was also surprised to see Sandie at the table with them. She looked disheveled and white-faced, as if she hadn’t been to bed all night. She jumped up as he came in. “Any news yet?”
“They’ve found his car,” Evan said. “Down at the docks in Porthmadog.”
“What on earth was it doing down there?” Edward demanded.
“You have no idea yourself? He didn’t mention anything he wanted to check out in Porthmadog?”
“Never mentioned a thing,” Edward said.
“Not that he wanted to redo his train trip, without falling out of a window this time?” Evan regretted saying this as soon as the words slipped out.
“Oh my God,” Sandie wailed. “You don’t suppose he’s fallen out of another train, do you?”
“I don’t think he makes a habit of it, Sandie dear,” Edward said, “and he didn’t mention anything about trains.”
Howard also looked ashen faced and not at all well. “So what the hell do we do now, Constable? We’re more or less prisoners here—no transportation, no nothing.”
“At least the Land Rover’s been found,” Edward said. “Maybe the constable here would be kind enough to drive one of us down to Porthmadog to pick it up.”
“I don’t think I’d better do that at the moment,” Evan said cautiously. “Our Forensics boys might want to go over it, if … .”
“Oh my God, something’s happened to him, hasn’t it?” Sandie wailed. “It’s all my fault.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?” Evan asked.
“I mean”—she paused, collected herself, and went on—“if only I’d been here, it wouldn’t have happened. Grantley’s always doing stupid things. You have to look after him.” She saw Evan looking at her with interest and she blushed. “I shouldn’t have let my personal feelings get the better of me. I was hired to be his production assistant. I shouldn’t have left, even if he did behave like a creep.”
“When did you come back?” Evan asked.
She bit her lip. “I never really left. I went down to the station at Bangor, but then I couldn’t make myself get on that train. I kept on thinking that I’d got it all wrong. There had to be some mistake … .”
“Mistake about what?”
She shook her head. “A personal matter. So I checked into a hotel and sent him a note to say where I was. He called and apologized and told me how much he needed me. So I came back yesterday but … . but he didn’t show up.” She dissolved into tears, fumbling in her jeans pocket for a packet of tissues. Then she grabbed Evan’s sleeve. “You’ve got to help us find him. If anything has happened to him, I’ll kill myself?”
“I’m sure we can do without the hysterics, Sandie sweetie,” Howard said calmly. “And I’m sure we’ll find him. There’s a main-line station in Porthmadog, isn’t there?”
Evan nodded.
“There you are then. He decided he had to go to London on the spur of the moment, just as you suspected, Edward. We’ll get a call from him any moment now saying he’s at the Dorchester and he’s just had a scrumptious breakfast and sorry he forgot to call last night, but he was invited out to dinner by someone very important.”
They all nodded as if this was what they wanted to believe. But it was obvious none of them did believe it.
“We won’t just assume that he’s gone to London and that he’ll call,” Evan said. “I’ll check out the places where he was last seen.” They nodded again. “If any of you wants to come with me?”
“I’ve already called and canceled our crew for today,” Edward said. “I hope we find him soon—I can’t afford to have the crew just hanging around. If Grantley really has just run off somewhere without telling us, I’ll wring his bloody neck.”
Evan got out his small notepad. “Maybe you could tell me exactly where and when he was last seen?” he asked. “You say he dragged you up to Blenau Ffestiniog at crack of dawn yesterday ?”
“That’s right. I was in the middle of breakfast and he came rushing into the dining room. ‘I’ve just had the most brilliant thought,’ he said. ‘It came to me in the middle of the night. It’s going to give us the drama this film was lacking.’ He grabbed my arm and literally dragged me from the table.
“I told him I had more important work to do. I was needed up at the lake to help raise a plane, which was, after all, the whole purpose of the film—and the one reason we’d got any financing.”
He gave a long sigh. “But you know what Grantley’s like. He’s like a little child when he doesn’t get his own way. He whined, he pleaded. It wouldn’t take long and he couldn’t go on his own, could he? And when he’d proved his point, then even I would be excited.”
“What point was this?” Evan asked.
“He wouldn’t tell me. He said he had things he needed to check out first.”
“So you drove to Blenau? What time was this?”
“We left here before eight, I know that. Got there around eight-thirty, maybe.”
“And when you got there?” Evan asked.
“I don’t know exactly what he planned to do. He wanted to see around a slate mine, I know that. He was going to meet the custodian.”
“But you didn’t go with him?”
Edward flushed. “Me? No. I had more important things to do. I was needed back here, so I took a taxi back and left him to it.”
“So the last you saw of him was in Blenau, at around nine o’clock?”
“That’s right.”
“And you expected him to come straight back here afterward?”
“That’s what I understood, yes,” Edward answered. “He knew we had a film crew waiting to start work and that Howard wasn’t feeling up to par. I just assumed he’d come straight back as soon as he could.”
“Did he have a mobile phone with him, by any chance?” Evan asked.
“Of course. He was never without his mobile.”
“So he could have called you to let you know if he was running late,” Evan said. “That’s odd, isn’t it? I take it you’ve tried calling his number?”
“Of course, several times, but he must have it switched off. It doesn’t ring.”
Evan tucked the notebook into his pocket. “Is there any chance he might have a photo of himself in his room? It would help if I could show it around when I’m asking questions.”
“I’m sure he has oodles of photos,” Edward said. “Grantley is very much in love with himself. I’ll come up to his room with you, if you like. Maybe he’s left some kind of notebook or agenda, giving us a clue to where he might have gone.”
“All right.” Evan went to find Major Anderson, the hotel manager.
“Missing, you say?” the major asked, frowning. “He didn’t attempt to go up a mountain alone, did he?”
“No, he left his car down on the harbor in Porthmadog,” Evan said. “We’ve no idea where he went.”
“Rather worrying, what?” The major stroked his mustache speculatively. “I hope this doesn’t bring us any bad publicity like that other time when those climbers were killed. We had a lot of reservations canceled as a result.”
They walked up the broad central staircase and Major Anderson unlocked a door at the end of the first hallway. Grantley’s room was supremely messy, with clothes, books, and papers strewn about at random. The major stepped over discarded underwear with distaste. Edward followed Evan into the room.
“He had a briefcase. I don’t think he took it with him in the Land Rover. Ah yes, this is it.”
He retrieved a pigskin case from under a sweater and a pair of socks. Evan opened it. It contained the sort of things you’d expect to find in a briefcase: an agenda, a file of possible contacts with war experiences, and, tucked into a slot on the lid, a large envelope full of photos.
“There you are—what did I tell you?” Edward reached out to lift up an eight-by-ten glossy of Grantley, looking more like Lord Byron than ever.
“His head shot,” Edward said, “from the days when he fancied himself as an actor. Imagine still carrying it around. There’s no end to the man’s vanity.”
“Oh and here’s one of Howard doing his great white hunter bit.” Edward thrust another eight-by-ten of Howard Bauer, surrounded by heavily armed African tribesmen, into Evan’s hands.
“Very impressive.” Evan smiled.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything in here to indicate where he went.” Edward was thumbing through the other folders in the case. “Maybe we should look around the rest of the room, but I don’t think we’ll find anything. Most of Grantley’s ideas were in his head.” He closed up the case and started piling clothes from the dresser onto the bed. Evan watched him speculatively. He was almost sure that while he had been studying the picture of Howard, Edward Ferrers had pocketed a small snapshot from the pile.
Chapter 11
It was nine o’clock on a blustery Sunday morning as Evan drove down to Porthmadog. He had asked the film people if any of them wanted to accompany him, but they had rejected his offer. Howard claimed he was still feeling a little shaky, Edward didn’t want to leave the Inn in case Grantley phoned or turned up, and Sandie said she was just too upset to be of any use.
Church bells were ringing as he passed through Beddgelert. Old women in hats were walking arm-in-arm to chapel or the Anglican church as he drove through Porthmadog. He found the Land Rover easily enough, parked on the street that overlooked the harbor. It was locked. There was no sign of the keys. Unfortunately, what would have been a busy street yesterday was now deserted, but Evan knocked at the nearest houses. Nobody remembered noticing the man in the picture, or when the Land Rover had arrived. He looked around the docks. A couple of men were working on sailing boats, but the harbor wall would have concealed a view of the vehicle and they hadn’t seen the man in the photo.
He went on to the main-line station and showed the picture again. The girl at the booking office was sure she hadn’t sold Grantley a ticket yesterday. “Ever so handsome, isn’t he?” she said, smiling coyly at Evan while assessing that he wasn’t bad-looking himself. “I’m sure I’d have noticed him.”
The ticket collector hadn’t seen him either. Not many trains ran from the station on a weekend and he was sure he’d have noticed a foreigner.
Evan wasn’t feeling too hopeful when he tried the narrow-gauge train depot. In contrast to the deserted main-line station, this one was bustling with activity. Sunday was a day when volunteers came to work on the old rolling stock and have a chance to drive the small steam engines up the mountain. The photo produced instant recognition this time.
“Of course I saw him.” The man was polishing an old steam
engine with the name Linda emblazoned on its side. “He was the silly fool who fell out of my train, wasn’t he?”
“What about yesterday? You didn’t carry him back up the mountain yesterday, did you?”
The driver shook his head. “No. If I’d seen him, I would have told him to bugger off. I wouldn’t want to take that chance again. Nearly scared the daylights out of me when I heard that scream and saw him come tumbling out. I was lucky to be able to stop so quickly.”
“So you’re sure he wasn’t around here yesterday?”
The man stared out across the estuary. “Not on a train I was driving. Of course, he could have taken another train up when I was coming down. I’d ask Billy Jones over there. He drove the other engine yesterday.”
But Billy Jones didn’t remember seeing Grantley. Whatever Grantley had been doing in Porthmadog yesterday, he hadn’t made his presence obvious.
Evan paid a brief courtesy visit to the police station and made copies of the photo.
“Strange, isn’t it?” P. C. Roberts said, coming to peer over Evan’s shoulder as he worked at the copying machine. “He’s quite a distinctive-looking bloke. You’d think someone must have seen him. We’ll ask around the local B-and-Bs and maybe you should check the buses. Either he’s still here or he took some other form of transportation out of town.”
“Unless someone stole his car,” Evan suggested. “And dumped it here.”
“Then why ditch it again? Land Rovers are pretty valuable, aren’t they? And if his car was stolen, then where the devil is he?”
“Good question,” Evan said. “I’m off to Blenau Ffestiniog now, where he was last known to be. Let’s hope someone up there can tell us something useful.”
P. C. Roberts smirked. “You say you were assigned to him—what, for protection? No wonder you’re so worried, boyo. You’ll be for it if he doesn’t show up, won’t you?” He was clearly enjoying Evan’s discomfort.
“Thanks for the reassurance,” Evan muttered with a half smile. He started to go.
“Don’t worry,” Roberts called after him. “I expect he’ll come sauntering in, saying, ‘Oh sorry, old chap. Were you looking for me?’ Bloody English. Nothing but trouble, are they?”
