by Rhys Bowen
“And if others were less charitable than you?”
“I wouldn’t presume to read the intentions of others.”
Evan noticed that Hughes was getting agitated.
“On the afternoon that Randy Wunderlich vanished—can you account for your movements?”
“I can. I was out and about, wandering over the property, looking for the perfect site for our ceremony on the First of May. There must be oak trees, you know, and enough space for a bonfire and a large circle. I expect a good crowd.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“If you mean did anyone see me, the answer is probably no. Although I did hear somebody or something.”
Hughes looked up from his notes.
“Some large presence was moving through the woods, out of my range of vision. It could have been an animal, of course—a large dog—but it could have been a person in a hurry.”
“About what time was this?”
“I have no idea. After lunch and before dark. I have little idea of time when I’m contemplating.”
“Thank you.” Hughes got to his feet. “You’ve been most helpful.”
“I should say I’ve probably been most unhelpful, but I’ve told you all I know. Randy Wunderlich invited his own death, you know. The universe will not be mocked. The Goddess especially will not be mocked. Good day to you.”
They had been dismissed.
“Well, that about rounds out the principal players, doesn’t it, Evans?” Hughes asked as they climbed the stairs. “What a strange woman. It’s amazing how odd some unmarried women get after fifty, isn’t it?”
Evan decided that Hughes would never win a medal for tact. It was amazing that a similar comment hadn’t managed to offend someone of importance on his way up the promotion ladder. Lucky that the chief constable wasn’t a woman.
Hughes checked his watch. “They should have the staff assembled by now. I’ll give them a little speech and then you can take their statements after I’ve gone. I have a luncheon appointment in an hour, so I’m in a bit of a rush. We just need to find out what they remember about the afternoon Wunderlich disappeared, whether they noticed anything unusual, and whether anybody saw him after two-thirty. See if you can pick up any gossip as they talk to you. I’d be interested to know whether Annabel adored her husband as much as she claims. Just let them chat, Evans. They’ll probably feel comfortable with you. They might even want to speak Welsh and I know that’s your forte … .”
“Very good, sir,” Evan said. Again he wondered how Hughes could have risen so easily through the ranks when even his compliments managed to turn into insults. He attacked the flight of steps at a good pace. He noticed that Hughes was huffing and puffing by the time they reached the top.
“Where have they assembled the staff, do you suppose?” Hughes managed to gasp when the front doors were swung open and Emmy Court came striding out to meet them.
“How much longer exactly am I to be kept waiting?” she demanded. “I’ve got a flight to catch, you know, on a nonrefundable ticket. Do you guys plan to buy me a new ticket if I miss the plane?”
“And we have a possible murder investigation to conduct,” Hughes said. “We’ll let you know when you are at liberty to leave the area.”
“Murder?” The bluster left her and for once she looked as young as the image she tried to project.
Hughes nodded. “So we’ll need to ask you a few questions.”
“Hey, wait a second.” Emmy’s eyes darted nervously. “What has this got to do with me? I hardly knew the man. I only came to the place a couple of times, you know, and I had Betsy with me. Ask her. She can tell you.”
“We have already questioned her, and everyone else,” Hughes said. “There are just a couple of points I’d like to check on.” He went to usher her back into the building.
“We can talk out here,” Emmy said. “I hate being cooped up inside.”
“As you wish.” Hughes nodded. “Your name is Emmy Court, is that correct?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do I take it that is an affirmative?” Hughes asked dryly.
“Yes.” She looked away.
“And you are a student?”
“I’m a Ph.D. candidate—paranormal psychology. University of Pennsylvania. My thesis is on second sight among the Celtic populations. Which is why I came here to do my research.”
“And what is your connection to the Sacred Grove?”
“I read about it when it opened last year. Randy Wunderlich had a great reputation, so I thought I’d use him to verify my findings if I came up with a truly psychic person. Betsy seemed to have strong psychic potential, so I called Mr. Wunderlich and asked if he’d test her independently. He agreed to do so. I took her down to the center. We met with him once for testing. He was impressed and wanted to work with her … and then he vanished. End of story.”
Evan detected a veiled bitterness in her voice. Was she annoyed that her potential thesis material had been ruined?
It was past one o’clock when Evan finished interviewing the staff. His stomach reminded him that it was a long time since breakfast. He found himself longing for the meals at Mrs. Williams’s house. He had complained that she was overfeeding him, but right now he would have given anything for a generous helping of steak-and-kidney pie.
He came out into bright sunshine and stood on the terrace with the wind from the ocean blowing on his face. The pseudo-Italian village below him glowed in the sunlight. It was hard to believe he was still in his own corner of Wales. It was hard to believe much about this peculiar case. If you wanted to kill someone, wouldn’t there be easier ways than drugging him and then leaving him to drown in a cave? Why the cave? Annabel was the only one who mentioned that Randy had gone there before for its fantastic vibes. Had somebody known he was planning to go there that afternoon, or had the murderer somehow dragged him, unconscious, to the cave and left him to die? What sort of person would have done that?
Evan glanced at his list of notes from the staff. One or two interesting things had emerged: Several of the staff reported that Randy and Rhiannon had had disagreements. The day before Randy disappeared, the groundsman had heard his raised voice yelling, “And if you don’t like it, you can always leave, you know.”
That same groundsman had been mowing the lawns on the fateful afternoon. He remembered seeing Annabel coming down the steps toward the meditation building, then returning shortly after. He also remembered seeing Ben Cresswell striding out across the property.
Not one of the staff remembered making the cup of coffee that Betsy took to Randy Wunderlich, or telling Betsy that Randy wanted a cup of coffee. Evan frowned. This wouldn’t look good for Betsy. She had admitted taking him the coffee, which might have contained the sleeping pills, but she had nobody to corroborate that she had been instructed to do so. No one even remembered seeing her in the kitchen after lunch.
Not one of them had seen Randy Wunderlich after he went into his office in the meditation building around two.
Most interesting of all—Bethan reported that Lady Annabel and Randy had had several arguments recently. She had overheard things when she was making beds in the big house.
So there had been plenty of friction at the Sacred Grove. But arguments didn’t always lead to murder, did they? Well, it wasn’t any of his business. D.C.I. Hughes and his team would be handling the investigation from now on and Evan would be lucky if he heard how it was progressing. He should take Betsy home, make his report to D.C.I. Hughes, and get on with the task of changing Bronwen’s library books. But he found he was looking down toward the meditation center and the path beyond, leading down steps to the swimming pool and then the beach. He had to go and take another look at that cave for himself.
Evan hurried down the long flight of steps. As he passed the pyramid, a pale-faced woman in a turban and robe came out and stood blinking in the sunlight.
“Amazing,” she said to Evan. “I’m a new person. Even my skin feels younger
. Amethyst, you know.”
Evan nodded politely and went on his way. Down the last steps and onto the beach. The tide was still quite high at this time of day and Evan had to pick his way along a thin strip of beach. Where the tide had receded, the sand was still waterlogged and each footstep sank in with a deep sucking sound. How could anyone have possibly dragged an unconscious man this way—unless there was more than one person. He paused to consider this thought. Was it possible that several of them had conspired to get rid of Randy Wunderlich—Rhiannon and Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Roberts and Ben Cresswell, even Annabel and Michael? All of the above? Such alliances seemed highly unlikely when he considered them, but desperation has driven people to even stranger alliances.
After five minutes of slithering along the water’s edge, he came to the rocks before the cave. He scrambled up nimbly and stood at the entrance. He knew that forensics had given the cave a thorough going-over, and the sea had been in and out a number of times since the body was discovered. Even so, he ducked his head and went inside, wrinkling his nose at the dank, rotting smell. He found himself shivering as he looked around. As he had expected, he found nothing and was thankful to step out into the sunlight again. He couldn’t imagine that Randy Wunderlich would have chosen to meditate there.
Now the higher, dryer cave definitely looked more inviting—a wide hole above the waterline, the sort of cave that would have attracted a boy wanting to play at smugglers. He scrambled up to it, using all fours over the precariously loose rocks, and stood peering into the darkness. He could see where the sea level reached the entrance. There was a line of seaweed and jetsam about three feet into the cave. Beyond that, however, the floor was sandy and dry. He noticed footprints in the sand, but they were indistinct and there was no way of knowing how long they had been there. As he turned back to face the entrance, he was met with a stunning view. The whole estuary of sparkling blue water spread before him, with the green hills rising on the other side to Cader Idris, second in height only to Snowdon.
He could see that somebody would want to come to this cave to get away from it all and think. In fact, Emmy Court had assumed the same thing. He remembered how she had tried to convince Betsy that she was heading for the wrong cave. Well, anyone would have assumed the same thing, wouldn’t he? He then realized something else about Emmy Court. When she had woken him that night, she had been bubbling with excitement as if the whole excursion was a grand adventure. But that had changed when they discovered Randy’s body. He remembered her wail of horror, “He can’t be dead!”
And yet today, in her interview with Hughes, she had acted as if Randy’s death was merely a nuisance, a hitch in her plans. Evan turned and carefully skirted around the edge of the cave, examining every inch of the floor. There was really nothing to see. There was no jetsam above the high tide line, just sand and rocks. Toward the back of the cave his eyes strained in the darkness and he wished he had brought the flashlight he kept in the glove compartment of his car. He could see something on a small rock ledge. Evan reached for it. It was a wrapped granola bar. Half-buried in the sand beneath it was a full bottle of water and beside that a miniature torch. Using his handkerchief, Evan retrieved the torch and wrapped it carefully before tucking it into his pocket. It might be nothing more than kids playing at camping out, but it could also mean that someone recently intended to spend some time in this cave.
Chapter 19
By the time Evan returned to look for Betsy, he found her with Emmy Court. Emmy seemed calmer and resigned to missing her plane.
“If I’ve got to stay on a few days, I might as well give Betsy a ride home,” she said. “I hope Mrs. Williams hasn’t let my room yet.”
Evan accepted her offer. He was glad he wasn’t about to incur anyone’s wrath by giving Betsy a ride home on the motorbike. Instead, he drove straight to drop off the torch he had found at the forensics lab. Then he remembered he had promised to change Bronwen’s library books for her. That was the very least he could do. He felt that he should have been taking better care of her. Instead, he’d been running around all week—doing his job, to be sure, but still not there when she needed him.
When he finally reached Llanfair and pulled up outside the police station, the clouds had closed in and the formerly bright day was now heavy with the threat of rain. The first drops of rain spattered onto the tarmac as he climbed off the bike and wheeled it into the shed. No hiking today then! On the ride home he had decided to take a stiff hike up to Crib Gogh and back. He had noticed his muscles complaining at all those steps at the Sacred Grove. That’s what happened after several weeks without exercise—he was getting soft and needed some conditioning. Also, walking in the high country had a wonderful way of clearing his head. Up above the rest of the world, he was able to see connections that hadn’t been obvious before, and Evan was a great believer in connections. Find the missing links and you were well on the way to solving the case—if he was going to be given the chance of future involvement. Evan kicked at a pebble and sent it skidding across the wet street. Then he tucked Bronwen’s books under his jacket and plodded up the hill to the schoolhouse.
He was about to open the gate to the school playground when he heard his name being called and sighed as Mrs. Powell-Jones came bearing down on him, her unbuttoned cardigan flying open like the wings of an avenging angel.
“Constable Evans! Stay right where you are. I wanted a word with you, urgently.”
Evan was in no mood to be forbidden to see Bronwen again. “I’m taking Miss Price the library books she wanted,” he said quickly.
“It’s not Miss Price I’m concerned about. It’s Betsy Edwards,” Mrs. Powell-Jones said.
“Something’s happened to Betsy?”
“To her immortal soul, if we’re not careful. I was speaking to her not an hour ago, and what I heard has appalled me, Constable. Absolutely appalled me.” She pushed a rain-sodden wisp of hair from her face. She wasn’t wearing any kind of raincoat and her pea green hand-knitted cardigan was giving off a strong odor of wet sheep. “I had my doubts about this so-called healing center since I first heard about it,” she went on, wagging a finger at Evan. “Pagan spirituality indeed! As if pagans can have any spirituality. But now I’ve had a chance to question Betsy thoroughly and what I’ve heard is worse than I feared. Did you know there is Druid worship going on at that place? Betsy says there is actually a Druid priestess who holds her ceremonies there. No wonder someone has been murdered. The Druids were a most bloodthirsty sect, you know. They went in for human sacrifices. It must be stopped, Constable Evans. Stopped now, before it’s too late!” She thrust her face into his, peering at him with her sharp, pale eyes. “I take it that the police will be shutting it down, after what has happened?”
“I don’t know, madam,” Evan said. “I’m just the local constable. I don’t make the decisions.”
“Then I shall call your superiors immediately. And if the police don’t close it, then steps will have to be taken. We Christians have a moral obligation. I’ve told young Betsy that I forbid her to go there again.”
“She has a good job there, Mrs. Powell-Jones,” Evan began, but the minister’s wife peered into his face again.
“A good job, you say? No good can come of cavorting with the devil, you must know that. You must stop her, Constable Evans, before it’s too late. Good day to you.”
She stalked back to her house, her shoes making an unpleasant squelching sound as she walked. Evan watched her go, then pushed open the schoolyard gate.
“Goodness, you’re soaked,” Bronwen greeted him from where she was sitting, wrapped in her eiderdown in the armchair by the fire. “Were you caught in the downpour when you were on your bike?”
“No, I got caught by a belligerent Powell-Jones,” Evan said. “I’ve been told to close the Sacred Grove immediately, or else steps will be taken. And she’s forbidden Betsy to go there again.”
“Oh, dear.” Bronwen managed a weak smile. “I wouldn’t like to be th
e people at the Sacred Grove if Mrs. Powell-Jones gets her teeth into them.”
“So how are you feeling?” Evan crossed the room and gave her a little kiss on the forehead. “You’re sitting up. That’s a good sign.”
“I hope it is. I still feel as weak as a newborn kitten.”
“You need building up again.”
“Not Mrs. Powell-Jones’s calves foot jelly, please.”
Evan smiled. “I’d offer to make you some soup, only my cooking doesn’t seem to agree with you too well.”
“Don’t say that. This obviously wasn’t anything to do with your cooking. Just an unluckily timed bug, as the doctor says.”
“I hope so. But most bugs I’ve seen don’t linger on as long as this. I’ve got you some new library books, by the way. I hope you approve of my taste.”
“In women at least.” She gave him a weak smile, reached for the books, and let them flop onto the eiderdown beside her.
Evan gave her a worried glance. The hands that took the books from him seemed frail and transparent as alabaster and belonged to an ethereal creature, not the Bronwen he knew.
“So what’s the latest excitement from the Sacred Grove?” She patted the arm of her chair and he perched beside her. “Has Betsy had any more psychic dreams and found any more bodies?”
“Plenty of excitement,” Evan said. “It turns out that Randy Wunderlich’s death wasn’t an accident. It looks as if someone drugged him so that he was asleep when the tide came in.”
“What a horrible thing to do!” Bronwen shuddered. “Any suspects?”
“Plenty, it seems,” Evan said. “He wasn’t very popular with several residents of the Sacred Grove, and one of the maids said he argued with his wife a lot too.”
