Evans to Betsy
Page 21
“It’s rather urgent,” Evan said. “I’m just here for the day and I have to get back.”
“Then I’d go round to the president of the society’s college and see if they’ll give you his class schedule. Or you could ask his college servant. They usually have a pretty good idea where students can be found.”
Evan left with directions to Baliol and was asking at the porter’s lodge when an arrogant voice behind him demanded, “Nicholas Hardy? Who wants him?”
“I’m a police officer, making inquiries about a girl who might have been a member of his music club,” Evan said. “Any idea where he is?”
“I left him wolfing down a large plate of spaghetti bolognese about five minutes ago,” the young man said. “Across the quad, through those double doors and turn right. You’ll find it by the smell.”
Evan did as instructed and soon located the pale, fair-haired young man, who eyed him nervously. “Rebecca Riesen? The American girl? Yes, I remember her. Bloody good violinist, isn’t she? She asked if she could sit in on our rehearsals and I think she ended up playing with us in the Christmas concert.”
“Could you tell me anything about her, any friends she had, anything at all?” Evan asked.
The young man wrinkled his nose. “When I’m trying to conduct, I really don’t notice that much. I think she was chummy with some of the other violinists. There’s a group of three or four of them from LMH.”
“LMH?” Evan asked.
“Lady Margaret Hall. Sandra Vessey, Jane Hill, and what is the dark girl’s name? Greene, that’s it. Rachel Greene. I’ve no idea where you’d locate them at this time of day, but we’re having a rehearsal tomorrow night if you’d care to come to that.”
“Thanks, but I have to get back to North Wales. I’ll try their college if you could direct me from here.”
“Let’s see.” The boy wrinkled his nose again. “It’s not that simple. Nothing is around here. I’d better draw you a map.”
Evan found Lady Margaret Hall without too much trouble. A helpful registrar’s office found him a course schedule for each of the girls. Rachel Greene seemed the easiest to locate. She had a tutorial with her history professor starting at twelve-thirty. Evan found the appropriate room, and didn’t have to wait long before the petite dark-haired girl came along the paneled wooden corridor toward him. She stopped abruptly when she saw him blocking the way.
“Nothing’s happened to Professor Overton, has it?” The light from a leaded window threw sunlight onto her black hair and made dust motes dance around her.
“No, I just wondered if I could have a few words with you. I’m a police officer from North Wales and we’re looking for a missing girl. Rebecca Riesen.”
“Rebecca?” she looked at him in alarm. “She’s missing, you say?”
“Her parents have come over, trying to find her.”
“But that’s terrible. Poor Rebecca.”
“You knew her well, did you?”
“Not well, I wouldn’t say. She was only here for a couple of months, you know, but she sat next to us in the orchestra and we went out for a coffee afterward sometimes. A nice girl—and a very good violinist.”
“You didn’t keep up with her after the end of her term here?”
Rachel made a face. “I meant to, but you know how it is. You promise to write but you don’t.”
“So you’ve no idea of her plans when she left here?”
“I think she was staying with friends in London for the holidays. She said she was having such a good time she wasn’t ready to go home.”
“She didn’t mention wanting to go to North Wales?”
Rachel shook her head. “No, never. She wasn’t really the outdoor type, was she? She used to complain about the rain and cold in Oxford. I don’t know what she would have done on Mount Snowdon. Concerts in London I could understand, but not North Wales.”
“And yet she did go there. To a New Age center.”
She gave him an incredulous stare. “A New Age center—whatever for? Wasn’t that against her religion? She wasn’t trying to convert them, was she? She was one of those dreadfully earnest Christian types. You had to be careful not to swear around her, and she’d never come to the pub for a drink.”
“Did she have any boyfriends, do you know?”
“Not that I know of. She was almost painfully shy and like I said, she’d never come to the pub and places where we go to hang out and meet blokes. Although—” She broke off, frowning in concentration.
“Yes?” Evan asked hopefully.
“She was keen on one bloke, I think. I’m not sure actually if she was keen on him or if she merely wanted to help him. I got the feeling she was the type of person who went around wanting to save people—lame ducks, you know. There was this bloke in the orchestra. Like I said, I don’t know if she fancied him or if she just felt sorry for him because people were being unjust.”
“Unjust?”
“Yes, there were rumors circulating, you know, because the police had had him in for questioning—about Kathy Sparks. They were from the same sort of social set, you see. Both titled families and all that, ridden to hounds from the cradle, friends of the royals. All that sort of bosh.”
“Kathy was the girl who disappeared last year?”
“Yes. She was from this college too. It was horrible. I don’t think they’ve ever found her. It must be awful for her family, mustn’t it?”
“And who was this young man who was questioned by the police?”
“He was in the orchestra with us. Rather geeky—socially inept type.”
“Do you remember his name?” Evan asked.
An elderly woman in academic gown over tweed suit came down the hallway toward them. “Ah, there you are Miss Greene. Are we ready to debate the causes of the Hundred Years War, do you think?”
Rachel gave Evan an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I don’t think I ever knew his name. I have to go to my tutorial now,” she said as the professor swept her in through the paneled door.
Chapter 24
Evan turned and ran down the hallway, nearly barreling into another group of female students. He drove straight to the Oxford CID headquarters and was shown to the desk of the D.I. who had been part of the Katherine Sparks investigation.
“No, we’re still no nearer to solving it, I’m afraid,” the inspector said. He was a young man, not much older than Evan by the look of him, but he was already losing his hair. “The girl vanished from the face of the earth. We thought she’d run away to start with, because some of her clothes were gone, but she’s never been seen since, so we have to assume the worst.”
“And you questioned a young man?” Evan could hardly get the words out.
“We questioned lots of young men. The girl was not short of male escorts.”
“This was a shy sort of bloke, who knew her family.”
“Oh, you mean Michael Hollister? Yes, we questioned him, and for a while that lead looked hopeful, but in the end nothing came of it. He had an alibi on the day she went missing.”
“Michael? Oh, my God.” Evan held out a hand, remembered the burns, and withdrew it again. “Thanks for your help. I’ve got to get home.”
“Anything more I can tell you?”
“No, you’ve already told me what I needed to know,” he said. “Sorry but I have to rush. I’ll let you know how if this turns out the way I think it will. We may be some help to you in solving your case. Oh, but I tell you what—can I use your phone?”
Dispatch in Caernarfon told Evan that D. C. Davies and D. S. Watkins were not available at the moment. If he liked to leave a message, she’d see that it was passed to them.
“This is Constable Evans,” Evan began.
“Oh, Constable Evans. I heard you got yourself badly burned last night. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Listen, tell D. C. Davies to send someone down to the Sacred Grove to keep an eye on Betsy until I get back. I’ll explain everything. All right?”
Evan hung up and rushed out to his car. He hadn’t eaten all day but he dared not stop now. His old clunker groaned and protested up the M6 and then along the A55 into Wales. Surely Betsy would be smart enough to stay around people, as he had instructed her. He felt a horrible sense of urgency.
He reached the Sacred Grove about twenty past four and rushed down the cobbled alleyways to the main building.
“Betsy? I think she must have gone home,” the girl at the reception desk said. “I saw her getting her coat, about half an hour ago.”
Evan hesitated. Should he drive up to Llanfair and see if Betsy had indeed gone home, or should he double-check the premises first? There was no point in phoning her house. Old Sam, her father, would probably be at the pub by now and he never answered phone calls anyway. And Betsy would take a while to get home if she was taking a bus. He started back to his car, then, on impulse, changed his mind, and ran back into the center. Nobody stopped or questioned him as he searched the spa building, startling an elderly guest as she emerged, clad only in a towel, from the sauna. He reached the meditation building. Rhiannon looked up in annoyance as he burst in. She was sitting, cross legged, with two other people, on the floor of the main room. The two people sitting with her looked as if they were finding the position uncomfortable.
“What is it now, Constable?” Rhiannon asked in clipped tones. “Any more dramatic rescues to be carried out today?”
“I hope not,” he said. “You haven’t seen Betsy recently, have you? Or Michael Hollister?”
“I saw Michael a while ago. He was down at the dock, rigging his sailboat.”
“Thanks. Look, if Betsy shows up, keep her with you. Don’t let her go anywhere.”
“What’s this about?”
“I’ll explain later. I’ve got to find Michael.”
He ran past the swimming pool, down the steps to the dock. There was no sign of Michael or a sailboat. Betsy had been seen putting on her coat but he hadn’t passed her on the road or at the bus stop. Of course, somebody could have given her a ride home, but it was also possible that she had gone out with Michael Hollister in the boat. She had admitted she was keen on him, after all. And Michael did come across as a harmless kind of chap. The panic was making it hard to breathe or think clearly. He had to get to her before it was too late. It might already be too late … .
He should call for help, call in reinforcements, get the police launch sent out from Porthmadog, but how long would that take? If Betsy had only been getting her coat half an hour ago, the sailboat couldn’t have gone too far. There wasn’t much wind this afternoon. It would take a while to sail clear of the estuary.
Then he noticed the dinghy bobbing at a mooring about a hundred yards offshore. And it had an outboard motor too. He tore off his jacket and swam out to it, gasping for breath as he hauled himself on board. Lucky that he’d just learned to ride a motorbike, he thought. This couldn’t be too different. He pulled the choke full out and then yanked hard on the cord. The engine popped, sputtered, and died. The saltwater was making his burned hands start to smart. He tried it again, then again with mounting frustration. On the fourth try it sprang to life with a satisfying roar. He put in the choke a little and untied the rope as the engine warmed up. He increased the speed to full throttle as he steered the dinghy out to sea. The sound echoed back from the banks of the estuary and wide ripples spread across the flat surface. He reached the point and met the first slap of waves from the open sea beyond. Still no sign of a sailboat. He hesitated, not sure whether to turn left or right. Which way would they have gone? Where would Michael be heading if he wanted to get rid of Betsy? Straight out to sea, obviously. Less risk of her body floating back in to shore. He shuddered as the thought crossed his mind.
“Dammit,” he shouted. Which way?
To his right he could see the channel markers indicating the channel into Porthmadog Harbor. It had been an important port once, during the time of the slate industry. The further—red—marker caught his eye. There was something on it. He turned the dinghy toward it. As he came closer, he saw that it was a person, clinging onto the buoy for dear life.
“This is lovely.” Betsy leaned out across the bow of the sailboat and trailed her hand in the spray. “I’m so glad you asked me, Michael.” She looked back at him and smiled. “To tell you the truth, I was getting jittery about staying at that place a minute longer. I keep wondering—do you think the person who killed Bethan meant to kill me as well?”
“I don’t know why you think somebody killed Bethan,” Michael said. “I told you we’ve had trouble with that door before. I suppose the wood swells when it gets hot and wet.”
“But the funny thing is that I managed to get it open,” Betsy said. “I had to pull hard, but then it came open for me. Bethan was a lot bigger and stronger than me. How come she didn’t have the strength to push it open from inside?”
Michael shrugged. “Maybe she passed out quickly. Panic makes people hyperventilate, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but … I found this in the flower bed.” She put her hand into her pocket and produced the piece of wood. “Look, it’s a wedge, isn’t it? Not very big but it would have kept the door closed. I’m going to show it to Constable Evans tonight anyway. Maybe they can find fingerprints on it.” She turned back to him suddenly. “Your mum was furious with me when I found it. ‘Leave the grounds-keeping to the gardeners,’ she said.” She put her hand to her mouth. “I say, Michael, you don’t think, do you? It’s not possible—she couldn’t have done it, could she? Killed Randy, I mean.”
“Anything’s possible,” Michael said. “Nobody every really knows anyone else in this life.”
Betsy shuddered. She found that she was shivering and drew her hand in from the water. The wind in her face had become stronger. She looked up. The point was behind them.
“Shouldn’t we be heading right now, if we’re picking up your friends in Porthmadog?” she asked.
“Not right, Betsy. Starboard. You’ve got to learn nautical terms if you’re going to sail.”
“Starboard, then. Shouldn’t we be going starboard?”
“All in good time. We’ll get there eventually. We’ve just picked up a good breeze. Sit back and enjoy it.”
Betsy turned back to look at him. He was sitting at the tiller with a smile on his face. For once he didn’t have that hangdog, defensive look. He was in control, master of his boat, handling it perfectly. She just wished she could stop feeling nervous. She told herself to relax. It didn’t matter if they were going out to sea. Michael was a good sailor. Nothing would happen.
She watched as the coastline receded to a dark line on the horizon, with Snowdon and its sister peaks just jagged bumps on that line. She wanted to go back in to shore, but she didn’t want Michael to know she was nervous. So she concentrated on looking over the side. The water was dark blue and so clear, going down, down, down. As she looked, she became aware of something deep below them, moving up through the deep water. A fish? No, it wasn’t sleek and silvery. It was whitish in parts but parts of it were dark too. As she stared, fascinated, it came closer to the surface and she saw that she was looking at a girl’s face with dark hair floating out around it. The amazing thing was that the girl didn’t seem to be in any distress. She was moving quite comfortably up from the deep water, her eyes open and focused on Betsy. She was only a few feet below the surface now and she reached out her hand to Betsy. Then she opened her mouth to speak and a bubble came up to the surface.
“Rebecca.” The word wasn’t spoken out loud. It just resounded through Betsy’s head.
“What are you looking at?” Michael asked.
“Nothing. I just thought I saw a fish.” Betsy spun guiltily as Michael left the tiller and came up beside her. He looked over the side. “You’re right. It was nothin
g.”
Betsy looked again and saw only deep, clear water.
Michael looked at her oddly, then went to grab the tiller again. “Keep looking,” he said. “Sometimes you see dolphins around here.”
She did as instructed, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She knew with startling clarity what she had just seen. Rebecca really was here, down at the bottom of the ocean, probably with a weight tied to her—and Michael had brought Betsy here for only one purpose. She wanted to kick herself for being so blind, so stupid. Why had she never suspected him? Because he had seemed so nice and so vulnerable, of course. But he was the one who had let her out of the steam room and … now she remembered. He was the one who had given her the cup of coffee to take to Randy. “He always has a cup of coffee after lunch,” she heard him saying. “Why don’t you take it down to him?”
On the floor of the boat she noticed a length of rope. There was a heavy weight tied to one end. That was for her, she was sure. A rope like that had taken Rebecca down to the bottom. Well, she wasn’t going to go without a fight. Now that she knew, she wasn’t going to be caught unawares. She turned around and sat demurely on the seat, facing him.
“I think it’s time we went back into shore, don’t you?” she said.
“Not just yet. There’s one thing I’ve got to do first.”
“I want to go back to shore now, Michael.”
He laughed then. “And I don’t want to. What are you going to do about it?”
Betsy made a lunge for the tiller. “This!” she shouted, wrenching the tiller hard across. The boom came flying across and the boat keeled.
“Are you crazy? You’ll have us both in the water!” he shouted.
“Which wasn’t what you’d planned, was it?” She wrenched the tiller the other way. He was grabbing for it, but still off balance. She saw the boom beginning to swing in his direction and pushed it hard so that it caught the side of his head and he was knocked to the floor.