“You’d have to be in a pretty deep trance not to notice cold water coming all over you, wouldn’t you?” Glynis said. “And even then, he’d have tried to force his way out through the waves. It hasn’t been stormy recently, so I can’t think the waves would have been too strong for him.”
Evan had been examining the body. “Hey, look here, Sarge. There’s a makeshift bandage around his ankle.” One foot was bare and someone had tried to bind up the ankle using a sock and a handkerchief. “That might be it. He might have slipped and sprained an ankle. Perhaps he couldn’t get past the waves if he couldn’t stand properly.”
Watkins nodded. “I suppose it’s possible that he passed out with the pain at the wrong moment—just as the water was coming in.”
“And drowned, you mean?” Evan shook his head. “I don’t think so. I passed out with pain once when I separated my shoulder playing rugby. Someone threw cold water over me and it woke me up pretty damned quick.”
Glynis was down on her hands and knees. “There are plenty of loose rocks in here. Do you think his foot got trapped under one of them?”
“How could he have bound up his ankle if it was under a bloody great rock?” Watkins asked, grinning at Evan.
“I don’t know. Maybe a rock rolled onto his foot, and then the waves rolled it off again.”
“While he was lying there unconscious? Then he woke up long enough to bind his ankle only to pass out again and drown?” Watkins finished for her.
“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense,” Glynis said, laughing with them. “What does the brilliant Constable Evans have to say about it?” She turned to Evan. “You’re the one who solves the really tricky cases.”
“Only by luck,” Evan said. “I’m as stumped as you are. Even if I’d got a broken ankle, I’m pretty sure I’d manage to fight my way out of a cave rather than stay there and be drowned.”
“Perhaps he couldn’t swim,” Glynis suggested. “Perhaps he had a water phobia.”
“There’s one possibility we haven’t considered,” Watkins said. “Maybe he didn’t want to get out.”
“Suicide you mean?” Evan asked. Then he shook his head. “I don’t think so. If ever there was a man who was full of himself, it was Randy Wunderlich. He thought he was God’s gift.”
“Anyway, Dr. Owens will be here soon. Young Dawson can take his photographs and then we can have the body removed and go and have a decent breakfast.” Watkins frowned at Evan as he spoke. “You look frozen to the marrow.”
“I am Funny, because I don’t often feel the cold. There’s something about this place that’s giving me the creeps.”
Glynis nodded. “It is creepy in here. Do you think he was dabbling in something like witchcraft or black magic?”
“No more speculation, Constable Davies,” Watkins said firmly, helping her out of the cave. “Wait until we’ve got the pathologist’s report, then we’ll know what we’re talking about. Ten to one it will be very simple. We’ll probably find he had a heart attack and dropped down dead.”
“Ah, then the lungs wouldn’t have any water in them. I know that much,” Glynis said, grinning at Evan. “Look, the sun’s up. It’s going to be a nice day again.”
It was a solemn tableau that greeted Evan and the two detectives as they came into the well-appointed lounge with its comfortable armchairs and sofas in muted pastels. Mrs. Roberts, still in her sensible dressing gown, was sitting straight backed and grim beside another tea tray. Annabel, red eyed and disheveled, was sitting on the sofa beside the large paunchy man she had called Ben, while Michael perched protectively on the sofa arm beside her. Betsy was on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, while Emmy was sitting up straight, staring at the ceiling. They all looked up at the sound of approaching feet.
“Dr. Owens, the home office pathologist, and an incident team from police headquarters are down at the cave right now, Mrs. Wunderlich,” Watkins said.
Evan started at the use of this name. Watkins was correct, of course. She had been married to Randy Wunderlich, but nobody had ever called her anything other than Lady Annabel.
“Your husband’s body will be taken for autopsy,” Watkins stated.
“I don’t want him cut open.” Annabel started to wail again. “I don’t want that beautiful body spoiled in any way.”
“I’m afraid there’s no choice when the cause of death isn’t obvious.” He looked around at the group. “Now, if I could just ask you a few questions. We need to establish when he was last seen.”
Glynis had taken out a notebook and pen and was standing looking efficient. Evan stood in the doorway, feeling superfluous.
“Right. Mrs. Wunderlich,” There was a definite intake of breath from Mrs. Roberts this time. “When was it you first noticed that your husband was missing?”
“The day before yesterday. Two guests had arrived. We normally welcome guests at a private cocktail party before dinner. My husband didn’t show up. I sent Michael to look for him and to remind him. He could be a little absentminded, especially when he—when his psychic receptors were open, as he put it.”
“But I-I couldn’t find him anywhere,” Michael said.
“So I sent Michael to see if his car was gone from its parking space,” Annabel continued.
“But it was still there,” Michael finished.
“Which meant that he couldn’t have left the premises?” Watkins asked.
“He could have gone for a walk,” Annabel said. “He often went for walks.”
“And what happened then?”
