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?”
