Evans to Betsy

“I don’t know why she’d come to a place like this,” Mrs. Riesen said. “I can’t see her wanting to hike with a backpack. How would she have carried her violin? She never went anywhere without it.”

“Then maybe we should go straight down to the Sacred Grove,” Evan said. “I don’t know what good it will do, but there was one of the maids who had become friendly with Rebecca. You could talk to her and see if there was any clue she could give you.”

Mrs. Riesen looked at her husband and nodded.

“Another thing I’ve been wondering, Mrs. Riesen,” Evan said as the car swung around to the right and started to zigzag down to Beddgelert. “What made Rebecca stay on after the end of her course? Had she made friends she didn’t want to leave? If she was the homebody you describe, wouldn’t she have wanted to spend Christmas with you?”

“You know, we were rather surprised about that,” Mrs. Riesen said. “I was quite upset at the time, wasn’t I, hon? ‘She doesn’t want to spend Christmas with her family anymore,’ I said to Frank. She had a couple of fellow American students who were taking an apartment in London and she spent the holidays with them. But they’re both back home again now and neither of them has been in contact with Rebecca since the first of the year. She stayed on alone in London for a couple of weeks, apparently, then she went touring. She said she wanted to see something of the countryside—which is understandable. But we were surprised she was doing it alone. She was always a little cautious, our Rebecca.”

“And I take it you’ve been to Oxford and seen where she lived?”

“Oh, yes. That was one of the first things we did. She lived in a dormitory for American students who were attending the institute. It wasn’t actually part of Oxford University, you know. It was a separate program just for Americans. They got the chance to audit lectures with the Oxford undergraduates, but they did their assignments for the AIAO. That stands for the American Institute at Oxford, I believe.”

“Everyone who knew Rebecca was gone, except for the faculty and staff,” Mr. Riesen said, leaning forward in his seat. “It’s only a one-quarter course, you see. All new students each quarter. Nobody had anything to tell us at all. The faculty hardly remembered her. ‘She was quiet and shy and hardly ever spoke up’—that’s what that one professor said, didn’t he, Margaret?”

“And she didn’t make any friends among the Oxford undergrads then?” Evan asked.

“She lived with other Americans, of course. And from what she told us, the British students were not particularly welcoming. Not that she was the social kind but she went to concerts and lectures with girls from back home. She loved her concerts, didn’t she, honey? Crazy about her music.”

Evan noticed they were using the past tense, as if they had mentally already accepted that she was gone from them.

Mrs. Riesen rummaged in her purse and produced a photograph. “That’s her, playing with the orchestra at home. Second from the left. She was assistant concert mistress. Very talented. You should have heard her play—it brought tears to your eyes sometimes, didn’t it, Frank?”

Mr. Riesen merely nodded.

As they reached the gate of the Sacred Grove, they saw that their way was blocked by an ambulance. Evan jumped out and ran ahead.

“What’s going on?” he yelled.

The security guard went to yell something back, then noticed his uniform and recognized him. “Nasty accident, Constable. One of the girls got trapped in the steam room. She was dead by the time they found her. Poor little thing.”

“Betsy?” Evan pushed past the guard, ready to run down the path.

“No, not Betsy. That wasn’t the name. It began with a B though—Bethan. That was it!”

Evan was back in Llanfair by early afternoon. He was sure that it hadn’t been an accident and had hinted as much to Glynis. Fortunately, she was ready enough to believe him. She had the spa area cordoned off and the body sent for immediate autopsy. Again Evan was impressed with her coolness under stress. He had to admit that she had been promoted ahead of him not because she was female or dating the chief constable’s nephew, but because she was bloody good.

Glynis had asked him to drive the Riesens, visibly shaken, back to their hotel in Bangor, while she stayed on and waited for D.C.I. Hughes to join her. Evan paced around his tiny police station, unable to settle. The hospital was still maddeningly uncommunicative about Bronwen and he was also worried sick about Betsy. In the light of today’s tragedy, Betsy’s incident in the steam room the day before had most probably not been an accident either. He wished she would have let him drive her home, but Rhiannon had interrupted when he was talking to her. “She is needed for a very important ceremony tonight. There is no question of her leaving early,” she had said. “But don’t worry. I’ll see she is taken good care of. We don’t want anything to happen to her.”

Rhiannon’s assurances had done little to still Evan’s fears. He had no reason to trust her any more than the rest of them. But he had to admit that Betsy was probably safe for the rest of that day. There would be a forensic team arriving from police headquarters at some stage, and lots of people due for a big ceremony that evening.

At least he would have a chance to go to the hospital, as soon as he finished his day’s work at the police station. He tidied the papers on his desk before leaving. Rhiannon’s book, The Way of the Druid, was lying on his desk, as yet unread. Evan fingered it uneasily. It had a picture of a robed figure standing in an oak grove on the front cover. He couldn’t make out what the figure was holding but it could have been a knife. He picked up the book and stuffed it into his pocket. Something had made Rebecca interested enough in Druids to seek out the Sacred Grove. Maybe the book would give him the insight that had been lacking. It would also help him pass the time down at the hospital if they wouldn’t let him see Bronwen straightaway. Knowing hospitals, he’d have some waiting to do.

“She’s resting at the moment.” The starchy ward sister blocked his access to Nightingale Ward, where he had been told he’d find Bronwen. “We’ll let you know when she wakes. She was severely dehydrated, you know. It took us ages to get a vein up enough to put the IV in.”

“Do they know what’s wrong yet?” Evan asked.

She looked at him as if he were a visiting worm. “Patient records are entirely confidential,” she said. “Now please take a seat. We’ll let you know.”

Evan sat. The chair was orange vinyl and not big enough for him. Did they actually design hospital chairs to be uncomfortable, just so that people wouldn’t hang around too long? he wondered. Part of National Health cost- cutting measures, maybe. He looked around for a magazine. There was a choice of Golf