The chief inspector leaned forward in his chair. “Look here, Evans. You probably know that we’ve been given a directive from Colywn Bay to cut departmental costs considerably. One of the suggestions, of course, was to do away with the smaller outstations and consolidate our personnel at headquarters.”
“I thought that had been tried before, sir, before I got here. I thought they discovered that having an officer on the spot was a great crime deterrent.”
“True, but then the population out in the villages is shrinking all the time, isn’t it? In a few years they will only exist for the tourists—a sort of Walt Disney re-creation of Wales as it used to be. Bed-and-breakfasts, craft shops, ye olde blacksmiths—that kind of thing.”
“Not for a while yet,” Evan said. “We must have at least a couple of hundred people in Llanfair and we’re one of the smaller villages.” He looked directly at the chief inspector. A sinking feeling was growing in his stomach. He had rushed here, filled with expectancy, dreaming of possibilities. He didn’t like the way the conversation was going. “You’re not thinking of closing the Llanfair station, are you?”
“Not for the moment. However, I can’t afford to keep officers where they are not fully utilized. I know you have periods when you’re busy up there. I know there have actually been some major incidents since you joined our force and your presence has been most—” Evan thought he would say, “instrumental,” but instead he said, “—useful in solving them quickly. Then, on the other hand,” he picked up a logbook, “there are days when you seem to do little more than answer phone calls and make cups of tea.”
“It’s not quite as bad as that, sir,” Evan said. “I catch up on my paperwork when there’s nothing to do. And I imagine there are days down here when you’re not exactly run off your feet either.”
The chief inspector managed a smile. Evan couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “So what are you planning to do with me?” he blurted out.
“Expand your territory,” Chief Inspector Meredith said. “At the moment you are confined to an area you can cover on foot. I know you’re a fine climber and you’ve been able to get up to accidents on the mountains, but the response time is naturally slow. We’re going to make your job easier by issuing you a motorbike.”
“A motorbike?” Evan couldn’t have been more surprised, or disappointed. “I’ve never actually ridden a motorbike, sir.”
“No problem. There will be training, of course. And that way we can justify keeping the Llanfair substation open. You’ll be able to patrol the territory from Llanberis on one side to Beddgelert on the other and the most frequently used mountain paths as well. Everyone carries cell phones these days. If we get a call from a climber or hiker in distress, you’ll be able to whiz straight up to them.” He beamed as if he was giving Evan a wonderful present.
“So—uh—when do I get this—motorbike?” Evan asked. He tried not to let his feelings show in his voice. He had never actually wanted a motorbike, even when his teenage friends were pleading with their parents to get one. They had always looked cold and uncomfortable. He saw no point in getting the rain in his face when he could be safely inside a car. Now he pictured himself riding up mountains in rainstorms in search of stranded tourists. It wasn’t a pleasant prospect.
“It’s already over at the motor shop, being checked out,” the chief inspector said. “There are five of you constables who are being turned into mobile units, so we have to find time to schedule each of you for training. Go and look at the master schedule in dispatch and see when you can fit in a training session. We want it done as soon as possible, so you can be out and about before the tourists show up en masse.”
Evan got to his feet. “Will that be all, sir?”
The chief inspector stretched, leaning back in his chair, extending his arms, and cracking his knuckles. “Yes, that’s about it. Off you go then. And no doing wheelies when we’re not looking!” He chuckled again.
Evan started for the door then turned back. “About my request, sir. My transfer to plainclothes. Any idea what chance I’ve got?”
“None at the moment with all the cost cutting going on, I’m afraid,” Chief Inspector Meredith said. “Plainclothes is having to pare down to the bare bones, just as we are. And I’m in no hurry to lose a good man, either.”
Evan came out into the hallway and made for the front door. He didn’t even feel like stopping at the cafeteria for a chat and a cup of tea. Megan, the cheerful carthorse of a dispatcher, poked her head through the window as he passed. “Seen the chief, have you? Did you like my little joke? Upwardly mobile, get it?”
“Very funny,” Evan said, and pushed the swing door open.
It had started to rain, the fine Welsh misty rain that locals sometimes described as a “soft day.” You didn’t notice it as much, Evan thought, but it soaked you just as thoroughly as the heavy stuff. He didn’t even bother to turn up his collar to keep it out. It matched his mood. Megan’s laughter rang through his head.
He swung away from his car and instead walked through the car park to the maintenance sheds beyond where the new motorbike would be waiting. Might as well get it over with and take a look at it. He couldn’t understand why he had such a negative feeling about motorbikes. He had never owned one. None of the friends of his youth had ever owned one either. So why was he so sure he’d hate riding one? It wasn’t the cold and rain in his face that was worrying him. Anyone bred in the Welsh mountains was used to cold and rain in their faces. He’d had plenty of experience of it in his life waiting for school buses or playing rugby. And he never even minded the weather when he was hiking or climbing. It had to be something more than that … . Evan racked his brains. He had never been a speed freak, but then he’d never been too worried by speed either. An image came into his head of a motorbike leaning over at an impossible angle as it rounded a sharp curve. When had he ever seen …
Then all at once it came back to him. He was on holiday with his parents on the Isle of Mann and they had gone to watch the motorcycle grand prix race held there every year. Evan couldn’t have been more than five or six at the time. He remembered climbing up on the fence to see over. The bikes had flashed past, engines screaming, going so fast that they were a blur of bright color. He’d thought it was the most exciting thing he’d ever seen. He couldn’t wait to get home to his new two-wheeler and pretend that it was a motorbike. Then it had happened—one of the bikes took the bend too fast. It was leaning at an impossible angle, the rider’s head only inches from the tarmac. It had been raining and the surface was slick. Suddenly the motorbike was over and sliding into the other bikes. There was a horrible crunch of metal and then a great ball of flame shot up. Evan didn’t think that anyone had actually been killed, but the image was still sharp and clear in his mind. He heard his mother saying, “Promise me you’ll never ride one of those dreadful things. Promise me.” And he had promised.
She had made him make similar promises about anything that frightened her, and extracted similar promises
