Patterson shrugged and said, ‘About the same, I think. I just can’t bring myself to imagine life without her. We were talking about having a baby only the week before she went to Wales. This whole thing just doesn’t make sense.’
Karen took comfort in yet another snippet of information that didn’t fit with Peter having deserted her.
‘There’s something else that worries me,’ said Patterson. ‘If they really have had an accident or got into some kind of trouble… it’s been about five days since I last heard from Amy and it’s winter in the Welsh mountains.’
They took this as their cue to get up and head back to the car.
The dark clouds that had been building and threatening most of the way down the M6 turned to torrential rain as they turned west into Wales along the M56. The wipers struggled to cope as they made their way to the junction with the A55 North Wales coast road. After an hour or so the strain of driving in such appalling conditions made Patterson turn off into the car park of a roadside cafe. He said, ‘Let’s have some hot coffee and take a look at the map.’
The air in the cafe was heavy with the smell of cooking and wet waterproofs. Steam drifted up from the service counter and condensation streamed down the windows.
They sat down at a red plastic table and opened the AA road atlas that Patterson had brought in with him.
‘I reckon our best bet is to turn off at Llandudno Junction and head south through the Vale of Conwy,’ he said. ‘Then, if we turn west through Betws-y-coed on to the A5, that’ll take us right to Capel Curig. We can ask for directions from there.’
Karen agreed.
It was dark and just after five in the evening when Patterson brought the Land Cruiser to a halt outside a hotel in Capel Curig in the heart of the Welsh mountains. The rain was still hammering down. They dashed across the cratered surface of the car park to seek sanctuary in the entrance hall, which was warm and dry but deserted. They looked around for a bell to ring but without success. Karen leaned her head through the hatch at Reception and called hopefully, ‘Hello!’ There was no response.
Patterson opened a door and popped his head round. ‘Dining room,’ he said as he closed it again.
They followed a sign saying Cocktail Bar but found it, too, deserted. ‘Do you think they’ve dropped the bomb?’ asked Karen.
‘The state of some of the furniture in this place might support that theory,’ said Patterson.
Karen saw his point. A variety of rickety tables sat in front of black plastic bench-seating with occasional slash marks across it. The ashtrays were full and a half-empty pint glass of stale beer stood on the bar counter.
The sound of coughing came from somewhere upstairs, followed by slow, heavy feet on the stairs. A small, fat, bald man appeared in the bar with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He said something in Welsh.
‘We’re not Welsh,’ said Patterson.
‘What’ll it be?’ asked the barman, removing the cigarette.
Karen showed him the paper with the field station address on it. ‘We’re trying to find this place,’ she said. ‘Can you help us?’
The barman took the paper in short stubby fingers and squinted at it. ‘You’ll be from the papers, then?’ he said.
‘No, why should we be?’ asked Patterson.
‘’Cos it burned down last night,’ replied the man. ‘It’s a pile of bloody ashes, they tell me.’
Patterson and Karen looked at each other in disbelief. ‘Was anyone hurt?’ Karen asked in trepidation.
‘No. They reckon the place was empty, which makes it a bit of a bloody mystery if you ask me,’ said the barman. ‘Not exactly the weather for spontaneous combustion, is it?’
‘Did you see much of the people who worked there?’ asked Patterson.
The barman shook his head. He held up the paper Karen had given him and said, ‘This may say “near” Capel Curig, but it’s a bloody long drive up into the mountains.’
‘When was the last time you saw anyone from the field station?’ asked Patterson.
‘Must be… last summer, I’d say.’
‘So you didn’t see anything of the two scientists who came to work there about four weeks ago?’
‘News to me,’ said the man.
‘Can you tell us how to get there?’ asked Karen.
‘But there’s nothing left,’ said the barman.
‘We’d still like to see it.’
The barman gave them directions and they went back out to the car. Karen offered to drive. ‘If you’re sure,’ said Patterson, who’d had quite enough of driving in miserable conditions for one day.
When they reached the junction the barman had warned them about, Karen strained to see through the windscreen. ‘He said it was just after here… on the left… there it is.’ She swung the Toyota on to a rough mountain track, and they began to bump their way slowly up an ever-steepening incline that was rapidly turning into a river with the rainwater streaming off the mountains.
‘I’m not even sure why we’re doing this,’ said Patterson.
Karen thought for a moment, then said, ‘We are going to the place where the people we love were last known to be,’ she said. ‘Anything else starts from there.’
It took them nearly fifty minutes to negotiate the track and reach the charred ruins of the field station. Karen kept the engine running and the headlights on while they surveyed the remains in silence.
‘Do you have a torch?’ she eventually asked.
Patterson reached over into the back and brought up a large rubber-handled torch.
Karen switched off the engine. She killed the headlights but left the sidelights on to provide a reference point in the darkness.
‘What a mess!’ exclaimed Patterson as they walked among the ruins. ‘I suppose they couldn’t get a fire engine up here.’
‘If they even knew about it,’ added Karen.
‘All the same,’ said Patterson thoughtfully, ‘the fire did a remarkably thorough job. Makes me wonder what they were storing here — aviation fuel, by the look of it.’
Karen saw what he was getting at. There was practically nothing recognisable left in the shell of the building. She moved to the side and said, ‘Bring the torch over here.’
Patterson brought up the beam to illuminate a burned-out car. Despite the rain, it still smelled strongly of burning rubber. ‘Looks like a Land-Rover,’ said Patterson.
‘Do you think it’s the one Peter and Amy used?’
‘So why is it still here?’ said Patterson. ‘They’d have needed transport to get away.’
‘It’s not exactly hitch-hiking territory, is it?’ agreed Karen.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of a labouring engine. ‘Who the devil?’ exclaimed Patterson.
They turned to face the track, and a few moments later two headlights topped by a flashing blue light appeared. A North Wales Police Land-Rover drew up and two yellow-jacketed policemen got out.
‘What’s your business here?’ asked one aggressively. He shone his torch directly at them.
Karen put her hand up to her eyes and said, ‘My husband was working here.’
‘And my wife,’ added Patterson.
‘You must be the two from Scotland, then?’ asked the policeman, changing his tone.
‘How did you know that?’
‘We had a call from Lothian and Borders Police asking us to keep an eye out for a Land-Rover owned by some outfit called Lehman Genomics. Turns out it’s this one here,’ he said, pointing to the wreck. We identified it from the VIN number on the chassis.’
‘So what does that tell us?’ asked Patterson.
‘Not much,’ said the policeman. ‘The only comfort I can give you is that the building was unoccupied at the time of the fire.’ In the ensuing silence he added, ‘You’ve come a long way. I’ll have a word with the local taxi firms in the morning, if you like.’
‘Thank you,’ said Karen, still looking at the ashes.
