Die Like a Dog (14 page)

‘Are you climbing here?' Bart asked.

‘Just pottering,' she said vaguely. ‘What routes are you doing?'

‘We only got bicycles,' he told her. ‘So we can't go far. We've been on the Moelwyns this afternoon. Just a few Severes,' he added carelessly.

‘Ah. Working up?'

‘Well –' he was disconcerted, ‘– we can cope with most Severes now, can't we?' Dewi nodded eagerly, his round eyes on Miss Pink.

‘We done Bent today, and Slack, and Gilfach.'

‘Slack,' she repeated. ‘That long reach over the bulge ... You'll be out all the time, making the most of the weather before it breaks.'

‘S'right,' Dewi said.

‘We was camping at the weekend,' Bart told her. ‘Did a great route, didn't we?'

‘Oh boy!' exclaimed Dewi.

‘Pitched the tent under Craig yr Ysfa. We done Pinnacle Wall.'

‘But that's a serious climb!'

‘It's only Severe,' Bart said. ‘Great route, wasn't it, mate?'

‘Which part did you like best?' asked Miss Pink.

‘Oh, the crack –'

‘You led that,' Dewi put in. ‘Me, I liked that top pitch, where you step off the flake and go up the wall on them great big holds and all space below. Dark it were, like a pit, and us in the sun on the top pitch. I led that bit.'

‘Craig yr Ysfa must have been crowded over the weekend,' she remarked idly.

They glanced at each other. ‘We didn't have any bother,' Bart said. ‘Not like in the Alps where you got to queue for climbs. You didn't have that in your day, miss.'

A vehicle came down the lane and turned across the bridge. ‘What are they doing up there?' Dewi asked.

‘Haven't you heard? They've found a body in the stream.'

‘We heard,' Bart said. ‘They don't know if it's Evans yet.'

‘A strange way to commit suicide.'

‘Evans?' Dewi was squeaky again. ‘Ol' Evans done himself in?'

‘They'll know when they get him out,' Miss Pink said, adding, as if to herself: ‘Could it be connected with Judson's disappearance?'

The sun had gone now and under the looming trees, their faces were dark, their eyes deep holes. The silence was palpable.

‘Or his stolen car,' she said.

She heard no sound but Dewi's shoulders sank a fraction as he exhaled.

‘People were camping close to the car park where the Volvo was abandoned,' she said, and waited. After a moment she went on:

‘He didn't go far that Saturday afternoon.'

Still there was no response.

‘Bar-ty!' came a call from the back of the hotel. ‘Bart! I'm going home.'

‘That's me mum!' It was childlike. ‘I gotta go.'

They sprang to life. ‘See you,' Dewi flung back as they trotted up the lane. She watched them go. They should have responded, she thought; they should have made some comment. They're quick, but not quick enough; they're too young. They knew Pinnacle Wall – but that was awfully late in the day to be climbing on it; surely in midsummer it must be evening when only the top pitch is left in the sun?

THE RIVER ROOM
was empty but the door to the terrace had not been closed. Anna and George Waring stood behind the bar and looked out at the light on the paving stones. Waring spoke softly.

‘Do
I
have to do it?'

Anna shivered. ‘Don't crowd me. I'm going – but that woman terrifies me. She's watching all the time.'

‘Go on; don't leave it any longer. She'll be going to bed any minute now.'

Anna stepped out from behind the bar and walked stiffly across the room to the terrace.

‘Oh, you're still here!' she exclaimed as she caught sight of a figure on the seat by the little iron table. ‘Isn't it a lovely night?'

‘Perfect,' Miss Pink agreed, ‘now that the midges have gone.'

‘Yes, they seem to disappear when darkness comes.'

Anna sat down with her back to the light. She shivered again.

‘What's happening?' she asked. ‘That man who came for sandwiches: he talked to you. What are they doing up there? Why sandwiches, for Heaven's sake?'

‘They're working. They need sustenance.'

Behind the open door the room was too quiet.

‘They've got the body out,' Miss Pink went on. ‘It's Evans.'

Anna swallowed. ‘Do they know how he died?'

‘There was a rope round his neck and the other end was tied to an old cooker.'

Anna's chair grated on stone.

‘He killed himself?'

‘The post mortem will decide that.'

Anna said desperately: ‘So much has been happening while I was away.'

‘You came back yesterday morning,' Miss Pink murmured. ‘Evans died last night.'

‘I never left the place. All last night I was serving, or I was with George. You can ask him.'

‘Surely you're not worried about Evans?' Miss Pink placed a slight emphasis on the name. ‘What did you come to ask me, Mrs Waring?'

The woman's head jerked. It may have been that she had intended to look back into the room but she checked herself and her eyes remained fixed on the table.

‘I phoned Parc on Saturday afternoon.'

‘Pryce knows that.' Miss Pink was casual.

‘Who is –? Oh, the superintendent. Gladys would have told him of course. It was nothing important.'

‘The police will want to know why you telephoned.'

‘Yes.' Anna drew a shaky breath. ‘I'm going to put my cards on the table, Miss Pink. My husband knows what I'm going to tell you. Richard Judson and I are old friends; we were – quite close at one time. I had a flaming row with George on Saturday and walked out in a huff. I drove to Chester and I was still furious when I got there. I'd bought a bottle of whisky on the way and I booked in at the Blossoms. I drank too much Scotch and I telephoned Parc. I wanted Richard to come and join me in Chester.'

She stopped, defiant, breathing hard.

‘Yes?'

‘Well, that's all. I couldn't reach him. I left a message with Gladys for him to call me. He didn't. I had a miserable weekend on my own and I came back on Monday. You know that part.'

‘Pryce would ask why you wanted Judson to join you.'

‘I was drunk, I tell you. I just wanted his company; I needed a drinking partner. George will tell you: I'm like that, I can't bear to drink alone. It's unhealthy.'

‘You'd made no arrangement to go away with Judson? I ask because I overheard your quarrel with your husband on Saturday morning.'

Anna hesitated, then: ‘We'd made no arrangement,' she said firmly. ‘I was lying. I say those kind of things. I blow my top. Why? Do the police think I was with Richard at the weekend?'

‘I don't know. Judson could hardly have been at the Blossoms if you say he wasn't because that can be checked too easily. Did you go elsewhere?'

‘I stayed there both Saturday and Sunday.'

‘In the daytime? And can anyone say you were in your bedroom at night?'

‘What are you insinuating?' Miss Pink said nothing. ‘Look, I didn't see Richard Judson after Thursday evening.
Thursday.
Does that satisfy you?'

‘It isn't me you have to satisfy. Can you prove it?'

Waring stepped out on the terrace. Anna twisted on her chair.

‘She doesn't believe me!'

‘You amaze me. Take a grip on yourself. You're scared daft. What have you got to lose?'

Miss Pink said: ‘Is that the truth? That you didn't see him after Thursday?'

Anna nodded mutely.

Waring said: ‘I believe her. I know why she's gone to pieces. Do you want me to tell Miss Pink? You're not going to be able to stand up to the police – no way. You've told her the rest, what's the odds? Tell her now before you tell Pryce, and she might be able to help.'

‘I'm afraid,' Anna whispered.

‘Yeah, and I'm afraid you've got to go through with it. Come on, girl, get it over.' He waited, but Anna's hands were pressed to her face. He turned to Miss Pink.

‘You rattled her when you suggested she could have left the Blossoms on Sunday because she reckons she knows where Judson was: with Maggie Seale.'

‘With her where?'

‘He's got a cottage. It's on the moors east of here.'

The air on the terrace seemed to chill suddenly as if it had been displaced ahead of a storm.

‘Who else knows that?'

‘I didn't know about it. Gladys Judson couldn't have. His other women would know of course.' The tone was cruel. He jerked his head at Anna. ‘She's been there; that's why she's terrified; her fingerprints will be all over the place.'

Miss Pink said gently: ‘The relationship wasn't a crime, Mrs Waring.'

‘You don't understand,' Waring said, but she understood very well, and she knew that Anna did too.

‘That lady should have been on the Force,' Williams said, slowing to go round a sheep.

Pryce peered through the windscreen.

‘There's another. They're sleeping all along the road.'

‘The tarmac's drier than the heather. It must be soaked with dew at this hour of the morning.'

‘Miss Pink is very able ... and another thing –' he yawned mightily, ‘– it won't be the last time she sticks her oar in on this job. You mark my words. We could do worse than put her on to that girl.'

‘Seale? Pink's got to be a genius to break that one down. Do you think they followed Judson out here: her and Lloyd? What would be the motive?'

‘Spare me. We don't know that we're going to find anything.' The car crept through the darkness. The road was empty except for the sheep, and no light showed in the black wastes on either side. They'd driven over twelve miles from Dinas, their destination having been pinpointed by a sullen Anna Waring. Pryce had a map on his knees and was following the route with the aid of a failing torch.

‘The turning must be about a mile ahead,' he said. ‘We come to a bridge soon –'

‘I can see the bridge in the bottom.'

‘Half a mile beyond, and the turning's on the right.'

They crossed a small, hump-backed bridge and were suddenly enclosed by ranks of spruce. The road widened on the right and Williams slowed and turned. Gateposts showed either side of a cattle grid. The bars rattled and they were running along a graded track in the forest.

‘Mature trees,' Pryce grunted. ‘He chose a nice, remote hideout.'

In less than a mile they saw a hut ahead, about the size of a small garage. Closed double doors faced them.

‘Swing her round,' Pryce ordered. ‘See if anything shows in the headlights. No. Stop!'

Williams stamped on the brake.

‘Christ! I didn't mean that sudden. You could have had me through the windscreen.'

‘You said stop.'

‘I was thinking of us destroying someone else's tracks. Okay, leave her here. The place must be only a few yards away; we should see it against the stars. Douse the lights. Bring the big torch but don't switch it on.'

They stood on the track, adjusting their vision to the night. An owl called in the forest. Something large rustled, then crashed in vegetation. Pryce's torch flickered, then a powerful beam stabbed the darkness. Innumerable tiny lamps twinkled back at them.

‘Sheep,' Williams said in disgust, switching off. ‘Who'd ever want to live out here?'

‘Now you've put paid to our night vision, you might as well keep the torch on. Shine it up the way.'

Glass reflected the light. They were about thirty yards from a cottage.

‘I'm worried about tracks,' Pryce repeated.

‘No one's left any just here; it's rock.'

Bedrock stretched like a pavement between them and the hut. They walked over and stopped at the double doors which were held closed by a bolt. There was no padlock. Williams ran the torch beam over the shabby planks and then he got down and stretched himself on the ground.

‘What the hell are you doing?'

‘There's a cat-hole in the bottom of this board.'

He lay on his side, shining the torch through an opening. ‘Empty. No car. No corpse.'

‘Exactly. It's a dead loss. Still, we won't touch the doors. He could have been here, and if he was, probably he had someone with him.'

An earthy path led to the house. They kept to the grass at the side and stopped short of the front door. It was a shabby door with a thumb latch, a handle, and a plate that had not been painted for a long time. Below the plate was a large key-hole.

‘Have you got flashes with your camera?' Pryce asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Go and get it, and the powder.'

Pryce didn't wait for the sergeant's return but walked round the cottage, playing his weak beam on the walls. It was a square, double-fronted house with four windows at the front: two up, two down, none in the gable-ends, and at the rear, two small glazed openings. Those at the front were draped with fine net curtains but the ones at the back were bare. Nevertheless, all his torch could pick out there was a container of detergent on a window sill and an empty stone sink in one room; in the other: a slate shelf on which was an old-fashioned enamel bread bin and a stack of tinned food. When he returned, Williams was dusting the latch of the front door.

‘Nothing,' Williams said. ‘Absolutely nothing.'

‘Like that stolen Volvo. It's been wiped. Now, that's highly significant. No one, no innocent person is going to wipe his prints off a cottage door.'

As he spoke he depressed the thumb latch gingerly.

The door opened. The only sound was a faint gasp from Williams.

Pryce was dumbfounded. They'd known that the cottage had to be investigated but neither had dared to hope that they'd get any help from it; they'd conditioned themselves on the drive to thinking that the cottage was a red herring. The lack of prints on the door could be sinister but their minds had not fully adjusted to that development when the door opened, almost, it might seem, of its own accord. They were shaken. Suddenly, even for old and hardened police officers, the situation was full of menace. Neither of them was armed.