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there.”

    â€œLucky Mrs. Williams,” Bronwen muttered as Evan led her downstairs.
    â€œHello, Evans, been oversleeping again?” Sergeant Howell Jones asked as Evan came into Inspector Watkins’s office. “They’ve done studies, you know. Too much rest isn’t good for you.”
    There was a general chuckle. Evan looked around to see that he was, indeed the last, although the clock on the wall only said 8:03.
    â€œSorry,” he muttered as he pulled out a chair. “Last-minute complication. My mother arrived from Swansea—took us by surprise.”
    â€œIf Bronwen was with you, I’d imagine it did give you a nasty shock.” D.C. Glynis Davies gave Evan a knowing smile. Glynis was Evan’s fellow detective constable and should have been his rival for promotion, except that a close friendship had developed between them—one that Bronwen didn’t always understand, since Glynis was unattached, clever, and gorgeous. Today she was wearing an open-necked blue and white checked shirt that showed off her sleek copper hair and porcelain skin to perfection.
    â€œCome on, folks. No time for chitchat, we’ve got serious business to attend to.” Inspector Watkins clapped his hands like a schoolteacher quieting an unruly class. Evan remembered the time, not so long ago, when Watkins was a humble sergeant and always had a ready quip.
    â€œRight.” Watkins leaned forward over his desk. “For those of you who weren’t in on last night’s fun, we received a report of a missing hiker at around four p.m. Became separated from her boyfriend while coming down from the summit of Snowdon. He waited, then went back to look for her. No sign of her. Since she was seventeen and therefore still a minor, we sent out a search team. It was suggested that she may have found the Pyg Track or the Miner’s Path too steep and elected to take the easy way down following the railway, so that area was also searched. A couple of dogs were brought in. One of them picked up a scent and led us to what turned out to be an underground bunker, in the woods just above the Llanberis station. Fully equipped with bed, provisions, and even a CD player.”
    â€œBut not inhabited?” Glynis Davies asked.

    â€œNot inhabited. The early forensic reports have come in. No traces of blood, which is good. The bed appears to have new sheets on it and not to have been slept in. No hairs or fibers gathered. The bucket toilet has not been used. The place is almost devoid of fingerprints. Obviously he used gloves or wiped things clean. We have managed to pick up some prints, however, and we’re matching them now to our files.”
    Glynis raised a hand. “What reason do we have to think that this could have anything to do with the missing hiker, sir? There are all kinds of strange survivalists, or even a teenager who wanted a secret space away from home.”
    â€œIf he’s a teenager, then I’d say he’s got a sick mind,” Watkins replied. “One thing I didn’t mention. Show her the photo, Dawson.”
    A gawky youngster who looked like an overgrown schoolboy sorted through a pile of photos and handed one to Glynis.
    â€œHere you go. Take a look at that, then.”
    It was a close-up of the chains with handcuffs attached, high on the wall.
    â€œOh, goodness,” Glynis said, glancing across at Evan. “So it looks as if we made a lucky discovery, doesn’t it? Someone was planning to bring a victim to the bunker, but hadn’t already done so.”
    â€œOr a willing participant,” Sergeant Jones suggested. “There are those whose idea of kinky sex might involve being shut in a bunker and handcuffed to a wall.”
    â€œYou’re right, Howell,” Watkins said. “As P.C. Davies says, this may have nothing at all to do with our missing hiker. It may be pure coincidence that we stumbled upon it when we