“We were hoping to find someone who might have seen Ashley.”
“I don’t imagine there would have been many people out on the beach this morning—it was blowing a gale out here. You should have seen the flag on my flagpole flapping. And this part of the coast is always quite deserted until the school holidays in August.”
“You live here year-round, do you, sir?”
The man shook his head. “No, I live in Essex. I come here occasionally to get away. I’m retired now so I can do pretty much what I like. I’ve rented one of the holiday bungalows about a mile down the road.” He looked back in the direction he had come and noticed two policemen crossing the dunes. “Look, if there’s anything I can do to help find her—anything at all—I’d be more than willing to be part of a search party. Trixie’s not a bloodhound but I’m sure she’d be willing to do her part too, wouldn’t you, old girl?”
The white dog wagged her stump of a tail. The old man raised his hat politely and went on his way, leaving Evan surveying the empty beach. He wandered around a few minutes longer but saw nothing but a long strand of seaweed, high above the waterline, that could have been trailed and then dropped there by a child, but how long ago he couldn’t say.
He stared back at the tops of the caravans, poking over the dunes, and shook his head. If someone had kidnapped Ashley, where had he hidden to watch for the moment when Shirley Sholokhov left her alone? The dunes were only gentle curves of sand and grasses here, none of them big enough to hide a man. How could Shirley not have noticed someone darting out across the beach as she made for the van? He tried an experiment, setting his stopwatch then running from the dunes to the water’s edge and back again. It took over a minute, and that was without the time necessary to grab a child. Could Shirley have been wrong about the amount of time she took? Evan wondered if she had not told the exact truth to them because she was feeling guilty. Maybe she
had paused at the caravan to light that cigarette and take a few puffs before heading down to the beach again. Maybe she hadn’t looked through the van window at all to notice that Ashley had gone. Satisfied that this made more sense, Evan stomped back through the dunes toward the caravans.
He started with the closest caravans, knocking on doors and then searching around them thoroughly. Most were still locked and uninhabited, with curtains drawn and dustbins empty. He stepped over gas cylinders that formed boundaries between each of the vans. The National Parks bloke had been right, he had to concede. They were a bloody eyesore. He wondered when he’d get time to do anything more about his cottage. He should get in touch with the listed buildings inspector right away and find a plumber to certify the sewage line and the septic tank. He decided that it would be sensible to cut costs by clearing the line to the tank himself. No sense in paying someone else to do the digging. If he ever got a day off, that would be the first thing he’d tackle.
Evan glanced at his watch. Three o’clock. That meant school would be over for the day. Bronwen knew he was meeting with the National Parks inspector today. She’d be waiting to hear the results. He took out his mobile phone and dialed her number.
“Finally,” she said, when she heard his voice. “I thought you might have stopped by at lunchtime to give me the news. I’ve been on the edge of my seat all afternoon. I found it so hard to concentrate that I said ‘Very good’ to Alud Davies when he told me that Peru was a soccer player. So what did the inspector say?”
“Still more hurdles ahead, I’m afraid, but not insurmountable ones. But listen, cariad , I can’t talk now. I was called out on a case while we were up at the cottage. I’m down near Porthmadog. Little girl’s gone missing.”
“Oh, dear. Wandered off or what?”
“Not sure yet. Could be a case of
“I don’t imagine there would have been many people out on the beach this morning—it was blowing a gale out here. You should have seen the flag on my flagpole flapping. And this part of the coast is always quite deserted until the school holidays in August.”
“You live here year-round, do you, sir?”
The man shook his head. “No, I live in Essex. I come here occasionally to get away. I’m retired now so I can do pretty much what I like. I’ve rented one of the holiday bungalows about a mile down the road.” He looked back in the direction he had come and noticed two policemen crossing the dunes. “Look, if there’s anything I can do to help find her—anything at all—I’d be more than willing to be part of a search party. Trixie’s not a bloodhound but I’m sure she’d be willing to do her part too, wouldn’t you, old girl?”
The white dog wagged her stump of a tail. The old man raised his hat politely and went on his way, leaving Evan surveying the empty beach. He wandered around a few minutes longer but saw nothing but a long strand of seaweed, high above the waterline, that could have been trailed and then dropped there by a child, but how long ago he couldn’t say.
He stared back at the tops of the caravans, poking over the dunes, and shook his head. If someone had kidnapped Ashley, where had he hidden to watch for the moment when Shirley Sholokhov left her alone? The dunes were only gentle curves of sand and grasses here, none of them big enough to hide a man. How could Shirley not have noticed someone darting out across the beach as she made for the van? He tried an experiment, setting his stopwatch then running from the dunes to the water’s edge and back again. It took over a minute, and that was without the time necessary to grab a child. Could Shirley have been wrong about the amount of time she took? Evan wondered if she had not told the exact truth to them because she was feeling guilty. Maybe she
had paused at the caravan to light that cigarette and take a few puffs before heading down to the beach again. Maybe she hadn’t looked through the van window at all to notice that Ashley had gone. Satisfied that this made more sense, Evan stomped back through the dunes toward the caravans.
He started with the closest caravans, knocking on doors and then searching around them thoroughly. Most were still locked and uninhabited, with curtains drawn and dustbins empty. He stepped over gas cylinders that formed boundaries between each of the vans. The National Parks bloke had been right, he had to concede. They were a bloody eyesore. He wondered when he’d get time to do anything more about his cottage. He should get in touch with the listed buildings inspector right away and find a plumber to certify the sewage line and the septic tank. He decided that it would be sensible to cut costs by clearing the line to the tank himself. No sense in paying someone else to do the digging. If he ever got a day off, that would be the first thing he’d tackle.
Evan glanced at his watch. Three o’clock. That meant school would be over for the day. Bronwen knew he was meeting with the National Parks inspector today. She’d be waiting to hear the results. He took out his mobile phone and dialed her number.
“Finally,” she said, when she heard his voice. “I thought you might have stopped by at lunchtime to give me the news. I’ve been on the edge of my seat all afternoon. I found it so hard to concentrate that I said ‘Very good’ to Alud Davies when he told me that Peru was a soccer player. So what did the inspector say?”
“Still more hurdles ahead, I’m afraid, but not insurmountable ones. But listen, cariad , I can’t talk now. I was called out on a case while we were up at the cottage. I’m down near Porthmadog. Little girl’s gone missing.”
“Oh, dear. Wandered off or what?”
“Not sure yet. Could be a case of
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