"This is so exciting. This is my first homicide investigation!" She scanned the fingerprints, then took the sheet of paper and began typing the information into the computer. "You're not officially in the plainclothes branch, are you?" she asked, looking up shyly at Evan. "But I hear you're an absolute genius at solving murders."

"I've just been lucky. I've been in the right place at the right time." Evan felt himself flushing.

"It's more than that. You've obviously got a flair for it. Not everyone has. You should apply for a transfer to the CID. I've just applied for one myself."

"You have?"

"Yes, I know I've only just started, but I want to show them I'm keen to get on. Wouldn't it be fun if we did the training course together?"

Evan was imagining Bronwen's reaction to his taking a course with the gorgeous and gifted P.C. Davies.

"I think I'm quite happy where I am at the moment," he said.

Glynis sighed. "And I don't think the D.C.I. will approve my transfer either. I'm the only person who knows anything about computers so I suppose I'll be stuck here until I can train someone to replace me." She glanced at the screen. "Ah, good. At least we've got an acknowledgment from the French police. They will do their best to be of a.s.sistance to their English brothers. How nice." She looked up at Evan again, this time with an angry frown on her face. "I just wish everyone didn't think that Wales was part of England."

"Are you from around here?" Evan asked. He hadn't taken her for someone with strong Welsh sentiments.

"Oh yes. I was born in Llandudno. My father's still a doctor there."

"You don't sound very Welsh."

She grinned. "That's because I was sent to boarding school in England. My Welsh is rather rusty, but I can still siarad cymraeg typyn butch siarad cymraeg typyn butch. What I need is practice."

He got her hint but pretended he didn't. "Any news yet from the mental hospital?"

"No, and I don't expect any for a while. It will take time to look through old visitors' books and trace relatives, won't it? And I'd imagine they're all overworked at a place like that. I think our best hope is the police. If either person has a record, then at least we'll know where to go from here." She got up. Evan noticed she was tall, with long slender legs in sheer black stockings. Her uniform skirt must have been a centimeter or two above regulation. "I haven't had any breakfast yet. I'm going for a cup of coffee."

"In the cafeteria? You're a brave woman."

She wrinkled her nose. "Good heavens, no. There's a little coffee shop within walking distance. They do a good cappuccino. Do you feel like joining me?"

A good cappuccino with Glynis was sorely tempting but Evan forced himself to say, "I'd like to, but I should be back in the village as soon as possible. I'm the only officer on duty up there."

"Some other time, then," Glynis said.

Evan nodded. He felt strangely unsettled as he drove back to Llanfair. Why should there be any harm in going for a cup of coffee with a pleasant colleague, he asked himself. Of course he knew the answer. He found her attractive. Did that indicate that he wasn't ready to be tied to one woman yet?

Back in his office, he pushed Glynis Davies firmly from his mind and got down to work. The day dragged on. The only phone call was from Mrs. Powell-Jones complaining that the diesel fumes from the Parry Davies's new van were polluting the atmosphere and would be detrimental to the rare Snowdon lily. She intended to report this to the National Trust immediately.

Evan found himself wishing he was down at the computer center, right on the spot when the news came through. He had no idea what was going on, stuck up here. For all he knew they could have identified Madame Yvette and the dead man by now. He was just locking up for the night when the phone rang. He hesitated, then unlocked the door again and picked up the phone on the fifth ring.

"I wondered where you'd got to," Watkins said.

"You almost missed me. I was knocking off for the day. It's five o'clock."

"It's all right for some who can keep civil service hours," Watkins said.

Evan ignored the barb. "Any news from France?"

"Yes and no. Typical b.l.o.o.d.y French, about as unhelpful as they can be. Listen to this. They can't find a prints match but they point out that most departments aren't on line yet. If she'd committed a minor crime or been fingerprinted outside of a big city, only the local police would have a record of it, so we'd have to search district by district. They suggest we call the local police in the relevant department."

"So much for international cooperation," Evan said. "And what about the mental hospital?"

"They're working on it. Which probably means it's at the bottom of a huge pile in somebody's in-tray."

"At least we know that she's not a major international criminal on the run."

"Or she's just too smart to have been caught yet," Watkins pointed out.

"So what do you do next? Have P.C. Davies call every police HQ in France?"

"I can't just sit here and twiddle my thumbs," Watkins said. This could take weeks. We've told Madame Yvette not to go anywhere. If she really is innocent we shouldn't put her life on hold like this. Of course, if she'd been a little more helpful . . . You know what I've decided? I'm driving down to the South Coast to check for myself. If she had a restaurant down there, someone will know something about her."

"Good idea," Evan said. "Watson, wait. It just struck me that her last restaurant was on the South Coast, in a very convenient position for the English Channel. And now this new restaurant is in a great location to receive drug shipments coming in from local ports. So maybe there is is a drug connection after all." a drug connection after all."

"That's what I was thinking."

Evan chuckled. "Your sense of direction isn't too wonderful. Do you reckon you can find your way all the way down to the South Coast by yourself?"

"No. Do you want to come with me?"

"Oh, right. I'm sure the D.I. would approve of that!"

"No, seriously. He told me to do what I have to. I think I have to find out for myself what happened to her last restaurant and why she moved here . . . and everyone knows I have the world's worst sense of direction. Which is why I need a driver."

"I'd come along like a shot, but they wouldn't let me leave this place unmanned for a couple of days."

"I'll talk to dispatch. They can cover for you if I think it's really important. You were the one person to have seen the mystery man at the restaurant and you've had the most dealings with Madame Yvette. I'll tell them I'll wind up in Carlisle if I drive myself."

"In that case," Evan said, feeling a surge of excitement, "when do we leave?"

Chapter 14.

After he had hung up the phone, Evan sat at his desk, trying to collect his thoughts while his mind raced ahead, planning the trip and wondering about what they might discover. Adrenaline raced through his body. He was being allowed to play detective and he found it exciting-which must indicate that he should seriously rethink his future. Maybe the village had served its purpose in getting him over a very bad time. Perhaps now he had outgrown Llanfair and it was time to move on. When this case was over he'd give serious thought to applying for training so that he could work officially with Sergeant Watkins, as a fellow detective.

He came out of the police station to find the sun setting and the valley bathed in warm, rosy light. Snowdon and its sister peaks were etched in black, and small clouds that clung around them were tinged pink, like escaped candy floss. From high on the mountainside came the bleating of sheep and the barking of dogs as they rounded up their charges. The smell of wood smoke hung in the air and mingled with the smell of dinners cooking. From the field behind the village hall came the shouts of boys playing football.

Evan smiled to himself. It was in moments like this that he knew why he had come here. Instead of heading to his landlady's house, he turned left and walked up the village street. People coming home from work called out to him as he pa.s.sed. Evans-the-Meat waved as he lowered the blind on his shop.

"See you in the Dragon, then?" Charlie Hopkins called as he drove past.

"You might," Evan yelled back.

He continued his walk. A motorbike roared past. When the driver stopped and took off his helmet, Evan saw that it was young Bryn, Charlie's grandson, who disappeared into his grandparents' cottage. It was nice the way he visited the old folks, Evan decided. This led him to thoughts of his own future. He tried to picture himself with kids and grandchildren someday, but when it came to concrete pictures of the future, his brain somehow switched off.

When he reached the school playground, he saw smoke curling from Bronwen's chimney. He decided he should pop in to tell Bronwen that he was making this trip. The news would soon be all around the village, and it wouldn't be right for her to hear from someone else.

Evan tapped on Bronwen's front door. Bronwen appeared wearing an ap.r.o.n and with flour on her hands. There was even a smudge of flour on her nose, which Evan found very appealing.

"Oh h.e.l.lo," she said. "You've just caught me in the middle of trying my hand at Madame Yvette's souffle recipe. You wouldn't like to be a guinea pig, would you? I should warn you I've never made a souffle before."

"All right." He stepped inside, hesitantly, as if somehow Bronwen must know of his encounters with Glynis. "Although I don't think I'm a souffle kind of bloke."

"Real men don't eat quiche, eh?" She gave him a teasing glance. "Don't worry. I won't let it get around the village and ruin your reputation."

"Everything gets around this village," Evan said. He pulled out a stool at her pine kitchen table and sat.

"Oh, before I forget," she said. "There's a concert at the university in Bangor this Friday night. I'd like to go. I wondered if I could drag you along. It's harp music, and I know you're not madly keen on that kind of thing, but . . ." She looked at him, her blue eyes silently appealing.

"I'm sorry love, but I'm not sure if I'll be here. I've got to go to Eastbourne with Sergeant Watkins."

"Eastbourne? You mean the Eastbourne in Suss.e.x?"

Evan nodded. "Madame Yvette's last restaurant was in that area. We're not getting anywhere with this investigation and she's not being overhelpful, so Sergeant Watkins decided to look into her background. And he's taking me along as his driver."

Bronwen grinned. "His driver! He's taking you along because you're better at solving crimes than any of their b.l.o.o.d.y detectives and they all know it."

"No, I'm not. I've had a couple of lucky breaks, that's all. Watkins is a good man. He's just a lousy navigator. He reckons he'd wind up in Carlisle if he went alone."

"I see." She was still smiling. "So what do you hope to turn up in Eastbourne, or is it all hush-hush?"

Evan shrugged. "We've no idea really. But you've heard that there was a body in the restaurant, I suppose?"

"My kids could talk about nothing else," Bronwen said. "Young Terry was absolutely thrilled, as you can imagine. He was full of theories about crooks and mafia and shootings. He said he saw a foreign man with a gun that night and he just knew he was going to blow up the restaurant." She shook her head as she sc.r.a.ped the last of the batter into a tall dish.

"A foreign man with a gun? He might have seen the same man we did, but I don't know where he got the idea that he saw a gun."

"His imagination, I suspect. That child lives for violence. I've recommended that his mother take him to a psychiatrist. It's verging on the unhealthy."

"I don't think it's too unhealthy," Evan said. "He's angry at his dad for walking out on them and this is his way of handling his feelings. But I agree he's a handful. I caught him out on his bike after the fire-and that must have been close to midnight."

"I know. He told me you drove him home. He was very proud of it. You're one of his current heroes, by the way. You and Charlie's grandson. When he grows up he's going to be a fireman and a policeman, so he says."

Evan smiled. Bronwen bustled around, clearing away cooking utensils and laying the table.

"Is there something I can do?" he asked.

She handed him the mixing bowl. "You can put that in the sink, and find us a bottle of wine."

"White or red?" Evan asked. "I'm never sure of what's proper."

"White with a souffle, I'd a.s.sume," she said. "I think I've got an unopened Chardonnay in the fridge."

"All right." Evan found the bottle and set about uncorking it.

"So what do they know about the body? Have they identified it yet?" Bronwen asked.

"No. In fact it's quite a little puzzle for us."

"No ident.i.ty, you mean?"

Evan nodded. "The only lead we have so far is an abandoned rental car, rented by a Frenchman under a false name."

He saw Bronwen react to this. "Evan, do you think it could have been that man who came into the restaurant while we were eating? He looked French, didn't he?"

"My thoughts exactly," Evan agreed. "But we've no way of proving it."

"There were some strange vibes going on between him and Madame Yvette at one point, don't you think? She nearly set fire to our crepes suzette." Then she paused and shook her head. "But he left before we did. We were the last ones there before she closed up, weren't we?"

"We were. But there was something going on between her and that man at one point. At least, the man said something that upset her, but she claimed it was just that he wanted lobster and she didn't have any."

"I suppose it could have been something as simple as that," Bronwen said. "What exactly do you know so far?"

Evan poured the wine and handed her a gla.s.s. "It's hard to know where to begin," he said. "The body was burned too badly for fingerprints. We've got a dental chart but you need to know where a person comes from before you can match up his teeth."

"Poor Madame Yvette," Bronwen said. "I've been thinking about her. It must be awful. She's lost everything and now there's a strange man dead in her restaurant. It must be like a nightmare."

Evan said nothing. He didn't think that he should let on that the body had been stabbed and that Madame Yvette had to be considered a prime suspect at this time. Nor did he want to suggest any kind of drug connection.

"So what will she do? Where will she stay?" Bronwen asked.

"She's staying at the Vaynol Arms at the moment," Evan said. "She can't go anywhere until this business is sorted out."

"But how miserable staying at a pub, with no clothes, no nothing," Bronwen said. "I'll look in my wardrobe and see if I've got anything that she could wear, and I'll ask the village women, too. I'd have her to dinner here, only I wouldn't dare cook anything for her . . ."

"You're a kind person, Bronwen," Evan said.

"Yes, I do have some good points, I suppose," she said, making him wonder yet again if the Llanfair spies were so good that she had already heard about Glynis.

"I wish you were coming down to Eastbourne with me. It would be fun."

"I don't think the police would fund naughty weekends." Bronwen tossed him a challenging look. "And three is definitely a crowd. You've got Sergeant Watkins to keep you company. Besides, I have to keep thirty kids in line and stop young Terry from blowing anything up-"

She stopped, open-mouthed. "Evan, you don't think . . . ?" she asked.

He picked up her thought instantly. "That he started the fires?"

She nodded.

"He was at all of them," Evan said thoughtfully. "It did cross my mind, especially since he seems so obsessed with violence at the moment." Then he shook his head. "I just don't see how it's possible. A little kid like him-where would he get a can of petrol? How would he lug it up the hill without being seen? And someone would surely have noticed him at the Everest Inn . . ."

"But you have to admit it's just possible," Bronwen said.