Evan didn't know how to answer that one. He thought it was all too possible that a jury wouldn't believe Janine's far-fetched tale. In fact, every instance pointed to her guilt-hiding out at a friend's restaurant so that n.o.body knew she was there, that restaurant burning to the ground with its owner inside, and now the owner's husband lying stabbed with Janine's own kitchen knife. It was all too possible that the thumbprint on the knife was the victim's own as he tried to grab it away from her, or pull it from his chest. People had been hanged in the past on less evidence when there was still a death penalty.

"We have to help her, Evan," Bronwen said. "She's already had enough rotten luck."

Evan looked at Bronwen. Her eyes were pleading.

"I'll come with you down to headquarters, Janine," he said. "We'll see what we can do." Then he picked up the phone to call the squad car.

Chapter 22.

Evan hesitated in the vinyl-tiled hallway and stood staring at the door he had just closed behind him. Usually there was satisfaction in bringing a case to a close, and a criminal to justice. Never had he felt more ambivalent than now. He wanted to believe that Janine Laroque was innocent, but reason told him that she had to be guilty. Unfortunately he was sure that D.I. Hughes would come to the same conclusion-and so would a jury. There was little hope of Janine getting off, unless he could prove that someone else committed the murder.

He sighed. He had done his job and delivered the suspect to the proper authorities. Now he could go home and catch up on some well-earned sleep. He had to learn not to become so emotionally involved with his cases, he told himself. A good policeman stayed detached.

A door opened down the hall and Evan realized, a second too late, that he should not have dawdled.

"Evans, is that you?" Potter's voice echoed. "Where is he, then?"

"I-I had . . . I mean something else came up." Evan was caught off guard.

"Something else came up? I gave you an order, sonny. It was up to you to obey it."

"Look, I'm sorry." Evan felt the color rise in his cheeks. "But when I say something else, I mean something more important. I found the Frenchwoman who's the murder suspect everyone's been looking for. I've just brought her in. She's with Sergeant Watkins, waiting for the D.I. to get back."

"And you got yourself a nice pat on the back for that, did you? Well, I've got a case to solve as well and I want that kid brought in here. Now do you think you can find him, or do I have to send squad cars out for him?"

"Oh, I found him all right," Evan said. "In fact he was the one who told me where Madame Yvette was hiding out. I had a long talk with him, and I think you're making a mistake, Sarge. I don't think he set those fires."

Potter's face was a mask of stone. "Oh, and what makes you the expert suddenly?"

"For one thing he hero-worships a young fireman and he wants to be a fireman too when he grows up. For another he claims he has an alibi for the cottage burning. Another kid saw him climbing down the drainpipe after the fire had already started and they ran up to the fire together. That will be easy enough to check."

"Kids? They'll say anything not to snitch on each other, won't they?"

Evan wondered if Sergeant Potter had any children of his own. If so, he was sorry for them.

"So you still want me to bring him in?" Evan asked.

"Of course I b.l.o.o.d.y want you to bring him in. If it's not too much to ask, that is?"

"Right. I'll go and get him now," Evan said. "Please tell Sergeant Watkins where I am, in case he needs me for anything."

He turned and strode to the front door, his feet making a satisfying clatter on the bare floor before he slammed the door behind him.

This is what happens when you're a village constable, he told himself as he drove, somewhat too fast, back through Llanberis and up the pa.s.s. You get walked all over. People order you around. He allowed his mind to drift into a fantasy in which he went back to detective training and did so well that he jumped through the ranks to inspector in a few months. Then he pictured himself walking in and telling Peter Potter exactly what he thought of him. It was a childish daydream and he was already smiling at himself by the time he reached Llanfair.

n.o.body came to the door when Evan knocked at Terry's cottage. He drove up and down the village street, then parked his car and checked out all the likely places-the sports field, the school playground, the sweets counter at the village shop. n.o.body he asked had seen Terry Jenkins. So the boy was in hiding. Evan couldn't say he blamed him. He'd probably have done the same thing at Terry's age. Oh well, give him time. He'd show up when he was hungry.

Around five-thirty he checked the Jenkinses' cottage again. Terry's mother had just got home and had frozen lasagna on the table, ready for a microwaved supper.

"I don't know where he is, Constable Evans," she said apologetically. "You know Terry. He's never home if it's daylight and not raining. He could be anywhere on that bike of his. I worry that some day he's going to get run over, but he seems able to take care of himself. There's not much I can do, is there?"

"You could try setting some rules," Evan said and wished instantly that he hadn't.

A defensive look spread across her face. "What, and have him hate me as much as he does his father? I'm trying to make up for his dad, Mr. Evans, and that's not easy."

"I'm sure it's not," Evan agreed. "Let me know when he gets home, will you?"

He went back to the police station and phoned HQ. Glynis answered. It seemed as if she was turning into the maid of all work down there.

"You want me to tell Sergeant Potter that you can't find the boy and you'll bring him in as soon as you do. Okay. I'll probably get my head bitten off, but I'll do it for you." She paused then went on in a lower voice, "It's a shame you left when you did. You weren't here for the excitement."

"Why, what happened?"

"We got a match on that thumbprint."

"The one on the knife?"

"That's right."

"Incredible. Whose was it?"

"n.o.body you'd know. A drug dealer."

"A drug dealer-so there was a drug connection after all. Janine might have been telling the truth that she had nothing to do with it."

"Possibly. Although I suppose she could be in it as deeply as anyone. You have to admit her restaurant would make an ideal distribution point for drugs that were coming in from around the coast here. I shouldn't be surprised if we don't find out that she was set up here for that very purpose."

"I suppose so." Evan didn't want to believe it but it was hard not to. "So how did you manage to match the prints? That was rather clever of you."

She laughed. "I found the match by sheer accident, actually. Scotland Yard sent us everything they'd got on the traffickers they suspect are behind the shipments. It's a multinational gang, mainly Algerian and French, with connections in Europe and North Africa. They sent us several sets of prints. Just out of curiosity I ran a computer match on them and I nearly died when one of them matched our thumbprint."

"What's his name?"

Glynis chuckled. "He's got a string of aliases as long as your arm but he likes to be called, get this, Le Tigre-the Tiger!"

"Sounds like something out of a bad film," Evan said. "Congratulations. That kind of thing will definitely get you noticed around here."

"Thanks. As I say, it was pure luck, just fooling around to see what the system can do, actually."

"Has the D.I. been told yet?"

"Yes. He came in only a few minutes ago. He's quite excited-well, as excited as a someone like him can get."

"Is he in with Madame Yvette-I mean Janine-now?"

"Not yet. In fact, I don't think he's going to have time to question her tonight, because of everything that's happening. We can't keep her here because our only cell has a couple of lager louts from the rugby match in it. So I understand he's planning to send her back to where she was staying with a W.P.C. escort-which I suspect will end up being me, because I'm the only one still on duty. So I suppose I might be seeing you later. She's staying somewhere up near you, isn't she?"

Evan's brain stopped functioning rationally. All he could think was that Glynis would be arriving at Bronwen's house.

"Are you still there, Constable Evans?"

"Yes, I'm still here. Sorry. I was thinking."

"I know. It's all so complicated, isn't it. But you're off the hook, aren't you? Now they know who they're looking for, so I suppose it becomes part of Operation Armada."

"Right. I can go back to finding lost car keys."

Glynis laughed. Evan didn't think it was funny.

"See you later maybe, then," she said again as she rang off.

Evan hung up the phone and sat staring at his desk. So their first hunch had been correct after all. It was all tied in with the drug shipments. Of course. Why else would an outstanding chef open a French restaurant in such an out-of the way place? The drugs would arrive in small boats, be whisked up from the coast to the restaurant and get picked up from there. A great setup. It probably could have gone undetected for years if they hadn't had the tip-off and there had been no fire.

Jean Bouchard had been the real Madame Yvette's husband, but he was also involved in the shady world of drug dealing. That was probably why he'd chosen to fake his death and disappear five years ago. And now he'd been sent here to help with the drug shipments. It was probably pure chance that he had happened on the restaurant and discovered the woman impersonating his wife. If Janine hadn't stabbed him, who had? Had he fallen out with fellow gang members, or crossed paths with a rival gang? Evan wondered if they'd ever know.

He felt both pleased and annoyed. He was pleased that his gut feeling was correct and Madame or Janine or whoever she was had probably not committed the murder, but annoyed that he was once again being left out just as things heated up. He thumped his fist onto the table in frustration. Then he reminded himself that he had work to do. He still had to find Terry Jenkins.

He checked the village once more, looking in all the sort of places an eleven-year-old boy might want to hide. Then he went back to his car. The sun had sunk behind the westera mountains and the valley was bathed in twilight. Evan had to agree with Terry's mother for once-he didn't like the thought of the boy out on his bike in the dark. Cars drove up the winding road too fast to see a boy on a bike.

He drove first to the top of the pa.s.s and looked around the Everest Inn car park, then slowly back down the hill. Terry really must have gone into hiding-perhaps he was more scared of being taken to the police station than he wanted to admit. Perhaps he knew more than he was admitting, as well.

Evan had almost reached the village of Nant Peris when he spotted something shiny, almost hidden among the thick brambles beside the road. He stopped the car and jumped out. It was Terry's bike. Evan picked it up and stood there, his hand on the saddle. Why had Terry abandoned his bike? If he'd wanted to hide up on the mountain, there were plenty of tracks leading from Llanfair itself. He wouldn't have had to ride down to Nant Peris first. Was he possibly on his own quest, looking for something down here-something to do with the fire?

The ruined restaurant stood at the upper end of the village, its stone walls etched in the dying light like jagged teeth.

"Terry?" Evan called. "Are you there, Terry? Your mum's worried. She wants you home right now."

Silence, except for the wind sighing on the hillside and stirring the ashes of the fire. He stood looking around, not sure what to do next. The Vaynol Arms sign squeaked as it swung in the wind. A car door slammed and a couple got out of a car. Evan watched them go into the pub, arm in arm and laughing.

He pulled the bike out of the brambles, then scrambled over the dry stone wall that bordered the road to the meadow beyond. As he began to climb, his nostrils picked up a smell, a little off to the left where a small track went up the mountain. Evan followed his nose until the smell became identifiable. He bent down to a large rock and sniffed. There was no visible sign, but then the smell always lingered long after it had evaporated. Petrol had recently been splashed on this rock. A little higher up another whiff . . . . Someone had been carrying petrol up the mountain.

Idiot, he muttered to himself. He had wanted to believe that Terry was innocent, so he had refused to see the signs. Of course Potter was right. Terry was a cla.s.sic case of someone who could become a serial arsonist. He'd even admitted to buying petrol. So what was his next target?

Evan climbed onto the wall and scanned the hillside. The meadow rose steeply until it met the dark line of fir trees-the spruce plantation the locals so disliked. Was that where Terry was heading? The peaks above, the Glyders, were still bathed in rosy sunlight, making their rocks glow red, in contrast to the gloom of the fir trees at their base. Suddenly Evan's sharp eyes picked out a moving figure, not on the track, but farther over to the right, going straight up the mountain and moving fast. But it wasn't Terry. It was a grown man and the impression was one of darkness-dark hair, dark jacket, swarthy skin. He was moving through the dry bracken with a kind of animal grace, furtively, as if he didn't want to be seen, and Evan could almost hear Glynis's voice echoing in his head: "He likes to be called the Tiger."

Wait a second-hadn't he just seen . . . ? He glanced back at the pub car park. Yes, he was right. He had noticed a red sports car there when he'd watched the young couple get out of their car. Now he heard Terry's voice like an instant replay in his brain. "I saw that man again, Mr. Evans. The one who drove the red sports car and had the gun . . ."

Evan could feel the back of his neck p.r.i.c.kle. The man who drove the sports car and carried the gun and who had spoken to Terry Jenkins, asking about the restaurant . . . His heart racing, Evan took this one step further-and Terry was the one person who could identify him and tie him to a place and time. Had Terry spotted the red car? Had the man seen Terry and caused him to hide his bike and flee up the mountain?

For a second he stood poised on the wall, undecided. Should he run back to the pub and call for help or go after the man? This is no time for heroics, he told himself. What could he do against a man who called himself the Tiger, trafficked in drugs and had already killed at least once? And yet he had to do something to save Terry if he could.

He jumped down from the wall, sprinted across the street and into the pub. The bar was empty except for the newly arrived couple and two old men sitting in a corner. "Call 999," Evan yelled to the barmaid. "Tell them to get units up here right away. Our suspect is up on the hill. I'm going after him."

He didn't wait for an answer. He began to climb the hill. It was getting dark now and Evan could no longer see the man moving among the dry bracken. Which meant he had to have reached the spruce plantation. The boy must have made for the trees, hoping to hide himself in the dark forest, not realizing that there was no place to hide among the slim, even rows of spruce.

Was the man carrying a gun? That made all the difference. Terry was a smart mountain-bred kid. Evan hoped he'd know the area well enough to slip through the forest and double back down to Llanfair-or at least find a good hiding place among the rocks until morning. Evan felt anger, as well as fear, welling up in his throat. He couldn't let that monster get to Terry. He couldn't wait for reinforcements to get there. He hurried on. Light was fading fast and sheep drifted like ghostly shapes, their mournful bleating echoing back from crags above. A bat skimmed low past him, making him jump.

Suddenly he stiffened as he heard a noise on the mountain above-a popping sound. His first reaction was gunfire, but then a motorbike appeared, b.u.mping down the track ahead. Evan waved his arms. The bike swerved and for a moment it seemed to speed up.

"Stop!" Evan yelled and made a grab for the rider.

"Constable Evans!" the rider gasped.

"Oh, it's you, Bryn." Evan felt a great wave of relief. "You haven't seen young Terry, have you?"

"Terry Jenkins?" His eyes darted around warily. "I haven't seen anybody. I've just been for a ride."

"Up on the mountain? I shouldn't imagine it's very good for the bike. So you haven't seen anybody? Not a man with dark hair?"

"n.o.body." His fingers twitched at the accelerator. "I have to get home, Mr. Evans . . ."

"I need your help, Bryn," Evan put a hand on the handlebar. "Young Terry's up there somewhere and a man's trying to kill him."

Bryn swiveled to stare up at the hillside. "Terry's up there?"

"He probably went into the tree plantation."

"Oh no, Mr. Evans, don't say that!" Bryn leaped off the bike and flung it down on the gra.s.s. "We've got to get up there, fast, before it's too late."

He started scrambling up the hill with Evan at his heels. "I hope we're not too late, Mr. Evans." Evan could hear the boy sobbing. "I didn't mean any harm. Honest I didn't. It was a bit of fun really . . ."

"What are you talking about, Bryn?"

"We've only got a few minutes before the fuse burns through, then the whole forest will go up."

Evan grabbed his arm and spun him around. "What are you talking about, boy?"

Bryn was really crying now. Large tears were welling out of his eyes. "I set a fire up there, didn't I?"

Chapter 23.

Evan grabbed the boy's arm. "You set a fire? Are you out of your mind?"

Bryn shook him off and staggered upward. The hillside had become steep. Bryn was scrambling up on all fours, like a dog.

Evan saw how blind he had been-how blind they had all been. Bryn had sounded the alarm both times. Bryn had been first on the scene. "It was you!" he yelled. "You set the fires, so that you could look like a hero and put them out again!"