Evan and Elle - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,6
the crowd back.” He held out his hand. “Geraint Jones. I’m the head of this mob. You must be Constable Evans.”
“That’s right.” Evan shook the offered hand. “We were lucky you got here in such a hurry. And we were lucky young Bryn happened to be up here visiting his grandmother. He stopped it from spreading until you got here.”
Captain Jones nodded. “He’s a good lad. A bit too keen, but then I expect I was too at his age.” He tapped Evan on the arm. “I imagine you’ll want to notify your chaps about this, won’t you? Definitely a suspicious fire.”
“You think it was deliberately set?”
The fireman sucked through his teeth. “When we arrived the whole place was already in flames, so I can’t tell you where it started, but I do know from experience—it takes a lot to make one of these old cottages burn like that. Stone walls, stone floors. Fires don’t spread without a little help, you know. I’d put in a report, just to cover your rear end.”
“Thanks, I will,” Evan said.
“And I’d keep people out of the place until your arson specialists have taken a look in daylight. You’d be amazed what people like to cart away as souvenirs.”
“Thanks. I’ll cordon it off tonight, then,” Evan said. “I’d better call HQ and see if they want to send up someone to keep watch for the night.”
“I’ll be leaving a couple of my men up here for a while anyway,” Captain Jones said. “They might need to wet down hot spots. We don’t want the hillside catching fire if a wind gets up, do we?”
“I’ll get these people back to their homes.” Evan headed toward the crowd that was still watching, fascinated. “All right everybody. Show’s over. Go home. And I don’t want anybody near this place until we’ve finished up here.”
He was slightly surprised at the power of his own voice and at the way they meekly began to leave.
“Come on, boys. The Red Dragon’s still open,” Charlie Hopkins called. “Where’s young Bryn? I want to buy him that pint now.”
Evan watched the old man make his way down the hillside with his arm around his grandson’s shoulder.
As the crowd was dispersing a woman’s scream rose above the murmured conversation. “He’s not here! Oh my God—where is he?”
Evan pushed through the crowd to see a distraught woman looking around her in utter terror. He recognized her as the owner of the cottage next to Bronwen’s school. Her name was Ellie Jenkins and she worked as a maid at the Everest Inn.
“What’s the matter, Mrs. Jenkins?” He grabbed her arm.
“My Terry. You haven’t seen him, have you? He’s missing.” She could scarcely get the words out.
“Young Terry? No, I can’t say I’ve seen him.”
“He has to be up here.” Her eyes darted around nervously as she spoke. “Where else could he be?”
Evan put a restraining hand on her arm. “It’s going to be all right, Mrs. Jenkins. Young boys are always getting into mischief, you know that. Now take a deep breath—when did you see him last?”
The breath came out as a shuddering sigh. “I thought he was in his bed, didn’t I? Then I heard the fire engine go past and I was surprised he didn’t get up to see what was going on. He’s mad about fire engines. That’s when I saw his bed was empty. So I was sure he must have come up here and . . .”
Evan tried to give her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure we’ll find him, Mrs. Jenkins. Don’t worry. Come on. I’ll help you look.”
The crowd was now streaming down from the mountain. Evan stopped any young boys he met, asking them about Terry Jenkins but nobody seemed to have noticed him.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with him, Mr. Evans,” Mrs. Jenkins sighed as they made their way up to the fire engines beside the smoldering ruin. “He’s that wild since his father walked out on us. I can’t make him see sense anymore. Anything dangerous—that’s what he likes. Fires, explosions, bombs. All those action shows on the telly and people being blown up. I don’t know what I’m going to do with him—”
“Just a second,” Evan interrupted. He had overheard one of the firemen yelling, “Out of the way, son, or you might get hurt.”
Evan caught sight of a small figure darting among the tall shapes carrying the hose.
“Terry?” he shouted.
The boy looked up.
“Terry Jenkins, get over here this minute!” His mother’s