Evan Blessed by Rhys Bowen

this one. “I’ve seen National Parks workers driving up with tools in their vehicles when they have to do repairs to paths.”
    â€œRight. Brilliant. You can’t remember any particular vehicle you’ve noticed recently?”
    â€œCan’t say I have.”
    That was all that Evan could get out of him, but at least he’d
come away with one slim lead. Of course National Parks workers would arouse no suspicion if they were seen driving over mountain tracks with tools or wood. Definitely one thing worth pursuing.
    He repeated the question about tools and building materials at businesses and homes with gardens that backed onto the mountain, but got no other tips. He stood looking up at the start of the Llanberis path up Snowdon and at the woodland where the bunker had been discovered. How did anyone manage to grab Shannon without being noticed? he wondered. How did anyone manage to dig the bunker without being noticed, and then stock it? And if the girl wasn’t still hidden away somewhere on the mountain, how could anyone have brought her down into this hubbub of activity? Evan stood, letting the tide of humanity sweep around him, then finally shook his head and made his way back to his car. He would just have enough time to drive into Bangor and show the picture at the mainline station.
    â€œAll these young people look alike to me, mate,” the sad-faced man at the ticket counter said. “We’ve got a constant stream of them coming through every day.”
    Evan called in his findings to Inspector Watkins, who jumped at once on the possibility of a National Parks vehicle being involved.
    â€œThose ranger types are often social misfits and loners, aren’t they?” he said. “I want you to go and talk to them, right after the two o’clock briefing this afternoon.”
    That gave Evan a precious hour of freedom. During his lunch break, he managed to visit a local car dealer and blanched at the price of a new four-wheel drive utility vehicle. Until he was made an inspector and Bronwen was a headmistress, it would definitely have to be secondhand. The dealer promised to keep his eyes open and Evan picked up a copy of the weekly free advertisements to study when he had a moment. He decided it might be wise to double-check what kind of payments they could expect on a car loan, glanced at his watch, and sprinted in the direction of the bank.
    â€œI’m sorry, Mr. Shorecross isn’t in his office. He’s stepped out for a while,” the pleasant-faced young teller called to Evan. “Is it anything I can help you with?”

    â€œNo thanks, it’s about a car loan,” Evan said. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
    â€œHe should be back soon. I think he’s at a doctor’s appointment,” she said.
    Evan turned to go and noticed the other teller—the silent, sallow fellow with the heavy specs. Suddenly he remembered the conversation with Mr. Shorecross and his mention of the Peeping Tom. Wouldn’t someone who watched young women from the shadows be the kind of person who might have dug the bunker? Evan turned back to the young teller. “I wonder if I might have a word with you in private, Miss?”
    â€œJones. Hillary Jones,” she said. “Isn’t everyone called Jones around here?”
    â€œExcept for those who are called Evans, like me,” Evan said.
    â€œOr Williams or Davies.” She smiled. “What’s this about?”
    â€œNothing to do with banking. It’s police business.”
    She looked wary. “Okay. We can use Mr. Shorecross’s office, I suppose.” She looked across. “Rhodri, can you handle things? I need to talk to this gentleman. Give me a call if you need me.”
    Her tone was completely relaxed and friendly, making Evan rethink the suspicions that were hovering in his brain. Hillary Jones led the way into the bank manager’s office. Evan closed