‘And me with Amy,’ said Patterson.
Grant said, ‘That’s something. Have you got the number?’
Karen checked her handbag and handed over a piece of paper. Grant excused himself and was gone for several minutes. When he came back he said, ‘I’ve checked with Mr Grossart about the transport. He thinks they travelled to Wales in a company Land-Rover but he’s not sure.’
‘Not sure?’ exclaimed Karen and Patterson in unison.
Grant’s look suggested that he might share their surprise. ‘He’s going to get back to me with details of the vehicle and registration number and whether or not they want to report it missing.’
Karen and Patterson went quiet for a moment while they digested this information.
‘I have to stress once again that there’s nothing we can do in a situation like this, unless of course the vehicle is reported stolen, but… in the interests of… crime prevention, shall we say, I might just pass on the registration number to our Welsh colleagues. If the vehicle should still happen to be in North Wales, they might care to stop the driver and enquire about ownership and destination.’
‘Thank you,’ said Karen.
Ian Patterson added his thanks. ‘It’s really the not knowing,’ he said.
‘As for the telephone number Lehman gave you,’ said Grant, ‘it’s ex-directory so I can’t pass on the information to you.’ As he spoke, he pushed across the desk a piece of paper with an address on it.
‘Of course not,’ said Karen, slipping the paper into her handbag. ‘Thank you for seeing us, Inspector.’
‘Sorry I couldn’t be more help,’ said Grant, getting up to show them to the door.
Outside on the pavement, Karen looked at the paper and read out, ‘Plas-y-Brenin Experimental Field Station, near Capel Curig, Gwynedd, North Wales.’ She looked at Patterson. ‘I’m going there,’ she said with sudden resolve. ‘I have to know for sure. Well, what d’you say? Are you coming?’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m game. We’ll use my car — it’s a four-wheel-drive.’
Next morning Karen dropped Kelly off at her mother’s along with a bag full of the essentials required for looking after a seven-month-old baby. She gave Ethel a big hug and said, ‘I can’t thank you enough.’
‘That’s what grannies are for.’ Ethel smiled, cuddling Kelly. ‘Didn’t you know?’
‘I’ll call you as soon as we get there.’
‘Take all the time you need. And take care!’
Karen nodded and ran to her car. It was already seven-thirty and she was due to meet Ian Patterson back at the house at eight. Despite her fears, she was only a few minutes late in getting back after the stop-go frustration of driving through rush-hour traffic. She swung her car into the small run-in in front of the garage and locked it, then ran up to the house to collect the overnight bag she had left ready behind the front door.
Patterson was sitting waiting in a dark-green Toyota Land Cruiser adorned with wildlife stickers and one proclaiming his membership of the RSPB. For some reason the fact that he was ‘Saving Whales and Dolphins’ registered with Karen as she climbed into the passenger seat and she wondered idly how.
‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ she said. ‘Kelly was playing up.’
‘No problem,’ said Patterson. He took off from the kerb and headed south.
‘How long do you think it will take?’ asked Karen.
‘I reckon from the map it’s about three hundred miles,’ replied Patterson. ‘Normally about five hours but I’m not sure about this trip. I don’t know what the mountain roads are like; I’ve never been there before. How about you?’
‘I once went to a Girl Guide camp in Llandudno,’ said Karen. ‘We went by train. I remember it rained a lot.’
‘We’ll just have to play it by ear,’ said Patterson.
They stopped for coffee in the Scottish borders and again for lunch at a service station on the M6, although neither of them was particularly hungry. It just seemed like a welcome gesture of normality. Patterson ate a bacon roll while Karen pushed a salad around her plate, trying to make it look smaller than when she started.
Patterson asked, ‘How are you feeling about all this?’
‘Scared,’ admitted Karen. ‘I just don’t know how I’m going to cope if we find out that they really have run off together. You?’
Patterson shrugged and said, ‘About the same, I think. I just can’t bring myself to imagine life without her. We were talking about having a baby only the week before she went to Wales. This whole thing just doesn’t make sense.’
Karen took comfort in yet another snippet of information that didn’t fit with Peter having deserted her.
‘There’s something else that worries me,’ said Patterson. ‘If they really have had an accident or got into some kind of trouble… it’s been about five days since I last heard from Amy and it’s winter in the Welsh mountains.’
They took this as their cue to get up and head back to the car.
The dark clouds that had been building and threatening most of the way down the M6 turned to torrential rain as they turned west into Wales along the M56. The wipers struggled to cope as they made their way to the junction with the A55 North Wales coast road. After an hour or so the strain of driving in such appalling conditions made Patterson turn off into the car park of a roadside cafe. He said, ‘Let’s have some hot coffee and take a look at the map.’
The air in the cafe was heavy with the smell of cooking and wet waterproofs. Steam drifted up from the service counter and condensation streamed down the windows.
They sat down at a red plastic table and opened the AA road atlas that Patterson had brought in with him.
‘I reckon our best bet is to turn off at Llandudno Junction and head south through the Vale of Conwy,’ he said. ‘Then, if we turn west through Betws-y-coed on to the A5, that’ll take us right to Capel Curig. We can ask for directions from there.’
Karen agreed.
It was dark and just after five in the evening when Patterson brought the Land Cruiser to a halt outside a hotel in Capel Curig in the heart of the Welsh mountains. The rain was still hammering down. They dashed across the cratered surface of the car park to seek sanctuary in the entrance hall, which was warm and dry but deserted. They looked around for a bell to ring but without success. Karen leaned her head through the hatch at Reception and called hopefully, ‘Hello!’ There was no response.
Patterson opened a door and popped his head round. ‘Dining room,’ he said as he closed it again.
They followed a sign saying Cocktail Bar but found it, too, deserted. ‘Do you think they’ve dropped the bomb?’ asked Karen.
‘The state of some of the furniture in this place might support that theory,’ said Patterson.
Karen saw his point. A variety of rickety tables sat in front of black plastic bench-seating with occasional slash marks across it. The ashtrays were full and a half-empty pint glass of stale beer stood on the bar counter.
The sound of coughing came from somewhere upstairs, followed by slow, heavy feet on the stairs. A small, fat, bald man appeared in the bar with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He said something in Welsh.
‘We’re not Welsh,’ said Patterson.
‘What’ll it be?’ asked the barman, removing the cigarette.
Karen showed him the paper with the field station address on it. ‘We’re trying to find this place,’ she said. ‘Can you help us?’
The barman took the paper in short stubby fingers and squinted at it. ‘You’ll be from the papers, then?’ he said.
‘No, why should we be?’ asked Patterson.
‘’Cos it burned down last night,’ replied the man. ‘It’s a pile of bloody ashes, they tell me.’
Patterson and Karen looked at each other in disbelief. ‘Was anyone hurt?’ Karen asked in trepidation.
‘No. They reckon the place was empty, which makes it a bit of a bloody mystery if you ask me,’ said the barman. ‘Not exactly the weather for spontaneous combustion, is it?’