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!”

“I didn’t mean no harm,” Bryn said again. “They said I’d never amount to much—my dad and granddad and the teachers at school . . .”

“So you decided to show them!”

“Yeah. I only set fire to things that nobody wanted anyway. Everyone was glad when that cottage burned down, weren’t they? And everyone hates the Everest Inn and the plantation . . .”

“Do you know how dry it is?” Evan could hear himself screeching. “It won’t stop with the plantation. The whole mountain will go up—sheep and Terry and all.”

The dark line of trees loomed ahead of them.

“We might just be in time,” Bryn gasped. As he ran toward the trees there was an explosion and a ball of flame shot up. The dry bracken crackled as the flames raced along the ground and the dry needles on the spruce trees spattered and sparkled like fireworks. Evan was yanking off his jacket as he ran. He reached the flames and began beating at them.

“It’s no use, Mr. Evans,” Bryn yelled. “I set a line of petrol all the way up. We’ll never put it all out before it takes hold.”

“We’ve damn well got to try,” Evan said.

They worked side by side, beating desperately as the flames rushed up the side of the plantation, feeding on the dry grass and bracken. Evan could feel the sweat running into his eyes. It was hopeless. They’d never do it. A dry twig caught on fire. He yanked it off the tree and stamped out the fire. He did the same with another and another, but it was only a matter of time before a whole tree went up like a torch and then they’d lose.

Out of the corner of his eye Evan saw Bryn flailing at the flames with his jacket, kicking up dirt over the flames. Then suddenly the wind swirled around, sending flame into Evan’s face for a moment. He jumped back and crouched, shielding his face with his arms, feeling the heat envelop him. Then the fire passed them. It was gone, over to their left and racing up the mountain away from the trees. The wind had changed.

Evan grabbed Bryn’s shoulder. “With any luck it will burn itself out when it gets to the rocks if the wind holds,” he yelled over the roar and crackle. “Anyway, there’s nothing more we can do about it. We have to find Terry.”

He plunged into the forest. Dark smoke wreathed around the slim trunks and stung his eyes, making it nearly impossible to see where he was going. He wondered if the Frenchman had seen the fire and decided to abandon his quest and get out of harm’s way. He scanned the hillside below but it was too dark to pick out a person among the scattered rocks and sheep. He could hear Bryn’s labored breath behind him, but their footfalls made no sound on the thick carpet of rotting needles. Nothing moved. Ahead he could see the sunlight on the rocks at the top of the plantation. There was no sign of Terry.

As he came out on the far side Bryn grabbed at his arm and pointed. “There’s something up there!” he hissed.

Evan followed the direction he was pointing. Straight ahead of them the cliffs of Glyder Fawr rose sheer from the edge of the forest. Smoke from the fire curled around their base so that they seemed to hover, unlinked to reality. And just above the smoke there was a bright splash of red. It had to be Terry’s anorak—he was on a narrow ledge that petered out just ahead of him. The boy had worked himself into a position where he was as vulnerable as a duck at a shooting gallery. Whoever was stalking him could take his time to pick him off.

Evan crouched frozen, trying to decide what to do. If he went up after the boy, he’d also be an easy target. If he called out, he’d alert the man to the boy’s presence, on the off chance that the man hadn’t spotted him yet. Evan stood there, looking and listening. His senses were fine-tuned as he heard the distant crackle of the fire and smelled the herby smell of burning heather. He strained his ears to listen for any movement. Then he heard something. Over to his right, among the tumble of rocks at the base of the cliff, a crisp metalic click. And he knew what it meant. A safety catch had been released from a weapon.

Evan felt his mouth go dry and his heart hammered in his throat. Had the man spotted them, and was the weapon pointed at them, or at the boy? Not for the first time did Evan wish that ordinary British bobbies could be armed. He, too, was completely vulnerable, standing in the open at the edge of pencil-thin trees. He turned to Bryn. “He’s over there,” he mouthed. “Behind those rocks. Get down and try to find cover. I’m going after him.”

He moved forward as silently as he could, knowing that silence was useless if the man already had him in his sights. If he was a drug dealer, he surely packed plenty of firepower—something semiautomatic at the very least. He dodged behind the first of the rocks, his face close to its rough, lichen-spotted surface. Cautiously he moved around it and dodged from rock to rock until suddenly he saw a dark shape rise up ahead of him. It was him all right—a dark haired man in a dark leather jacket, and he was aiming up at the ledge.

Evan bent to pick up a rock. If he threw it at the man as he fired, at least he had a chance of diverting the path of the bullet. As Evan drew back his arm to throw, the man’s finger began to close around the trigger and a shape hurtled past Evan.

“No, you bastard!” Bryn yelled as he flung himself at the man.

The gun swung around and exploded with a deafening boom that echoed back from the cliffs. The Frenchman staggered as the boy’s weight knocked him backward. Then Bryn let out a little cry and slid to the ground. In that fraction of a second Evan smashed down the Frenchman’s wrist, causing the weapon to fly out of his grasp and slide down the rock. The man let out a snarl of pain and lunged for the gun as Evan kicked it a farther away. Again they both scrambled for it. The Frenchman was the swifter, but Evan came at him with a flying rugby tackle. They crashed together to the rocky ground. As the man wriggled to get free, Evan reached out and snatched up the weapon.

The Frenchman leaped to his feet, his face distorted, snarling like a wild beast. Evan pointed the weapon at him, afraid he’d go for the gun again. Instead he gave Evan a look of sheer contempt, almost as if he was daring him to shoot, then turned and ran off through the trees.

Evan was conscious of Bryn’s body at his feet and Terry cowering up on the mountain. He longed to go after the fleeing man, to squeeze that trigger and to have the satisfaction of watching him sprawl to the ground. Instead he lowered the gun and let the man go, praying that the backup units would have arrived by now.

He dropped to his knees beside Bryn’s body. A red stain was already running down the rock. Gently he turned the boy over. Bryn’s face was ashen gray. Evan felt for a pulse, then struggled to open his shirt. As he did so, the boy’s eyes fluttered open.

“I’m a hero, right, Mr. Evans?” he asked.

“You certainly are, Bryn.”

“Am I going to die?”

“I think you’re going to be okay,’ Evan said, putting his hand gently on the boy’s arm. “You were lucky. The bullet went clean through your shoulder. You won’t be putting out any fires for a while, that’s for sure—or starting any.”

The boy managed a grin. “About that, Mr. Evans . . . I’m really sorry. I really am. Will they put me in jail?”

Evan took a deep breath. “If it never happens again, I doubt they’ll ever get to the bottom of it. What do you think, Bryn?”

The boy’s lip quivered. “You mean you’re not going to tell them?”

“As I said, if it never happens again, I don’t reckon the case will ever be solved.”

“It won’t happen again. I promise.” He tried to sit up and gasped in pain. “When I thought that the kid was in those trees . . . I swear, I’d have done anything . . .”

“You did, Bryn. You risked your life. And bloody silly it was, too, diving at an armed man. Lucky you’re in the fire brigade and not the police, or they’d have your hide for that one.”

Bryn grinned again. Evan took off his shirt and folded it over the wound. “Here, keep some pressure on that. I’m going down to get help. I won’t be long.”

“What about young Terry?”

“I’m going to get him down first.”

A few minutes later he climbed up onto the ledge and was met by a frightened pair of eyes as the boy tried to make himself invisible against the rock wall.

“It’s all right, Terry, it’s me. You can come down now,” he said.

Relief overwhelmed the boy’s face. “I heard shooting,” he said. “I didn’t dare move.”

“It’s all right. Bryn and I got the gun away from him,” Evan said.

“Bryn? He’s up here with you? He came to rescue me?” A big smile lit up his face.

“Yes, and he got a bullet through his shoulder stopping the bloke from picking you off.”

“He got shot?” Terry scrambled from the ledge and started to climb down the boulders. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yes, I think he’ll be fine. Why don’t you stay with him until I bring help?”

“All right, Mr. Evans.” Terry was still beaming. Evan saw him run to Bryn. “I’ll stay with you,” he heard the boy say. “Here, let me put my jacket over you.”

Evan smiled as he left them and ran down through the trees. The land around the forest was blackened and still smoking. He hadn’t gone far when he saw the fire crew hosing down the hillside.

“We’ve got our arsonist, Constable Evans,” one of the firemen yelled as he approached them. “Foreign-looking bloke came running down here as if the hounds of hell were after him. A couple of our men nabbed him and they’re taking him down to your chaps. Fought like a tiger, he did, when we got him. Who’d have thought it was a foreigner, eh? And I don’t mean an Englishman, either.” He paused and took a good look at Evan. “Are you all right, Constable Evans?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” It only just occurred to him that he must look rather the worse for wear—blackened from fighting the fire and probably bruised and cut from wrestling with the Frenchman. But he had won. He had the gun in his hand. Not bad for a village bobby!

“I’ve got a wounded boy up there,” he said. “Gunshot wound. I’m calling for an ambulance as soon as I get down, but if you’ve got anyone who is a trained paramedic . . .”

“Elwyn is. Hey, Elwyn,” the fireman yelled. “Get over here.”

Two squad cars were parked at the bottom of the hill. Two officers were just putting handcuffs on le Tigre as Evan arrived, out of breath and aching from his exertion.

“What the . . . Evans?” Sergeant Watkins ran to meet him.

“Here’s his gun, Sarge.” Evan handed over the weapon. “There’s a wounded boy up the mountain. Call the ambulance, please.”

“Are you okay?” Watkins put a hand on his shoulder. “Come and sit down. Nice work, by the way. Trust you to have found him!”

“All luck, Sarge, and a lot of help,” Evan said.

At that moment another police car pulled up and Glynis Davies jumped out. “What on earth’s happening?” she asked.

“It looks as if we’ve just nabbed our suspect,” Watkins said. “Thanks to Constable Evans.”

The other car door opened and Janine Laroque got out. She stood there with a look of horror on her face as two policemen led the handcuffed prisoner past her to the squad car. The man spotted her and unleashed a torrent of abuse.

Suddenly Evan realized the truth. This man was the “monster” she had had to run away from—the rich, handsome man she had married and who had made her life hell. It made sense after all.