Free The Thread of Evidence by Bernard Knight Page B

Constabulary Headquarters at Cardigan. Following his talk with the local constable at Tremabon, Pacey had gone back up the cliff as fast as his bulk would allow him. He collected Willie Rees and the few more objects that the digging team had found amongst the last rubble in the shaft, then left Inspector Morris to organize the sealing-off of the tunnel.
    He then hustled back with Rees to his police Wolseley and drove off rapidly towards Aberystwyth. After an hour of furious activity in the basement of the police station there, he had telephoned the chief, then roared away again down the coast road to Cardigan.
    By the time they arrived in the county town, it was about seven o’clock in the evening of that strenuous Monday. Pacey was beginning to yearn for a rest and a decent meal. But, with Rees still in tow, he went straight to the police headquarters where the colonel was waiting for them. He gave him a succinct account of the day’s events and ended up by sliding the pitifully thin file with its scanty record of the case, onto the desk.
    â€˜All I’ve got so far is in there, sir, but there’s nothing important that I haven’t already mentioned.’
    The chief constable reached for it and carefully scanned the few sheets of paper which it contained.
    Inspector Rees sat primly on a hard chair at one end of the desk, looking like an elderly spinster at a vicar’s tea party. Charles Pacey, his large body draped uncomfortably over another small chair at the opposite end of the desk, waited patiently for the chief to say something.
    Colonel Barton sat bolt upright in his swivel chair, one hand fingering his neat grey toothbrush moustache as he studied the file.
    He looked up at last. ‘And you say, Superintendent, that there’s no sign of the original report of the sister’s complaint in the records at Aberystwyth?’
    â€˜No, sir. We had a good search through all the old records in the station. But, apart from an entry in the daily Occurrences book, there was nothing else.’
    Willie Rees thought of the frantic hour they had just spent in the basement of the police station, scrabbling through heaps of dusty paper tied in even dirtier string.
    â€˜Do you think anything will turn up, either after a better search or, perhaps, here in the headquarters archives?’
    Pacey looked doubtful. ‘I haven’t much hope of that, Colonel. Thirty years is a long time and the war in between played havoc with a lot of storage routines. I know tons of stuff was thrown out to make room for shelters and things like that.’
    â€˜Where can we hope to get some further information?’ The colonel rapped out his questions in the manner of one with years of military command behind him.
    Pacey, looking like a village yokel compared with the small, neat figure in front of him, puffed out his red cheeks as he considered this.
    â€˜Well, there’s the local newspaper files. Their office in Aber was shut when I was there. So I thought it could wait until morning, without going chasing after the editor. Then we might find someone who was in the police force thirty years ago and might remember something about it. None of the present men up there are anything like old enough. But I’ve got the names of a couple of retired officers who might have been there at the time.’
    â€˜Then, of course, there’s this sister. The one mentioned in the station report book.’ The colonel deftly removed Pacey’s trump card before he could play it.
    â€˜Yes, sir, I’ve already telexed the Liverpool police to see if she’s still alive and at the same address,’ said the detective, being determined to win the trick.
    â€˜We’ll be lucky to find her after all this time – she must be getting on now.’ Willie Rees diffidently threw his voice into the duet between Pacey and the chief.
    Pacey shrugged his bull shoulders.
    â€˜It’s still possible. Her age