Death of an Adept

I believe I know this man, Davies had written. The artist's likeness you sent us looks very like a fellow in our bailiwick, name of Griffith Evans. I myself arrested Evans two years ago, for causing a disturbance at a local summer solstice festival. Wiltshire Police are also aware of him in conjunction with disruptions at Stonehenge. At the time of his arrest, Evans owned property in the Conwy Valley. Per a check of local council records, taxes are current, indicative that Evans probably is still resident at that address.

Please advise if we can be of any further assistance, the message continued. If you still wish to interview Evans, suggest you inform me of proposed arrival, and I will make certain someone is available to collect you and take you out to the site; it doesn 't show on maps. Regards, Davies, Det. Insp.

Adam passed the message over for Philippa to read, then returned his attention to McLeod.

"Well done, indeed," he said. "Your instincts certainly appear to have been solid on this one. Are you going to take Inspector Davies up on his offer?"

"Aye, as soon as I make the necessary arrangements at my end," McLeod replied. "This is early on, so I don't think you need to try to fit this into your schedule. At this point, I'd ordinarily just take the train down, maybe take Donald Coch-rane along; but I was thinking it might not be a bad idea to see if I could get Harry Nimmo to fly me down instead. Who knows what he might pick up?"

His faint emphasis on the last two words elicited a faint smile from Adam.

"I agree. It's going to be very interesting to see how Mr. Nimmo continues to develop. By all means, see if he can provide you with air transport. But in case Evans is our man, do make sure that both of you take adequate precautions, on all levels. We don't know what Callanish was all about. But whoever was responsible apparently has something to hide - and might go to unpleasant lengths to keep it that way."

Chapter Nineteen

"NOEL , why do I have the feeling I'm being set up?" Harry Nimmo asked bluntly, the following morning.

His voice sounded tinny and slightly distanced through the Cessna's headphones. Carlisle lay behind them, and the sprawl and smokestacks of Merseyside smudged the horizon off their port wing as they headed across Liverpool Bay, making for the Cumbrian coast. It was just past ten in the morning.

McLeod cast aside a droll glance at the leather-jacketed man in the pilot's seat.

"Feeling paranoid this morning, Harry?"

"Well, you haven't really told me why you seconded my services for this jaunt," Harry replied. His gaze continued to rove ahead and to the sides for other air traffic, this close to the busy air corridors around Liverpool. "I'm glad to do it - but you could've taken the train down and back in a day, or even flown commercially in and out of Chester and hired a car, or had someone meet you from Conwy. Is this something to do with what happened at Callanish?"

"Now I know how you earned your silk," McLeod quipped. "This is what I get for trying to fool a wily Crown barrister."

"That doesn't answer my question."

McLeod had the grace to grin.

"Fair comment, Counsellor. This does have to do with the Callanish incident. We think we may have located the chap Peregrine sketched at the site. And to answer your next question, yes, I'm hoping you may be able to render similar service, when we go out to where he lives."

Harry's capable hands tightened on the steering yoke, though his eyes did not cease sweeping the skies before them.

"I was afraid of that."

"Afraid of what? That it will happen again? I'd think you'd be almighty curious."

This comment elicited a darting side-glance.

"I suppose I am," Harry conceded. "At least if it happened again, I might be more sure of my ground."

"In what way?" McLeod asked.

Harry's forehead furrowed between sunglasses and Starship Enterprise baseball cap.