Constable Evans 02: Evan Help Us (14 page)

“D.I. Hughes will definitely want to talk to him,” Watkins said.

“Then we should pop over there first and let him know what’s coming,” Evan said.

“A good bloke, is he—apart from his homicidal rages?”

Evan smiled. “Yeah, a good bloke. But he’s inclined to let his mouth run away with him when he gets upset. I wouldn’t want him to say something stupid and get himself into trouble.”

“Isn’t that called coaching a witness?” Watkins asked. “Okay. Let’s wait until the young chap has finished his statement and then we’ll visit your mad butcher.”

Chapter 12

Evans-the-Meat was just emerging from the walk-in refrigerator carrying a side of lamb as the two policemen came in.

“I’m not open yet,” he said, throwing down the carcass on the marble slab and picking up a cleaver. Sergeant Watkins came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the cleaver and the blood-spattered apron. Then the butcher appeared to focus on them and muttered, “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?”

“How’s the headache this morning, Gareth?” Evan asked.

“I’ve had worse.” Evans-the-Meat started chopping as he spoke.

“This is Detective Sergeant Watkins from Caernarfon, Gareth,” Evan said. “He’s got some questions he wants to ask you.”

“You didn’t report me for last night, did you?” Evans-the-Meat demanded. “So I had a couple too many and that fool made me lose my temper—”

“That fool is dead, Gareth,” Evan said calmly.

Evans-the-Meat’s mouth dropped open. “Ted Morgan is dead?”

“He killed himself last night, apparently,” Evan told him.

Evans-the-Meat passed his hand across his face. “Ted Morgan? Killed himself? Go on—you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“Deadly serious, sir,” Sergeant Watkins said.

Evans-the-Meat laughed uneasily. “I can’t say I’m heartbroken by the news. I just find it hard to believe. You didn’t know Ted Morgan. He would be the last person on earth to kill himself. He thought too much of himself to do that—always did. Even when he was a little kid he used to carry a comb around in his top pocket and take peeks at himself in all the shop windows. Nah, Ted wasn’t a man who’d kill himself on purpose. Was it an accidental overdose, do you think?”

“They found him with a gun in his hand,” Evan said.

“Ted Morgan—shoot himself?” Evans-the-Meat shook his head. “Why would he want to do that?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Mr. Evans,” Watkins said. “I hear that you two were old enemies.”

Evans-the-Meat passed his tongue nervously over his lips. “Yes, but we hadn’t seen each other for twenty-odd years. Besides, why would he want to kill himself just when he was gloating at scoring a triumph over me?”

“My inspector is going to be arriving shortly. I expect he’ll want to talk to you, so don’t leave town without letting us know, will you?”

“Me? Why would he want to talk to me?” Evans-the-Meat’s voice rose. Beads of sweat were visible on his broad forehead. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Just routine, Gareth,” Evan said. “Just answer his questions, say no more than you’re asked and keep your hair on, okay?”

“What does he think I’ve got to do with it?” Evans-the-Meat yelled after them, swinging down the meat cleaver with a savage blow that cut the carcass in half.

“You’re right,” Watkins muttered. “He’d make a bad suspect. He had guilt written all over him. But you don’t think he did it, do you?”

“If he did, then he’s a good actor. All the color drained out of his face when he heard the news. I could swear he was genuinely surprised. And he said he doubted Morgan would ever kill himself. Wouldn’t he be anxious to go along with the suicide idea if he was guilty?”

“Then why was he sweating?”

There was no sign of the inspector, but they were just about to go into the police station again when they heard the sound of a car being driven up the pass. Then an ancient black Daimler appeared, slowed, and came to a halt across the street from them. A middle-aged man with shaggy gray hair, faded sweater, and cords got out of it.

“Must be the medical examiner, come on ahead,” Sergeant Watkins muttered. “That was quick, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe he was out on a case in the area,” Evan said.

The man was looking around with a puzzled expression on his face.

“I came here in response from an urgent summons,” he said, coming over to them, “but I’m not sure whom the call was from. I’ve come to look at the remains. Maybe you could direct me.”

“I’d be glad to, doctor. We were expecting you,” Evan said. “I must say you were pretty sharp about getting here. You’ve arrived before anyone else.”

“Other people are coming to take a look too?” The man looked startled. “I wasn’t told.”

“Only the usual mob from HQ in Caernarfon,” Evan said, “but I don’t suppose it will matter if you take a look before they get here.”

“I’d appreciate taking a look before anyone else gets here,” the man said. “I can’t stand people tampering.”

“I can understand that, sir,” Evan said. “It’s this way.”

“Is it a long walk?” The man looked up at the peaks above. “I’m not sure if I should take foul weather gear.”

“It’s only just up this little track, sir. A stone’s throw away.”

“So close? I had no idea. I was given to believe…” the man muttered. He followed Evan until they emerged behind the houses bordering the street and the holiday bungalows were visible above.

“There you are, sir,” he said. “The one on the far left.”

“The one what?” The man couldn’t have sounded more surprised.

“The bungalow, sir.”

There was a horrified silence, then the man said, “Is this some sort of joke?”

“Oh no, sir. Deadly serious, in fact,” Evan said. “There’s a body on the floor of the cottage. We need you to take a look at it.”

“A mummified body or a skeleton?”

“A fresh body,” Evan said. “We found him this morning.”

“Why would you want me to take a look at a body?” the man’s voice rose to a shriek. “What do you think I could do about it?”

“Establish the time of death,” Evan said. He was feeling more and more confused. “You are the police doctor, aren’t you?” he demanded.

A look of relief spread across the man’s face. “Good lord no, man. I’m the archaeologist from Bangor University. I was asked to come up here and check out a newly discovered site.”

Evan started to laugh. After all the tension of last night and then this morning, he laughed helplessly until his whole body shook.

“Are you alright?” Watkins asked with concern.

“I’m sorry.” Evan wiped his eye. “But I thought this gentleman was the police doctor come to examine the human remains and he turns out to be the archaeologist come to look at the remains we discovered on the hill.” He turned apologetically to the doctor. “You must have thought I was mad.”

“A little eccentric,” the man said, smiling now, “but then I’ve often found that the inhabitants in these small villages are a trifle … unique.” He brushed back his unruly hair from his forehead. “Now, if you could point out the path to the real remains?”

“Why don’t you go to see Mr. Parry Davies? He was the one who called you. I know he’d love to come up the mountain with you. I would too, but I’ve got a little matter of a suspicious death we have to take care of.”

He pointed the archaeologist in the direction of Chapel Bethel and went back to join Sergeant Watkins, who was still waiting impatiently for the arrival of the D.I.

“No sense in hanging around here,” Watkins said. “Why don’t we question the occupants of those bungalows and the people who live down below too. One of them must have heard a gunshot.”

“Alright, sarge,” Evan said. “Let’s start with the bungalow next door to Ted’s.”

The two middle bungalows proved to be unoccupied and the family in the far end unit was just getting ready to leave for the beach, loaded up with beach chairs and rubber rings. No, they hadn’t heard or seen anything strange last night, the woman said impatiently, but then her hubby always dozed in front of the TV from nine o’clock onwards. She thought she might have heard a popping noise but she assumed it was a car backfiring as it came up the pass. And she had no idea what time it was—any time between nine, when the kids went to bed, and eleven, when she did. And no, they hadn’t seen anything. They drew the curtains when it got dark. They’d never even seen the occupants of the other cottages.

“That wasn’t much help,” Watkins commented as they made their way down the hill again. “They must have had that TV blaring away not to have heard a gunshot.”

“It was only a little gun, wasn’t it?” Evan suggested.

“But that means the occupants of the houses down on the main street aren’t likely to have heard anything, unless they sleep with their back windows open.”

Evan laughed. “Not too many people sleep with their windows open up here. You’d freeze to death.” Then the smile faded as he realized the inappropriateness of this remark with the body lying a few yards away from them. Ted Morgan had been laughing yesterday, full of life …

Watkins tapped Evan’s arm. “Looks like we’ll have to put off the rest of our questioning until later. The big guns have arrived.”

A large white police van was coming up the hill. D.I. Hughes was out even before the van was at a complete stop. He looked as Evan remembered him—a dapperly dressed little man with immaculately styled iron-gray hair and a neat line of moustache. Today he was wearing a light blue bow tie with matching silk handkerchief in his top pocket. He’d be nobody’s idea of a tough copper, Evan thought, and yet he was annoyingly persistent, like a terrier. He was already looking around like a dog trying to catch a scent as Watkins hurried up to him.

“Where’s the body then?” he demanded.

“Up in one of those holiday bungalows,” Watkins said.

“A tourist then?”

“No, a local, but only recently come back here. He owned them and he was living in one while he had the farmhouse remodelled.”

“Who found the body?” Hughes asked, walking so fast that Watkins had trouble keeping up with him.

“A local contractor who’d come to work on the farmhouse, sir.”

“Is the contractor still here?”

“We let him go, but we got a complete statement and his phone number.”

“Good man.”

Evan hung back by the van, not sure if his presence was required or even welcome. The D.I. had made it very clear on his last murder case that he wanted no interference from village policemen.

The police medical officer had now emerged from the van with his black bag, and a couple of forensic technicians were getting their stuff out of the back.

“Up there, is it?” the doctor asked Evan pleasantly.

“Yes, sir. The one on the left,” Evan answered.

“Why is that bodies always seem to involve an uphill walk in Wales?” the doctor wondered. “Were you the first officer on the scene?”

Evan fell into step beside him, glad that he now had an excuse to accompany them back to the crime scene.

“The contractor saw something suspicious through the window and came to get me just before eight o’clock,” Evan said. “I saw what looked like a body lying on the floor so we broke the door down between us.”

“Did you move him at all?”

“Didn’t need to, sir,” Evan said. “He was obviously dead. There was a nasty hole in the middle of his forehead.”

“Any sign of the weapon?”

“The gun is still in his hand, sir.”

“Ah. A suicide then.”

“Not necessarily,” Evan said cautiously. He didn’t want to be told to leave the detecting to detectives.

The doctor looked up sharply.

“He was a man who had just announced big plans to the whole village. And the general opinion is that he thought a lot of himself. It just doesn’t make sense that he’d kill himself now.”

“Some people are good at hiding the turmoil inside,” the doctor said. “But we’ll be able to tell soon enough whether he shot himself, I’d imagine.”

He passed ahead of Evan into the small living room. D.I. Hughes was examining the hand with the gun in it. “It seems a clear enough case of suicide to me, doctor,” he said in his crisp voice. “We’ll need to establish time of death and that’s about it.”

“We might as well get pictures and have the lab boys go over the room, just in case anything irregular turns up later,” the police doctor said, glancing back at Evan.

D.I. Hughes gaze focussed on Evan too. “Don’t tell me that the constable here has been coming up with more wild theories,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “Amateur detectives in the force are the last thing we need.”

“All the same sir,” Watkins ventured, “it does seem strange that he chose last night to kill himself. Apparently he’d just shown the whole village his plans to build a new resort here, and he’d just started to remodel the farmhouse. Why bother if you were planning to kill yourself?”

“Ask Dawson to take some photos of his hand, will you, Watkins,” the inspector said after a pause. “Let’s see if we can tell whether his finger pulled the trigger. Get the lab boys to test for gunpowder residue, and then let’s see what prints show up on the gun.”

“Would you like me to question the neighbors, sir, and see if any of them actually heard the shot?” Evan asked cautiously.

“You could do that, I suppose,” the D.I. said with no great enthusiasm. “Why don’t you go with him, Watkins?”

“It’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t think he can trust me to do anything without messing it up,” Evan commented to the sergeant as they walked down the hill together.

“It’s more likely he doesn’t want you to pull another scoop on us. He took a lot of ragging about that after those murders on the mountain. He didn’t take kindly to being outmanoeuvered by a local P.C.”

“It was only luck that I stumbled on the killer first,” Evan said.

“Of course it wasn’t. You were on the right track all along,” Watkins said. “And the more I think of it, the more I get the feeling that you’re right about this not being a suicide. Why go to the trouble of getting planning permission and hiring contractors if you’re going to kill yourself? And there was no note either. People who shoot themselves usually leave notes justifying the deed, don’t they?”