Constable Evans 02: Evan Help Us (19 page)

“Llanfair for peace and quiet. Who’d have thought it.” Annie laughed loudly. She drained the glass. “Oh well. Must run, I suppose. But I’ve got another bottle of wine in the fridge. You could always stop by later, if you wanted.”

Evan was conscious of his instructions to encourage the friendship with Annie. “I’ll see if I have time,” he said.

“Thanks for the drink. You’re a real gent,” Annie said, getting up. “Say good-bye to her behind the bar for me, will you? I don’t know how to say it in Welsh.”

*   *   *

The next morning Betsy was up early and saw Bronwen standing in the middle of the school playground surrounded by her pupils. She took a deep breath then went up to her.

“Bronwen Price, you and I have to talk,” Betsy said.

Bronwen looked around at all the eager little faces.

“Not now, Betsy. It’s time for them to get in lines.” She clapped her hands. “In lines, everybody. No pushing, Gwillum. No running now.”

With much scuffling the children formed themselves into two lines: boys and girls.

“Soon, Bronwen. We have to talk soon.” Betsy followed Bronwen as she walked to the head of the line. “Or it may be too late.”

Bronwen looked up with interest. “Too late for what?”

“Us. You and me. I never thought I’d be on your side, but we Llanfair girls have got to stick together.”

“Over what?”

“Have you seen that woman yet?”

“The one who’s just moved in?”

“The one who is making a beeline for Evan.”

Bronwen flushed. “Evan would never—”

“Yes he would,” Betsy insisted. “You know how willing he is and how naïve too. She’s fluttering her eyelashes and saying how grateful she is for his help and he’s lapping it up.”

Bronwen laughed nervously. “You know Evan. He just likes to be helpful.”

“She invited him to her house for a glass of wine again last night and he didn’t say no. I was listening.”

Bronwen could see the children were getting restless. “Alright everybody. Lead into the classroom. No pushing. No talking. Off you go, Sian, ladies first.”

The two lines of children began to file into the school. Bronwen glanced back at Betsy. “I don’t know what you think we can do.”

“Something,” Betsy said. “we can’t just stand here and watch that woman get her claws into him, can we?”

“I think you’re overreacting, Betsy,” Bronwen said. “Evan’s not stupid. If he says he’s only trying to be helpful, then he is.”

“But don’t you see that’s how she’ll hook him,” Betsy hissed as the last child passed into the classroom. “Men feel important when they’re needed. She had him help her put the little kid to bed the other night—I heard her say so. You don’t want him getting to like the daddy role, do you?”

Bronwen looked at her thoughtfully. “So what do you think we should do? I’m not about to play the helpless female myself to lure him back.”

“Of course not,” Betsy said. “What you must do, Bronwen Price, is to start dressing sexier.”

Bronwen was so surprised that she laughed. “Me? Dress sexier?”

“Of course. You’ve got to compete with her, haven’t you? Look at those jeans she was wearing—looked like they’d been painted onto her, didn’t they? And look at you in all those skirts—you’d never even know you’d got legs under there.”

“But that’s just me, Betsy. It’s the way I am. Evan knows that.”

She started to move toward the schoolhouse door. “I have to go in. I can’t leave them alone in there.”

“Think about it, Bronwen Price,” Betsy said. “Men like to see a bit of flesh occasionally. I do my best in that department, but it seems that Evan Evans has got a eye for you right now. And I’d rather you got him than that outsider, so I’m prepared to help, if I can. I could lend you some clothes, if you like. I’ve got a lovely neon-green spandex top with a low neck, or a see-through blouse, or how about a strapless sundress. You’re welcome to come over and try them on anytime.”

Bronwen gave another nervous laugh. “You’re very kind, Betsy, but I can’t see myself in spandex somehow.”

“You don’t want to lose him to her, do you?” Betsy demanded.

“No, of course not,” Bronwen flushed.

“Then think about it. And maybe you should find yourself another bloke, just to make him jealous. That usually works like a charm.”

“Betsy I’m not the type who plays little games. If Evan doesn’t like me as I am, then he’s not the one for me anyway.”

“Fine, if that’s how you want it,” Betsy said, “But I’m not giving up without a fight. I’ve sent for one of those black pushup bras from a catalogue. See yer, Bronwen.”

She gave Bronwen a friendly wave and ran off across the school playground. Bronwen turned and went into the schoolroom. Ridiculous, she thought. Betsy obviously meant well, but neon spandex? Bronwen had to laugh at the thought. All the same, she sometimes wondered whether Evan actually thought of her as a woman or just another village buddy. Maybe she would buy a new dress for that date on Saturday—not neon spandex, but a little more form-fitting.

Chapter 16

Evan was on his way to the police station when his pager went. He hurried the last few yards to his office and returned Sergeant Watkins’ call.

“Bad news, Evan. You were wrong about your butcher friend.”

“Evans-the-Meat? Did he confess to something?”

“Worse than that. They found his print on the doorway. He didn’t just stand there outside and then go home again. That’s enough for the D.I. He’s booked him for the murder. Case closed as far as he’s concerned.”

“But what about the colonel? How does he explain that?”

“We haven’t got that far yet.”

“He didn’t kill the colonel, sarge. He couldn’t have. I was there in the pub. I saw Evans-the-Meat there after the colonel had left.”

“So you think we’re looking for another killer altogether?”

“Or you’ve got the wrong man.” Evan took a deep breath. “Listen, sarge, I’ve been thinking about taking a little trip to London, maybe this weekend. Any interest in going along with me?”

“Strictly off the record, you mean?”

“For me, yes. You could probably get permission, couldn’t you? Someone needs to check into the colonel’s life there, since we know for sure that Evans-the-Meat didn’t kill him.”

“That’s true enough. The D.I.’s in a good mood this morning with all his fingerprint success. I’ll ask him if I can have Friday off. I’d quite like to be away this weekend, in fact. The wife wants the kitchen redecorated. She was talking about going to wallpaper shops, and you know how much I enjoy that.”

Evan chuckled, then grew serious again. “About these fingerprints, sarge. Did Evans’ fingerprints show up on the gun?”

“No, but the D.I. reckons he tried to wipe it or he held it with a handkerchief. It’s partially wiped clean.”

“So Evans was stupid enough to touch the door on his way in and then wipe the gun clean?”

“That’s what the D.I. thinks.”

“And what do you think?”

“I’m … keeping an open mind for the moment. Having met the bloke, I’m inclined to go along with you—it’s not his kind of crime.”

“Any other interesting fingerprints in the room?”

“Plenty. The house was let by the week, wasn’t it? But the only prints on the gun are the victim’s and your friend Annie’s. And we know she couldn’t have shot him because she was with you. They’re trying to run a check on her background, by the way. And she’s a hard one to trace. You just better pray that she doesn’t have some kind of criminal connection—the D.I. read way more into your friendship than you’d like.”

“She hasn’t told me a thing,” Evan said. “I’ve dropped enough hints, but she’s stayed tight-lipped.”

“That must be frustrating for you.” Watkins chuckled.

“Give me a break, sarge. Not you as well. To me Annie Pigeon is one of my responsibilities in Llanfair, the same as Evans-the-Meat.”

“But easier on the eye, right?” Watkins laughed. “I’ll call you to let you know whether it’s on for this weekend then. If the D.I. okays it, then he picks up the tab.”

“In which case we stay at the Dorchester!”

“And if not, we stay at a boardinghouse in Clapham.”

“Fine with me,” Evan said. “I just want to feel that I’m doing something positive. It’s hanging around here feeling helpless that I can’t stand.”

“I’ll see if I can get permission to take you with me, officially,” Watkins said. “After all, you were the one who knew the colonel. It might be useful to have you there. And the wife would be happier if I had someone to keep an eye on me.”

“To make sure you don’t visit the girlie clubs?” Evan chuckled.

“To make sure I don’t get lost,” Watkins confessed. “She doesn’t have a very high opinion of my map-reading skills. Ever since the time I wouldn’t ask directions on the way home from Liverpool and we wound up in Scotland.”

Evan laughed as he hung up the phone. He had to agree with Betsy that Ted Morgan’s killer was more likely to be someone who had known him recently and that meant someone in London. Betsy was a sharp girl. In fact, if Bronwen hadn’t been around—he broke his thought off in horror. Bronwen! He had a date with Bronwen on Saturday night. Now he’d have to postpone it. He just hoped she’d be understanding.

*   *   *

Bronwen smiled to herself as she rode the bus up from Bangor. She had been to the new shopping center and actually found a dress she liked. It was far from Betsy’s neon spandex idea of what was sexy but it was definitely right. It was sleeveless, blue denim, the top embroidered with tiny flowers and very form-hugging when tied back at the waist. It matched her eyes perfectly and made her look tall and slim. It also complemented her healthy outdoor look that new woman definitely didn’t have.

Bronwen was horrified to find herself thinking in terms of rivalry, but she couldn’t help it. Betsy had confirmed her own suspicions. The woman was definitely after Evan. Bronwen had observed her and it was all true. She was trying to lure him through her daughter and her sexy clothes. And he didn’t seem to be fighting too hard, either. Twice Bronwen had seen her approach him and twice he had gone with her.

But after the date this Saturday, everything would be alright. They’d have a wonderful intimate dinner, they’d talk and laugh a lot, the way they always did. Maybe she could even persuade him to take a romantic latenight stroll along the seafront. He’d realize how much he enjoyed her company. She’d make him realize how much they had in common and the new woman would be history.

Wrapped up in these warm, exciting thoughts, she was startled to see Evan coming out of the school yard as she walked up the street from the bus stop.

“Oh, there you are, Bron. I was looking for you,” he said. He definitely looked worried. It must be a strain, carrying on a murder investigation, Bronwen thought.

“I was down in Bangor, shopping. How’s your investigation coming along?”

“Not going anywhere at the moment,” Evan said. “I’m stumped on this one, Bron.”

“Maybe we can talk it through some more on Saturday. Two heads are better than one, aren’t they?”

Evan’s face fell. “About Saturday,” he said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our date.”

“I see.” Bronwen’s face was a mask of stone.

“We could do it next weekend, maybe?”

“I might be busy next weekend,” Bronwen said. “There are some friends I might go hiking with—old friends from university I haven’t seen for a while. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“Okay,” Evan said. “Some other time then.”

“Maybe. It depends.”

“On what?”

“A lot of things.” Bronwen walked calmly past Evan toward the schoolhouse. Evan watched her go. Something was going on here he didn’t quite understand.

Chapter 17

“Now I know why I don’t come to London more often,” Sergeant Watkins said as they fought their way through the crowds inside Paddington Station. A large woman almost knocked him flying with her luggage cart. “Too many bloody people and all of them in a hurry.”

Evan nodded. “I grew up in Swansea, which I always thought of as a big city, but it’s nothing compared to this.”

They came out into smoggy sunlight. Buses roared past, taxis honked, the lights changed, and a solid mass of people streamed across the street. Evan and Watkins stood there, looking and feeling like a pair of country bumpkins.

“Where first?” Watkins asked. “Check into the hotel, do you think?”

“We don’t want to carry around these bags, do we?” Evan agreed.

“So we need the taxi rank.”

“Does the North Wales police spring for taxis?” Evan asked. “There’s the tube station right there.”

“When we’re carrying luggage, it does,” Watkins said firmly. He glanced down at the small sports bag in his hand. “And to me this counts as luggage.”

“Okay, after we’ve checked in, do we go to the colonel’s flat?” Evan suggested.

“Maybe we should start off with Ted Morgan,” Watkins said thoughtfully as they joined the line for taxis. “If we want to check on his business contacts, they probably won’t be in the city tomorrow. They’ll have gone home to their country estates for the weekend.”

“Good thinking, sarge,” Evan said.

“The address we have for him isn’t too far from our hotel, is it?” Watkins asked.

“It’s Mayfair and the hotel is near Victoria. I don’t know about walking distance.”

“I thought you were the one who tramped over all those bloody hills.”

“That’s different. Pavements are hard on the feet and I’ve got my good shoes on.”

Watkins chuckled.

“Funny, that, about his address,” Evan said thoughtfully.

“What’s funny?”

“That the only address we could find for him was the one his father had.” He looked at Watkins. “If you were a businessman, wouldn’t you carry cards everywhere with you? And yet he had nothing with him—no paperwork, no cards, nothing at all to do with his business in London.”

“Perhaps he wanted to get away from it all?”

Evan shook his head. “Successful businessmen never want to get away from it all. They take their cell phone and their electronic diaries.”

“Yes, maybe you’ve got something there.”

They reached the head of the queue.