Constable Evans 02: Evan Help Us (7 page)

“No, sarge,” Evan said. He was thinking that it would give him some time to do some unofficial snooping. It would also put a killer at his ease. And when people relaxed, they sometimes slipped up.

“Oh, and, Evans,” Sergeant Watkins added as he climbed into the van, “no playing at detective on you own, understand me? You don’t touch anything until you get the go ahead from me, got it?”

“Very good, sir,” Evan said, giving a friendly wave as the van revved and eased its way through a crowd of curious onlookers.

But that doesn’t stop me from using my eyes and asking a few questions, Evan thought to himself.

Chapter 6

But by the end of Saturday Evan still had no other shred of evidence to convince Sergeant Watkins that they were dealing with more than an accident—apart from his own gut feeling. And he didn’t feel that they were dealing with the random act of a lunatic either. It was more sinister and more deliberate than that. For some reason someone had wanted the colonel silenced. Evan couldn’t think why. It was strange that his death had come immediately after his momentous discovery on the mountain, but Evan couldn’t imagine why the discovery of an old ruin would drive anyone to kill. If he’d been killed to prevent him from making a discovery—that would make sense. But this murder made no sense at all.

He had racked his brains all afternoon but couldn’t come up with anyone in Llanfair who didn’t like the colonel. The old man had been a popular figure in the village. To Evan’s knowledge he had never fallen out with anyone.

This was borne out by the genuine sadness Evan noticed as the colonel’s body was collected to be taken to the pathologist in Bangor. The local people stood watching silently. Men in the crowd removed their caps. Women dabbed at their eyes. Evan glanced around, trying to observe the crowd and note who was present, who was missing.

“Are you going to take the tape down now?” one of the little boys asked Evan as the van drove away.

“Not yet. We have to leave it up for the time being.” Evan raised his voice a little. “We need to find out just how and where he fell into the river, so that we can prevent any more accidents like this, don’t we?”

He started to move among the crowd, asking questions. On the pretext of asking people if they remembered what time the colonel left the pub, Evan managed to compile a pretty accurate list of who was there that night. The list included almost all the men of the village, plus some of the women as well. The only men not present were a couple of young lads out on dates, some fathers home with their wives, and the Rev. Powell-Jones who, unlike his rival at the other chapel, never touched the demon alcohol.

That meant that almost every able-bodied man in the village had a cast-iron alibi for that night. Most of them had seen the colonel leave the pub, but nobody saw what happened after that. As Evan had guessed, all the other inhabitants of Llanfair were safely indoors with curtains drawn at nine o’clock.

It was late Saturday afternoon when Evan finished interviewing the villagers and went to talk to Mrs. Owens, the colonel’s landlady. He skirted the police tape along the riverbank but crossed the river by the same little bridge from which the colonel had plunged to his death. Evan stood on the planks that spanned the stream, watching the water cascade over the rocks. It was true that the colonel could have hit his head if he had fallen onto those rocks, and the rushing water would have wiped away any trace of blood. But the bridge really wasn’t unstable, and it was wide enough for a man to cross safely, unless he was very drunk indeed.

Mrs. Owens was quite distraught when she opened the front door. She dabbed her eyes with a sodden handkerchief as she led him into her kitchen and offered him a seat at the scrubbed pine table. Evan looked around with approval, thinking that this was just how a farm kitchen should look. One wall was taken up with an enormous Welsh dresser containing a set of willow pattern plates, another wall was dominated by a big cast-iron stove, now superseded by the smart electric range beside it. The walls were whitewashed stone and the floor well-scrubbed gray slate. The whole place was spotless. No wonder the colonel felt so comfortable here.

“We ought never to have shown him that shortcut.” Mrs. Owens sniffed as she poured Evan a cup of tea without asking. “It’s our fault. We should have known an old man like that could have lost his balance on that bridge. I kept telling Mr. Owens that it was rickety and needed repairing, but you know how busy he is.” She blew her nose noisily.

Evan nodded with sympathy. “Don’t upset yourself,” he said. “I’ve been across the bridge. It’s just fine and the colonel was as surefooted as an old goat, wasn’t he? Look where he hiked in the mountains and never had any mishaps.”

He stopped talking, staring out of Mrs. Owens’ window at the green slopes that rose steeply. Surely if anyone had wanted to kill the colonel, it would have been much less risky to have done it up there. It would have been the simplest thing in the world to have followed him up into the high country and waited for the right moment to push him over a cliff. No one would ever have disputed that was an accident. So why risk doing it so close to the village?

“… and he was always so happy here.” Evan came back from his thoughts to hear Mrs. Owens in the middle of a sentence.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about something,” he said. “What were you saying?”

“Just that he always came here looking so peaky and down at the mouth and he perked up right away,” Mrs. Owens said. “I don’t think he had much to live for in London.”

“Did he talk to you much about his life in London?” Evan asked.

“I didn’t like to ask,” Mrs. Owens said. “He was a paying guest, after all. It wouldn’t have been proper to gossip. But I know it wasn’t much. He had his walks around the park and the library and his club, maybe a night out at the pictures once a week. Not much of a life, poor man. He’d outlived all his friends and relatives, look you.”

“So he didn’t get any visitors then?”

“Never had a visitor in all the years he’s been here.”

“And what about letters? Did he get letters or phone calls from London?”

“Nothing. The poor man had nobody in the world, did he?”

“It seemed that way,” Evan said. He got up from the hard kitchen chair. “At least you made his last days happy, Mrs. Owens. That’s something worth thinking about, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Owens nodded and blew her nose again before she got up and opened the door for him. He retraced his steps across the Owenses field, pausing to stare up at the slopes above where the colonel had made his great discovery. Was there any way that his death could have had something to do with that? Had somebody not wanted him to find the ruin? If so, then they were too late, weren’t they? Now the whole village knew about it, and they were excited about it too.

Evan lay awake thinking most of the night. The colonel had had no enemies, no friends either. His only encounters seemed to be in the pub, but there was nobody he knew well. Not well enough to make him a target for murder. Nothing made sense.

Who would possibly benefit from his death? That was the first question they always taught you to ask in detective training. The colonel had outlived his family and friends. He had no fortune to leave to anyone. In fact Evan got the feeling that the colonel had just about made do on his pension. His well-worn clothing attested to that. Not exactly the kind of man who got bumped off for his money—unless he was one of those old eccentrics who lived like paupers but had pound notes stuffed in the mattress. Even knew that such people existed, but he doubted that the colonel had been one of them. For one thing the colonel was a generous man. He had never been slow to return hospitality in the pub. Oh well, no use speculating until they had the pathologist’s report on Monday. He could be quite wrong …

*   *   *

Sunday dawned clear and bright and Evan looked out of his window wondering if he should even think about taking a day off. Would it be too crass and unfeeling to go out hiking the day after the colonel’s death? Might someone dare to cross the police tape and tamper with the site while he was gone? Was it possible that he’d be needed if some kind of evidence turned up?

Then he reminded himself that he wasn’t a detective, in fact he had been told to mind his own business and not do any detecting on his own. If they were dealing with a murder, he had done what was required of him—he had alerted the criminal investigation unit in Caernarfon and now it was up to them. He was a humble bobby and it was his day off.

He put on his climbing boots and went downstairs. There was no radio playing in the kitchen. Mrs. Williams greeted him with a somber nod. She was dressed in black and she looked in horror at his sweater and cords.

“You’re never going up to the mountains today, Mr. Evans?” she asked in a shocked whisper. “And the poor colonel not even buried decently yet?”

Evan shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do, is there, Mrs. Williams? And I’m sure the colonel wouldn’t mind if I went out walking. After all, it was what he loved doing best.”

“That’s true enough,” Mrs. Williams nodded. “A kind of tribute to him, then, poor dear man.” She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “Such a terrible tragedy. I always said that little bridge was unsafe. Why couldn’t he have gone up the road instead of taking that stupid shortcut. Then he’d be with us still.” She fought to control herself. “Life must go on,” she said stiffly. “You’ll be wanting your breakfast then, is it?”

“Just some toast will do,” Evan said. He was really looking forward to bacon, sausage, and the works, but for once it didn’t appear that these were being offered.

Mrs. Williams nodded as if toast was a fitting meal for those in grief. “I’ll make you some toast, then I must be away off to chapel,” she said, cutting off two large slices of bread. “You’re not coming to chapel then?”

“Not this morning,” Evan said. “I’ll probably go tonight.”

“I hope you men will have the decency not to go sneaking round to the pub after chapel,” Mrs. Williams said.

“Us? Sneak to the pub? Whatever gave you that idea?” Evan asked innocently.

Mrs. Williams sniffed. “You think we don’t see you? There’s not much goes on in this village that isn’t common knowledge, Mr. Evans. And I think you should respect the colonel’s memory for once and not go drinking on the Sabbath.”

Evan thought of saying that he thought it was likely the colonel would have approved of everyone having a drink in his memory, but he swallowed back the words at the last minute. They took death very seriously in Llanfair.

“So do you think they’ll postpone the village meeting tomorrow night?” he asked.

Mrs. Williams shook her head. “Not from what Reverend Parry Davies was saying. He said he thought we should forge ahead as the colonel would have wished—although I don’t exactly see what we need a meeting about. I mean, either the ruin turns out to be the saint’s grave or not.”

“There’s more to it than that, Mrs. Williams,” Evan said. “There are all sorts of crazy ideas floating around about changing Llanfair’s name.”

“Changing our name? What on earth to?”

Evan grinned. “Who knows? They started by suggesting that we now call ourselves Llanfair BG, short for Llanfair Bedd Gelert.”

“Like they do with Llanfair PG, instead of having to say the whole long mouthful?”

“Exactly. And then someone wanted to make it longer than that other Llanfair, so that we can get into the Guinness book of records.”

“I’ve heard some daft things in my time, but that takes the cake.” Mrs. Williams sniffed. “Getting too big for their boots, that’s what they are, and no good ever comes of that. I think I’ll go to that meeting and tell them so.”

“You do that, Mrs. Williams,” Evan encouraged, smiling.

Mrs. Williams didn’t smile. “Sometimes it needs a woman to make men see sense,” she said. “You wait till you’re married, young man. Then you’ll find out—which reminds me. Now what does it remind me of?”

Evan could guess what was coming next. If he wasn’t careful he was going to be set up for another encounter with Sharon.

“My toast isn’t about to burn, is it?” he asked quickly. “Don’t worry. I can get it. You best hurry to chapel or you’ll be late.”

“Well, if you’re sure you’ll be alright,” Mrs. Williams said hesitantly. “I don’t like leaving you to fend for yourself.”

“I’ll be fine. Off you go,” Evan encouraged.

He sighed with relief as the front door closed and settled down to toast and Mrs. Williams’ homemade marmalade.

He found he didn’t have much of an appetite after all, so he cleaned up the breakfast table and was well away from the house before Mrs. Williams returned from chapel. Not that she’d be back in a hurry today, he decided. With the tragedy to the colonel and the upcoming village meeting, there would be more to gossip about than usual this morning.

*   *   *

Evan paused as he crossed the bridge. The water splashed and sparkled among the rocks as if there had never been a tragedy further upstream. He gazed at the police tape still sealing off the bank where the colonel’s body had lain. He was tempted to examine the area for blood spots or signs of a heavy body being dragged, just in case the rain came in before the lab boys got there. One good Welsh rain would wash any evidence away. But then he reminded himself that D.I. Hughes had a very short temper and had told Evans once before that he’d be in serious trouble if he interfered again.

Evan sighed and walked on. It was times like this that made him regret dropping out of detective training.

“Yoo-hoo! Evan!” He looked up as he heard his name being called and saw that Annie Pigeon was hurrying down the street toward him, dragging a reluctant Jenny beside her.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” she asked as she stopped beside him. “Are you going walking?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“I thought we might go for a little walk ourselves,” Annie said cautiously. “Although I’m a bit nervous about going up to the hills by myself.”

“Oh, it’s quite safe,” Evan said. “I wouldn’t worry.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Annie’s voice had just a tinge of sharpness. “I meant about getting lost and falling down old mines. I’ve never lived in a place like this before. I don’t know a thing—which paths are safe, which plants are safe, whether sheep attack you…”