Evanly Bodies (17 page)

"Why didn't she like Terry?" Evan asked.

"They never hit it off from the start. Terry could be-prejudiced, you know. My mum is overweight. He couldn't stand overweight
people. He used to say just looking at her made him sick."

"Was Terry prejudiced about other things too?"

"Yeah. He and his mates-they were always bad-mouthing other races, you know. They blamed immigrants for coming here taking
jobs away from local men."

"Did he get into any fights about this? He wasn't a skinhead or anything was he?" Bragg asked.

"Oh no, nothing like that. They got into a few shouting matches down the pub, and he got upset when he saw immigrant families
moving in around here. He used to tell terrible jokes. When I tried to stop him, he'd say it was only in fun and I had no
sense of humor."

"Can you think of anyone who might have been angry enough with your husband to want to kill him?"

"My mum," she said instantly, then laughed. "But she'd never be able to shoot anybody. You should see how crooked she throws
darts. And where would she find a gun?"

"What about the neighbors?" Bragg asked. "Did Terry get on all right with them?"

"We don't see much of them on either side," she said. "The Smiths have got two little kids and they both work, so they're
gone early in the mornings, and all weekends it's football and gymnastics and that kind of thing."

"And the other side?"

"They're a snooty couple. Hardly say two words when you pass them. I think they're both supposed to be very brainy. She's
a librarian, I know that, and he's in some kind of research. Not our kind at all."

"Mrs. Owens," Bragg said quietly, "I want you to think back to when you went out this morning. Did you notice anything unusual
on your street? Any strange cars parked; anybody standing around watching?"

Megan Owens screwed up her face in concentration. "No," she said. "The street was deserted, except the lady who has twins
was pushing them in a stroller. She waved when I went past. She seems nice."

"So no strange cars?"

"Wait a minute. There was some kind of van, parked down at the other end of the crescent. TV repair, maybe?"

"What color?" Evan asked.

"Gray? With bright green letters? I'm sorry, I really didn't pay too much attention to it. You don't, do you?"

"And when you returned?" Bragg asked. "Did you see any cars driving away? Anything unusual then?"

"No, but I wasn't paying attention. All I could think of was getting home with those eggs so that Terry wouldn't yell at me."

"He did a lot of yelling, did he?" Evan asked.

"These days. Like I said, he was so stressed that the least little thing upset him. So I tried to make everything run as smoothly
as possible."

"Right, Mrs. Owens." Bragg straightened up. "I think that will do for now. Do you want to call your mother and go over to
her place? It would probably be best. Just as long as you give us the address and phone number so that we know where to find
you."

She nodded passively. "All right. I'll phone her," she said, chewing on her lip like a small child. "I'll come down. The phone's
in the front hall."

"If so, it's an odd kind of serial killer," Wingate said. "Not the sort of person we hear about usually."

"Why is that, Wingate?"

"I don't think I've ever come across a serial killer who targets men, for one thing," Wingate said. "I mean a true serial
killer, not a hit man who kills who he's paid to kill. Don't they always kill women? Like a sexual fantasy?"

"Not necessarily," Evan said. "Remember that bloke in America? He lured young gay men to his place and then killed them. What
was his name? Dahlmer?"

Bragg's eyes lit up with interest. "Is that the connection, do you think? That all of these men were secretly gay?"

The four men stared at each other, digesting this suggestion.

Evan opened his mouth to say that this theory was ridiculous. Luckily Wingate voiced it first.

"It would have to be very secretly gay," Wingate said, "because there's been no hint of it from anyone we've talked to."

"Well, in the case of Martin Rogers, he had his reputation to consider, didn't he? And both Luigi Alessi and Terry Owens were
blustering types who came across as one of the lads." Bragg slapped his hand on the table. "Right, so we've got a new line
of inquiry. Wingate-gay bars, gay clubs in the area. List of members. Take photos with you-see if anyone recognizes any of
our three victims."

"I wouldn't mind going back to the university again," Evan said. "We've got three men on that faculty who are unmarried. There's
just a possibility that one of them is that way inclined and could have had a relationship with Professor Rogers."

"Just because a young man is unmarried, doesn't mean he's gay, Evans," Bragg said. "Look at Wingate and Pritchard here, healthy,
red-blooded males, the two of them. Even I am not married. I can assure you there is nothing queer about me!"

"I wasn't hinting that they were necessarily that way," Evan said, feeling his hackles rising. "It just occurred to me that
if one of them were gay, then they'd know whether Martin Rogers also had those sort of tendencies."

"Worth a try, I suppose," Bragg said. "God knows, anything is worth a try at the moment. You want to tackle that then? Think
you can be tactful enough?"

More tactful than you, Evan thought. "I think so, sir," he said.

"So let me get this straight," Wingate said. "These weren't in any way killings done by somebody with a lust to kill. That
sort of killer takes his time, enjoys his victim's panic. Shooting through an open window is an impersonal way to kill. Almost
execution style. So I'm wondering if we're looking for someone who targets gay men because he abhors homosexuals? A righteous
and overly moral crackpot?"

"That's possible too. Ex-military type, still has a Japanese pistol from the war." Bragg nodded.

"In which case," Wingate continued, "that type writes letters to newspapers and may well have made a nuisance of himself before.
He may have tried to get a gay club shut down. Someone should check through newspaper files."

"Job for you then, Pritchard," Bragg said. "But I have to tell you, in my gut, I don't feel this is heading in the right direction.
Martin Rogers-yes, I suppose he could have been a closet gay. But the other two-don't seem the type. Terry Owens is newly
married. Why get married? You don't have to be secret about sexual preferences these days. Why not be openly gay?"

"And Megan Owens was recently pregnant," Pritchard chimed in, "so that shows he was doing his stuff."

"Unless he wasn't the daddy," Wingate said.

Bragg chuckled. "Assuming he was. That pretty much rules him out, in my opinion."

"So you don't want us to check out these things after all?" Wingate asked, with a touch of annoyance.

Bragg shrugged. "Might as well. It's not as if we've got a stronger lead or a stronger connection between the three. We should
follow up on that TV repair van that was parked nearby, I suppose. I'll do that. And I think I'll go and have a chat with
Megan's mum. She'd probably love to dish any dirt she has on Terry. Meet me back here at two thirty. We should have forensic
reports by then."

Evan hurried in the direction of the car park. If he got through his interviews at the university quickly enough, then there
was nothing to stop him from checking in with Watkins and seeing how the search for Jamila was proceeding. He had scarcely
driven out of the car park when his cell phone rang. He answered it, praying it wasn't Bragg, having changed his mind and
wanting Evan to be his page boy again.

"Evan, it's me," said Bronwen's soft melodious voice into his ear. "Sorry to ring you when you're working but this is important.
I did borrow a car and go to Jamila's school at lunchtime. I spoke with several of her friends, and they are all extremely
worried about her. Apparently she actually told one of the girls that her brother had threatened to kill her if she ever tainted
the honor of the family. Would you let Inspector Watkins know this?"

"I will. I'll go over there right away," Evan said.

"I'm so worried about her, Evan," she said. "I can't think straight. It's torture sitting in a classroom when I want to be
out looking for her."

"I feel the same way, love. But we both have jobs we have to do."

"I just feel there would be a better chance of finding her quickly if you were on the case."

"Come on, Bron." Evan laughed uneasily. "You know Watkins is a good man. And Glynis Davies is top-notch. If they're on the
case, they'll be doing their best."

"But what if their best isn't good enough?" Evan heard the catch in her voice.

"I'm on my way to speak to them right now. Don't worry. I'll make sure they're doing everything possible. See you tonight
then. I've no idea what time."

Instead of turning off to the university, Evan put his foot down and kept going. There was no sign of DI Watkins, but Glynis
was just coming into the police station front door as Evan was leaving.

"Hello, what are you doing here, stranger?" She gave him her dazzling smile.

"Came to check on you, actually," Evan said. "I wanted to know what news there was on Jamila."

Glynis's face grew serious again. "Nothing yet, I'm afraid. We've had the parents bugging us all morning. I went to her school
first thing, and nobody there knows where she might have gone. We've got the Leeds Police asking around her old neighborhood,
in case she's gone back there. We've shown her picture at the railway station and on the buses, and so far no luck."

"All of these are presupposing she's run away," Evan said.

"What do you mean? Of course she's run away."

Evan shook his head. "Bronwen says that Jamila's school friends agree with her, that Jamila's brother may have killed her
because she disobeyed her family and besmirched their honor."

"Oh surely not?" Glynis smiled. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it?"

"Shipping someone off to Pakistan to marry a man twice her age is extreme too, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"And if you haven't met her brother yet, he's an aggressive and violent type. Quite capable of killing, I should think."

"Inspector Watkins said he was impossible," she said. "He went to interview him again this morning and came back foaming at
the mouth."

"Rashid is anti-everything to do with Western culture," Evan said. "He's a bit of a religious fanatic. Did they search his
digs this morning?"

"Not that I know of."

"He could have her imprisoned there, if she's not already dead," Evan said.

"Evan, aren't you maybe overreacting a little?" Glynis asked. "My guess would be that one of her friends is hiding her and
just not telling us. I'll go and speak to their families tonight. I'll let them know that I'm a friend they can trust. I'll
promise not to hand her over to her family if that's not what she wants."

"I hope to God you're right." Evan paced uneasily. "Do you happen to have Rashid's new address?"

"Are you thinking of visiting him yourself?"

"I'm going to be at the university anyway, so I thought that I might . . ."

"It's not your case, Evan," she said firmly. "Don't you think DI Watkins knows how to handle it?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, then."

She was eyeing him coldly.

"I'm not suggesting that you're not trying hard enough, Glynis." "That's what it sounds like to me."

"It's just that I have a rather personal interest in this case. Bron-wen would never forgive me if anything happened to Jamila."

"We're doing everything we can, Evan. And I have to say it's rather presumptuous of you to hint that you can find her when
we can't."

Evan looked at her in surprise. Until now they had been best mates, working well together in a close-knit team.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just so frustrating not knowing what's going on and not being able to do anything."

"I understand." She nodded and attempted a smile. "I'll keep you up to date, I promise. If we hear anything, I'll let you
know. And I'll make sure that Inspector Watkins knows about the death threats Jamila's brother made."

That was the best he was going to get. Evan drove back toward the university. It was lunch hour and students were spilling
from all the academic buildings, heading for food. He tried the History Department common room and found it contained only
Gwyneth Humphries.

"Badger will be out at the dig," she said. "The others are probably battling the line at the cafeteria, except for David Skinner-he
usually brings his own lunch and eats it in the fresh air when it's not actually blowing a gale. He may also be out at the
dig." She frowned at Evan. "What is it now, may I ask? What can you possibly ask us that hasn't already been asked?"

Evan hesitated, then he decided that there probably wasn't much that Gwyneth Humphries didn't know about the workings of the
History Department.

"Is David Skinner gay?" he asked.

She looked astonished, then gave an embarrassed laugh. "To be truthful, I've sometimes suspected it, but he's not openly so.
He's not living with anybody. Why do you ask?"

"Is it possible that he might have had a relationship with Professor Rogers?"

This time she laughed out loud. "You're suggesting that Martin Rogers had homosexual leanings? Oh, dear me, no. That would
be barking completely up the wrong tree. Martin was a prude, as I think I mentioned. He was also very narrow-minded. He had
strong ideas about what was right and wrong. And he was very outspoken about homosexuality. He tried to get the university
to ban the gay/lesbian dance last year. It almost caused a campus-wide riot."

"Was there one particular student who was leading this riot? Anyone who might have been particularly upset by Professor Rogers's
stance?"

She shrugged. "I didn't pay much attention, personally. Students are always protesting about something or other. You'd have
to ask the gay/lesbian alliance. There's a very active group on campus. If you go to the Student Union Building, you'll see
their notice board."

"Thanks," Evan said. "I'll do that."

Wingate's phrase "grasping at straws" came back to him as he battled the wind across the main quad to the Student Union Building.
Students were trying to put up banners and stringing lights, and were having a tough time of it. Some kind of Celtic festival,
he noted.

Just what did he possibly hope to gain from pursuing this? If Martin Rogers wasn't gay, then that whole theory was shot-bad
choice of words, he chided himself. A member of a campus gay revolution would have had no interest in assassinating either
a pizza parlor owner or an unemployed machinist.

Still, he had learned before now that sometimes the leanest of clues, the smallest of hints, could point a detective in the
right direction to unlocking the case. He was about to join the swarm of students lining up to enter the Union Building when
he spotted a figure crossing the quad-a swarthy fellow with a dark beard, dressed in the traditional Muslim dress, white robes
billowing out around him as he strode out.

Rashid, Evan thought and changed direction. He didn't pause to consider the ramifications of following Rashid when he had
clearly been told to stay off the case. He dodged around groups of students coming up the steps from the road. Rashid was
moving fast, almost running now. Evan ran too. Down the steps, down the street, toward the town. Then he turned into one of
the Victorian houses on College Road. Evan sprinted to catch up with him before he shut the front door.

"Rashid, wait!" he called and sprinted through the traffic.

The person spun around, and Evan saw that it wasn't Rashid at all.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you were somebody else."