Constable Evans 03: Evanly Choirs (12 page)

“They’ll be here, don’t you worry,” Abbott said with a momentary frown of annoyance. “Just as soon as the word gets out, they’ll be pouring in from all over Europe.”

Evan went over to the group of villagers. Charlie’s wife, Mair, was in the middle of recounting her story again. “And then I looked out of the window again and bless me if they weren’t carrying the poor man out on a stretcher. He must have been a load, too. They were staggering all over the place. I thought they were going to drop him once and I said to Charlie, You better go out and give them a hand…”

Evans-the-Meat came out of his shop to join them and soon most of the members of the Llanfair choir were assembled there.

“What they’re saying is true, then, is it?” the butcher asked Evan. “Ifor Llewellyn is dead?”

Evan nodded. “I’m afraid so, Gareth.”

“What do you think will happen then, Mr. Evans?” Harry-the-Pub asked. “About the
eisteddfod,
I mean. We surely won’t be singing after this. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I think we should go ahead and sing,” Evans-the-Meat said. “In tribute to our famous native son. Remember what he said to us? He said the grandest thing a Welshman can do is to sing in an
eisteddfod.
”

“I think he said win an
eisteddfod,
Gareth,” Roberts-the-Pump said dryly. “And I don’t think we’re likely to do that without Ifor, do you?”

“At least I think we should give it our best shot,” Evans-the-Meat said.

“I think it would be up to Mostyn,” Evan suggested. “He’s the choir director, isn’t he? I don’t know if he’ll feel like singing today. He was very shaken up last night.”

“Well he’s got a very weak stomach, Austin Mostyn has,” Evans-the-Meat said. “He’s not exactly what you’d call robust, is he—in fact I can’t imagine him rooming with Ifor Llewellyn when they were students. They must have driven each other mad.”

“Ifor certainly enjoyed baiting him, that’s for sure,” Harry chuckled. “You know there never were any men from Blenau Ffestiniog here that night he claimed that they’d been to see him. He was just making that up to get a rise out of Mostyn—he told me so.”

“Well, he won’t be getting a rise out of anyone anymore,” Roberts-the-Pump said dryly. “It just shows you. You can never tell when your number’s going to be up.”

The men nodded. Having worked in the precarious conditions of the slate mine, they knew this to be true. Life wasn’t always easy in a mountain village.

“So should we plan on going down to the
eisteddfod
this afternoon or not?” Harry-the-Pub persisted.

“Why don’t we wait until we’ve heard from Mostyn,” Evan said. “I’m not sure that they’ll let me get away to sing. They’re anticipating crowds later.”

At that moment the bus came groaning up the steep grade, belching a cloud of black diesel fumes, and stopped outside the pub. Several hikers got off and headed straight for the Mount Snowdon trails, hitching up their packs as they went. They were followed by a tiny, sparrowlike woman in a well-worn black coat, clutching a shopping basket that seemed too large for her. She started up the street toward the chapels, then saw the crowd standing around and broke into a brisk trot.

“’Deed to goodness—what’s happening here then?” she asked, pushing her way into the middle of the crowd.

“Oh, it’s you, Gladys,” Mair Hopkins said. “I didn’t think you worked on Saturdays.”

“I don’t usually, but they asked me to come in, seeing that the mistress has been away.” Her eyes strayed to the police car in the driveway. “What’s going on here then?”

Evan stepped forward before anyone could give her an amended version. “There’s been an accident, Gladys. I’m afraid Mr. Llewellyn’s dead.”

Gladys’s jaw dropped open. “Mr. Llewellyn dead, is it? No! It can’t be. He was right as rain when I left him last night, talking and laughing as if he hadn’t got a care in the world.”

Evan’s ears pricked up. “Last night? You were here last night—until what time?”

“I was working late, see,” Gladys said, frowning to remember, “on account of the mistress being gone. I thought I’d stay on and make them some dinner, so she had a good meal when she got back—not just that cold salami stuff that they seem to eat. It must have been around six when I left. Yes, it must have been, of course, because I got the six-ten bus, didn’t I?”

“And Mr. Llewellyn had someone with him then?”

“He had to have, didn’t he? I could hear them chatting away in the living room.”

“Do you know who it was?”

Gladys shook her head. “I couldn’t rightly say. I was in the kitchen with the door shut, look you, and I don’t think the master knew I was still there. I usually go by four, but I thought I’d just make a nice shepherd’s pie so they’d get something warm in their stomachs.” She paused and looked around at the crowd. She was clearly enjoying being the center of attention for once. “Well, I’d got the pie out of the oven, look you, so I thought that maybe I should go and tell him that it was on the table ready, whenever he was hungry. But when I got to the living room door, I heard him talking and laughing and I didn’t like to disturb him. He doesn’t always take kindly to being disturbed, especially when he’s singing, poor man.”

“So you’ve no idea who the other person was?” Evan asked. “A man or a woman?”

Gladys frowned. “I couldn’t rightly say. Not a high woman’s voice but it could have been either. “I couldn’t hear the other voice as well as the master’s. He’s got a very big voice, hasn’t he? The other one was very faint through the door and Mr. Llewellyn was doing most of the talking, and laughing, too. I didn’t hear what they were saying though. I just went on home.”

“Thank you, Gladys. You’ve been very helpful,” Evan said.

“Can I go in and do my dusting now, sir?” Gladys asked.

“I’m afraid nobody’s allowed in yet,” Evan said.

“But I came all the way here. It cost me seventy pence on the bus and there won’t be one back until ten.”

“You can come across to the police station,” Evan said. “I’ll make you a cup of tea and maybe I can take down everything you’ve told me. Who knows, it might be important.”

“Might it now?” Gladys looked delighted. “Well, who would have thought it?” She trotted beside Evan on her little bird legs, taking five steps to every one of his.

“You know, I might recognize the voice again if I heard it,” she said as they moved away from the crowd. “It was kind of unusual like.”

They had just reached the police station and Evan was about to unlock the door when a shrill voice froze him in his tracks. “Constable Evans! I need your assistance this minute, if you please.”

Evan turned around to face Mrs. Powell-Jones, storming down the street with a look of thunder on her face. “Constable Evans. Will you please go and tell those impudent young men who are currently lounging around the police car in my driveway who I am? They are refusing me entry to my own house. They informed me, very rudely indeed, that they had orders to admit nobody and that included me.”

Evan began to think more kindly of Jim Abbott and his partner. Anyone who could get the better of Mrs. Powell-Jones, even temporarily, deserved a medal.

“I’m afraid what they said is true, Mrs. Powell-Jones,” Evan said soothingly. “We can’t have anyone in there until the lab boys have had a chance to take their samples.”

Mrs. Powell-Jones’s face was incredulous. “Take their samples? I understood this was a tragic accident. Are you saying it’s something more sinister?”

“Not at all. But in the case of any accidental death, we have to establish the exact cause, and that means taking samples from objects in the room.”

“I’ve never heard such rubbish,” Mrs. Powell-Jones snapped. “If I don’t get access to my house soon, I shall have to telephone my friend the commissioner. I need to see if any of my furniture has been damaged in the accident. It’s very old and valuable, you know.”

“I’m sure it won’t take long once the Forensic team arrives, Mrs. Powell-Jones,” Evan said. “It should be all clear by later today. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Valuable ornaments might have been knocked over,” Mrs. Powell-Jones said. “Not that I am one to place a monetary value on things, but my ornaments have great sentimental value for me. Some of them have been in my family for generations.”

“There was nothing broken as far as I could tell,” Evan said.

Mrs. Powell-Jones’s ears pricked up. “Ah, so you actually saw the body?”

“Yes, I was the one who found him.”

“And?”

“I really can’t tell you anything yet. The D.I. will be issuing a statement. I’ve been told not to talk about it.”

Mrs. Powell-Jones shook her head in annoyance and made tsk-tsk noises. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea to let the house to that man, however much money he offered,” she said. “If I’d realized he was the same Ifor Llewellyn who used to carry the coal scuttles up to our rooms … breeding will tell, you know. Or lack of it.” She leaned closer to Evan. “I understand he drank, like a fish?” She paused. Evan said nothing. “Drinking is the cause of so much grief in the world, isn’t it?” she went on. “That’s why I—” Suddenly she noticed Gladys standing in the shadows of the doorway. “Gladys, what are you doing here?”

“I was coming to do my work, ma’am. They asked me to come in today.”

“On a weekend? They were paying you extra, I hope?”

“Oh yes, ma’am. Quite a bit more than you give me.” Gladys looked smug.

“Such extravagance.” Mrs. Powell-Jones shook her head again. “Ah well, I suppose I must do my duty and go to offer words of comfort to the bereaved widow. She is in the house, I take it?”

Very clever, Evan thought. Mrs. Powell-Jones certainly wasn’t stupid. “No, she’s up at the Everest Inn,” he said, watching her face fall. “I think your husband’s already up there with her.”

Having dispatched Mrs. Powell-Jones, Evan seated Gladys, made her tea, and was just getting her statement from her when he saw the white shape of the Police Incident van come to a halt outside his open door.

“I’ll be right back, Gladys. Don’t go away,” he said.

“It’s up the street where those people are standing, by the chapel,” he called to the van. To his surprise it was not one of the lab technicians but Sergeant Watkins who got out of the van first.

“I’ll be with you boys in a minute. You know where to go, don’t you?” Watkins waved to the van driver and the van then continued on up the street.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Sarge,” Evan began. “I thought you’d got today off and—”

Sergeant Watkins cut him short. “Okay, how do you do it, that’s what I want to know?” he demanded, striding toward Evan.

“Do what?”

“Is it something about your nose? It’s not a particularly big nose. It’s a very ordinary nose, when you come to look at it, so it must be something else.”

Evan was looking at him as if he’d suddenly started speaking Serbo-Croatian. “Excuse me, Sergeant. I don’t follow you. Why are we talking about my nose? What’s that got to do with anything? Am I supposed to have smelled something?”

“You know very well you are. Smelled a rat, that’s what.” Sergeant Watkins tapped the side of his own, more generous, nose as he gave Evan a knowing wink. “You sensed it, didn’t you, right from the start. You picked up on the glass for one thing. And those subtle questions to the doctor about heart attacks. You didn’t suspect for one minute that he’d had a heart attack—”

“Wait a second, Sarge,” Evan interrupted again. “Are you telling me that it wasn’t an accident?”

“Accident my foot,” Sergeant Watkins said. “Someone coshed him on the head.”

Chapter 11

Evan stared at him. “He was murdered? They’re sure of it?” Had he suspected it all along, he wondered. Had that been the uneasy prickling of his skin when he was in that room? Was it the presence of evil and not the heat that had made him feel clammy, and made Mostyn Phillips look as if he was about to faint?

Sergeant Watkins moved closer to him although there was nobody within hearing distance. “Pretty conclusive, I’d say. There was no alcohol in his system, for one thing. So he hadn’t been drinking. The killer just splashed it around a lot to give that impression. And whatever killed him wasn’t the knob on the fender. It had at least one sharp edge.”

Evan tried not to be glad that his hunch had been right. An accident was one thing. This opened up a whole new can of worms.

“The D.I. is down in Caernarfon, playing host to the press and loving every minute of it. So I’ve got instructions to come up here and do the spadework before he shows up. Are you in the mood for some digging?”

Evan smiled. “Ready when you are, Sarge.”

“Right, let’s go into your office and you can start me off with the background facts.”

“I’ve got the cleaning lady in there right now,” Evan said. “You could start with her. She was one of the last people to see and hear Ifor Llewellyn alive. I’ve just been taking her statement, in fact.”

“One of the last people, was she? That’s useful.”

“It certainly is,” Evan agreed. “And according to her, it seems that Ifor had a visitor yesterday evening, not too long before he was killed.”

He ushered Sergeant Watkins into the one-room station. “Gladys, this is Sergeant Watkins,” he said. “I think he’d like to hear your story.”

“Very well, sir,” Gladys said, smiling shyly.

“Before we start, Gladys,” Sergeant Watkins said. “You’ve been working in the house all the time Mr. Llewellyn’s been there?”

“Oh yes sir, and for years before that. I’ve been housekeeper to the minister and Mrs. Powell-Jones since nineteen seventy-nine. I know that house like the back of my hand.”

“Good.” Sergeant Watkins nodded. “We’ll probably want you to come on a tour with us later, after the men from my headquarters have finished with the room. Now, Gladys,” he perched on the edge of Evan’s desk, smiling down at her. “What can you tell me about working for Mr. and Mrs. Llewellyn?”

“Well, sir, it wasn’t always easy, as I was telling Constable Evans here. I never knew whether I was coming or going. When the minister was there, everything went like clockwork. They always had lunch twelve-thirty on the dot. I always laid the little table for tea before I went at four. And it was always washing on Monday, ironing on Tuesday, polishing on Wednesday—”