Authors: Rhys Bowen
Evan Only Knows (21 page)
A few minutes later Evan jumped back into the car. “Right, Bron. Home for lunch and then we’ve got work to do.”“What sort of work? He agreed to your crazy request then, did he?”
“Reluctantly. But he did have to admit that I’d put forward a good case in Tony’s defense.
“So what are you going to do now?”
“Check out Charles Peterson’s alibi, to start with.”
“You’ll have his family phoning the DCI again if you pester them.”
“I thought I might just slip into the builder’s yard and see if Charles has to log that van in and out. And I’ve a job for you too, if you feel up to it?”
“After last night’s triumph and then this morning’s successful sessions, I think I’ve got the hang of this sleuthing business rather well. What do you want me to do?”
“This probably has nothing to do with the case at all, but Turnbull lied about where he was that night. He said he came from a council meeting. I checked at the council offices and found the meeting had been cut short that night because too many members were out of town and there wasn’t a quorum. So I just wondered
where Turnbull went on his way home. And I have an idea.”
where Turnbull went on his way home. And I have an idea.”
“Yes?”
“I think there’s hanky-panky going on with Miss Jones, his secretary. I picked up vibes between then when I was in his office, and then some of his workers hinted at much the same thing.”
“So you want me to check if he visited her that night?”
Evan nodded. “It might fill in another piece of the puzzle.”
“Although, as you say, I can’t see what it might have to do with Alison being killed. He still arrived home at the same time and found his daughter dead.”
“But he lied. Always useful to check out a lie.”
“Of course he lied.” Bronwen laughed. “You’d lie if you’d spent the evening with your bit of stuff. Although in your case,” she paused, “it wouldn’t do much good. You’d go bright red and look as guilty as hell. In fact I’ll have no problem keeping tabs on you, my sweet.”
“Well, that’s nice to know, isn’t it.” He pulled out into the main stream of traffic heading into the town. “But Turnbull’s lying is important. It’s just another thing that proves this wasn’t the perfectly happy model family they want people to think they were. I wonder what else they might be trying to hide?”
“Ma, we’re home,” Evan called as he opened the front door. There was no smell of cooking. That was a bad sign. He went through to the kitchen, ahead of Bronwen. “Weren’t you expecting us for lunch?” he asked. The table wasn’t laid. Mrs. Evans sat reading the newspaper.
“I thought you’d be out, doing your detective work.” She didn’t look up. “I had Bill Howells on the phone awhile ago. Very upset, he was. He said the detective inspector was furious with you and that you might have spoiled their whole case with your interfering.” She raised her eyes to confront him. “What on earth’s got into you, Evan? You know better than that. I can understand how you feel about getting Tony Mancini convicted good and proper this time, but that doesn’t give you the right to interfere with what the police
are doing. Your dad would never have done that. He wouldn’t want you to either.”
are doing. Your dad would never have done that. He wouldn’t want you to either.”
“Sorry, Ma,” Evan muttered, feeling about five-years-old again. He half expected to be sent to his room.
“You think you know better than senior officers, do you? You think they don’t know their job, is it?”
“Of course not. Look, I said I’m sorry. Let’s drop it. Bronwen and I haven’t had any lunch yet, but we can get a bite to eat at a café.”
“Sit down, the pair of you. I can make you some ham sandwiches, I suppose.” She got up and was instantly bustling around the kitchen. “Put the kettle on then. I expect you could both do with a cup of tea.”
Evan let out a sigh of relief as they left again after lunch. “That was tricky, wasn’t it?” he muttered as he opened the car door for Bronwen.
She nodded. “Definite frost in the air.”
“I don’t know what she’s going to say if she finds out I’ve been trying to prove Tony Mancini innocent. I have a feeling if I get him off, I won’t have a friend in the entire city of Swansea.”
“You’ll have me,” Bronwen said. “I admire what you’re doing, Evan. I know how hard it must be for you. I think you’re completely crazy, by the way, but I still admire you.”
They drove up to the Unico factory, where only a guard was on duty in the main building. Bronwen managed to convince him that she was the long-time friend of Miss Jones and she was visiting Swansea, trying to track her down. She came out triumphant with a home phone number and then set up an appointment to meet.
“How did you persuade her to see you?” Evan asked in admiration.
“I’m a schoolteacher, I can sound authoritative if I have to.” Bronwen looked smug.
Evan dropped her off at the row of houses where Turnbull’s secretary lived, then drove to Peterson’s builder’s yard. He was annoyed
to find the tall gates locked and the van parked in the yard beside a large flatbed lorry.
to find the tall gates locked and the van parked in the yard beside a large flatbed lorry.
Before going home Evan decided to pay another visit to Mrs. Hartley, the elderly neighbor who had first spotted Charles’s van parked outside the Turnbull’s house. Now that he had a description of Charles, she might remember seeing him in the Turnbull’s front garden. And a recollection of him might just jog her memory of other things she had seen and heard that night.
There were cars parked in the Turnbulls’ driveway as he drove past their house. He was careful to park behind the hedge out of sight. He didn’t want Mrs. Turnbull on the phone to the DCI again. Dr. Hartley took awhile to open the door.
“I’m sorry, but she’s had a bad day today,” he said, indicating up the stairs with a nod of his head. “She does, from time to time. She’s been crying and begging me to take her home. It’s—very hard to take. I gave her a sedative. She’s sleeping peacefully now.”
“Right. Sorry to have troubled you then.” Evan turned to go.
“Come back tomorrow, if you like.” Mr. Hartley managed a smile. “She may be right as rain then. You can never tell.”
Evan wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything.
Bronwen was already seated in his mother’s kitchen by the time Evan arrived home. The two women were having a cup of tea, and Evan thought he heard animated conversation and laughter as he opened the front door. At least that was one good sign. They broke off as he came into the room, and he had the impression they were annoyed at being disturbed.
“Well, here you are, at last then.” Mrs. Evans got to her feet and lifted the tea cozy from the pot. “We wondered where you’d got to.”
“Oh, just talking with a bloke who used to be a teacher at my school.” Evan looked across and caught Bronwen’s eye.
“A teacher from your old school, is it? That’s nice.” She poured the tea and put a large slab of
bara brith
in front of Evan. “I expect you’ll be needing something to keep you going before your supper.
I got some kippers for tonight, if that’s all right with you. Bronwen tells me she likes kippers just fine.” She smiled at Bronwen. Evan sensed that somehow during his absence, Bronwen had become the favored one. Maybe because his mother was still angry at him and hoped Bronwen would be able to make him see sense.
bara brith
in front of Evan. “I expect you’ll be needing something to keep you going before your supper.
I got some kippers for tonight, if that’s all right with you. Bronwen tells me she likes kippers just fine.” She smiled at Bronwen. Evan sensed that somehow during his absence, Bronwen had become the favored one. Maybe because his mother was still angry at him and hoped Bronwen would be able to make him see sense.
“I thought Bronwen and I might go for a little walk before supper, if you don’t mind,” he said to his mother. “I’ve hardly seen her all day.”
“So I’ve been hearing. And you just ran off and left her at her parents’ house with nothing to do and nowhere to go, so I’ve heard. That’s not the way to win a young girl’s affection, Evan. My Robert always devoted his spare time to me. If he wasn’t working, he was at my side.”
Evan thought this was a slight rose-tinting of history. His father, he remembered, had been a keen lawn bowler, a keen supporter of the Swansea football club, and not against a swift half at the pub. Bronwen got to her feet. “A walk would be nice. It’s turned into a lovely evening, hasn’t it?”
Once outside, she slipped her arm through his. “I was worried about you,” she said, “but I couldn’t let your mother know.”
“What was there to worry about?”
“Evan!” She looked shocked. “If you really believe that Tony Mancini is innocent, then obviously the person who killed Alison is still out there. You have to watch yourself.”
“I’m fine,
cariad
. You don’t have to worry about me.” He squeezed her hand.
cariad
. You don’t have to worry about me.” He squeezed her hand.
“Of course I worry about you. If there is some kind of drug connection, we know how those people behave. One of them killed your father, remember?”
Evan nodded. “I’m hardly likely to forget that, but I still think that the cover-up is more likely. I didn’t have much luck checking out Charles Peterson’s alibi, but I’ll try again in the morning.”
“So you’re ruling out the drug connection, are you?” she asked.
They paused at a railing, overlooking the downs. The wind blew Bronwen’s hair into her eyes. “Not entirely,” Evan said. “The one thing I don’t quite understand is leaving the body on the doorstep.
That doesn’t fit Charles Peterson’s character at all. If he’d killed Alison in a fit of rage and jealousy, his entire instinct would be to hide the body where it wouldn’t be found for a long while. He’d probably have stuffed her into the van and dumped her into the ocean.”
That doesn’t fit Charles Peterson’s character at all. If he’d killed Alison in a fit of rage and jealousy, his entire instinct would be to hide the body where it wouldn’t be found for a long while. He’d probably have stuffed her into the van and dumped her into the ocean.”
“It does smack of revenge killing, I agree. Whoever left her there wanted to send a message—”
“Or to punish her parents somehow. What about your interview with Turnbull’s secretary?”
She grinned. “Oh, I’m turning into a supersleuth. You’d be so proud of me. We chatted away. I told her I’d worked for Turnbull long before her time, and he had made a pass at me and I wondered if he’d been like that with all the girls.
“She was worried for a moment. She thought I might be planning to bring a sexual harassment suit. I told her no, just curiosity. I had handled him just fine. Bit of a pussy cat really. And she’d agreed. He was very sweet when you got to know him. All he wanted was affection really. That cold wife of his had shut him out of her bedroom long ago. Was it any wonder that he turned to someone young and warm and pretty?”
“She told you all that, did she?”
“And more. She’d have gone into vivid bedroom details, if I’d let her. Actually I think she’s rather proud of being Turnbull’s mistress. She sees it as a status symbol.”
“So was he with her that evening?”
“Of course he was. That and most nights when he was supposed to be working late, or playing golf, or going for drinks at the country club. He left her place about nine-fifteen, she thinks.”
Evan digested this. “That’s about right. He would have driven home slowly so that he’d arrive at the usual time a council meeting would be over.”
“So we know a little more about Mr. Turnbull, but it doesn’t help us much, does it? It doesn’t give us anyone else with a motive.” She turned her head so that the wind came full into her face, sweeping her hair back like a ship’s figurehead. “Look, do you want me to go back to the club tonight? I told my new friends I’d see them
again. I might be able to get some more information out of them. Now I know what two of Alison’s girlfriends look like, I can ask if they might have been seen at the club. One of them might even show up.”
again. I might be able to get some more information out of them. Now I know what two of Alison’s girlfriends look like, I can ask if they might have been seen at the club. One of them might even show up.”
“And you could ask about Charles Peterson too, although I can’t see him as the clubbing type. I’m sure he’d be an even worse dancer than me. Unfortunately, I don’t know what Simon Richards looks like, but you could drop his name and see if you get any reaction.”
“Right oh, then. It’s back undercover. I must say it is rather fun. And there’s something about the blue spiked hair too. Blokes don’t mess with girls with blue spiked hair.”
They walked back in companionable silence.
Evan’s mother clearly disapproved of their going out again after supper that night.“It’s like Paddington Station around here with all the coming and going,” she said. “Why on earth do you need to be out at this time of night?”
“It’s only nine o’clock, Ma, and we are on holiday. How often do Bronwen and I have the chance to go out in the evenings? There’s nothing to do up in Llanfair.” Evan patted her shoulder. “Don’t wait up. We may be late.”
Mrs. Evans sniffed and folded her arms. Evan thought he caught the muttered word “gallivanting.”
Bronwen changed clothes and put on the wig in the ladies’ room at the bus station. “Off to work then,” she said, as he pulled up across from the Monkey’s Uncle. “Don’t wait for me outside this time. I don’t want to blow my cover.” She grinned. “How about that—I’m even learning the jargon. Why don’t you park up that side street so that nobody sees me getting into your car, just in case.”
“All right.”
She climbed out, adjusted her wig, and then ran across the road. Suddenly Evan got the feeling that she had taken over. This was a new, confident Bronwen he hadn’t seen before. He gave her one
last look as he drove off. She had joined the line of young people making their way into the club. He parked where she suggested and then went to a nearby pub. There was a loud American gangster film on the telly and he didn’t enjoy drinking alone, so he walked around a bit; then it started to rain and he went to sit in the car. He must have dozed off, because he was suddenly conscious of the sound. He sat up and saw the crowd of young people spilling out onto the street. A couple of uniformed police stood at the end of the side street where he was parked, watching the crowd. They were certainly loud enough. Shouts, snatches of song, wild laughter, echoed back from the tall buildings along Kingsway. Evan watched and waited. At last the crowd thinned, then dwindled to stragglers. The policeman officers moved on, leaving an empty Kingsway before him. Still he waited, but Bronwen didn’t come. She had told him where to park, so she couldn’t have forgotten.
last look as he drove off. She had joined the line of young people making their way into the club. He parked where she suggested and then went to a nearby pub. There was a loud American gangster film on the telly and he didn’t enjoy drinking alone, so he walked around a bit; then it started to rain and he went to sit in the car. He must have dozed off, because he was suddenly conscious of the sound. He sat up and saw the crowd of young people spilling out onto the street. A couple of uniformed police stood at the end of the side street where he was parked, watching the crowd. They were certainly loud enough. Shouts, snatches of song, wild laughter, echoed back from the tall buildings along Kingsway. Evan watched and waited. At last the crowd thinned, then dwindled to stragglers. The policeman officers moved on, leaving an empty Kingsway before him. Still he waited, but Bronwen didn’t come. She had told him where to park, so she couldn’t have forgotten.
Finally he could stand it no longer and got out of the car. A band member with wild hair was maneuvering a large instrument case down the stairs of the club. “Is anyone still up there?” Evan asked.
“Only Joe, packing up his drums,” the boy replied in a heavy South Wales accent.
Evan waited until he came down then went up the stairs. The ball and the laser light had been turned off and a single naked light bulb showed the peeling black paint on the walls and the litter-piled floor. He looked around then went downstairs again. A couple of girls were talking to the boy from the band as he opened up the back of a van.
“I’m looking for a girl,” Evan said. “I was supposed to meet her here. She’s got blue spiked hair, and she was wearing a white halter top. You didn’t see her, did you?”
“I saw her earlier,” one of the girls said. “She was sitting with Tiffany and her friends, wasn’t she?”
“Tiffany. That’s right. Did she leave with them?”
“No. I saw them going down the street quite awhile ago.”
“Girl with blue spiked hair?” the band member asked, looking up from the back of the van he had been loading. “I saw her when
I was taking the first load of stuff down to the van. She was talking to a bloke with red hair. Tall, skinny bloke with a ring through his eyebrow. I think you’re out of luck, mate. She went off with him.”
I was taking the first load of stuff down to the van. She was talking to a bloke with red hair. Tall, skinny bloke with a ring through his eyebrow. I think you’re out of luck, mate. She went off with him.”
Evan fought to remain calm.
“Did you happen to see which direction they went in?”
The band player shook his head. “I just saw them walking toward the stairs while I was unplugging my amps. I only noticed because I thought it was a good color combination, him with red hair, her with blue. I’m in art school during the day. I notice stuff like that.”
“And how long ago was this?”
The boy shrugged. “Fifteen minutes maybe. I can’t really say.”
“You girls didn’t see them walking past you, did you?”
The girls looked at each other before shaking their heads. “We were talking to some boys,” one of them said. “They wanted us to go to a coffee bar with them, but they were a bit boring so we had to ditch them.”
“Right. Thanks.” Evan left them and ran back to his car. Stay calm, he told himself. There has to be a good reason for this, but he couldn’t come up with one. Surely Bronwen would never have left the club willingly with Jingo. She must have realized who he was. Had he described Jingo well enough so that she knew who she was dealing with? He tried to go through their various conversations, worried that he might have failed to mention Jingo and that Bronwen might have left with him quite innocently. He felt cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He started the car and took off too quickly, almost clipping the bumper of the car in front of him. It was all his fault. He should never have encouraged Bronwen to get involved. Now she thought she was some kind of hot detective. She must have come up with a good lead to go off without telling him or leaving him some kind of message. She probably didn’t even consider the risk she was taking.
Kingsway was deserted. The pavements glistened with moisture in the light of the street lamps. A couple of streetwalkers still stood in doorways, but apart from them there was no sign of life. Where would they have gone? Think, dammit, he commanded himself. He started to drive around aimlessly, circling the block, then widening
the circle, past the Quadrant shopping center, past the bus station, along the waterfront. They could be anywhere by now. He started to drive toward Penlan, but then turned around again. Why would Jingo want to take Bronwen up there? Evan wished he knew what vehicle Jingo drove. Had any kind of car been parked outside Jingo’s house that day he had visited? He didn’t think so. The street had been empty. Those council houses often had prefab garages coming off an alley at the back. If you lived in a council estate you weren’t stupid enough to leave your car outside.
the circle, past the Quadrant shopping center, past the bus station, along the waterfront. They could be anywhere by now. He started to drive toward Penlan, but then turned around again. Why would Jingo want to take Bronwen up there? Evan wished he knew what vehicle Jingo drove. Had any kind of car been parked outside Jingo’s house that day he had visited? He didn’t think so. The street had been empty. Those council houses often had prefab garages coming off an alley at the back. If you lived in a council estate you weren’t stupid enough to leave your car outside.
At last he found himself driving down to the dockland, to the spot where his father had been killed. It had changed a lot in the past five years, part of the waterfront gentrification process, and there was now a new marina and condo development in place of the old quayside. Not the kind of place now you’d be involved in gang business.
Maybe he should go back to the side street and wait. She’d come looking for him when she got rid of Jingo. If she got rid of Jingo. If Jingo didn’t get rid of her. A clock on some church tower chimed one. He drove along Kingsway again. Slowly. The Monkey’s Uncle was now closed for the night like everything else. Should he go home, just in case she had gone there or phoned? He drove up the hill like a mad thing, ran into the house, and found the place in peaceful darkness. For once his mother had not waited up. There was no message by the phone in the front hall.
Back to the car again and then he headed for Penlan. He knew it was a waste of time to go up there, but he had to do it anyway. If Jingo was carrying out some kind of gang meeting or drug transaction, it wouldn’t be where he could be spotted from the street, and if he wanted to get rid of Bronwen—“Don’t say that. Don’t even think it!” Bronwen was smart, she wouldn’t put herself in danger. She knew what she was doing. She’d be okay. She had to be okay.
Even the council estate rested in silent darkness. No lights showed behind closed curtains. No music came out of pubs. No late lovers lingered at front gates. Evan drove past Jingo’s house. No car was parked outside, and it was in darkness. Should he wake
them up and ask Jingo’s mother if she knew where her son was? As if she would tell him if she did know. And he had no warrant to search the house. Waste of time again. He knew what he had to do—go to the police, that was obvious. They might know where someone like Jingo could be found. They would come with the power to question and to search and to bully if necessary. But going to the police would be admitting that he had not obeyed DCI Vaughan’s command. They’d have little sympathy for him or Bronwen. Anything bad that happened would be his own fault for meddling. And he’d be out of a job in the morning.
them up and ask Jingo’s mother if she knew where her son was? As if she would tell him if she did know. And he had no warrant to search the house. Waste of time again. He knew what he had to do—go to the police, that was obvious. They might know where someone like Jingo could be found. They would come with the power to question and to search and to bully if necessary. But going to the police would be admitting that he had not obeyed DCI Vaughan’s command. They’d have little sympathy for him or Bronwen. Anything bad that happened would be his own fault for meddling. And he’d be out of a job in the morning.
Not that that mattered if Bronwen was found safe. Nothing mattered except finding her safe. He drove back down the hill into the town center and slowed outside the main police station. Would they do anything to help? He knew the rules as well as they did: Bronwen wasn’t a relative, and it wasn’t easy to report a sane adult as a missing person. It wouldn’t be easy to convince them that she had left against her own will, from a noisy club, with hundreds of people watching.
If only Bill Howells was on duty—even though he was not exactly in Bill Howells’s good books at the moment. But Bill was a decent bloke, an old friend of his dad’s. He’d help.
The night sergeant wasn’t Bill, but he did remember Evan’s father and he was persuaded to hand over Bill’s home address. It was two-thirty by the time Evan knocked at his door. As he had expected, Bill wasn’t at all pleased to see him or particularly sympathetic.
“Why, in God’s name, have you got yourself involved in this?” he demanded as Evan started to explain.
“Because I couldn’t get your blokes to listen to me,” Evan answered. “I left information about Alison’s involvement with drugs. Has it been followed up on, do you know?”
“I told you, boyo, I’m not on the case. I’m not part of the drug squad. Just an ordinary copper on the beat, that’s all.”
“Is there nothing you can do to help? She’s my fiancée, Bill. The same bloke who gave the order to shoot my father has gone off with my fiancée. I have to find her.”
Bill Howells gave a sigh and ran his hands through untidy hair.
“All right. Hold on a second while I put my clothes on.”
A few minutes later they were speeding back into the center of town. “I’ll just pop into the station,” Bill said, “and have a word with old Trevor at the desk. He can get in touch with the squad cars, but it won’t be easy. You say she may or may not be wearing a blue wig.”
“He should be easier to spot. Jingo Roberts. Tall, thin bloke with bright red hair. You couldn’t miss him.”
“Jingo Roberts, eh? I’ve come across him a few times. Nasty piece of work. All right. As soon as I’ve talked to Trevor, we’ll go out looking ourselves.”
They spent a fruitless night covering the whole city, from Port Talbot to the Gower. Bill checked in several times on his mobile, but there was no news, either good or bad. The night had taken on an unreal quality, like one of those nightmares in which time stands still, all motion is slowed down, and a sense of dread becomes overpowering. She had to be somewhere. Would Jingo have driven her out of town, out of Wales? Why?
“You know where this Roberts boy lives?” Bill Howells said.
“Yes, I’ve been there. It’s in Penlan.” Evan was so cold and scared that he was shaking.
“Then let’s pay him a visit, see if he’s home.”
The first streaks of cold daylight were appearing on the eastern horizon as they drove up the hill to the Penlan estate. Bill Howells knocked on the door of Jingo’s house while Evan stood in the shadows behind him. “Open up. Police,” he shouted through the letter box.
After a long pause there was the sound of a bolt being drawn back, and Jingo’s mother glared at them. “What the bleedin’ hell do you want? It’s Sunday morning, for God’s sakes. I’m a respectable citizen, I am. I’m calling your superior, mate.”
“It’s not you I want to see, missus. It’s your son. Do you know where he is?”
“Of course I bloody know where he is. He’s asleep in his bed, where any sensible person is on a Sunday morning.”
“Mind if I go up and see for myself?”
“You got a search warrant?”
“No, but I can easily go down to the station and get one, while my partner here watches the house, if that’s what you want.”
“I’ll go and wake him,” she said, still glaring at him defiantly. “He won’t be pleased.”
Evan heard angry voices then Jingo came down the stairs, dressed in pajama bottoms, his narrow white chest naked.
“What the hell do you want?” he demanded.
Evan fought the desire to grab him, to slam him against the wall.
Bill Howells must have sensed this, because he planted himself full in the doorway. “We’re looking for a young woman,” he said. “You met her at the club last night. You were seen leaving with her. She hasn’t come home.”
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