by Rhys Bowen
Marshall. He wrote the word on his memo pad. There were a lot of Marshall’s in the British Isles. Maybe if he wrote to the War Office on official police stationary? He opened the file which now contained the photo of Stewart Potts and his wife and printouts of the articles on Danny Bartholemew’s death. It might be worth calling Greta Potts, on the off-chance that she might remember someone called Marshall or might be able to find his address among Stew’s possessions.
But first he had another assignment: Mrs. Powell-Jones would not wait another minute for justice.
Chapter 10
Evan put on his uniform jacket and cap. Then walked briskly up the village street toward the Powell-Jones residence, his pace hardly a reflection of his anticipation, only a desire to get this over with.
As he approached the school grounds, he caught a glimpse of Bronwen crossing the school yard.
“Bronwen!” he called, but she only walked faster.
Evan broke into a run and caught her halfway across the netball court. “Hold on a minute. What’s the rush?”
“I’ve got math tests I should be correcting,” Bronwen said, her face impassive but her cheeks flushed pink.
“Look, Bronwen, I just wanted to explain,” Evan said.
“You don’t have to explain to me,” Bronwen said. “What you do with your own time is up to you, Evan Evans.”
“It wasn’t how it looked at all,” Evan said miserably. “Betsy just popped in to talk to me about a spot of volunteer work I’m doing.”
“Volunteering to do what exactly?” Bronwen asked, giving him a look that was half-amused, half-challenging.
“Help out with the youth group dance on Saturday, if you really want to know. Betsy was just checking that I was still on.”
“And were you still on?”
Evan cursed his choice of words again. That was the problem of growing up with Welsh as his number-one language. English had a habit of letting him down.
“It was just a harmless little discussion, that’s all,” Evan said.
“And does she always do her discussing sitting on someone’s knee with her arm around their neck?” Bronwen asked defiantly.
“She was sitting on the arm of my chair and I didn’t encourage her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I noticed you weren’t struggling too hard either,” Bronwen said. “Let’s just forget it, shall we? I’ve got a million things I should be doing.”
With that she hurried into the school and shut the door behind her firmly before Evan could do anything. He turned and sighed as he walked back to the road. The problem was that he had never crossed that line with Bronwen. He had no claim on her. She wasn’t his girlfriend. He hadn’t been sure that he wanted to cross it. He had told himself that she was a little too serious and intense for him. He wanted a girl with more warmth and feeling. But now, as he recalled her flushed cheeks and her eyes flashing angry fire at him, he had to wonder if there wasn’t more feeling than he’d imagined hidden under that cool exterior.
He put on a resolute face and walked briskly up to Mrs. Powell-Jones’ house.
“Finally!” Mrs. Powell-Jones exclaimed as she opened the front door. “I have been most distressed all day, Constable Evans. Most distressed. Nobody knew where you were at your headquarters. I find that most strange.”
“I’m in the middle of a case, Mrs. Powell-Jones,” Evan said. “I can’t be at the police station all day. Weren’t the men from HQ able to help you out?”
“I sent them away again. I told you, I don’t want strangers interfering in this matter,” Mrs. Powell-Jones said. “It is most delicate and I do feel for poor Mr. Parry Davies. It must be difficult enough for him to live with such a wife.”
“And what do you suspect she’s done now?”
“Suspect?” Mrs. Powell-Jones demanded. “I know.”
“You saw her? You caught her in the act?”
“Not exactly, but as good as. She came over here this morning, constable. She said she wanted to see what food my ladies were bringing to the teen dance on Saturday. Of course I realize now that that was only an excuse. She knows we always bring the cheese and pickle sandwiches and the fairy cakes. Anyway, it was about an hour after she had gone that I noticed it was missing.”
“What was missing?” Evan asked.
“My apple pie,” she said.
“Apple pie?”
“Yes, I’d just baked it and I had it on the kitchen window sill, cooling. The window was open. When I came back into the kitchen around noon, the pie had gone.”
“Excuse me for asking, but what possible interest could Mrs. Parry Davies have had in your pie?” Evan asked.
“It’s simple, man. She’s developed this deep-seated jealousy. She knows her pastry is inferior to mine. When she passed my window on her way out, she couldn’t resist the temptation. She’s probably whisked it home and served it up to poor Mr. Parry Davies as her own. If only you’d been here when I first called, you could probably have caught her with a forkful of the evidence going to her mouth. Now I’m afraid we’re too late.”
“I’m sorry about your pie, Mrs. Powell-Jones,” Evan said. “But there’s really not much I can do. And I am very busy …”
“Of course there’s something you can do,” she said. “If you had any police training or skill at all, you’d be able to go over there and get her to confess.”
“I’m sorry, but they don’t let us use the rack or the thumb screws any more,” Evan said. “I could shut her in a dungeon down at Caernarfon Castle, if you’d like.”
“Don’t be facetious, young man,” Mrs. Powell-Jones snapped. “If it were left to me, I should have no trouble extracting a confession from her. I had no trouble at all getting the Boy Scouts to own up when they had sneaked into my back garden and stolen my apples. One look from me and they burst into tears.”
Evan wasn’t surprised. Mrs. Powell-Jones had a similar effect on him.
“Before you go making any more accusations, I think you should know that it’s possible there is a Peeping Tom in the area,” Evan said. “A man they used to call Daft Dai.”
“Daft Dai? He’s around again? I thought they put him away years ago.”
“Well, now it seems they’ve let him out,” Evan said. “It’s possible he’s come back to the area. So I’d advise you to keep your windows shut and pull your curtains until we find out more.”
“Thank you, constable. I will.” For the first time, Mrs. Powell-Jones sounded almost human. “But that doesn’t mean that Mrs. Parry Davies is not my number-one suspect,” she added. “I shall still be keeping a close eye on her, and so should you, Constable Evans.”
As Evan came out of the Powell-Jones house, he noticed that the billboards outside the two chapels had been changed. The Powell-Jones billboard now read, “Thou shalt not steal,” and the board opposite stated, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”
They didn’t waste a minute, Evan thought, smiling.
He found himself picturing the two feuding ministers and their wives, Bibles always at the ready, peering out of their windows to see if another text had gone up on the opposite billboard.
A loud shout broke his reverie. He looked up to see two people running down the path above the Everest Inn. They were dressed in hiking gear and carried backpacks. Evan hurried to meet them. As he got closer, he saw that they were a young couple, their faces red with effort.
“Oh, thank heavens, constable,” the young man gasped. “We were wondering where we’d locate the closest police station.”
“Got a problem, have you?” Evan asked.
“There’s a man, up on the mountain!” the girl gasped.
“Dead?”
“No, not dead. Very much alive,” the man said. “He grabbed Fiona.”
Evan turned to look at the girl who now looked more animated than scared. “It was horrible,” she said. “Brian was trying a spot of climbing alone, so I sat on a rock, watching him. Suddenly t
his man appeared out of nowhere and started shouting at me. He told me to get off the mountain right now or the wrath of God would strike me down. He said he was God’s messenger, the keeper of the mountain, and he didn’t want foreigners defiling sacred soil.”
“Did he harm you in any way?”
“He grabbed me and shook me,” she said, shuddering at the memory. “I think he might have thrown me over the edge, but I screamed. Brian heard and came clambering back up to save me. He was awfully brave,” she added, smiling up at her hero.
“What happened to the man?” Evan asked.
“He ran off when Brian yelled at him. We didn’t see where he went. We thought we should come straight down and find someone to report this to.”
“You did the right thing to find me,” Evan said. “We’ve got a bulletin out looking for this chap. If you’ll come with me down to the station, I’ll get a full report and description of the man, and your names and addresses, if I may. We might need you as witnesses.”
“So the police know about him then?”
“Oh, yes,” Evan said. “He’s wanted for questioning right now, so you’ve done us a big favor by finding him.”
“Is he … really dangerous?” Fiona asked, turning large, scared eyes on Evan.
“He hasn’t been, up to now.” Evan didn’t want to give her unnecessary nightmares. “But we can’t have him going around scaring people, can we? You give me a good description then I’ll get on to HQ. Hopefully we’ll have him safely in custody by the end of the day.”
“Nice work, Evans,” Detective Sergeant Watkins said as they met down at headquarters in Caernarfon. “My chief wants me to compliment you and your lads on the efficient way you apprehended the suspect.”
“Thanks, sarge,” Evans said. “It wasn’t very hard, actually. The blokes I took with me up the mountain recognized him right away. He was sitting on a rock eating a sandwich. I went up to him and said ‘Are you Dai?’ and he said he was. When I asked him to come with me, he came, meek as a lamb.”
“Did he say anything useful?” Watkins asked.
“I didn’t attempt to question him,” Evan said. “I didn’t think that was my job.”
“Quite right,” Sergeant Watkins said. “We’ve got him in holding room 2. He’s been read his rights. You want to come with me while I question him? I might need an interpreter,” he added. “My Welsh isn’t that good.”
The man known as Daft Dai was sitting at the table with a cup of tea in front of him. He was skinny, underfed, and inoffensive-looking, with thinning hair and thick-lensed glasses. He was dressed in a mismatched series of oddments so that he looked like a walking rag bag. He looked up and smiled when Sergeant Watkins and Evans came into the room. He seemed quite comfortable and not in the least anxious as they sat down opposite him.
“Dai, what’s this we’ve been hearing about you annoying people up on the mountain again?” Sergeant Watkins began amiably.
“It was more of those foreigners,” Dai said. “I told them to stay away but they won’t listen, will they? They keep coming back.”
Sergeant Watkins turned to his own constable who was standing on guard behind Dai. “Was he carrying a weapon?”
“Only a pocket knife,” the sergeant said.
“What did you want a knife for, Dai?” Sergeant Watkins asked.
“To cut up my orange,” Dai answered, making Evan smile to himself.
“Dai, I’m going to ask you another question. I want you to tell the truth,” Sergeant Watkins said gently. “A few days ago two men were killed up on the mountain. We don’t think they just slipped and fell. We think somebody might have pushed them. Can you tell us anything about that, Dai?”
There was silence in the room. Dai was staring at his tea cup.
“Did you push those men, Dai?” Sergeant Watkins asked. “Better to tell the truth and get it off your chest, isn’t it?”
Dai swallowed hard. “I did it,” he said. “I killed them. The mountain told me to.”
Chapter 11
“Thank heavens for that,” Sergeant Watkins said as Evan prepared to drive back to Llanfair later that afternoon. “I’d say that all ended very satisfactorily.” He patted Evan on the back with a big hearty thump. “Thanks to you and your sharp eyes. I’d have let it go as two accidents. You knew better, didn’t you? And then you go and catch the blighter for us.”
Evan cringed with embarrassment but managed a smile. He hated being praised more than anything. “Just a bit of luck really, sarge,” he said. “If those two hikers hadn’t been so quick to report him …”
“Anyhow, we’ve got a killer safely put away for life this time, and that’s all that matters,” Sergeant Watkins said. “He’ll be back in the loony bin where he belongs, and probably very happy to be there again.”
Evan nodded.
“You can tell that nice kid Fiona how lucky she is to be alive,” Sergeant Watkins went on. “Dai might have shoved her over a cliff too.”
Sergeant Watkins went on talking and Evan went on smiling, but he couldn’t stop the uneasy feelings that were creeping into the back of his brain. He was glad it had ended so easily and with nobody else getting hurt, but it didn’t seem right somehow. It was too simple. Just how had a meek, frail-looking little man like Dai managed to push two hefty blokes over cliffs? One of them he could understand, but two? Especially if they had been together. And Dai hadn’t been any more help. When asked for details, he had given them several fanciful tales about angels sweeping the men off rocks with their wings or the wrath of God smiting them with lightning strikes.
“I’m glad we’ve got those two kids as witnesses,” Evan said. “Just in case Dai changes his mind and gets a do-gooding lawyer who decides to make him plead not guilty.”
Sergeant Watkins nodded. “They make it a pretty watertight case. I can’t see Dai wriggling out of this one.”
“You don’t think he could have had anything to do with the other murder, do you, sarge?” Evan asked cautiously. “He is loony enough after all. It would take a deranged man to do what he did to that little girl.”
“I did sort of mention it to him,” Sergeant Watkins said. “And he categorically denied it. He looked shocked and kept on saying that he loves little kids, so I’m inclined to believe him. And he has no record of bothering children in any way.”
“Pity,” Evan said. “It would be nice to sew them both up at the same time.”
“It would have been bloody marvelous,” Sergeant Watkins said. “But at least we can devote all our energy to finding the little girl’s killer now, thanks to you and your quick thinking. This will go down on your permanent record, you know. And if you ever wanted to transfer back to the criminal investigation side …”
“No thanks, sarge. In spite of what you think, I’m quite happy where I am right now,” said Evan. “I’ve had enough excitement in the last few days to keep me going for a while.”
Sergeant Watkins slapped Evan on the back again. “Come on, I owe you a beer, don’t I?”
“Save it for later, sarge,” Evan said, the uneasiness creeping back. “Let’s wait until he’s officially pleaded guilty and been sentenced.” He noticed Sergeant Watkins’ querying glance. “I like to see things wrapped up nice and neat, see?”
On the way home Evan hoped that during the next round of questioning, Dai might also confess to being Mrs. Powell-Jones’ Peeping Tom. Evan played the scene through in his head, telling her that she need not worry any longer. He had solved her problems. She’d never again be bothered by the man who stole her apple pie and stepped on her flower beds. He might even insist that she went and apologized to Mrs. Parry Davies. That would be worth seeing!
On Friday morning Evan got up to find a hero’s breakfast waiting for him.
“Evans-the-Meat sent over some of his best pork sausages,” said Mrs. Williams as Evan sat down to two rashers of bacon, two fried eggs, fried bread crisped golden in the bacon fat, fried tomatoes, mushrooms, and two fat s
ausages—browned nicely on the outsides and splitting their skins to reveal their juicy interior.
“This is a very big breakfast for a weekday, Mrs. Williams,” he protested, halfheartedly, the tempting smell of bacon and sausage already playing havoc with his taste buds.
“Nonsense. You deserve it. You need your strength if you will go chasing mad men up mountains.” She smiled at him fondly. “They’re saying you were a real hero, the way you managed to arrest him—they’re saying you went over to him and clapped the handcuffs on him, cool as a cucumber.”
“It really wasn’t hard, Mrs. Williams,” Evan said, feeling hot around the collar again.
“That’s not what I’m hearing,” Mrs. Williams said. Evan knew what had happened. Those who had gone with Evan up the mountain to help him capture Daft Dai had told those who stayed behind all about it in the pub, embellishing the drama and danger with each telling. By now it probably sounded like an episode from a BBC police drama.
“I called my daughter last night and she told Sharon,” Mrs. Williams confided. “And do you know what Sharon said? She said ‘I always knew he was going to be a hero some day!’ I told my daughter it’s a pity that Sharon can’t get over here for the dance tomorrow night.”
“It’s for the teens, Mrs. Williams,” Evan said quickly, happy to remember proud grandma’s account of Sharon’s twenty-first. “Sharon’s not a teen any longer and I’m only a chaperon.”
“Sharon could help you with your chaperoning. She’s ever so good with the little kiddies, you know. She’s going to make a lovely mum some day … and maybe you two could sneak a little dance together. She dances lovely—like a little fairy on her feet, she is.”
A vision of Sharon swam into Evan’s head. Definitely a well-built girl who took after her grandma around the hips. He couldn’t imagine her wafting around like a fairy. But he could imagine Betsy’s face if she saw him dancing with Sharon. Those two would probably be locked in mortal combat by the end of the evening, he decided.