by Rhys Bowen
“My husband returned from a council meeting,” she said. “I was playing bridge with my friends, right here at this table.”
“And you heard nothing?”
Did he see a flicker of indecision cross her face? “I had already drawn the curtains. As you can see, they are quite thick and muffle sound. And we do, of course, have double glazing in all the windows.”
“But even so, if she had cried out, wouldn’t you have heard something then?”
“I told you—I heard nothing until I heard my husband’s despairing cry. I ran outside and she was lying there in a huddle on my doorstep. We had been in the dining room having refreshments so possibly that’s why we heard nothing. My God, Constable, don’t you think I would have rushed to my own child’s aid if I’d heard her?”
“Of course you would, Mrs. Turnbull, I just wondered …”
“Look, I’m afraid this conversation is becoming very disagreeable. I’ve already been through it a hundred times with the police. Telling you again isn’t going to do any good.”
“I’m sorry. I was just trying to help,” Evan said. “Just trying to see if there was any little point that might have been overlooked. It all comes down to a question of motive, doesn’t it? Why did Tony Mancini kill your daughter?”
She glared at him fiercely. “Do criminals like that need a motive? He probably killed her for fun, the way he killed your father.” She leaned closer to him. “They tell me he’s a thoroughly bad lot. If that sort of person was locked away for life, the world would be a better place, don’t you think?”
“If he’s found to be guilty,” Evan said. “That’s why we have trial by jury in this country.”
Her eyes flashed angrily. “Any decent jury would find him guilty. They all know us here. They know all the good work my husband has done for this city. He has dedicated himself to his council work, and I have my charities … They’ll make sure justice is done, won’t they?”
“I’m sure they will.” Evan got to his feet. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you coming here, Mrs. Turnbull. Maybe you should get away for a bit—take a little holiday until this is all over.”
“How can we get away?” she demanded. “Frank will never leave the factory for two minutes, or his council job either. He lives for his work. That’s all he lives for now.”
The dog followed Evan to the front door, sniffing at his heels, as if just waiting for the opportunity to take a good bite.
Chapter 12
Evan was thoughtful as he drove from the Turnbulls’ house. Was it possible for anyone to be playing bridge while a murder was taking place outside the window? Of course, she might not have been killed anywhere near the house, and her body might have been dragged to the front steps. He realized he didn’t even know yet how the girl died. He hoped the Major Crimes blokes wouldn’t mind answering some questions as he tagged along.
The receptionist at the police station recognized Evan this time and merely nodded when he said he had to speak to the Major Crimes Unit. He found only two junior members of the team in residence in the room they had taken over. They had obviously been reading the paper and drinking tea, because they were still scrambling into busy poses as he came in.
“Any idea where I might find the DCI?” Evan asked.
“Out and about, mate. Busy as usual,” one of them answered. “Anything we can help you with?”
“He told me I was welcome to ride along, so I thought that maybe—”
“You’re Evans, right?” the older of the two asked. His tie lay on the desk in front of him, and his shirt was open at the neck. Evan wondered if plainclothes boys were really allowed this degree of laxness, or whether it was just because the boss was out and about. “Robert Evans’s son? I remember you. I was in training with you for a while over in Bridgend. You left to go up North, didn’t you?”
“That’s right. I remember you too. Huw, isn’t it?”
“Huw Hopkins. Quite right. Good memory you’ve got there. And this is Dave Parry. Wet behind the ears still, Dave is.”
The younger man grinned. “And don’t they let me know it. All they let me do is make the bloody tea.”
“And quite right too,” Huw Hopkins said. “Can’t risk any cockups on a case like this.”
“It’s going well, is it?” Evan asked. “You’ve got enough evidence?”
“We’re still waiting for the forensics to come in,” Huw said.
“So do they know how and where she died?”
“She was suffocated,” Huw said. “Bloody great hand over her face while he was raping her. We don’t have an exact spot where it happened, but it was somewhere in their garden. She had grass in her hair.”
Evan pulled up a stool. “I went to see Tony Mancini yesterday,” he said.
“What did you think? Annoying little prick, isn’t he?
“He is. I had a great desire to punch him one.”
“Nobody here would have minded if you had done, boyo. Between you and me there are some of us who would like to get a confession out of him, one way or another, but the DCI’s shit scared that Tony would bleat to the press.”
“Tony claimed he was at the house visiting because Alison was a friend of his,” Evan said. “Any truth in that?”
“A friend of his, that’s a good one,” Dave chimed in.
“So there’s no way they could have met then? No mutual friends? Nobody else with a motive?”
“What are you, his bloody lawyer?”
“Just trying to get the facts straight,” Evan said.
“Did I hear you’re on the force up North?” Huw Hopkins asked.
“That’s right.”
“I expect you’ve arrested a good few sheep in your time then.”
Evan smiled although the joke was rapidly becoming old. “There won’t be any sheep left to arrest soon.”
Huw stopped grinning. “Oh. Right. So it’s pretty bad up there now, is it?”
Evan nodded. “One of the reasons that I’m down here. I didn’t want to have to watch that happening to friends of mine.”
“I bet you’re glad you turned up down here just in time, aren’t you?” Dave asked. “In for the kill, so to speak. You going to stay for the trial then?”
“No, I’m due back at work next week, but I may drive down for it.”
“There will be a lot of hoopla,” Huw said. “What with Turnbull being such a prominent man and all.”
“Tell me about the Turnbulls,” Evan said. “I know nothing about them.”
“Old man Turnbull,” Huw began, “you must have heard of him when you lived down here. He’s always been a big noise in Swansea. Of course he inherited the family steel works and that went belly up. Then he resurfaced with his current computer factory. Doing well, so I gather. That kind always fall on their feet, don’t they? And he’s been on the council for years now. Finally gets his chance to be lord mayor in the New Year.”
“And what about as a person?”
“I don’t exactly play golf with him or drink with him at the local.” Huw chuckled.
“I hear he’s a pain in the arse,” Dave chimed in and got a frown from his senior officer.
“He likes to hear his own voice and get his own way, that’s for sure. Goes in for good old shouting matches at council meetings, so I’ve heard. But he gives a lot to local charities too. He’s a labor council member, which is a laugh, considering that he drives a Bentley and sent his kid to one of the most exclusive schools in the country. But he likes to be seen as a great champion of the workingman.”
“Do his employees like him, do you know?”
Huw Hopkins shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Although, just a minute—I can give you one employee who wasn’t too happy with him. Earlier this year our blokes got called out to the Turnbull residence. Man disturbing the peace late at night. We found this chap, drunk as a coot, yelling obscenities in the Turnbull’s garden. It seems he’d been sacked the previous week for being drunk on the job. But that’s the o
nly one who comes to mind.”
“And what about her, Mrs. Turnbull? She looks like a classy lady.”
Huw glanced at Dave and snorted. “Yes, she’s worked hard enough at it. Do you know where he met her? Working as a barmaid in her daddy’s public house when he was a student at the Oxford Polytechnic. Now she’s conveniently forgotten that part of her life. Talks about ‘Mummy’ and ‘Daddy’ and ‘the pony club.’ They’re both as bad as each other. He tells people he was at Oxford, when it was only the poly, not the university.” He grinned. “I can just see them now as lord and lady mayor. It will suit them to a T.” He leaned closer to Evan. “Rumor has it that she was nagging old Turnbull to pull strings to have Alison presented at court, as a debutante, you know. As if a girl like that had a hope in hell. She wanted him to build a hospital for crippled children or something so he’d get on the honors list.” He chuckled. “Funny what’s important to some people.”
“Was their daughter important to them?”
“Important? From what I hear, they worshipped her. Treated her like a little goddess. Of course she was a horrible spoiled brat because she’d always had everything she wanted. But the mother just doted on her. Went everywhere with her.”
“So what Mancini claimed has to be rubbish,” Dave added. “There’s no way that Mummy would have let her meet a member of the lower classes.”
“And if she sneaked out without Mummy knowing?”
“Hardly likely.” Huw got to his feet. “Tell you what. I’ve got some things I have to return to Mr. Turnbull. If you come with me, you can ask him yourself.”
Evan got up too. “Thanks. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“I’d welcome the company. We’ll leave dogsbody here to hold down the fort.” He grinned at Dave as he headed for the door.
The Unico factory stood behind neatly manicured green lawns on top of a windswept hill at the back of the Penlan housing estate. It was a long, low, featureless building of concrete and glass. A sign mounted in the middle of the lawn said simply UNICO. Otherwise there was no hint as to what went on behind the wrought-iron railings. Huw parked the squad car in a space marked EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH.
The reception area, with its vinyl chairs, large potted plants, and receptionist in a glass cubicle could also have belonged to a dentist’s office or a superior government department. Evan looked around, saw no hint of what Unico actually did, and found this strange.
“Can I help you, sir?” the young receptionist asked pleasantly, her eyes traveling quickly and appreciatively over Evan’s body.
Huw pulled out a warrant card. “South Wales Police. We need to see Mr. Turnbull for a few moments.”
“Oh dear. He’s awfully busy this morning,” she said. “Is it about — you know. His daughter? Well, I suppose you’d better go through, then.”
“Thanks. We know the way.” Huw Hopkins was already heading for the swing doors. Evan followed him down a long hallway carpeted in soft rose. From behind closed doors he heard telephones ring and the sound of conversation, but again this hallway was deserted, like an upscale hotel. At the end of the hall Huw knocked before entering an outer office. An attractive young woman sat at a desk, chatting animatedly on the phone. She had her legs crossed, and her skirt was short enough to reveal a tantalizing length of thigh. She started when she saw the two men and hastily sat in a more decorous position, saying, “Got to go. Bye,” as she put down the phone.
“I’m sorry. The front desk usually notifies me when we have a visitor coming. Are you here to see Mr. Turnbull? I don’t have you down in my appointment book.”
“South Wales Police,” Huw repeated. “We’ll only take a few minutes of his time.”
The secretary’s face looked hopeful. “Have you got some proof yet? He’s been so worried, poor thing. He’s scared that they won’t come up with enough evidence to send that little punk to jail.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have the forensic results in yet. Any day now,” Huw said. “Do you think we can ask him a couple of quick questions?”
She gave them a beaming smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She disappeared through a door and almost instantly they were invited inside the inner sanctum. This was a spacious room, thickly carpeted in pastel tones, with windows opening onto a patio where a fountain played. On the walls were photos of Mr. Turnbull in his councilor’s robes, shaking hands with the prime minister, meeting the queen, and even one sharing a pint with the first minister of Wales. The man himself, seated at a vast mahogany desk, looked less impressive than his photographs—big boned, slightly bloated, with small piggy eyes and sandy hair carefully combed to hide the beginnings of a bald spot. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and a jacket hung on the back of his chair. He got up as they came in, then stared at Evan suspiciously.
“You’re not one of the usual lot. I’ve seen you before somewhere. Not the press, are you? I’ve made it very clear I’m not talking to the press.”
“No, sir. I’m not on the official team. I’m Constable Evan Evans. You saw me in court the other day.”
The scowl left the big man’s face, and he extended his right hand. “Oh. Yes. That’s right. Your testimony stopped them from granting bail. I’m very grateful.”
Evan shook the big meaty hand. “I came along with Sergeant Hopkins to offer my condolences and see if I could be of any assistance.”
The big man nodded. “That’s very charitable of you, young man. I appreciate it. It can’t have been easy for you either. If I could have got at the bastard, I’d have put my hands around his throat.”
“I know how you feel,” Evan said.
Mr. Turnbull waved to two chairs. “Take a pew. Although I’m not sure exactly what I can do for you chaps today. I thought we’d been over everything a million times already.”
Huw leaned across and handed Turnbull a package. “I’m just returning the things you gave us, sir. The photos of Alison we showed around. We’ve made copies. Here are your originals back. You told us not to disturb Mrs. Turnbull.”
“Quite right.” Turnbull nodded.
“And Constable Evans wanted to ask a couple of questions.”
Turnbull glanced at his watch. “I’ve only got a minute because some Japs are coming to inspect the factory. That might just mean a nice, fat order.”
“What exactly do you make here?” Evan asked.
“Computer housing. That’s what we do,” he said, and for a moment a satisfied smile replaced the lines of tension. “When I knew I’d have to close the steel works, I said to myself there’re all those plants sprung up in South Wales making silicon chips and mother-boards and what-have-you. But is anyone making a good solid shell to put them in? I knew quite a bit about lightweight metals. We’ve done quite nicely, thank you. If you’d like a tour of the factory some day, you only have to ask. Not today, of course. I’ll be tied up with my Oriental chappies.”
“I don’t know how you can concentrate on your work right now,” Evan said. “I was incapable of doing anything after my dad …”
“I’ve always lived for my work.” Mr. Turnbull glanced around his office, the bleak look returning. “Now, it’s all I’ve got. I just need to keep going so that I don’t have time to think. It’s poor Margaret, stuck at home with nothing to do all day, who worries me. She was always fragile emotionally, and I’m afraid this may be too much for her.”
“Maybe you should both get away for a while,” Evan suggested. “Take your wife on a cruise.”
“You couldn’t pay me to go on a cruise at the best of times, young man,” Turnbull snapped. “A lot of ancient widows. Boring as hell. My wife’s welcome to go away any time she wants, of course. But I’m not leaving until that bastard is safely behind bars. Besides, I can’t get away at the moment, even if I wanted to. You’d be amazed how much time my council duties take up, seeing as how I’ll be taking over as lord mayor at the end of the year. That will be good for Margaret. She loves having the chance to get tarte
d up and play at Lady Muck.” He managed a brief grin, then sighed. “God knows she needs something to look forward to right now.”
Evan had been glancing at the photos on the walls, then his eye fell on a framed picture on the desk. It was half turned away from him, but he could see it was of a young girl, sitting in an armchair with her arm around a big dog.
“Is that Alison?” he asked.
Mr. Turnbull picked it up and the lines on his face softened as he looked at it. “Not a recent shot, of course. She looks—looked—really grown up now. You’d never have taken her for seventeen. You know how they dress these days—tarting themselves up. Asking for trouble if you want my opinion.”
Evan caught his eye. “Is that what you think happened? Alison was asking for trouble?”
The big man shrugged. “What do I know? I’m an old fuddy-duddy. But in my opinion, it’s not fair the way they go around in these skimpy clothes, exposing all that bare flesh. Young boys have raging hormones, after all. Not that it excuses anything, but it makes you wonder. Maybe that scumbag Mancini caught a glimpse of her and followed her home. She was a beautiful girl. A really lovely …”
Huw Hopkins cleared his throat, and Evan realized that he had been monopolizing the conversation. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been asking too many questions.”
“I’ve got one small thing I wanted to mention to you, sir,” Huw said. “Tony Mancini claims that he knew your daughter.”
A look of scorn crossed Mr. Turnbull’s face. “Knew my daughter? How could he possibly know my daughter? She went to the finest schools. We drove her everywhere. Of course he didn’t know my daughter. He was a predator, a depraved animal. In fact knowing his behavior in the past, he probably came to my house to steal something and found Alison instead.”
“Was he trying to steal something when you sacked him?” Huw asked.
Turnbull put the photo back on the desk top. “That’s right. Caught him red-handed in my office, cheeky little bastard.”
“He says he wasn’t stealing anything, just snooping around a bit,” Evan said.