by Rhys Bowen
“Was it definite that she only had sex with one bloke?”
“Unless one of them was wearing a rubber.” Again, he seemed intrigued, then gave Evan a knowing grin. “Now that’s an interesting thought. She wasn’t a virgin, you know. Not exactly the little convent girl that Mummy and Daddy thought she was.” He peeled off his gloves and dropped them into a bin, then went over to the sink and began washing his hands. “Two different men involved. I’d like to hear where you came up with this theory. Most interesting. What does the DCI think of it?”
“I haven’t told him yet,” Evan said. “I haven’t told anybody. I’m just gathering facts at the moment, for my own satisfaction, so I’d be grateful if you didn’t say anything to the DCI about my being here. I’m sure I shouldn’t be poking my nose in. I’m not even with the South Wales Police any longer.”
“Perfectly understandable,” the pathologist said. “You want to be actively involved in getting the little bugger convicted. Anyone can understand that.”
“All the same …” Evan began.
The pathologist touched the side of his nose. “Mum’s the word.” He chuckled. “I’ll be interested to hear if you get any further with your theory. Two lurkers, eh? One of them she lets have sex with her, the other finishes her off. Fascinating.”
“Thanks a lot, sir. It’s been good talking to you.”
The doctor gave a cheery wave from the sink as Evan left the lab. He heaved a sigh of relief as he got back into his car. He had found the interview embarrassing although he had managed to conduct himself well enough. A policeman was supposed to ask any question under the sun, to be uninvolved with any kind of crime, no matter how grisly or bizarre. Sometimes he wondered if he had the personality for a detective. Was he really more suited to the quiet life in Llanfair, where Mrs. Powell-Jones’s complaints were the biggest drama of the day?
The thought of Llanfair made him wonder what was happening up there. He shouldn’t have run out on them. It was cowardly. He saw that now. And he’d probably have been more use up there than here, running in circles trying to prove Tony Mancini’s innocence. The problem was whether he could live with himself if Tony was sentenced to life in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. And he hated to be defeated by anything. If Tony was indeed innocent, then someone else had to have had a reason for murdering Alison. The Turnbull’s house wasn’t the kind of place any pervert would have picked at random—stumbling upon Alison to rape and murder her. There was no way of knowing that an attractive young girl lived behind those high hedges. So either it was someone Alison already knew, or someone who had seen her and found out where she lived. And if he could go on Tony’s word, she had sounded more angry than alarmed when he had heard her talking to the person who arrived as he ran off. Someone she knew then. The next step should be to visit Mrs. Turnbull again and get a list of Alison’s friends.
“Just a couple of days more,” he told himself. “I’ll give it to the weekend, and then I’ll give up and go home.”
It was almost five o’clock by the time he drove back to Swansea. He realized, with another pang of guilt, that he hadn’t been home for lunch. His mother would have been expecting him, even though he hadn’t said anything about his being there. Bronwen had told him that he spent his life as the eternal Boy Scout, trying to do good deeds and please other people. Maybe it was true, but he couldn’t change who he was.
He wondered if he had time to visit Mrs. Turnbull again that evening. If Tony had been telling the truth, one of Alison’s friends had driven her to the clubs when she slipped out at night. That person might have seen someone hanging around Alison or know if anyone had been pestering her. Then there were the young men Mr. Turnbull had mentioned—those suitable young escorts from the country club set whom Alison hadn’t really fancied. Also worth checking out.
But when he slowed outside the Turnbull’s house, he saw that there were cars in the driveway. Not police vehicles, but ordinary cars. He wondered if Mrs. Turnbull had already gone back to her card parties or afternoon at homes. In any case, he couldn’t very well barge in on her. He’d have to come back first thing in the morning. As he drove into the driveway to reverse out of the cul-de-sac, he looked up and noticed for the first time a house to the left of the Turnbull mansion, visible between the trees. As he stared at the upper windows, he thought he saw a curtain twitch. This might be the break he was looking for—a nosy neighbor who might have a good view of the Turnbull’s front garden. He’d also pay a visit there in the morning.
“You’ve been gone a long time,” his mother greeted him. “I hope you’ve had a successful day.”
“Not very,” he said. “The police think they’ve got the evidence they need to convict Tony.”
“Well, I’d call that good news.” Mrs. Evans beamed. “I bet you were glad to hear that, weren’t you?”
He smiled and said nothing. How was he ever going to tell her that he was working to break down that evidence? How would she ever forgive him when he did?
Chapter 14
After a mercifully light supper Evan found it impossible to settle. He attacked the lovespoon again, but soon grew frustrated at his inept attempts. He supposed that young men long ago had nothing better to do that whittle on long winter nights, and thus had more practice. His spoon was taking shape rather like a flying camel doing the splits. Around nine o’clock he decided that at least he could go and inspect the club where Tony claimed he met Alison. Somebody there might have seen them together. Somebody might even have seen Alison’s encounter with another man.
“You’re never going out again at this time of night?” Mrs. Evans looked horrified.
“It’s only nine o’clock, Ma, and I thought of someone I might question about Alison Turnbull’s murder. We need all the evidence we can get, you know.”
“Are you trying to tell me the police here aren’t doing everything they can?”
“No, of course not. This is only because I want to be involved. I need to be involved.”
“All right, then.” She brushed down her apron in a characteristic gesture Evan remembered well from former occasions when she didn’t really approve, but couldn’t think of a good enough reason to forbid him to do something. “Off you go. But be careful. You’re all I’ve got now. Running around all night isn’t safe anymore.”
He gave her a kiss on the cheek then grabbed the car keys from the hall table.
Kingsway looked empty and dead, and he found a parking space easily. Fast-food wrappers and old newspapers littered the pavements. Many of the shops had empty windows or the words GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SALE on them. Not the most thriving area of the city. A drunk tottered past, a bottle in a brown bag raised to his lips. A couple of girls loitered in the shadows. And this had been the thriving main street of town when Evan was a boy. All the good stores had now moved to the new shopping centers. Now only the pubs survived.
There were several clubs advertising music and dancing, but most were closed until the weekend. There was music coming from the upstairs room at the Monkey’s Uncle as Evan climbed the stairs, but as he entered the large warehouselike space, he saw that it was only coming from a speaker system. Most of the tables around the wall were empty. It was a large, depressing-looking room with black-painted brick walls and no windows. A couple of girls were dancing halfheartedly with each other. Evan went up to the only employee he could find, serving cans of Pepsi at a bar table.
“Police, you say?” The young bloke glanced around nervously. “We don’t do nothing illegal here, mate. Everything by the book.”
“I just wanted to ask you some questions about the girl who was murdered a couple of weeks ago—Alison Turnbull. You must have read about it in the papers.”
“Of course. But the bloke’s already behind bars, isn’t he?”
“We’re just trying to substantiate some of the things he’s claiming for his defense,” Evan said. “For one thing, he claims that he and the girl used to meet here. Did you ever see
her at the club?”
“Do you have a photo?”
“Not with me. I can get one.”
“I saw her picture in the paper, but I can’t say the face rang a bell. If she came here Friday or Saturday nights, then we’re jammed solid. Several hundred kids, and they don’t dress like their photos when they’re here either. Spray-painted hair, rings through everything. The lot.”
“Then what about Tony Mancini? Did that name ring a bell when he was arrested?”
“Yeah, I think it did. But there again, I might have read it somewhere else. We don’t go in for names. They pay their money at the door, and they get in. No questions asked. They come for a good time; we give them one. You should come back tomorrow night when the joint is jumping, as they say. You couldn’t hear yourself speak then. Very lively. We get kids from as far away as Llanelli and Talbot and all over the place. We pack ’em in, especially when we’ve got a top band like Defenestration or Raging Speedhorn.” He looked to Evan’s face for recognition. When he saw none, he continued, “We get all types of bands playing here—garage, goths, metal, the lot. I’m not really into British metal myself—a lot of alcoholic uncles in spray-on trousers, most of them, but it’s what the kids like.”
Evan felt he should say something, but he hadn’t a clue what the man had been talking about. Garage? Goths? Raging Speedhorn? He was definitely feeling his age.
“You don’t mind if I talk to the kids who are here tonight, do you? At least we can make ourselves heard.”
“Be my guest. Oh, and if you come back tomorrow, don’t make it too obvious you’re police, will you? We don’t want to clear the place out.”
But half an hour later, when he left, he was no wiser. None of the young people at the club knew Alison or Tony or remembered seeing them at the club. “You don’t really notice who’s here on Friday or Saturday nights,” one girl said. “Except for sexy blokes, of course. We’re always on the lookout for sexy blokes.”
Her friends giggled and eyed Evan shyly.
He’d have to go back the next evening, Evan thought grimly. He’d never been a fan of crowded places or loud music. He wasn’t looking forward to it at all.
He drove home and phoned Bronwen.
“I’m glad to discover you haven’t abandoned me.” Bronwen attempted to sound lighthearted, but Evan heard the annoyance in her voice. “I thought it might be like the old days—return her to her parents and make a quick getaway.”
“Sorry, cariad,” Evan said, “but you can’t imagine what’s been happening here. It’s been rather like riding a runaway train.” He summed up the progress of the day. “So now I’m completely undecided. I don’t know how much I can trust Mancini, and even if he’s telling the truth, I don’t know how on earth anyone would ever prove him innocent. And I’ve been thinking about Llanfair. I ran out on them, and I don’t feel too wonderful about that either.”
“Dear, dear. You are rather awash in guilt tonight. Is that what visiting your mother does to you?” She laughed this time. “Evan, you don’t always have to make yourself miserable by trying to do the right thing, you know.”
“I know, but …”
“But you’re going to whether I like it or not?”
“Look, I’m sorry for abandoning you. Just give it another day. I’ve got some leads I’d like to follow. I’d like to speak to Alison’s friends, for one thing. It seems she wasn’t the perfect little angel her parents thought she was. Maybe she had other unsuitable friends, apart from Tony, that her parents knew nothing about. And there were a couple of so-called suitable young chaps the parents liked, but Alison didn’t. Oh, and another thing, there could be a nosy neighbor. I saw the upstairs curtains twitch when I was reversing the car outside the Turnbull’s house this evening. And I’d like to check on Mr. Turnbull’s factory too. I gather they had to call the police when one of his former employees showed up at his house, hurling abuse.”
“Goodness, Evan, that sounds like enough to keep you busy for another week. Well, don’t expect me to stay here any longer. I’ve had just about as much as I can take of hearing about what a success Gillian has made of her life and how her baby is a child genius and why couldn’t I have patched up my differences with Edward and why did I have to be so bloody Welsh.”
“Look, I’ll come and pick you up on Saturday, I promise,” Evan said. “Just give me tomorrow to get as much done as I can, all right? I have to go back to that bloody club when it’s in full swing, although I can’t see any of the kids there wanting to talk to me. I’ll stand out like a blooming—”
“Flamingo in a chicken house?”
“The other way around. Flamingos are bright and elegant. I understand the clubgoers all have blue, pink, or purple spiked hair, rings through everything, and clothing that appears to be spray-painted onto them. You can imagine how I’ll stand out. They’ll guess I’m a policeman right away and clam up.”
“I’d love to see you if one of the girls asks you to dance.” Bronwen chuckled.
“Very funny. If it’s as packed as the manager says it is, then there won’t be any room to dance. That’s what I’m hoping for.”
“You should go out tomorrow and get yourself some sexy jeans and a T-shirt that says something rude.” Bronwen was laughing now.
“It’s all right for you,” Evan said.
Bronwen grew quiet. “Evan,” she said at last, “why are you putting yourself through all this? It sounds to me as if Tony Mancini is adept at lying his way out of anything. Have you thought what it might do to your career if you fight for him and then find out you were wrong?”
“I know, I have thought about it,” Evan said. “All I wanted to do was get at the truth enough to satisfy myself, and now it seems I’m digging myself into a deeper and deeper hole.”
“Then call it quits, for God’s sake. Come and rescue me and let’s drive down to Penbrokeshire and spend some time together. We can go on some lovely walks and heal our spirits.”
“That does sound very tempting.”
“Then let’s do it!”
“Just give me tomorrow, all right?”
“All right, I suppose. But if you don’t show up at the weekend, I might just run off with one of the very boring men my mother has been introducing me to.”
“Oh, it’s other men now, is it? Is she trying to find a better substitute for me?”
“I don’t know what’s going through her mind. She says how delightfully fresh faced you are—whatever that means, but then she starts rambling about Nigel Ponsonby-Smythe or a similar one who has made a fortune as a stockbroker and won Wimbledon in his spare time.”
“I’ll be there,” Evan said. “By the way, how is Mary’s Little Lamb doing? In disgrace again?”
“Absolutely the reverse.” Bronwen started laughing. “Ever since he frightened Mrs. Todd, Daddy has decided he’s a wonderful creature, and he’s been following Daddy around like a dog. Daddy can’t stand Mrs. Todd, you see. She tidies his drawers and overstarches his shirts. And we’ve had some good news about Daddy’s sheep—it seems he might be eligible to get them vaccinated, because they are so rare.”
“That is good news.”
“It’s a pity the vet can’t do it while Prince W. is here, isn’t it?”
“It’s a pity they can’t vaccinate every herd in Britain in time.”
“Daddy says they could have done, but most farmers wouldn’t do it because then their meat couldn’t be sold abroad. Stupid, isn’t it?”
“I expect they’re regretting it now. I wonder what’s happening in Llanfair. I don’t like to call.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it anyway,” Bronwen said. “It’s just one of those horrible things. Oh, let’s get away together, Evan. What with the foot-and-mouth and the possible closing of my school and Tony Mancini and my parents, I just need some quiet time to recuperate.”
“We will, cariad. In fact it sounds wonderful.”
“I’ll see you at the weekend, then?” B
ronwen sounded wistful.
“I’ll be there.”
When he hung up, Evan stood staring at the phone, then he stomped outside to the shed to lift weights. He was going to get back in shape if it killed him.
He was out jogging before breakfast and found he could now run a good half mile before becoming winded. A few days hiking with Bronwen would definitely help him get into condition. Of course, the egg, bacon, sausage, and fried bread his mother insisted on cooking for him wasn’t going to help, but he ate it without comment. It was the least he could do to make her think she was taking good care of him.
“Well, this is nice,” she said, as she put the plate in front of him. “Takes me back to the old days when Robert was alive and you were off to school in the mornings. I never let either of you leave the house without a decent breakfast, did I?”
“No, Ma, you took great care of both of us.”
“And it wasn’t enough, was it? I couldn’t protect him when he needed it.”
“It was his job, Ma. You know as well as I do that being a policeman is a risky business.”
“Then why in God’s name did you have to follow him into it? Why don’t you get yourself a nice, steady job, away from shootings and violence? You’ve got yourself a lovely girl in that Bronwen. You don’t want her to go through what I did, do you?”
“I’m up in North Wales—we’re not quite as violent up there, you know. The sheep behave themselves most of the time.” He attempted to make a joke of it, but it was a valid point. All the more reason to play professional rugby if he was offered the chance. He was tempted to run down to the shed and pump some more iron before he set out, but he had a full day ahead of him. He had made a list of people to question. By the end of it he might have some idea if anyone else had a motive for killing Alison Turnbull.
Chapter 15
There were no cars in the driveway when Evan stopped his car in the cul-de-sac outside the Turnbull’s house around nine-thirty that morning. As always the street was deserted and the only sounds, when he got out of the car, were sparrows twittering, a pair of wood pigeons cooing in a big pine tree, and far off, a cuckoo. Evan stood, in dappled shade, listening, enjoying the peace. Then he took a deep breath and followed the hedge around the property until he came to the gap Tony said he had used. He slipped through and stood among shrubs, his presence successfully blocked from all but the most prying of eyes. He moved from shrub to shrub until he was close to the front of the house. It would have been child’s play for anyone to have come and gone unseen, unless someone actually happened to be looking down from the upstairs windows at the time. His gaze moved across to the house to the left of the property where he had seen the movement yesterday. Yes, the area around the front porch might well be visible from that upstairs window. He’d pay a call after he’d talked to Mrs. Turnbull.