Evanly Bodies

by Rhys Bowen

  "Bloody twit," Wingate muttered. "Anything come up yet? She hasn't confessed to shooting him, has she?"

  "Why do you ask that?"

  "Because the Asian family next door say they have some bloody good shouting matches. He's always yelling, they say. Not the best of pals, Luigi and the Asian bloke at the curry place. He said Luigi always had his television blasting away late at night and then complained if they ever played their music. He called Luigi an uncivilized man, a bully and a drunkard who liked to throw his weight around. Of course, being Muslims, they don't drink."

  "They're Muslims?" Evan said. "I thought they were Indians."

  "They are. Muslims from North India."

  "Oh, I see. Did they hear the shots last night?"

  "They said Luigi's television was going full blast as usual, and he always keeps that window open because it gets so hot in the kitchen, so if they'd heard anything they would have thought it came from the television."

  "But they didn't notice the shots particularly?"

  "They were in bed, and the bedroom is at the front."

  "Too bad," Evan said. "What did the hairdresser say?"

  "She thinks Luigi was charming. An attentive gentleman. But then she doesn't live above the shop. She goes home at five, and she's never seen him drunk."

  "So who lives above the shop?"

  "Nobody at the moment. It's vacant."

  "Someone along this row must have heard something. Or in one of the houses behind."

  "They're not likely to have seen anything though," Wingate said. "I've checked the alley. There's no light. They wouldn't have seen much even if they'd looked out of a window at the right time."

  The last part of this sentence was drowned out by the toot of a diesel horn and the rumble of another train.

  "And if the killer timed it correctly," Evan said as the train passed, "the telly and the train between them would mask most sounds."

  "You're right. It wasn't as big a risk as I originally thought. I'm going to see what Pritchard's turned up. I left him to chat to the lads across the street. He's more their age. He's speaks their language, and I don't mean Welsh."

  Evan grinned as he headed back to Bragg. He glanced up thoughtfully at the Taj Mahal Take-out. Funny how he hadn't been aware of a Muslim community in Wales and now everywhere he went there seemed to be Muslims involved. He climbed the stairs back to Mrs. Alessi's room.

  She was sitting up in bed now, looking distressed and fully awake. Evan thought that ten minutes alone with DI Bragg would have that effect on most people.

  "I really don't know what else I can tell you," she said. "He was an ordinary man. He had his ups and his downs; but as for suggesting that he was mixed up with the underworld just because he was Italian, that's just plain silly."

  "Someone wanted him dead and carried it out efficiently, Mrs. Alessi," Bragg said. "Very different from getting into a bar brawl."

  "I can't really comprehend it." She ran her fingers nervously through her mop of blonde hair. "It doesn't seem real. Like watching a movie. Someone else's life. I expect it will sink in soon enough."

  "I'll arrange for a female police officer to be with you, if you like. You shouldn't be alone at a time like this. Have you got a relative or friend living nearby you could call?"

  "My parents moved away," she said. "They live on the Isle of Wight now. Nice little bungalow. But I should call my daughter. She may come down to be with me." There was a wistful look in her eyes.

  "That's right. Call your daughter. And in the meantime we'll have someone here with you to make you a cup of tea or whatever you need."

  "You're very kind," she said. "You will find who did this, won't you?"

  "We'll do our best, Mrs. Alessi. If you can tell us everything you know-names of his friends and family. What he did in his spare time."

  "Spare time?" She laughed. "When did he ever have spare time. He had Sundays off, and that was it. Most of the time he was so bushed that he'd watch telly and sleep."

  "So he had no close friends nearby?"

  "Blokes he met at the pub, I suppose. I don't know their names. I never went with him."

  She broke off as there were heavy footsteps on the stairs.

  "The employees have shown up, Inspector," Pritchard said. "Where do you want me to put them?"

  "Take them through to the café, get their names and addresses, and I'll be with them in a minute," Bragg said. "Anything you can tell me about the employees, Mrs. Alessi? Got on well with your husband, did they?"

  "Pretty much. The waitress, Mona, has been with us for years. The two boys who help in the kitchen haven't been with us long. Tommy's been here about a year, and the other one, Sean, only a month or so. There's a lot of turnover in the restaurant business. Usually they're looking for something better, or they're students supplementing their income."

  "And these two?"

  "Yeah, they're both students, I believe. Nice boys, from what I can see. No problems with them, other than the usual. Not always being reliable; not turning up when they have to study for an exam or drank too much the night before."

  "Students at the university in Bangor, are they?"

  "I believe Sean is. Tommy's just at the local community college."

  Bragg looked at Evan. "Right. Let's go and chat with the young men, shall we? I wonder if Sean is studying history." He patted the eiderdown over Mrs. Alessi's legs. "We'll let you rest for a while, Mrs. Alessi. And if you can think of anything else that might be important, you'll know where to find us. There's a constable stationed outside, and the forensic team will be out of your hair soon, I expect."

  "And my husband's body?"

  "Will be taken to the morgue any moment now."

  "That's good because I don't want to see-I couldn't go through. . . ." She shuddered.

  "Get some rest," Bragg said. "Evans, why don't you make Mrs. Alessi a cup of tea?"

  "I can make my own tea," she said. "I'm not quite an invalid, you know. I'd rather have something to do. I'm not used to being waited on. And I want to call my daughter in private."

  "Right. Come on, Evans." Bragg stomped down the stairs.

  "You didn't mention the other crime to her," Evan said.

  "No. That will come later. My philosophy is to question them in small doses. Make them think they're off the hook, then come back with more."

  "You don't suspect her, do you?"

  "Not when she was snoring her head off, I suppose," Bragg agreed. "But in my experience people often know more than they want to tell you. Silly little things like owing money or feuding with neighbors. They can all be important."

  "Are you going to requisition her phone records?" Evan asked.

  "Not a bad idea."

  "And the Rogers's too. If we found the same number turning up on both. . . ."

  Bragg laughed. "I can't see Mrs. Rogers calling Mrs. Alessi to chat, can you? But it's worth a try. Anything's worth a try at this point."

  Bragg and Evan found the three employees were sitting, wide eyed and ashen faced, on the vinyl benches of the café. Mona, the waitress who had been with them since the café opened, was decidedly weepy. "He was such a nice man," she repeated over and over.

  All three of them had left well before midnight. They all claimed to get along well with Luigi and couldn't offer any suggestions as to who might have wanted to kill him.

  "You do get bad types hanging around here at night sometimes," Mona ventured. "Homeless people, druggies. We're too close to the railway station. You'll probably find it turns out to be some crazed druggie."

  "What do you boys think?" Bragg asked.

  The boys stared at him and shrugged.

  "Don't know what to think," Tommy muttered. "It don't seem real."

  "Did you ever see any suspicious types hanging around here?" Bragg asked. "People who might have underworld connections?"

  "Crooks, you mean?" Tommy asked.

  "I wouldn't know what a crook looked like if I saw one." Sean
had a choirboy's face.

  "I was wondering if you ever saw your boss meeting with someone who upset him or got him rattled," Bragg went on.

  The two boys shook their heads again.

  Bragg looked up at Evan. "I think that's all for now, don't you, Evans? We've got their names and addresses in case we want to ask them more questions."

  "So I suppose the place won't be opening again for a while?" Tommy asked. "Now I'll have to find another job with the right sort of hours."

  "I was thinking of moving in with friends closer to the uni anyway," Sean said.

  "What subject are you reading, Sean?" Evan asked.

  Sean blushed. "Theology."

  Chapter 16

  "I don't know about you blokes, but I could use some coffee," Bragg muttered, as they met in the alleyway outside after interviewing the three employees. "And I don't mean around here. I mean some real coffee."

  "Did somebody say coffee?" one of the techs poked his head out of the window. "You wouldn't like to bring us back a cup when you come, would you? I'd murder for a coffee right now."

  "Bad choice of words, Tim, given the circumstances," the female tech said. "But I could certainly use one too. We've been here since seven."

  "What do you think I am, the bloody maid?" Bragg snapped.

  "No sweat to me, mate," Tim said. "If someone brings us back a coffee, then we keep on working. If not, we take a break to get some, and you'll have to wait for our findings."

  "Bolshie lot," Bragg said, but he was smiling. "I suppose we can bring back coffees. Evans, I'll leave you in charge of that."

  "I hope the responsibility doesn't go to his head," Pritchard muttered, getting a laugh.

  "When's this poor bloke going to be moved then?" Bragg asked, pointing at the arm hanging over the windowsill.

  "The morgue wagon is on its way now," the female technician said. "And we're almost done in here."

  "Like to share what you've found?"

  "Only the obvious. He was shot through the window, from about six feet away. The alleyway was dark, the kitchen was light. He'd have been an easy target. As for the killer coming into the building-there are unidentified fingerprints all over the place, but we should know more about them when we've fingerprinted the restaurant staff, which we're going to do next. It doesn't appear to be any kind of break-in. There's money in the till. The kitchen's spotless, as you can see. Nothing disturbed. So we have to conclude that the point was to shoot Alessi."

  "Any other shootings in this area that you know of?" Bragg asked.

  The two techs looked at each other and shook their heads. "Not that I can remember," Tim said. "To tell you the truth, we don't often get a chance to handle a murder scene, so it's rather exciting."

  "Not for him." Bragg tapped the dangling arm. "Right. Milk and sugar for everyone? Take orders, Evans."

  Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in the Happy Bean, at the more upscale end of the shopping precinct, between the Gap and Benetton. It was frequented mainly by trendy young people, yuppy mums with toddlers in designer pushchairs, and one elderly couple, looking decidedly uncomfortable with the loud music.

  "It might be a good time see what we've got so far," Bragg said. "The widow might have a motive. She admitted he had hit her before now, but supposedly that was when he was drinking and he'd given it up."

  "And she does have a good alibi," Evan added. "She's on medication. Strong sleeping pills that knock her out for the night."

  "And she definitely took one last night?" Wingate asked.

  "Oh yes. Mostyn said he couldn't get much out of her, and I'd say she was still a bit groggy when we first talked to her, wouldn't you, Evans?"

  "She wasn't the sharpest," Evan said. "Of course, shock can do that to some people too."

  "So how did she conveniently wake up to find him and call the cops if she was lying there doped on pills?" Wingate asked.

  "She said she always has to visit the bathroom in the middle of the night. Even though she was half asleep, she noticed he hadn't come to bed and went looking for him."

  "So why was she taking sleeping pills?"

  "She hasn't been well lately. Something to do with nerves. We'll need to see her doctor about that. Make a note, Evans."

  "And did she have any ideas about who might have killed him?" Pritchard asked, seeing Evan frown as he took out his notebook.

  "None at all, Bragg replied. Laughed off the idea of any Mafia connections. Laughed at paying protection money. Said they'd both be grateful if the place burned down."

  "We'll need to get background information on him-who he knew, what he did in his spare time," Wingate said.

  "Mrs. Alessi claims they never had any spare time. He was working until midnight all week and then slept in his armchair watching the telly all Sunday."

  "Doesn't sound like much of a life," Wingate muttered.

  "What did you find out from the crowd outside, you two?" Bragg asked.

  "We couldn't come up with anybody who had heard the shots," Wingate said. "The lads Pritchard spoke to had been at a disco they hold on Friday nights at the pub, and the music is always very loud."

  "So if music was spilling out, and a train was going past, we've got a lot of noise competing with the shots," Bragg said.

  "All the same it's odd that nobody heard them," Evan said.

  "We haven't tried the houses behind yet. That's something we should tackle next. Wingate, why don't you do that? And Pritchard, I've got a special assignment for you. I want you to hang out in the pub this evening and see what you can find out about Alessi. Did he have friends among the regulars at the pub? We know he got into the occasional punchup. Anyone with a grudge? Any particular enemy? Only don't make it too obvious that you're a copper, got it?"

  "Right," Pritchard said. "My kind of assignment at last. Spend all evening in a pub. I like it."

  "And remember you're on duty. One pint if you must, to look authentic, but that's it."

  "That will teach you," Evan joked. "Help you to learn moderation in all things."

  "And I've got a job for you tomorrow, Evans," Bragg said. "I'm sending you to church."

  Evan grinned at the other men's laughter. "Hey, I've been a good chapel-going man most of my life. Now you want me to switch to church, is it?"

  "The local Catholic church," Bragg said. "I don't know what time they have their mass, but take a look and see if there are any other Italians there, and find out if Luigi was a regular attendee."

  "Just one thing, sir," Evan said. "We're rushing around, trying to find out if Luigi had quarreled with anyone, but we're overlooking the main fact-he was shot with an identical bullet to the one that killed Martin Rogers. So we have to assume that the same gun fired both those bullets. And we have to assume that the same person was the killer of both men-don't we?"

  "I suppose we do." Bragg nodded. "But we still need to keep digging into the lives of both men until we find what the link is, what they have in common."

  "That's not going to be easy, is it?" Wingate said. "I mean, look at the contrast in the two houses, and the different sort of lives they led. Where could they possibly have met? Who could possibly have a score to settle with both of them?"

  "Maybe both wives hired the same killer to dispose of their husbands," Evan suggested. He had meant it half jokingly, but he saw the others all look up from their cups of coffee.

  "You're not trying to say that Mrs. Alessi and Mrs. Rogers planned to hire a hit man together when they were doing the church flowers or having their hair done at the same beauty parlor, are you?" Bragg demanded.

  "No, I suppose not," Evan admitted. "I can't think of anything that they'd have in common."

  "So you're suggesting coincidentally, then?" Bragg grinned, clearly enjoying baiting Evans. "Two unrelated killings in two days, or do you think he makes his rounds of North Wales once a year and does two for the price of one?"

  "Besides, I'm no gun expert, but what we know of the weapon doesn't go a
long with a hired killer," Wingate said. "An old war souvenir brought back from Japan? The ballistics tech mentioned that those bullets cost a couple of pounds each. Why waste that kind of money? And a hired killer would have an efficient handgun, probably with a silencer."

  "Nobody heard the gunshot either time," Pritchard pointed out. "Can a gun like that be equipped with a silencer?"

  "It's a weapon, Pritchard. A gun is what you use to shoot grouse on the moors. Do get your terminology right." Bragg drained the last of his coffee. "And in answer to your question, we'll ask the ballistics bloke. Ready to go? We'll have that bolshie lot panting for their coffees."

  Evan picked up the tray of coffees and followed the others to the door.

  By the end of the afternoon they had interviewed the families who lived in the houses behind the alley. Two couples remembered being woken by something around midnight, but couldn't say whether it was a gunshot or not. One woman did look out of the back bedroom window but said nothing moved in the alleyway that she could see. And there was one old dear who told them it had to be terrorists. "They're everywhere, these days, so they tell us," she said. "I'm sure I saw a dark man in white robes last night. I see them all the time. They're everywhere, you know."

  "Batty, and watches too much TV news," Bragg muttered, as they left her.

  "I have to confess, I'm stumped." Bragg looked around the empty kitchen, now with the body removed and cleared of blood. "Who the hell would want to shoot a university professor and then an Italian pizzeria owner? Something tells me it has to be a gangland killing-efficient, opportunistic, through a window. I can see that the Italian might have crossed paths with a criminal element but not Professor Rogers. It's like nothing I've ever come across before. I certainly don't want to admit failure on our first case, but I'm not sure where we go from here."

  Evan looked at him with new understanding. Beneath the brash exterior obviously lurked a fragile ego.

  "In every case I've worked on so far," Evan said cautiously, "the key has been in finding the connection."

  "Thank you, Sherlock Holmes," Bragg said dryly. "What the hell do you think we're trying to do?"