Evanly Bodies

by Rhys Bowen

  "I didn't expect to see you again," she said. "Has new evidence come to light?"

  "Something has come up, actually," Evan said, "and I thought that you probably knew Martin Rogers better than anybody so you might be able to shed some light for me."

  "I'll be happy to do what I can." She led him through to a cluttered sitting room. It wasn't messy, just overfull of things, ranging from piles of books and magazines to stuffed teddy bears and photos of Gwyneth around the world.

  "You like to travel?" Evan said, taking a seat where directed in a chintz armchair.

  "Oh yes, it's my passion," she said. "Every vacation I'm off somewhere. Italy mainly, but I've covered most historic sites in my life."

  "I don't think Professor Rogers shared your passion," Evan said. "There are no photographs of pyramids or leaning towers in his house, and his wife said she hadn't seen her sister in Provence in years."

  "No, Martin was a stick-in-the-mud," she said. "His books were his travel. He liked his life to be orderly. He liked his food plain. He was not a good candidate for adventures abroad."

  "His wife, was she similarly minded?"

  "Who knows what Missy might have wanted had she not married Martin," Gwyneth said. "She deferred to him in everything. They ate what Martin wanted, when Martin wanted. I think she worked so hard at making his life perfect that she forgot she was entitled to a life of her own."

  "This may seem a rather delicate subject," Evan said carefully, "but was it possible that Professor Rogers had a mistress?"

  She stared at him, openmouthed, then she laughed. "Highly un likely, I should think. When Missy was away, a few weeks ago, he was like little boy lost. He invited himself to my place to eat because he didn't know how to fend for himself. Very much the hangdog without her."

  "So Mrs. Rogers went away," Evan said. "She didn't mention that."

  "She was probably embarrassed," Gwyneth said. "She went into hospital for a few days. Some feminine complaint that one doesn't talk about."

  "Oh, I see. Nothing serious though?"

  "Oh no, I don't think so. She was gone a few days and Martin never mentioned it again, so I presume whatever it was went okay." She smoothed back her hair. "Look, I was about to have a glass of sherry, would you like one?"

  "I'm on duty, unfortunately, but please don't let me stop you," Evan said. "We should all make the most of our time off. I get so little these days that I've almost forgotten what it's like."

  "I know the feeling." She poured a generous amount from a crystal decanter. "See that pile of papers. They have to be marked by tomorrow. I'll probably be up half the night." She resumed her seat, took a long sip, and then looked up suddenly. "So what was this new evidence you've come to see me about?"

  Evan phrased it carefully in his own mind. "Did Professor Rogers ever mention any connection to a pizza parlor in Llandudno? Did the name Alessi ever come up? Luigi Alessi?"

  "A pizza parlor? Martin loathed pizza. He wouldn't be caught dead near a pizza parlor. When we were working late at a staff meeting and someone suggested sending out for pizza, Martin said over his dead body." She put her hand up to her mouth. "Oh dear. That's not funny anymore, is it?"

  "I don't think that anyone killed him because he refused to eat pizza," Evan said.

  Gwyneth sighed. "I've been thinking and thinking about who might have done it, and frankly I've drawn a complete blank. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the university-and yet the university was Martin's life. He lived and breathed his work. I hate to admit it, but he was a very good historian and quite a good department head as well."

  "So who will take over the department now?" Evan asked.

  She flushed bright red. "I hadn't really considered it. I suppose I will, for now. Until they hire someone permanently, that is."

  But she had considered it, Evan thought. She had considered it from the moment she heard about Martin Rogers's death.

  At the end of another long and fruitless day, Evan finally headed for home. The predicted rain had begun and came at his windscreen in great squalls, almost too much for the wipers to handle. The clouds had come down almost to road level as he passed the lake beyond Llanberis, and the tiers of slate cliffs loomed out of the mist like castle battlements. A whole day's work, and they were no further ahead. Simon Pennington had been located, with relative ease, in Florence, where he had been staying for over a week. The arrest record on Luigi Alessi had shown no activity for several years. Before that only a couple of citations for disturbing the peace, and one on which the police were called out to a domestic dispute. But it seemed Mrs. Alessi was telling the truth that he had cut back on his drinking, and consequently, his bad behavior had improved.

  Evan parked the car and slithered up the track to the cottage, which had been completely swallowed into the cloud.

  "Bron?" he called, and was immeasurably relieved when she appeared from the kitchen.

  "Oh good, you're home," she said. "What nasty weather to be out in. I was worried about you." He came toward her, but she backed away. "I'm not going to hug you until you change your clothes. You're all wet."

  "I was thinking of taking you out to dinner," Evan said, "but I suppose I've left it too late and you've started something?"

  "It's lamb chops and they could keep," she said, "but in truth it looks and sounds so horrible out there that I think I'd rather stay warm and dry and eat at home."

  "We'll go out as soon as I have a day off, I promise," Evan said, hanging his raincoat on the hook by the front door. "Did you get your hike in today before it rained?"

  "I did, but I didn't really enjoy it, thanks to you," she said stiffly. "You were acting like such a nervous Nellie that it rubbed off on me. When I was up on the mountainside, miles from anyone, I started to feel uneasy. I remembered that girl who disappeared last summer. So I found myself almost running to get down again. That's just not like me, Evan."

  "No, it's not like you, but I can't help wanting to protect you, can I? It's a husband's job."

  "Husband's job." Bronwen ruffled his hair. "You are so old-fashioned."

  "And it's a wife's job to grill the lamb chops," Evan said, "while the husband finds out if there's still some red wine left in that bottle we opened."

  He had just picked up the bottle when there was a thunderous knocking on their front door.

  "Who on earth would come up here in this weather?" Bronwen appeared, white faced, from the kitchen as Evan went to the door. "Be careful. Don't open it."

  Evan opened the door. "Mr. Khan," he said in surprise. "What's wrong?"

  "You know bloody well what's wrong." The Pakistani pushed past him into the living room. Rain had plastered his hair to his face and ran down his raincoat onto the doormat. "Answer me this: What have you done with my daughter?"

  Chapter 19

  "Your daughter?" Bronwen had come to join Evan in the doorway. "Something's happened to Jamila?"

  Mr. Khan came toward her, waving a finger menacingly. "Don't play the innocent with me, missy. You know very well that you put her up to this."

  "I'm afraid we're completely in the dark, Mr. Khan," Evan said. "Won't you take off your coat and sit down?"

  "I'm not sitting with the people who have turned my daughter against me," Khan said. "She would never have done this if it hadn't been for you."

  "Done what?" Bronwen asked. "We haven't seen Jamila all weekend, and we have no idea what she has or hasn't done."

  "Run away, of course." Mr. Khan almost spat out the words. "She's gone. Missing. I drove her mother down to the Home Improvement Center to see about rugs for the floor, and when we got back there was no sign of Jamila. We thought she might have disobeyed us and gone to a friend's house. Then it got dark and we started worrying. She would never be out after dark without calling her mummy and daddy first."

  "Have you called the police?" Evan asked.

  "Aren't you supposed to be a policeman?" Khan demanded, "and yet you are the one behind this. How can I hope for any
help from the police when they will all side with you?"

  "Please stop shouting, Mr. Khan," Bronwen said. "We're very fond of Jamila. We're as worried as you are. Now what do you think has happened to her?"

  "She's run away, of course, because she found out we had plans to arrange a marriage for her."

  "If that's true, I can't say I blame her," Bronwen said. "I tried to talk to you the other night, but you weren't prepared to listen to reason."

  "It's none of your bloody business what I do with my daughter," Khan said. "This is what is wrong with Western culture, Western women. They get too many ideas. They interfere. They don't believe the husband and father knows best. And now you've got Jamila thinking that way too. She was an obedient little girl before we came here."

  "Jamila has been thinking for herself for a long time," Bronwen said. "She was just afraid to express her views to you and her brother. But believe me, the one thing in the world she doesn't want is to marry someone she doesn't know and go and live far away in Pakistan. If you love your daughter at all, you'll listen to what she wants."

  "She's a child. A female child. How can she possibly know what is best for her?"

  "Now you're sounding like your son," Bronwen said. "This is Wales, where every person has the right to decide for him or herself."

  "So you helped her hide from us."

  "No, I didn't," Bronwen said. "Although if she'd come to me and asked for my help, I'd probably have given it to her."

  "But you must have suggested where she could go. She doesn't know many people yet in this area."

  "Have you asked her school friends?" Evan said. "She said she'd already met some nice girls at school."

  "I've no idea who they are," he snapped. "Jamila never confided in me."

  "But your son followed her to a friend's house once. She told us that he made a scene and dragged her home."

  "From a wild party with boys, yes indeed. Rashid cares about his sister. He cares about family. He is trying to live the life of a good Muslim."

  "According to Jamila, it wasn't a wild party. They were sitting around talking, getting to know each other the way teenagers do. And your son overreacted, as he did with me the other night."

  "Rashid is a young man. Young men sometimes feel a fire burning in their hearts. This is a good thing."

  "Just as long as it doesn't consume them," Bronwen said. "So have you checked with the friend's house where Rashid found his sister that time?"

  "I haven't, but Rashid did. The girl had not seen Jamila, so she says. Of course she could be lying. One of them could be harboring Jamila."

  "What time did she leave today?" Evan asked.

  "I don't know. My wife and I went out around eleven."

  "And your son?"

  "He left soon after. He has found a place to live near the university. He was moving his belongings today. When we arrived back about three, Jamila had gone."

  "I know how worried you must feel, Mr. Khan," Evan said, "but I can assure you that neither Bronwen nor I had anything to do with your daughter's disappearance. I was out on a case until ten minutes ago, and Bronwen was hiking in the hills. I'll be happy to call the police for you and instigate a search."

  "I just want her back," the older man said in a broken voice. "I just want my daughter home safe." He looked as if he might cry at any second.

  Evan put a hand on his shoulder. "Go back to your wife. I'll have the police up here right away. And you'd better take a walking stick to get you down the mountain safely," he added, handing him one from the coat rack.

  "Thank you." Mr. Khan was like a deflated balloon. He went away meekly.

  Bronwen waited until the door closed and then turned on Evan. "What on earth did you do that for? Call the police for him? Whose side are you on?"

  "He is her father, Bronwen."

  "Yes, and he's about to ship her abroad and sell her as a slave. Some father."

  "She's not legally old enough to be off on her own, and they do have a right to know where she is. What if something has happened to her? When they find her, then we can get social services involved, if that's what Jamila wants."

  "She clearly doesn't want to be with her family any longer," Bron-wen said. "And who can blame her. With that fanatic of a brother poisoning their minds-" she stopped and put a hand to her mouth. "Oh God, Evan. I've just had the most terrible thought. The brother was alone with her today. And you know what they do in places like Pakistan when a woman disobeys the men in the family? Sometimes they kill her."

  "You think Rashid might have killed Jamila? That's absurd, Bron."

  "She stood up to him, didn't she? She would have told him that she wasn't going to marry someone in Pakistan. And he's a violent person, Evan. He could easily have lost control and beaten her to death-or equally taken her down to his Muslim friends. If they are as extreme as he, they could have helped in the killing."

  "This is all wild supposition, Bronwen," Evan said uneasily. "After all, Rashid was born in the UK. He's been to British schools. He's attending a British university."

  "And a fat lot has rubbed off on him," Bronwen snapped. "He's a fanatic, Evan. He's made up his mind and he twists everything to conform with his own narrow views. I think it's highly likely that he could have killed his sister."

  "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" Evan said. "We can't mention this possibility to the police yet. They'll think we're being racist. If they haven't found her after a day or so, then we'll start to worry."

  "I want you to be down there when they question the family," Bronwen said. "You're good at observing people. Watch Rashid when they question him. See if you think he had any part in her disappearance."

  "All right," Evan said. "I'm making the call now. That probably gives me fifteen minutes to eat supper before they get to the Khan's place. Do you think you could get cracking with those lamb chops?"

  Evan put through the call to dispatch, and then he phoned Inspector Watkins at his home.

  "I might have known it was you," Watkins said. "Nobody else would dare to disturb me on a Sunday evening, when I've just sat down in front of the telly with a pint of Watneys. I thought we'd finally got rid of you. Don't tell me you've just phoned up to chat?"

  "Sorry. I wouldn't have called except it's very urgent," Evan said. "I'd look into it myself, but I'm working on another case, and Bron-wen is scared all the facts might not come out. We've just reported a missing minor. Young girl in our village hasn't come home tonight. The parents are frantic."

  "How old?"

  "Fifteen."

  "Well, then. I expect she's just gone off to the pictures with friends and forgot to tell them. You know what teenagers are like-when they're having fun everything else goes out of their heads. Our Tiffany is only eleven, but she's already getting like that. When we tell her what time she has to be home, she just rolls her eyes."

  "But this is different," Evan said. "This is a Pakistani family. They've just moved in, and the girl's become friendly with Bronwen. She came to us very upset because she'd found out her family was plotting to take her back to Pakistan to marry her off to some old man she'd never met. So Bronwen went to try and talk to the family. They refused to listen and pretty much drove her out of their house. Now the girl hasn't come home, and they're blaming us."

  Watkins sucked in air through his teeth. "So you're saying she'd have a good reason to want to run away?"

  "Absolutely. And there's another twist-there is a fanatical brother. Very religious, very extreme. Bronwen's scared that he might have killed her because she disobeyed the men in her family. Either that or he's taken her off somewhere, and he's planning to ship her back to Pakistan right away."

  "I see. So what do you want me to do?"

  "I was hoping that maybe you'd oversee it yourself and treat it as more than the usual runaway teenager kind of case."

  "I'll see what I can do," Watkins said. "What's the address? Have we got squad cars headed up there right now?"

&n
bsp; "Yes, they're on their way."

  "Then I suppose I'd better join them. Bloody nuisance you are. And I suppose you want to be present too?"

  "If I may tonight."

  "See you there in half an hour," Watkins said and hung up.

  "I'll put Glynis onto it in the morning if the girl hasn't shown up by then," Watkins said, as they walked back to his car together. The interview had not gone well, with Rashid hurling abuse and the two parents alternately accusing and pleading. "Glynis can go to the girl's school and get info out of the classmates more easily than I can. I don't blame the poor kid for running away. He's something else, that Rashid, isn't he?"

  "I'm inclined to take Bronwen's suggestion seriously, and I think you should too," Evan said. "I really believe that he is the type who might kill his sister for disobeying him. What makes someone turn extreme like this? He went to a perfectly normal comprehensive school."

  Watkins turned up his collar against the driving rain. "Who can say what makes some people into religious fanatics? In his case he probably felt attracted to the Muslim religion because it gives him the superiority he craves and a sense of belonging. It must be hard to live in a country where you are an obvious outsider."

  "Turning into quite a psychologist in your old age, I notice," Evan said.

  "And no lip from you, boyo," Watkins said. "Just because you're on some elite task force, don't let it go to your head."

  "Elite task force." Evan grunted. "You've worked with Bragg be fore, have you? He's an idiot with no social skills. We have two murders at the moment, and we're getting nowhere."

  "I warned you, didn't I? Rumor has it that Bragg couldn't get along with his boss at Central Division, so strings were pulled to have him assigned to this new Major Crimes Unit."

  "Is that why I'm there too?" Evan asked. He had meant it to be flippant.