by Rhys Bowen
“But surely a star is a nice Christmas symbol for the whole village to enjoy, isn’t it?” Evan suggested.
“A Papist symbol, Constable Evans. Not the sort of thing you’d expect to find on a good Nonconformist chapel, and a traffic hazard to boot.”
“A traffic hazard?” Evan glanced up at the star on the chapel roof. It didn’t look as if it might fall off at any moment.
“I understand that the lights are going to flash on and off. Approaching motorists will be distracted. They might think it is some kind of traffic signal, slow down, and run into each other. It can’t be allowed, Constable Evans. It has to go. If it doesn’t, I will personally complain to the Public Safety commissioner—an old friend, I might add.”
“I’ll register your complaint and pass it on to my superior,” Evan said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“And ask her about the holly,” Mrs. Powell-Jones called after him. “I had some particularly fine holly berries in my back garden. Now they have all mysteriously disappeared and that Parry Jones woman has a holly wreath on her front door. Very strange, since she has no garden of her own to speak of and certainly no holly bushes. Ask her about it, Constable Evans. Get her to confess.”
Evan sighed as he continued down the street. Was this why he had become a policeman, to mediate disputes between feuding ministers’ wives?
So what are you going to do about it, boyo? he asked himself as he shut the station door behind him and put on the kettle for a cup of tea. Are you going to sit there and let them all walk over you? Or are you going to show them that you’re as good as any of them? The problem was he had no idea how he was going to show them anything at all … . unless he used his initiative and started doing a little snooping on his own. Anyway, he wasn’t going to sit there all day, waiting to be summoned to play nursemaid. He unplugged the kettle again and strode out to his car. It wouldn’t do any harm if he had a talk with Mr. Robert James, and maybe asked if an old German had turned up in Blenau Ffestiniog recently.
Robert Jameses’ farm looked prosperous, with lush green water meadows beside a rushing stream and a large two-story farmhouse set among larch trees. Smoke was curling up from the chimney and a big bonfire of leaves added a delicious smell as Evan drove between dry stone walls to the house. A pretty woman came to the door, slim and fine boned, with blond hair and blue eyes. Although she wore jeans and an old sweatshirt, she managed to look elegant, and much younger than she really was, Evan suspected. A toddler emerged from behind her legs and was promptly grabbed before it could escape.
“Sorry about that,” she said, smiling at Evan. “My daughter’s off helping my husband with the funeral arrangements and I’m stuck here with the grandkids.”
“I’m Constable Evans, Mrs. James. I’m sorry to trouble you at this difficult time, but … .”
A flash of fear crossed her face. “Nothing’s wrong, is it?”
“No, I just came to see your husband, actually. My condolences about his father. I didn’t know him personally but he was obviously well respected.”
“He was indeed—a lovely man. Robert says he used to be quite stern when they were kids, but turned into a big old softie. You should have seen him with the grandchildren, giving them rides on his back.” She paused, fished for a tissue, and wiped her eyes. “Robert’s really taking it hard. His father was doing so well after the heart surgery, look you.” She smoothed down her apron. “But I mustn’t keep you here, chattering on. I don’t think Robert will be back for a while. There’s so much paperwork to be done and his mother’s not really up to it—well, she wouldn’t be, would she?”
Evan wondered when she might stop for breath. When the grandchild tugged at her skirt and said, “Nain, I’m hungry,” she looked up at Evan and smiled apologetically.
“I’d better go and feed the multitudes. Always hungry at this age, aren’t they? So what was it you wanted to ask Robert? Maybe I can help you?”
“It’s about a man called Grantley Smith.”
“Grantley Smith—don’t mention that name around here,” she snapped. “Robert told me all about that Englishman and what he did. He blames him for his father’s death. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? And I have to agree with him—bringing that terrible woman to visit him. I mean, you don’t shock somebody who’s had heart surgery, do you?”
“Would you happen to know if Robert went to see Grantley Smith after his father died?”
“He talked about it,” she said. “But he always talks big, does Robert, when he gets riled. He was going to give that Grantley Smith the whipping of his life. Teach him to come interfering where he wasn’t wanted. That kind of thing, you know. But it’s all talk, isn’t it?”
Evan thought it prudent not to tell her that Robert’s hands had been around Grantley Smith’s throat at least once.
“On Saturday morning, did either of you go out?”
“On Saturday? Why yes. I always do my week’s shopping on Saturdays. I dropped Robert off in Blenau and I went on down to Porthmadog.”
“What was your husband doing in Blenau?”
“He usually pops down on a Saturday morning and ends up at the Wynnes Arms, of course with all his cronies.” She paused and then asked cautiously, “What’s this about then? Nothing’s happened to Robert, has it?”
“Just routine inquiries,” Evan said. “I wondered if your husband might have bumped into Grantley Smith on Saturday morning, that’s all.”
“He didn’t say anything about it,” Mrs. James said, sweeping the toddler up into her arms, “and I’m sure he would have, knowing how he feels.”
Evan gave her a friendly smile. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer then.”
He’d have to report this to D.I. Hughes and his merry men, Evan decided as he drove away from the Jameses’ farm. He didn’t want to, but he didn’t have much choice. The fact that Robert James was in Blenau when Grantley Smith met his death was something they couldn’t overlook—although Evan couldn’t really picture Robert James as Grantley’s killer. Robert reminded him of Evans-the-Meat, all bluff and bluster, but he cooled down just as quickly as he heated up. He could imagine Robert strangling Grantley in the heat of the moment, but sneaking down a mine after him, strangling him in a dark passage, and then weighting down his body before dumping it in a pool of water—that took a different kind of temperament. It was an opportunistic, clever sort of murder.
But he would have to pass on the facts to the D.I. And he’d have to tell them about the old German as well. Not that he thought the German was a likely suspect. He had been angry enough. He had vowed to stop Grantley at any cost, but stopping someone at any cost didn’t usually mean killing them. Evan couldn’t picture that old man following Grantley down a mine and sneaking up behind him. Besides, the project to raise the plane would go on without Grantley. No—Evan suspected that the answer lay closer to home, among Grantley’s colleagues. He had felt the undercurrent of tension when he first met them. So many little remarks he didn’t understand. So many sneaked glances. The best thing he could do right now was to stay at his assigned post and observe.
That afternoon he was summoned up to the lake, where work on raising the plane was going to resume. The D.I. had apparently finished interviewing all of the filmmakers without leaping to conclusions and arresting anyone—which was a distinct improvement on his usual modus operandi, Evan decided. When he arrived at the lake site, the generators were humming, the winch was turning, and so were the film cameras. It was as if Grantley Smith had never existed.
Evan sat on a rock and watched them. Sergeant Watkins had been right—they were all jittery. Howard kept glancing up at him as he scribbled furiously on his yellow pad, then leaped to peek into the camera. Sandie must have dropped her pen at least ten times, each time looking across at Evan. And Edward was a bundle of nerves, pacing up and down, bringing out his handkerchief to mop his forehead, snapping at the crew when they didn’t follow instructions immediately. Evan supposed it was understand
able that they would all be on edge. After all, they had just lost someone who had been close to them. But was their behavior showing their guilt, or was it possible that they suspected each other? Evan watched even more closely. Sandie was doing a lot of glancing at Edward, but then Edward was glancing at Howard, and Howard was taking care to avoid eye contact with either of them. Interesting.
Evan waited until Sandie sat down to write up some notes. He went over and sat beside her. She started nervously as he perched on the rock. “So you had to face D.I. Hughes grilling you this morning, did you?” he asked, giving her a friendly smile.
She nodded.
“I can’t imagine that was too pleasant. Our D.I. isn’t known for his subtlety or tact.”
Sandie shuddered. “It was the way he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes. And once he leaned across to that woman detective and muttered something and she looked directly at me. But when it came to my turn, he didn’t really ask me anything at all.” She picked at the hem of her sweater, twisting it into a knot. “Maybe they know more than they’re letting on.”
“About what?”
“About who killed Grantley, of course.”
“Do you have any ideas yourself?.”
She jumped again. “Me? No, why should I?”
“You’ve been working very closely with these people. When I first met them, I sensed things going on that I didn’t understand. An awful lot of tension, wasn’t there?”
“I suppose so. Grantley was the sort of person who thrived on tension. He wasn’t always easy to get on with.”
“Had you been with him for long—as his production assistant, I mean?” Evan asked tactfully.
“As his production assistant? This is the first thing he ever produced.” She glanced at him shyly. “I’d known Grantley for about a year. We were taking classes at the film institute together. When he told me about this, I jumped at the chance to be part of it—even if it meant being his maid of all work. Grantley had hardly paid me any attention before, but when I said my family came from North Wales, he was suddenly very attentive and asked me to join his team.
“I was flattered, I suppose. It’s not easy to break into films these days—too many qualified people, and I didn’t have a degree in media or anything. And when he said Howard Bauer was going to be directing, well, that clinched it. I’d have scrubbed floors or served tea to work with Howard.”
“And has he turned out to be as good as you thought he was?”
She stared at Howard with a puzzled frown. “That’s the weird thing. He hasn’t really done anything much. He’s been content to leave all the decisions to Grantley when I’m sure he knows much better. Maybe he was just being nice and letting Grantley run the show here.”
“What made him decide to join this venture?” Evan asked. “It can’t have been the money.”
“Hell, no. None of us has been paid yet. We were doing it for Grantley, and Grantley, I suspect, was doing it for Edward.” She made a face.
“So what made you walk out?” Evan asked her suddenly. “You said it was a personal matter.”
“It was.” She got to her feet again.
“You were in love with Grantley, weren’t you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It’s all going to come out in the investigation, you know. They’re looking for someone with a motive, and a jilted lover who storms out yelling, ‘I hate you,’ is going to be something that interests the D.I. It gives you a pretty strong motive, doesn’t it?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sandie said. She pushed her blond hair back from her face and suddenly looked very young and vulnerable. “I knew they’d suspect me. And when they find out I was there … .” She looked up at him appealingly. “You seem like a nice sort of bloke. You look as if you’d understand.”
Evan nodded. “Where were you, Sandie?”
“Up in that bloody place I can’t pronounce. Blenny something. I was so angry and upset when I stormed out. Then I thought that maybe I got it wrong. Maybe it was just Grantley being Grantley.”
“What was?”
“I found a photo of him and Edward. They were—you know—it was disgusting. I couldn’t believe it. I confronted Edward and he said it was true. He said he and Grantley had been living together—you know, like a couple. I couldn’t believe it. I mean I thought that Grantley—that he fancied me. He certainly acted that way when we were alone.”
“So you left?”
“Yeah. But I couldn’t make myself go away. I kept thinking they’d taken that photo for a joke, or that maybe Edward was that way but Grantley was just playing him along. So I decided I’d make Grantley tell me the truth. If I heard from his own lips that he was gay and he wasn’t interested in me, then I’d leave.
“I rented a car and came back here, looking for him. Howard told me that they’d gone up to the Blenny place. So I drove up there. I saw the Land Rover parked at one end of the High Street. I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find Grantley. So I came back again.” She looked up at him hopelessly. “But they’ll find out I was up there. I asked people if they’d seen him. They’ll remember me. And they’ll think I did it.” She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears from escaping. “Not that I care anymore what happens to me. Now that he’s gone. Nothing matters anymore. I just pray they catch the bastard that did it.”
Howard called her and she hurried over to him. Evan watched her go. Someone with a motive and means, he thought. She had been betrayed and humiliated. She might have seen Grantley. He might even have invited her down the mine with him. But after that … . Evan studied her slender frame. The wind was blowing her fine blond hair out behind her and flapping her jeans around her spindly legs. If she had wanted to kill Grantley, she’d have hit him over the head with a rock, not grabbed him around the throat and strangled him. And she certainly wouldn’t have had the strength to drag his body and drop it into the water.
“I’d never met Grantley until recently.” Howard lowered himself to a rock and stretched out his legs, today clad in black cords. There was a hitch with the underwater cable and they were taking a break. The sun had broken through the clouds and was pleasantly warm when the wind dropped. Howard took out a hip flask, took a swig, and then offered it to Evan.
“Not when I’m on duty, thanks,” Evan replied tactfully.
“My only vice these days.” Howard gave a sad little smile. “I’ve given up on cigarettes and women. I’ve had three wives. Now I stay well away. Too expensive.” He grinned at Evan. “Are you married?”
“Not yet.”
“Keep it that way. Less complicated.”
Evan laughed. “I’m curious,” he asked. “What made you sign on for a project like this? I mean, I’d imagine a bloke with your reputation would be pretty much in demand. And this can’t be too exciting after the kind of high excitement things you’ve done. So were you doing a favor to a personal friend?”
Howard grimaced. “As I told you, I only met him earlier this year. I was teaching a course at the film institute in London and he was in my class. He was really interested, really keen to get on, you know. He even volunteered to be my intern, which really meant my gopher. He helped me out with my filing and editing for a while. So, when he called me about this project, he said it would only take a couple of weeks, and I thought, Hell, why not? Give the young guy a break. I wasn’t keen to fly back to California in a hurry. Wife number three has an alimony suit going. She can’t live on what I pay her, apparently. The poodles all need shampooing twice a month.”
“So you agreed to do this just to help Grantley get launched in his own career?”
Howard nodded. “He thought my name would lend the project credibility and get us backing. And I’m always happy to pass on what I’ve learned to the next generation.”
“That’s very nice of you,” Evan said.
Howard got to his feet. “Oh well. I suppose we should get back to work while the sun’s
out. It makes it seem kinda pretty up here.”
Evan got to his own feet and strolled down to the edge of the lake, where the two divers were still struggling to attach a cable. No motive there, apparently. Howard Bauer wasn’t even closely connected with Grantley Smith. He had the means all right. He had been seen walking through Llanfair when he claimed to be struck down with a virus and in bed all day. He could easily have taken a bus or taxi to follow Grantley to Blenau Ffestiniog. But what for?
All the same, something didn’t make sense. Howard had said that he agreed to help out with the project as a mentor figure. He hinted that Grantley idolized him—had even helped with his office filing. And yet the exchanges Evan had witnessed were not those of master and pupil. It always seemed that Grantley was the one in charge and that Grantley took perverse pleasure in needling Howard—almost talking down to him on occasion. Howard clearly hadn’t enjoyed those exchanges, which made one wonder why he put up with Grantley.
And then there was Edward Ferrers. Evan looked back at the young man as he shouted and gesticulated. Edward was showing definite signs of stress. Obviously, the death of a close friend might have made him act that way, but Evan remembered the day Grantley went missing. He remembered Edward arriving at the lake in a very agitated state. Was it just because they had fought and then Grantley had driven off in Edward’s car? Or had Edward followed Grantley, found him down the mine, and done what he had threatened to do? Of all of them, Edward had the strength and a compelling motive. The collapse of a relationship, Grantley’s constant humiliation and teasing. Yes, Evan could well understand if Edward had finally snapped. Of course, proving it would be another matter, and he had promised Bronwen that he’d prove Edward’s innocence. What if all facts pointed to his guilt instead?
Chapter 18
After that, she kept harping on those blasted pictures.
“You helped build those sheds, didn’t you?” she asked me out of the blue one day, a week or so later. I’d met her down in Llandudno and we went to the pictures. Joan Fontaine in Suspicion was playing, and Joan Fontaine was one of her favorites, right up there with Ginger and Betty and Carole Lombard. But the B movie was really bad. A stupid cops and robbers.
