Constable Evans 02: Evan Help Us

by Rhys Bowen

  “Yes, sir,” Annie said. “That’s why I hurried down here to see Constable Evans.”

  “Why exactly did you own a gun, Miss Pigeon?” Sergeant Watkins asked. “You have a permit for it, I hope.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s all legal,” Annie said. “I lived in a bad part of London once. A friend bought me the gun just in case, after a girl was raped on my street. I’ve never had to use it, thank God, but I hung onto it. I kept it at the back of my undies drawer, actually. I’d forgotten all about it until this.” She looked around the room excitedly. “You don’t mean to tell me that the murder was done with my gun?”

  The D.I. leaned forward in his seat. “Could you describe it for us, Miss Pigeon?”

  “It didn’t really look like a real gun at all. It was a pretty little thing, with a pearl handle. I remember saying that I didn’t believe a little thing like that could ever kill anybody…” She caught the expression on Sargeant Watkins’ face. “Was that it? Then someone did break in on Sunday. I must go through all my stuff again. I wonder what else he could have taken.”

  “Can you tell us about your own movements yesterday evening, Miss Pigeon?” D.I. Hughes asked.

  “My movements?” Annie looked shocked. “I didn’t go out all evening.”

  “Not even to the village meeting?”

  “Why would I go to that? I just moved here and I don’t speak Welsh. Besides, I’ve got a little girl. I couldn’t leave her home alone, could I?”

  “So you stayed home all evening?”

  “Here, what are you getting at?” Annie demanded. “You’re not suggesting I might have had something to do with killing that bloke, are you? I didn’t know him from Adam. I only met him the day before. I don’t go around killing complete strangers, you know.” She looked from one face to the next. “Do you know what time he was killed?”

  “Before ten o’clock, the doctor here says,” Sergeant Watkins said.

  A big smile spread across Annie’s face. “There you are then. Constable Evans can vouch for me. He came to my house around nine-thirty and he didn’t leave until ten-fifteen at the earliest.”

  Evan felt all the eyes in the room turn to him. “I told you sir. She called to report a suspected break-in.”

  “And it took you forty-five minutes to decide that nobody was there?” Evan could detect sarcasm in the D.I.’s voice.

  “Oh no,” Annie chimed in before Evan could speak. “He helped me get Jenny to sleep and then we had a glass of wine together. I needed to steady my nerves. Constable Evans was a big comfort to me.”

  “I’m sure he was,” the inspector said. He exchanged a dry look with the medical examiner. Evan wanted to tell him that it wasn’t the way it sounded. “So you and Miss Pigeon were together from nine-thirty until ten-fifteen, constable?”

  “Yes, sir,” Evan said, feeling his face glowing with embarrassment. “She was rather upset, sir,” he added.

  D.I. Hughes got to his feet. “Well, thank you for coming forward so promptly, Miss Pigeon. You’ve saved us a lot of time and effort and we appreciate it. Now, if you wouldn’t mind letting Constable Evans take a set of fingerprints before you go.”

  “Fingerprints? My fingerprints? What for?” Annie shot Evan an alarmed look. “I told you, I was home all evening. And someone broke in and took my gun. That’s the fingerprints you want to be looking for, I’d say.”

  D.I. Hughes put a neatly manicured hand on Annie’s shoulder. “There’s no cause for alarm, I assure you, Miss Pigeon. It makes good sense to have your fingerprints on file. They’d be on the gun, wouldn’t they, if it belonged to you?”

  “I suppose so,” Annie said hesitantly, “but I told you, I haven’t touched it in years. It was wrapped up in an old nightie, so all the fingerprints might have been rubbed off by now.”

  “We usually manage to find one or two,” Sergeant Watkins said. “And we’ll need to know which are yours so that we can see who else might have handled it.”

  “Oh, I see. Yes.” Annie visibly relaxed. She held out her hands to Evan. “You’ll mind my nail polish, won’t you? I just did it yesterday.”

  “I won’t spoil your nails,” Evan said, opening the ink pad and taking her hand. “And I think Miss Pigeon has a point, sir,” he said, turning to the inspector. “It would be a good idea to look for prints around her window frame and back door. It’s possible that the same person who took her gun also committed the murder.”

  “The interesting thing to me is how anybody knew she owned a gun,” the inspector said. “Did you tell anybody about this gun, Miss Pigeon?”

  “Not here,” Annie said. “I don’t really know anybody here yet. Of course my friends back home knew.”

  “Is it possible that somebody followed you here, with the intention of getting hold of your gun?” Sergeant Watkins asked. “Is there anyone you can think of who might do that?”

  Annie shook her head violently. “No one. No one at all.”

  “You say you’ve just moved here, Miss Pigeon?” D.I. Hughes asked. “Why did you chose Llanfair? Do you have a job here?”

  “No sir. I’m home taking care of my three year old,” Annie said. “I came here because I wanted her to grow up away from crime and violence.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “That’s bloody funny, isn’t it? Been here two weeks and we’ve had two murders.”

  “Two?” The D.I. looked confused. “Oh yes, the colonel. Yes, it does look as if his death wasn’t accidental after all. Well, I’m sorry you’ve had such an unfortunate start to your stay in Llanfair, Miss Pigeon. I assure you that this kind of thing isn’t normal for our little corner of Wales.”

  Annie gave a twisted smile as she took the paper towel Evan was offering her and started wiping her fingers. “Maybe I’m the jinx,” she said. “Who knows, maybe I bring bad luck wherever I go.” She looked around the room. “Am I free to leave now?”

  “Yes, thank you. We have all that we need, I think.” D.I. Hughes looked to Sergeant Watkins for confirmation. “But please don’t leave the area without notifying us first,” he added as Annie reached the door.

  Annie looked back nervously. “I’m not allowed to go anywhere? Why not?”

  “We will need you to identify the gun officially at an inquest,” Sergeant Watkins said.

  “I wasn’t planning on going any further than the beach anyway,” Annie said. “I don’t have the money to travel right now. Ta-ta for now then. See yer around, Evan.”

  And she was gone.

  “Interesting,” D.I. Hughes said as the door closed behind her. “She comes here and someone tries to break into her house and takes her gun. I think that young woman has a few things she’s not telling us. Just how well do you know her, Constable Evans?” It was more accusation than question.

  Evan felt himself flushing again and cursed his fair Celtic skin. “Only what you’ve heard about, sir. I met her last week. She asked me to show her the area on Sunday and she called me in about the break-in last night.”

  “And you think this break-in was genuine?”

  Evan shrugged. “I’d say she was genuinely scared, sir. Her hand was shaking so much she could hardly pick up her wine glass and then she knocked it back in one gulp.”

  “We may be dealing with an alcohol problem there,” the inspector said.

  “I haven’t noticed any alcohol before, sir,” Evan said. “And she didn’t smell of booze when I first arrived.”

  “But you definitely found no signs of a break-in?”

  “None at all, sir.”

  “She claims it was the second attempt, doesn’t she, sir,” Watkins suggested. “If someone broke in on Sunday and took the gun then, why come back the next night?”

  “And why did she only discover the gun was missing this morning?” D.I. Hughes retorted. “That would be the first thing you’d check on, wouldn’t it?”

  “Not if she hadn’t ever used it, sir,” Evan said. “Maybe she just hung onto it from habit.”

  “Well, you’ve g
iven her a cast-iron alibi for last night, constable,” the inspector said, “but I wonder if she’s not mixed up in this somehow. There has to be an unsavory boyfriend lurking in the background, someone who knew she had a gun.”

  “Someone she’s too frightened of to admit he’s terrorizing her?” Sergeant Watkins added. “She had to be running away from someone to suddenly show up here out of nowhere, didn’t she?”

  The D.I. nodded. “Run a background check on her, Watkins, and let’s see what we come up with. And, Evans, stay friendly for now. She’s obviously got her eye on you. Encourage her. Maybe she’ll get comfortable enough to confide in you.”

  Evan tried not to wince. It was easy enough for the D.I. to suggest encouraging Annie Pigeon. But the D.I. didn’t have Bronwen watching his every move. How could he ever make her understand that this was all in the line of duty?

  Evan had to admit that he felt sorry for Annie Pigeon and he wanted to help her. He suspected, like the D.I., that she was keeping things back from him. Maybe his presence would protect her from an abusive boyfriend. Maybe she was in danger right now if the boyfriend was somehow involved in the killing of Ted Morgan. Because Annie Pigeon clearly knew more than she was telling. She’d shown that just now. She had called the colonel’s death a murder when Evan had been very careful to let the village think that it was still an accident.

  Chapter 14

  “I think we need to do a little brainstorming before we go any further,” D.I. Hughes said, motioning to Evan to join them at the table. “Miss Pigeon brought up an important point. She reminded me that we are dealing with two murders in this village, not one.”

  Evan decided that the D.I. didn’t miss much.

  “We need to decide how these two deaths could possibly be connected. Let’s hear your opinion, sergeant.”

  “Well, sir,” Sergeant Watkins began, “at first glance I can’t see how they could be connected. They’re not the same kind of crimes, are they? One is a crime of violence. It took a strong, violent person to bash in someone’s skull and then throw him in the river. But anyone could have committed the second crime, even a slightly built woman. All it needed was good aim and catching Ted Morgan by surprise. And it was a woman’s weapon, don’t forget.”

  “So what do the two deaths have in common, constable?”

  Evan cleared his throat. He felt as if he was back in school, facing a difficult master. “The only links I can see, are that both the victims arrived here recently and they both came from London.”

  “Important points!” the D.I. said. “Make a note of that, will you, Watkins.”

  “But they would hardly have moved in the same circles in London, sir,” Evan went on. “Ted Morgan was a successful businessman. The colonel was living on a small pension and he only went to his old army club. And London’s a big place.”

  “And Miss Pigeon—did she come from London too?”

  “No, sir. She said she came from Manchester.”

  “Manchester? She doesn’t speak like a Lancashire lass, does she?”

  “She might just have meant that she was living there before she came here,” Evan said.

  “Possibly. But there is a link in that she has also just arrived. Make a note of that too, sergeant.”

  Sergeant Watkins frowned as he scribbled on his pad.

  “Of course, our first line of enquiry should be the most direct.” D.I. Hughes went on, looking around the table as if he was really enjoying himself now. “What’s the first question we detectives are trained to ask ourselves? Who benefits financially from the death? And who does here?”

  “The next of kin would be Ted Morgan’s sister,” Evan said. “She’s married and lives just down the mountain near Beddgelert.”

  “Then I suggest that Sergeant Watkins goes to talk to this sister before we do anything more,” D.I. Hughes said. “I want to get back to the crime scene. There are always little clues that the lab boys overlook.” He reached into his pocket and took out a magnifying glass. “If you’d like to accompany me back up there, doctor?”

  “Exit Holmes and Watson,” Sergeant Watkins muttered to Evan as the two men went out. “Did you notice the magnifying glass? He really uses that thing. Oh well, if it keeps him happy and out of our hair.” He got to his feet. “Ready to go pay a visit on Morgan’s sister then?”

  “You want me to come along?” Evan asked, pleased but apprehensive. “You don’t think the D.I. will mind?”

  “I have to take you along with me,” Watkins said. “You know my Welsh isn’t that great. I need an interpreter.” He grinned at Evan as he headed for the door.

  * * *

  Sam and Gwyneth Hoskins were just sitting down to their midday meal when Evan and Sergeant Watkins knocked on their cottage door. Gwyneth showed them into a dark, low-ceilinged kitchen where Sam was in the middle of carving thick, pink slices from a leg of lamb.

  “So it’s true then, is it?” Gwyneth asked, wiping her hands nervously on her apron.

  “You’ve already heard the news then?” Evan asked.

  Gwyneth’s eyes darted from Evan to Sergeant Watkins. “Elspeth Rees called me this morning. I couldn’t rightly believe it. Our Ted, taking his own life?” She shook her head firmly. “There’s never been any insanity in the family.”

  Sam Hoskins had finished with the meat and was now spooning heaps of pickled cabbage onto the plate beside it. “Excuse me for eating,” he muttered, “but I’ve got to get back to the sheep. Farmers don’t have the luxury of lunch breaks, do they?”

  “He only came in this minute just,” Gwyneth said, glancing across at Sam. “I wasn’t rightly sure what to do. I thought Sam would never believe it. Not our Ted. He wasn’t the type, was he?”

  “You’re right. He might not have been the type, Mrs. Hoskins,” Sergeant Watkins said dryly. “It appears now that someone else might have pulled the trigger and made it look like suicide.”

  “That’s more like it,” Sam Hoskins said with a mouthful of lamb and bread. “I’d imagine there were plenty of folk who’d be quite happy to take a potshot at our Ted.”

  “Hush now, Sam. Don’t go talking like that,” Gwyneth whispered in a shocked voice. “You shouldn’t talk ill of the dead.”

  “He got what he deserved,” Sam said, cutting himself another huge mouthful of lamb and shoving it into his mouth.

  Gwyneth looked appealingly at the policemen. “I won’t say there was any love lost between Ted and me,” she said. “I can’t say that I’d weep for him now. He always was the baby, the darling who could do no wrong. But he was a sadistic little bugger—I remember he killed my pet rabbit then had the nerve to pretend to our dad that he’d been out hunting and shot a rabbit, and he got the credit for it too. I more or less raised him after our ma died. He was six and I was ten, but he never showed an ounce of gratitude when he grew up. He couldn’t wait to get out here and never came back until now.”

  “And never sent as much as a Christmas card to us, did he, Gwyneth love?” Sam Hoskins asked as he picked up a mug of tea.

  “So you can think of people who would have liked to take a potshot at Ted Morgan, can you, Mr. Hoskins?” Evan asked quietly, “Beside yourself, I mean?”

  “What are you saying, Mr. Evans?” Gwyneth demanded. “You’re not saying my Sam might have had something to do with it, are you?”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Hoskins. I was wondering if you or your husband could come up with the names of some people who didn’t like Ted Morgan, enough to kill him.”

  “Plenty, I should think,” Sam Hoskins said. “He always enjoyed baiting people and getting into fights with them. Evans-the-Meat for one. Those two were always scrapping when they were little. And I hear that Evans-the-Meat went for him at the village meeting last night.”

  “You weren’t there yourself?” Evan asked.

  “Why would we be there? What they do in the village of Llanfair doesn’t concern us,” Gwyneth said quickly. “Besides, we don’t like to stay up late.”


  “So do you mind telling us where you were last night from about eight o’clock onwards?”

  “That’s a bloody stupid question,” Sam Hoskins spluttered. “We’re up at four in the morning, this time of year. We go to bed around nine, don’t we?”

  “So you were home, in bed?” Sergeant Watkins said. “I don’t suppose you can prove that.”

  “I don’t keep a harem in the bedroom closet who could vouch for me, unfortunately. Just the one wife.”

  Evan had to smile.

  “We haven’t found his will yet, but it’s possible that you’re his primary beneficiary, Mrs. Hoskins,” Sergeant Watkins said.

  “You mean I inherit his money?” Gwyneth asked, her face lighting up.

  “And the farm, I shouldn’t wonder,” Sam added.

  “Fancy that.” Gwyneth’s cheeks were very pink as she glanced at Sam. “I can’t take it in yet. It’s all too sudden.” She put her hand to her heart and stood there shaking her head. “When do you think I’ll know?”

  “You’ll probably hear from his solicitor’s office when they’ve sorted out the will,” Sergeant Watkins said. “And when they’ve found your brother’s killer. By the way, Mr. Hoskins, do either of you own a gun?”

  “Of course I’ve got a gun,” Sam Hoskins said. “And I use it if I see a fox anywhere near my lambs.” He opened a corner cupboard and took out an ancient shotgun.

  “Thanks, that’s all for now then,” Sergeant Watkins said. “Sorry to disturb your lunch.”

  “Not at all. Especially when you’re bringing what’s good news for us, right?” Sam Hoskins said, jabbing his fork in a pickled onion.

  * * *

  Gwyneth showed the policemen to the front door, closed it behind her, and came back to the table. “All the same, Sam,” she said quietly, “I think you should have told them where you were last night. They’re going to find out anyway and then it looks bad for us, doesn’t it?”

  “They won’t find out a thing if you don’t blab, woman,” Sam Hoskins said and calmly went on eating.