Constable Evans 03: Evanly Choirs

by Rhys Bowen

  At last he felt the door yield to his tug as the water engulfed the interior of the car. He grabbed at a jacket sleeve and pulled, kicking with all his force to get away from the car. He felt the body floating behind him as he kicked for the surface.

  Bronwen was standing there, clutching his jacket, her face white and anxious.

  “Help me … get to…” Evan started to say but Bronwen was already wading into the shallow water and grabbed the person’s other arm.

  “Is she dead?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He was still gasping for air. “She couldn’t have drowned. There was no water in the car.”

  They laid the limp body on the grassy shore. Against her jet black hair the face looked a ghastly white.

  “We should start CPR,” Bronwen said. Evan searched for a pulse and found one. “She’s alive,” he said.

  The girl stirred and moaned. Then she opened her eyes and looked at them with surprise. “Where am I?” she asked. “What’s happening?” She moved cautiously. “I’m all wet.”

  “You’ve been for a swim,” Evan said. “Your car went into the lake.”

  “The lake?” She tried to sit up and looked around her, puzzled. “Oh yes, I remember now. I parked on the shore. I must have fallen asleep.”

  Evan was looking at her closely. “Fallen asleep?” he asked. “So how did the car get into the water?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded young and scared. “Maybe the brake didn’t hold properly. Maybe I knocked it with my leg while I was sleeping.”

  “And what about the man who was with you?” Bronwen asked, squatting down beside them.

  “Man? With me? It was only me. I was all alone,” the girl said steadily.

  “But I saw a man there, didn’t you Bronwen?”

  “I think so. There was a man behind the car, at the edge of the woods.”

  The girl looked at them blankly. “I’ve no idea,” she said. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “So what do we do now?” Bronwen asked.

  “Get her down to a hospital to be checked out.”

  The girl struggled to get up. “Hospital? I don’t want to go to any hospital. I’m fine—just a little shaken up, that’s all.”

  “You were unconscious in a car at the bottom of the lake. That’s not fine,” Evan said.

  “I told you, I must have fallen asleep, but I’m fine now. Honestly I am. And I don’t want to go to any hospital—please.”

  Evan shrugged and helped her to her feet. “I suppose we can’t force you,” he said, “but how are we going to get you back down? The easiest way would be to send for an ambulance.”

  “I told you, I’m perfectly okay.” Her voice had a sharp edge to it now. “I can walk back the way I came. I can pick up a bus from there.”

  “You’re not walking back alone,” Evan said. “I don’t think you’d make it back to my car, though. It’s quite a climb.” He looked at her black patent slingbacks and then at Bronwen.

  Bronwen got up. “I’ll go and get your car, Evan,” she said. “It won’t take me long.”

  “I don’t know if I want to be left with a strange bloke,” the girl said.

  “He’s a police officer,” Bronwen said. “Very reliable. Never been known to take advantage of a girl yet.” She gave Evan a little sideways glance, then picked up his jacket. “Here, put your jacket on. She can have my rain gear. I’ll try not to be too long.” She set off up the steep zigzag path.

  “Thanks,” the girl said as Evan helped her into the parka.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Christine.” She looked away, uncomfortable under his gaze.

  “I’ve seen you before,” Evan said. “You were in Llanfair yesterday. You were shouting at someone. You drove away fast.”

  “So?” She looked at him defiantly. “I wasn’t breaking the law, was I?”

  “You were probably speeding,” Evan said, “but I’ve no way of proving that. I’m just interested. You have a fight with your boyfriend and then your car just happens to go into a very remote lake.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said emphatically. “So what are you getting at?”

  “I’m wondering if the brakes really were faulty,” Evan said. “If not, there are two scenarios that come to mind. Either you took the brake off, or he did. Suicide or attempted murder. Neither of them sound very nice, do they?”

  The girl shuddered. “I was on my own, I tell you, and I don’t know what happened. I woke up and found you looking down at me. That’s all I can remember.”

  She hugged her knees tighter to her. She was shivering now.

  “At the risk of sounding like an old fuddy-duddy,” Evan said, “nothing is worth killing yourself for. You might have a broken heart right now, but trust me, you’ll get over it.”

  She looked up with scorn in her eyes. “What do you know about anything? What can you possibly know?”

  “Only that life’s too good to waste and you’re only given one chance at it,” Evan said. He held out his hand to her. “Come on, let’s start walking down the fire road to meet Bronwen. There’s no sense in sitting here and freezing.”

  “What will happen when we get back?” the girl asked as she walked cautiously in squelching shoes. “About the car, I mean?”

  “I’ll drive you back to Llanfair and you can file a police report.”

  She leaped as if burned. “Police report? Wait a second. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “There’s a car worth a few thousand quid lying at the bottom of that lake. Someone will want that explained, I’d imagine.”

  “They won’t expect me to pay if it was an accident, will they?” She sounded ridiculously young. “Do you think they can get it out?”

  “I imagine that’s what they have insurance for,” Evan said. “They might want to know why you drove it up a forest track?”

  “I lost my way,” the girl said. “I made a wrong turn and then I couldn’t find a place to turn around before I got to the lake.” She sounded as if she was working out the statement as she went along.

  They walked for a while in silence. “Do we have to go back to Llanfair? I’d rather not,” she said.

  “I suppose you could make your report at any police station. Where did you rent the car?”

  “Heathrow.”

  “And where are you staying?”

  “Nowhere in particular. I slept in the car last night.”

  “So where do you live?”

  “I don’t have a place yet.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They live in Surrey. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. London’s fine. I know people in London.”

  “I’ll take you down to Bangor,” Evan said. “We’ll get you some dry clothes then you can file your report and we’ll put you on a train back to London.”

  “I don’t have any money,” the girl said. “My purse is back in the car.”

  “I’ll lend you the fare. You can send it back to me.”

  “I don’t know why you’re being so nice,” she said suddenly.

  “It’s my job,” Evan said, “And you better be thankful that I was the one who found you. You could easily have wound up in a psychiatric hospital for a full medical evaluation. They do that for attempted suicides, you know. But I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. We’ll call it an accident, but only if you promise never to try anything so bloody stupid again.”

  Chapter 5

  “Do you think you did the right thing?” Bronwen asked as they drove back into Llanfair after putting the girl on the London train.

  “Letting her go, you mean?” Evan shrugged.

  “You don’t really think it was an accident, do you?”

  “Not for a moment, but I don’t see how sending her to hospital would help her. Most likely she’s an emotional young girl who has been dumped by her boyfriend and overreacted. She’ll feel differently tomorrow.”

  “It’s strange tha
t she should be covering up for him, though,” Bronwen said. “I’m almost sure I saw a man behind the car.”

  “Me, too,” Evan said. “Which makes me wonder if it was attempted suicide. Would he have had a chance to tamper with the brakes, do you think? And why was she unconscious when we got to her? You don’t sleep so deeply that you don’t notice your car going into a lake, do you?”

  “You think he might have wanted her conveniently out of his way?” Bronwen asked, pushing her hair back worriedly from her face.

  “Then why would she deny he was there? She must have suspected the same thing.”

  “Because she loved him, you dolt,” Bronwen said. “Women do ridiculous things when they’re in love.”

  Evan looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, “We never did have our picnic, did we?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We did our good deed for the month.”

  “I think we should go out to eat somewhere, to make up for it,” Evan said.

  Bronwen’s face lit up. “That would be lovely. We’d have to go home and change first. You’re still damp and steaming and I’m in my hiking gear.”

  “The fish-and-chip shop down by the docks doesn’t care how you dress,” Evan said casually, watching her face fall again. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her to him. “Of course we’re going home to change. Then I thought that Italian place wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  Bronwen beamed as they drove up the pass toward Llanfair.

  * * *

  Evan came to an abrupt halt in the middle of his room. A strange white nightshirt was laid out on his bed.

  “What the…?” he began.

  Instantly Mrs. Williams appeared behind him. “Oh, there you are, Mr. Evans. I’m so sorry. I was hoping you’d be back earlier. He insisted, you see, or rather she did.”

  “Who insisted, Mrs. Williams?”

  She glanced over her shoulder then hissed, “The Powell-Joneses. He’s moving in here while his wife goes to take care of her old mam. And Mrs. Powell-Jones said that her husband had to have this room because the one at the back is damp and he’s allergic to damp and mould and fungus.” She spread her hands helplessly. “I didn’t like to touch your stuff. She wanted to clear it out, but I drew the line at that. I hope you’ll understand. It’s only for a little while, look you.”

  “It’s alright, Mrs. Williams,” Evan said, although he wasn’t feeling too happy about the thought of moving to a room at the back that was apparently covered in mould and fungus. He knew the effect that Mrs. Powell-Jones could have on people. She’d had the same effect on him. It was hard to say no to her.

  “Oh dear me, diolch am hynny, that takes a load off my mind,” Mrs. Williams said, putting her hand to her ample breast. “I’ve been getting myself into a tizzy worrying about how you’d take it. I told her you had prior rights, but she just wouldn’t listen.”

  “Where are they now?” Evan glanced at the door.

  “Putting the final touches to the house before the new people move in tomorrow. Then the reverend’s coming back here in time for supper tonight.”

  “I’ll be out,” Evan said. “I’m taking Bronwen out for a meal.”

  “Now isn’t that nice,” Mrs. Williams’s face lit up. “I am pleased to hear that. She’s a lovely young girl—a little serious for my mind. Too much bird watching and not enough dancing, but you can’t have everything, can you. Our Sharon, of course, she’s a lovely little dancer … light on her feet … you’ve never seen her dance, have you, Mr. Evans?”

  “I’ll start moving out my things, Mrs. Williams,” he said quickly.

  * * *

  On Sunday morning Evan woke to the unfamiliar darkness of the back room and sniffed the air. Sunday morning meant Sunday breakfast, his favorite meal of the week. He glanced at his watch. Usually the delicious smells of sausage and bacon cooking would be rising up from the kitchen at this hour. Maybe Mrs. Williams had overslept for once, or maybe the Reverend Powell-Jones wanted his breakfast later—which wasn’t likely as he had a sermon to preach at ten.

  The bathroom door was locked. Evan sighed, put on cords and a sweater, and went downstairs.

  “Ready for your breakfast, are you, Mr. Evans?” Mrs. Williams asked.

  “Is it ready? I didn’t smell any good frying smells.” Evan sat down with an anticipatory smile on his face. The smile faded as Mrs. Williams put a bowl of what looked like brown twigs topped with mushy brown pulp in front of him.

  “What’s this, Mrs. Williams?” Evan asked.

  Mrs. Williams glanced at the door. “It’s what she ordered for him. It’s bran with pureed prunes on top.”

  “That’s all very nice for him, maybe, Mrs. W., but what about me?” Evan demanded, his good nature pushed to its limits. “I like my usual Sunday breakfast.”

  Mrs. Williams twisted her apron nervously. “Ah, well, that’s it, you see. That’s the problem. The reverend can’t abide fried foods. His wife said the smell of them turns his stomach, especially before he has to preach. And we wouldn’t want to get in the way of his doing the Lord’s business, would we, Mr. Evans?”

  “And how long is he planning to stay?” Evan asked gloomily.

  Mrs. Williams shrugged. “They didn’t say. As long as the house is let, I suppose. I was the only one who had space, seeing as it’s the height of the tourist season.”

  Evan thought that it wasn’t the number of tourists in Llanfair that had made other landladies turn away the Powell-Joneses. They must have known what they were getting into. He sighed. “I’ll just have some toast, Mrs. W.”

  He was on his way upstairs again when an awful cry erupted from the front bedroom. “Help me, or I perish!” echoed through the hallway. Evan sprinted the last few stairs and burst in to the bedroom. The Reverend Powell-Jones was standing at the foot of his bed in long johns and a white undershirt. He looked up in horror as Evan burst in.

  “Just what do you think you are doing, young man?” he demanded.

  “I heard you yelling for help.” Evan looked confused.

  “I was merely vocalizing in preparation for my sermon,” the reverend said dryly. “One must warm up the voice, you know. I was reciting a portion of the Lay of Olwen that I mean to perform at the eisteddfod bardic competition.”

  “I didn’t know you were entering, too, Reverend,” Evan said. “I know that the other reverend fancies himself as a bard…”

  “Precisely. He fancies himself. Gives himself airs,” Reverend Powell-Jones said. “I decided it was about time I showed him what a real orator sounds like. My wife persuaded me to enter the competition myself, since I’ll have ample time for practicing during the next few weeks.”

  “Great,” Evan muttered to himself as he clomped back down the stairs. A summer of damp, prune eating, and bardic oratory stretched unenticingly before him.

  * * *

  Later that day Evan took his usual walk around the village. He liked to check on things, even on his days off, and he found Bronwen working in the schoolhouse garden. To his annoyance she laughed when he recited his woes to her.

  “Maybe a few weeks of pureed prunes is what you need,” she chuckled. “Lick you into shape!”

  “It’s not funny, Bron. You should try living there,” Evan said.

  “You could always move out.” Bronwen was yanking weeds between rows of gooseberries.

  Evan looked at her in surprise. “Where would I go? Everyone knows Mrs. Williams is the best landlady in the village.”

  “You could try living on your own.” She looked up with a large dandelion in her hand. “Everyone does it at some stage, you know. It’s called leaving the nest.”

  “Yes, but what about all the conveniences—all my meals cooked for me and my shirts washed and ironed? I’d have to give up all that if I lived on my own.”

  Bronwen snorted. “And what sort of husband do you think you’re going to make someday if you don’t know how to wash your own shirts?”

  “Isn
’t that what wives are supposed to do?” Evan asked.

  “If that’s what you think, I can tell you’re going to have a hard time finding a wife,” Bronwen picked up the basin of gooseberries and started to walk back to the house.

  “Bron, wait, I was only joking,” he called. Then he sighed and walked on. Women were very hard to understand.

  * * *

  Sometime late on Sunday evening a big black car turned into the Powell-Joneses’ driveway. The inhabitants of Llanfair were usually indoors with their curtains drawn by nine o’clock, especially on Sundays when the pub wasn’t officially open, so nobody saw or heard the newcomers arrive. But by early Monday morning the word was all around the village. The great man had arrived!

  When Evan reached his office at nine o’clock, the first thing he saw was a police car, parked outside.

  A head poked out of the car window as Evan approached. “I’m glad you finally showed up. I’m dying for a cup of tea,” the car’s occupant said. Evan recognized Jim Abbott from headquarters—not his favorite member of the force. For some reason Abbott always had to make jokes about living among the sheep.

  “What are you doing here?” Evan asked, attempting to sound civil.

  “You’ll be seeing a lot of me,” Jim Abbott said. “I’m here on a hush-hush mission. You probably don’t know about it, but there’s a celebrity staying in your village at the moment.”

  “Don’t know about it?” Evan gave a derisive snort. “The whole village has known about it since Friday. He moved in last night.”