Evan Only Knows

by Rhys Bowen

  Tony backed away from him. “You can’t touch me. I’ll push the button for the guard, and they’ll get me out of here.”

  “Not a moment too soon,” Evan said. “This is it, Mancini. You can go to hell and rot there, which is what you will do when they hear what I’m going to tell them.”

  “You found out about the coke then?”

  “Half the sodding world knows about the coke, Tony. If they’d taken the trouble to ask questions, any little old lady doing her shopping could have told them!”

  “Okay, so that’s how I met her.” His arms were crossed defensively. “She’d got hooked on the stuff when her parents sent her to some posh place in Switzerland last summer. When she came back here, she looked for a local supplier.”

  “And she latched on to your friend Jingo.”

  “I told you, Jingo kicked me out of the gang. He’s got nothing to do with it.”

  “Of course he has. You don’t want me to believe that you were the dealer, do you? You don’t have the class, Tony. You’re just the runner, the delivery boy. Lying’s not going to help you anymore, and neither am I. I’ve had enough of sticking my neck out for you.” He took a step toward Tony, towering over him, threatening. “You were seen, outside the club, talking to Jingo a couple of weeks ago.”

  Tony had backed away until he was against the brick wall. Evan gave him a look of disgust and turned away. “I’ve had enough, Tony. You deserve everything you’re going to get. All you’ve told me so far is a pack of lies. Let’s see if you can lie your way past the jury this time.”

  He strode to the door and rapped on it to be let out.

  “No, wait,” Tony called after him. “Okay, so I lied to you about Jingo, but I had to, didn’t I? I had no f—” He broke off before uttering the swear word. “No choice.”

  The guard opened the door. “Sorry, mate. A few more minutes,” Evan said, and the door was closed again.

  “What do you mean, you had no choice?” Evan eyed Tony coldly from beside the door. “Everyone has a choice.”

  “I told you Jingo kicked me out of the gang after I ratted on him. That was true. But then he came round to see me one night after I got out of the YOI. He said the police were tailing his best boys. He said I’d be the last person they’d suspect, because they knew how he felt about me. He said it was my one chance to get back into the gang, if I kept my mouth shut and did what I was told. He said”—he broke off, licking his lips nervously—“he said if I let on we were working together, I’d wind up stuffed down a sewer.”

  Evan nodded. “So he dealt, you delivered. He gave the orders, and you did what you were told. Did he tell you to get rid of her? Hadn’t she paid her bills on time?”

  Tony’s eyes were darting furiously around the room. Evan watched his Adam’s apple dance up and down his skinny neck. “I didn’t kill her. I swear to God I didn’t kill her. How many more times do I have to say it? I might have started off bringing her the goods, but we had sex because she liked me. And I liked her.”

  “You went to the house to bring her the cocaine she had ordered, right?”

  Tony nodded. “So what happened to it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Presumably you gave it to her before you left.”

  “Yeah.” Tony’s face was screwed up in concentration. “Yeah. I gave it to her right away. She promised me she’d have the money in the morning. I told her that I’d be in big trouble if I didn’t hand over the money by midday. She swore she’d have it.” He stared down at his foot in its worn trainer. “There was always a problem with money. Her parents kept her short. They paid for everything, but she had no cash of her own.”

  “So where did she get it?”

  “Here and there. Sometimes she lied to her dad about needing stuff for school or entry money for a horse show. Sometimes she got her mum to buy her expensive clothes then she took them back and got the cash, but it was always a hassle. Remember when I got sacked?” He looked up sharply at Evan. “They found me at the petty cash. She wanted me to do that. She said her dad always had so many twenties in the petty cash box that he’d never miss a few.”

  “She used you, then.”

  He nodded. “I suppose she was good at using people.”

  “And you got fed up with being used, so you killed her.”

  “No! I’d have done anything for her. She was special. She was the only girl who ever liked me for myself. Can’t you get that into your head!”

  “And can’t you get into your head that there’s nothing I can do to save you once the drug angle comes out? I still want to know what happened to the package. How big was it?”

  “The usual size. About this big.” His fingers made a rectangle about the size of a cigarette packet.

  “Did she put it in a pocket right away?”

  Tony shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

  “According to you, you had sex in the bushes. Did she keep it in her hand? Did she put it down somewhere safely?”

  Tony shook his head again.

  “You ran off in a hurry. You heard her talking to someone, and she was found dead shortly afterward. And yet there was no mention of finding a packet of cocaine in her pocket. I don’t think she’d have had time to go into the house, hide the coke, and then come back out again to be killed. And why would she have come back out again?”

  “Search me.” Tony shrugged.

  “Presumably the officer who picked you up did search you,” Evan said. “You’re lucky he didn’t find any drugs on you, or a large sum of cash.”

  Tony slumped onto the hard chair. “You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?”

  “It will come out anyway. Bound to. Besides, I’m a policeman. I can’t withhold evidence.”

  “Yeah. Another fucking copper. You’re all the same in the end.”

  This time Evan ignored the language. “At least I don’t lie to people.”

  “There’s nothing you could have done anyway. You’re as useless as that little ponce they’ve got to represent me in court. No bloody good any of you.” He went to the door and hammered on it. “Get me out of here right now,” he demanded.

  Chapter 20

  Evan had arranged to meet Bronwen at noon. It was still before ten. He felt angry and restless, not looking forward to his encounter with the police, unable to shake the feeling that he was betraying Tony. Of course he had to share the information he had found. He had no choice. And yet he knew the DCI would see this as the icing on the cake—the reason Tony was visiting Alison that night—and come up with a whole slew of perfect motives for killing her. Her father kept her short of money, so she didn’t always pay up on time. Maybe she had blabbed to her parents. Drug dealers didn’t think twice about getting rid of a difficult client.

  Evan took this thought one stage further. If Tony really didn’t kill her, then maybe Jingo, or the boss above him, had sent someone else out to get rid of Alison Turnbull. And what perfect timing to be able to pin the killing on Tony. Perfect revenge for squealing on Jingo the last time he was in court. That, of course, would be up to the police to pursue if they wished. He was going to meet Bronwen so they could take off for a long walk along the cliffs and get the bad taste out of his mouth.

  He thought of going for a cup of coffee, but he was too keyed up to sit alone in a café. He wanted to be out there, doing something useful, and he didn’t feel ready to hand over the investigation yet. He remembered he hadn’t yet spoken to Mrs. Richards, the bridge player, who was not conveniently in France. Even if he owed nothing to Tony, at least he should follow through his own investigation and get the testimony of the other women who had been in the house when Alison was murdered. One of them might have seen or heard something they hadn’t considered significant until now.

  There were two cars parked in the Richards’s circular driveway this morning, a black BMW and a Porsche. No lack of money there either. Mrs. Richards herself opened the front door.

  “Oh,” she said,
her face registering disappointment, “I thought you were the dry cleaners. I need my dress for the party tonight.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” Evan smiled. “I wondered if I could take a minute of your time to ask you a couple of questions about Alison Turnbull.”

  “Alison?”

  “Yes. I understand you were playing bridge at the house the night she was murdered.”

  “You’re not another policeman, are you? I am so very tired of talking to policemen. I have told them, over and over, that I heard or saw nothing unusual. We had a pleasant bridge game, apart from poor Margaret’s headache, which made her bidding not very reliable. It was all a normal evening until that awful scream from outside the front door, and Frank standing there over Alison’s body.” She shuddered. “I’ll never get that scene out of my mind for as long as I live. She looked so unreal, you know. Like a scene in a play. Lying there quite peacefully, like Snow White. In fact we all thought it was a poor joke until we saw that he was really crying.” She shuddered. “So I’m sorry. There’s really nothing else I can say.”

  She went to shut the door.

  “One more thing. About your son, Mrs. Richards.” Evan put his hand against the door and held it open.

  “Simon? What on earth has he got to do with it?”

  “May I speak to him, please? I’m talking to all of Alison’s friends, and I understand he was one of her escorts to dances and things.”

  “Maybe once or twice a year, at our insistence. And they played in a tennis tournament together once, but I wouldn’t exactly call him one of Alison’s friends. In fact I think they found each other mutually boring.”

  “Might I have a word with him?”

  “I’m afraid he’s not here.” She eyed him coldly. “He’s up in Scotland, on an Outward Bound course. He left last week.”

  So one of the suitable young men was now conveniently out of the way. This could be coincidental, of course, and have nothing at all to do with Alison, but his curiosity was now piqued enough to decide he should also seek out the other young man the housekeeper had mentioned: Charles Peterson, son of Peterson’s the builders.

  Peterson’s Builders had a big yard down by the docks on the other side of the river Tawe. Evan feared it might be closed on a Saturday, but the tall gates were open and two men were standing talking beside a pile of bricks.

  “Any idea where I might be able to find Charles Peterson, the owner’s son?” Evan asked.

  “He should be back soon, shouldn’t he, Dai?” The man looked at his colleague for affirmation.

  “He actually works here?” Evan couldn’t believe his luck.

  “I don’t know if I’d call it work,” the other man said, smiling. “But his dad has him help out during his summer holidays. Wants him to learn the business. I don’t think young Charles is all that keen if you ask me.”

  “And he’s working today?”

  “His father asked him to run a load of rebar over to the site of the new shopping center we’re building. That was some time ago. He should be back, if he hasn’t gone gallivanting around with the van again.”

  “It’s all right if I wait?” Evan asked.

  “Fine with us, mate. We don’t own the place.”

  Evan went to sit on a stack of pallets, and the men went back to their discussion. It was pleasant sitting in warm sunshine. Through the wire mesh of the fence he watched the boats in Swansea Bay. After a while the sun became distinctly hot, and he shifted to a position in the shade. If Charles Peterson had gone off gallivanting, as the man had suggested, then maybe he wouldn’t even bother to bring the van back today and Evan was wasting his time. He’d have to see if the men would give him the Petersons’ home address. He got up and was crossing the yard when a square white van came in through the gates at high speed. Evan jumped aside as it stopped within inches of the pile of bricks. He heard a muttered, “Bloody young fool,” from the man who had emerged from the office.

  The van door opened and a young man jumped down. He was large and chubby, round faced, and wearing round glasses that gave him an owlish appearance. The copper-colored hair that flopped across his forehead made him look like an overgrown schoolboy. He was wearing jeans and a red Wales sweatshirt that looked too hot for the weather.

  “Did my dad phone yet, Dai?” he called and began to cross the yard.

  “Your mum did. She said to remind you that they’ve got people coming at six, so make sure you’re home in good time.”

  Charles Peterson made the sort of face a schoolboy might make. “The Richards for dinner. I’d forgotten. I think I’ll be conveniently delayed.”

  “Someone’s here to see you, Charlieboy,” the other man said, indicating Evan. “Been waiting quite awhile.”

  Charles turned to look at Evan and gave him a bright smile as they walked toward each other. “You’ve been waiting for me? Sorry. They probably told you I was out running errands again. I’m the general dogsbody around here. My father claims its learning the business, but actually it’s just slave labor. So what did you need to see me about?”

  “I’m working on the Alison Turnbull case,” Evan said. “I understand you were one of her friends.”

  Charles flushed. “I wouldn’t say I was her friend. We grew up together. Our mothers are friends.”

  “But you’ve been called upon to escort her to dances, that type of thing?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “You’ve heard they have a young man in custody for her murder.”

  Charles nodded. “Yes, I heard. Thank God for that. It proves the police aren’t completely useless, doesn’t it?”

  Evan ignored the temptation to produce a warrant card. “Look, the reason I’m here is that we’re trying to find out where Alison might have met the person they have in custody. He’s claiming that he knew Alison, so we’re trying to establish whether any of Alison’s friends ever saw them together.”

  “He knew Alison?” Charles sounded exactly like the Turnbulls and the other members of their set. “I thought he was an ex-jailbird from one of the council estates. I’m sure he couldn’t have met Alison. Her parents were very strict about where she went.”

  “It seems she might have gone clubbing a few times. Do you know anything about that?”

  “I can’t believe her mother would have let her. Are you sure?”

  “She might have sneaked out. She never mentioned any of this to you?”

  “My dear chap, I wasn’t exactly her bosom pal, you know. My father plays golf with Mr. Turnbull. Our mothers play bridge. My parents volunteered me to take Alison to a couple of dances because I was a suitable, safe escort for her. She made it very clear that I wasn’t her choice of escort.”

  “And what did you think of her?”

  “She was a nice enough girl.”

  Evan noticed that he had looked away. “The housekeeper thinks you were rather keen on her.”

  Charles flushed almost as red as his sweater. “Maybe I was. But that has nothing to do with anything. She made it very clear that she had no interest in me.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Oh, ages ago. Not since the Easter holidays, I think. We had a do at the country club and she was there, but she wouldn’t even dance with me. I’ve been working for my father all summer, so I haven’t had a chance to spend time at the country club or see friends. The old man likes to crack the whip, you know.”

  As Charles was talking, Evan’s gaze drifted to the van beside them. It was an old-fashioned delivery van, tall, square, and white. An idea started to form in his head as he remembered Mrs. Hartley’s words, “Ambulances, always ambulances outside that house.” From her position at the side window, she wouldn’t have been able to see the writing on the side of the van and it might well have looked like an ambulance, especially since her perception of reality was already distorted.

  “So you’re telling me that you hadn’t seen Alison at all this summer?” he asked.

  “N
o, I don’t think I did.” Charles’s gaze was focused on the pile of bricks at his feet.

  “Not even in her garden?”

  This produced the wanted reaction. Charles looked up, startled.

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Did you go to spy on her often, Charles?”

  “You’re out of your mind. Why would I want to spy on her?”

  “Because you were obsessed with her. You had a crush on her, and she wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

  “Absolute rubbish. Please leave or I’ll call the police.”

  “Actually I’m a policeman. What if I told you that you’d been seen in the Turnbull’s front garden?”

  “What? By whom? When?”

  “On the evening she was killed, Charles. You went there on the evening she was killed, didn’t you?” Even as he said it, he knew he was bluffing and it could backfire on him. But it was a risk worth taking, especially as Charles Peterson was starting to sweat.

  Charles looked at Evan defiantly. “And you claim somebody saw me? Absurd. Just what are you trying to suggest?”

  “You were driving the firm’s van, weren’t you, and it wasn’t the first time you had driven the van to spy on Alison. You came in through the hedge and then you stood among the bushes. Were you just waiting to catch a glimpse of her or hoping to make her change her mind about you?”

  “All right. What if I was there? I didn’t do any harm.”

  “Didn’t you, Charles? You didn’t see her with another boy and were so overcome with jealousy that you killed her?”

  Charles was really sweating now. Beads of sweat were running down his round, red face. “She wasn’t with anybody.” His voice had risen. “She was lying on the hammock on the other side of the garden, listening to her CD player. She often liked to do that in the summer. I watched her for a while, then I went.”

  “What time was this?”

  “I had the van back in the yard by eight-thirty, so it was before that. The sun hadn’t set because it was shining directly into my eyes as I turned into the Oystermouth Road.” He stared defiantly at Evan. “You can check with my father. He was still in the office when I brought the van back. He would have given me hell if I’d been any later.”