by Rhys Bowen
“I must go to her. Which hospital?”
“I don’t know. I came straight here.”
“This has all been too much for her. I knew it would be.” He opened the trunk of a blue Mercedes and threw the golf bag inside.
“You know why she did it, don’t you, Mr. Turnbull?” Evan asked.
Turnbull looked at him suspiciously. “Distress, obviously.”
“Not obviously. She thought that if someone was going to take the blame, it should be her. As she put it, she was less use to society.”
Evan held Turnbull’s stare for a long moment. Then Turnbull sighed. “What does it matter now? Nothing matters anymore anyway. I lost the only thing I have ever loved. I worshipped that child. I made one mistake. One stupid mistake and Margaret never let me forget it. She kept Alison away from me—”
“She was trying to protect her.”
Turnbull looked around the car park. “Are the police on their way here?”
“I imagine you’ll meet them at the hospital,” Evan said. “And I imagine you’ll set them straight on what happened.”
Turnbull got into the Mercedes. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll set them straight.”
Chapter 25
“Oh, so there you are at last. I was wondering where you’d got to,” Mrs. Evans called as Evan opened the front door. “Sunday lunch was all ready over an hour ago. It’s been spoiling in the oven, waiting for you.”
“Sorry, Ma. I had some things to do.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Is Bronwen still asleep?”
“She hasn’t come down yet. I looked in on her once, but I didn’t like to wake her. The poor girl, you kept her out far too late last night. You can have too much of a good time, you know. Why don’t you go and tell her lunch is ready?”
Evan opened the bedroom door softly and stood watching Bronwen sleep. Her hair was spread across the pillow, and she looked young and vulnerable. She must have sensed his presence because her eyes opened and focused on him. “Hello,” she said. “Have I been sleeping long?”
“It’s almost two o’clock,” Evan said. “I was sent up to tell you lunch is ready.”
“I hope you had a nice chapel without me?”
“It was the high point of the day, believe me.”
She studied his face. “What’s happened?”
He sat on the bed beside her and went through the whole morning, detail by detail.
“It’s all rather horrid, isn’t it?” she said when he had finished. “Nobody ends up happily. I feel rather sorry for all of them.”
“Except for Mancini. I imagine he’ll be released from prison later today, unless they decide to hold him on the drug charges. I suspect if he’s let out this time, he’ll be back soon enough. Small-fry like him always get caught.”
Bronwen sat up. “Some holiday this turned out to be.”
“Evan, if she is awake, leave her in peace to get dressed,” Mrs. Evans called up the stairs. “You get down here and carve this leg of lamb for me.”
Evan gave Bronwen a kiss on the forehead and went downstairs. They had just finished lunch when there was a knock at the front door.
“I’ll go.” Evan got up from the table. He was half expecting to see Bill Howells. Instead DCI Vaughan himself was standing on the doorstep.
“I suppose you think you’ve been bloody clever,” he said, not waiting for Evan to invite him in, but pushing past him into the front hall. “I suppose you think now somebody’s going to give you a bloody great medal and pat you on the back.”
“No sir, I didn’t think that at all—” Evan started to say.
“I could have you arrested on the spot, boy. I could call your boss in North Wales and tell him you’re an insubordinate, disloyal little git who deserves to spend the rest of his life writing traffic tickets.”
He turned to face Evan in the narrow front hall.
“You do what you have to, sir. I did what I had to.”
“He’s a no good, little son of a bitch. He shot your father, for God’s sake. Do you have no feelings, man?”
“Oh yes, sir. Very strong feelings. And the strongest feeling I’ve got is that my father would have wanted me to do this. So go ahead. Call my boss, if you have to. I may resign anyway, because I’m not sure I want to be a member of a force that cares more about revenge than whether a person is innocent or guilty.”
Evan hadn’t realized that he had raised his voice until he noticed that the DCI was looking surprised. He checked himself. “I’m sorry, sir, if I went against your orders, but, as you said, I wasn’t on your payroll.”
“Instead of that we’ve got a woman lying in hospital with slashed wrists, a prominent member of the community turning himself in, and the unpleasant task of letting that little shit Mancini out of prison.” Vaughn sighed.
“They do have a couple of deaths on their hands, between them, you know.”
“A couple?”
“Somebody pushed an old lady from an upstairs window this morning,” Evan said. “My guess is that Mrs. Turnbull did it. She was willing to do a lot for him. I don’t know why, after the way he treated her.”
“I should have thought that was obvious,” the DCI said. “She liked the lifestyle. She didn’t fancy going back to being poor again. I suppose you realize what his arrest will mean, don’t you? They may have to close the factory. There will be jobs lost. And all his charity work too—he won’t be doing any more of that. You think that’s justice, do you?”
“My father was killed, and Tony Mancini was out on the streets again in four years. That wasn’t what I call justice either. It seems to me we can’t pick and choose justice in this life. We just do our bit, and sometimes we get it right and sometimes we get it wrong.”
DCI Vaughan glared at him, two big men, of similar height and build, staring each other down, eye to eye. “You know what you are, don’t you?” Vaughan said at last in a quieter voice. “You’re just like your bloody father. I never could talk sense into him either. That night he was killed—he should have waited until backup arrived. He should never have gone in there alone. He thought he could reason with a bunch of punks. It was a bloody stupid thing to do.”
“I expect he thought he was doing the right thing,” Evan said. “I don’t think my dad took unnecessary risks.”
“Of course he thought he was doing the bloody right thing.” DCI Vaughan snapped, then gave an apologetic half smile. “He was a good bloke, your dad. I’m still angry about losing him. I expect you are too.”
Evan nodded. “Being angry won’t bring him back, will it?”
DCI Vaughan turned toward the front door. “I’ll need you down at the station to make a statement, seeing that you were the one who found Mrs. Turnbull. And I’ll need you to talk to the drug-squad boys, although I don’t think you’ll be telling them anything they don’t already know.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll come down right away if you like.”
“Maybe I’d better arrange for an armed escort for you. You won’t find yourself too popular at the moment.”
Evan thought he detected the barest hint of a smile before the DCI went to his car.
He stood in the hall, collecting his thoughts, before he went back into the kitchen.
“What on earth was all that about?” Mrs. Evans demanded. “And fancy you shouting like that. Who were you shouting at?”
“DCI Vaughan.”
“You were shouting at a DCI? Escob Annwyl!” She put her hand over her heart. “What on earth came over you?”
“I don’t know. I’ll probably find I’m out of a job when I get home.” Evan looked across at Bronwen. Her eyes were smiling up at him.
“And may I ask why you two were shouting at each other?”
“Tony Mancini didn’t kill Alison Turnbull, Ma. I found the real culprit. They’d have rather I’d left it alone.”
Her eyes narrowed in disgust. “You were working to prove that monster was innocent? The man who killed your father, and you’ve ju
st set him free again?”
“I’m sorry, Ma. I’m not all that happy about it either. But he didn’t kill Alison, and I couldn’t let him be sent to prison for something he didn’t do, could I?”
“You should have left it to the South Wales Police. It was none of your business. I’m very disappointed in you, Evan Evans. You’ve let me down. You’ve let your father down.”
She pressed her lips together and made a hasty exit from the kitchen.
Evan sighed and turned away. “Now you can tell me that I’ve let you down and that should make it a hundred percent,” he said to Bronwen.
Bronwen got up and slipped her arms around his waist. “If you really want to know, I’m proud of you. You did what you thought was the right thing, and you stood up to a DCI as well. If you knew the number of times I have wanted you to stand up for yourself when that awful Inspector Hughes was rude to you, and you never did. So I think this is a good sign.” She stretched up and gave him a kiss, then nestled herself against the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around her and they stood there, silent, at peace together.
Evan made sure that he went to the police station while Bill Howells was still on duty. At least that would mean one semifriendly face in the sea of hostility. Bill was sitting at his desk, and the look he gave Evan was anything but friendly. “Oh, it’s you, is it? Come in to tell us you’ve solved another couple of major crimes for us since lunch or have you come to collect your citations?”
“Give over, Bill,” Evan said. “You don’t think I’ve enjoyed doing this, do you? I’ve just had the DCI bawling me out, and my mother.”
“Well, I expect you thought you were doing the right thing.” Bill Howells went back to his paperwork. “And a lot of the bad feeling around here is that you showed up superior officers.”
“You know I had no intention of doing that,” Evan said. “I just wanted to be part of the investigation, that’s all. Finding Mrs. Turnbull this morning was pure luck.” He paused, watching Bill fill in a column of figures. “The DCI told me to come and make a report, and to talk to the drug-squad blokes too.”
Howells nodded. “Right oh. I’ll give you the form if you wait until I can get this column to balance. And I think Melcher is in his office. He’s on the drug task force. Second door on the right.”
Evan started to move away, then turned back. “Look, Bill, I really appreciate what you did for me last night.”
Bill Howells gave a grunt and didn’t look up. Evan went into Detective Inspector Melcher’s office and laid out what he knew about Tony Mancini and Jingo Roberts. As he suspected, he wasn’t telling the DI anything he didn’t know.
“One more thing, sir,” Evan said. “When Jingo Roberts tried to kidnap my girlfriend, he talked about taking her to Peterson’s. Any idea what he meant by that? The name Charles Peterson hasn’t come up in your work at all, has it?”
“Charles Peterson?” He shook his head. “Name doesn’t ring a bell. He probably meant Peterson’s builder’s yard.”
“Are they involved in the drug racket?”
“Not that I know of, but it’s a good place to find cement, isn’t it? And it’s right beside the docks.” He grinned as if he’d said something witty. Evan felt sick.
He was relieved when he finally completed the incident form and was able to step out of the police station into the bright, breezy afternoon. He hadn’t asked permission to visit Tony Mancini, but he decided that this whole thing might make sense if he had one last chance to talk sense into the boy. He parked outside the prison and rang the bell for admittance.
“You’re too late, mate,” the gate guard said. “He was let out of here an hour ago. We weren’t any more thrilled about it than you.”
“Any idea where he went?”
“There was no one here to pick him up, I can tell you that much. He was heading for the bus station.”
Evan thanked the gate guard and went back to his car. Tony must have gone home then. There was nowhere else for him to go. All the way up the hill to Penlan, he wondered what he’d say if he found Tony. If Tony was jubilant and gloating, there was always the danger that he might finally lose it and clock him one. He didn’t even know why it was important to see Tony again. It would probably only be putting himself through more grief.
He parked next to a rusty old Ford Fiesta and knocked on Tony’s front door. Tony himself answered.
“Yeah. What do you want now?” he demanded.
Evan took a deep breath. “The least you could do is to thank me, ungrateful little bastard. I’ve just got you off a life sentence.”
“Yeah, well I suppose … ,” Tony said and let the rest of the sentence hang.
“Not that it will do you much good,” Evan said. “You’ll probably find yourself up on drug charges anyway.”
“Me? Drug charges?” Tony grinned, that same cocky grin Evan had seen during the trial five years ago. “Now what could they possibly have against me?”
“You were delivering cocaine to Alison Turnbull.”
“Who says so?”
“You admitted it to me. And you were caught near her house.”
“Didn’t have none on me though, did I? All circumstantial evidence, mate. They won’t be able to pin nothing on me this time.”
Evan realized this was probably true. “Look, Tony, you’ve had a lucky escape. Why don’t you make the most of it? Get away from here. Get away from that scum Jingo.”
“What nasty language, Mr. Policeman.” Jingo Roberts stepped out into Tony’s front hall and stood behind Tony. “If you don’t beat it right now, I might have to call the cops and say Tony’s being harassed by you.”
“Listen to me, Tony,” Evan said, ignoring the insolent smile behind Tony’s back. “If you get busted, it’s you who’ll go to jail. He won’t. His sort never do. So why don’t you get right away from here and find yourself a real job, while you’ve still got the chance.”
“A real job?” Jingo said. “What sort of real job did you have in mind, Mr. Policeman?” He put his hand into his pocket and produced a thick wad of twenty-pound notes. “Does your job pay this well? Tony’s got a bright future with me if he does what he’s told.”
“My job won’t wind me up behind bars one day,” Evan said.
“It might wind you up dead, though,” Jingo said, still grinning.
The desire to hit him was becoming overwhelming. Evan dug his clenched fist into his side. “Just think about what I said, Tony. Make up your own mind, okay?”
Then he turned and strode back to his car. He thought he heard them laughing behind him.
That evening Evan paid a visit to the pub. It had been a stressful day, the atmosphere at home was still frosty in the extreme, and he felt in need of a pint. He also wanted to see Maggie. He might find himself out of a job when he got home, so there was no harm in letting her know he was still interested in trying out for the rugby team. Luckily Bronwen refused his invitation to accompany him. “No thanks. You go and see your old friends. I’ve still got to catch up on sleep.”
Maggie was standing at the bar with a group of men, but she came across to Evan when she saw him.
“Looking for me, are you? That’s a good sign. So you finally got bored with Blodwyn. I knew you would.”
“About the rugby team,” Evan said. “You know, I think I might be interested after all. I might find myself looking for a job when I get home.”
Maggie gave him a beaming smile. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “Stew will be pleased. He needs someone reliable like you, and your police work would be a help too, dealing with the crowds and things.”
“Dealing with the crowds?”
“Well, the assistant manager is really a bit of a general dogsbody, you know. Everything from handling the ticket money to evicting hooligans. I’m afraid the pay won’t be brilliant, but it could get better once the club is on its feet.”
“You want me to be the assistant manager?” Evan felt his face flushing bright red.
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“Yes, didn’t I say? What did you think we wanted you for? I told Stew, you can’t trust those shifty types up in North Wales. You need someone like Evan who’s steady and reliable.”
“You know, I’m afraid I’ll have to say no after all,” Evan managed with great dignity. “If the pay won’t be brilliant, that is. I’m getting married, you see. I’ll need to earn enough to support a family. But thanks for the offer anyway.”
He made his way out through the evening crowd at the bar.
The next morning as Evan was packing his bag, ready to leave, he went into Bronwen’s room.
“You said you wanted one of these,” he said, and held out an object wrapped in tissue paper.
“What is it?” She gave him an excited smile. “A little large for an engagement ring. Oh.”
“It’s a love spoon,” Evan said, noting the reaction wasn’t the one he had expected. “I went to that little shop. You said you wanted one.”
“One that you had carved yourself, I meant. Like boys did in the old days.”
“I tried that,” Evan said. “In fact I started on one while you were away.”
“So why don’t you finish it?”
Evan went back into his room. “Maybe because it looks like this? Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing,” Bronwen said.
“It looks like a camel doing the splits. I never was any good at woodwork.”
“I think it’s lovely just,” Bronwen said, using one of Betsy the barmaid’s favorite expressions. “Bring it home with you, and when you finish it, we’ll hang it up in our house.”
There was no understanding women, Evan decided. He would never learn what pleased them.
Then finally, they were heading home.
“I hope Eirlys won’t mind that I’ve left Prince William with my parents,” Bronwen said. They were driving home by the quicker route, up the motorway on the English side of the border after a couple of days with Bronwen’s parents.
“She’ll be delighted that he’s safe.”
“She won’t recognize him when she sees him again. He’ll be a big fat sheep.”
