by Rhys Bowen
"Aren't you being a little overdramatic?" Evan asked.
"No," she said. "I'm not. You'll understand when you go inside."
"All right," Evan said. "You have my word."
The front door was opened by another middle-aged woman who frowned at Evan, listened to Miss Prendergast's whispered words, and then nodded, reluctantly.
"Very well, then. They can come in. But I hope you know what you're doing, bringing them here."
"They have given their word," Miss Prendergast said.
"There is to be no pressure put on her, they understand that?" the woman was still talking to Miss Prendergast as if Evan and Bronwen were mere observers.
"Of course. I'll be with them and I have the girl's best interest very much at heart. I believe they do too."
The woman allowed them to step into the hallway.
"What is this place?" Evan whispered, as the woman went back into an office on the right.
"This, my dear, is a safe house for battered women," Miss Pren-dergast said. "I volunteer here. Its whereabouts are known only to a couple of women in social services and to some volunteers like myself. You can understand the need for secrecy. Women come here when they have nowhere else to go. When their husbands have threatened to kill them, and the law can't protect them. They come here literally in fear for their lives."
"And Jamila came here?" he asked.
"Jamila sought me out, very sensibly. She had told me a little of her background when she joined my English class this year. She had obviously sensed I was a person who could be trusted. When she told me her plight, I brought her here immediately."
"May we see her?"
"On condition that you don't try to make her return to her parents."
"Absolutely not," Bronwen said. "I was all for putting her into protective custody the moment I found out what her family was going to do."
"And Bronwen was the one who tried to talk her parents out of their stupid plan," Evan said.
"I am not concerned about Mrs. Evans," Miss Prendergast said. "It's you, Mr. Evans. You are sworn to uphold the law, and you may find yourself being pressured to return her to her family if they succeed in getting a court order."
"I've already given Bronwen my word that I'd say nothing," he said. "Jamila's safety comes first with me too."
"Good. Then follow me."
They passed into a day room in which several women sat, knitting or watching TV. Some of them looked up, nervously.
"What's he doing here?" one of them demanded. "I thought there were no men allowed in the house."
"He's a policeman. Don't worry, it's okay," Miss Prendergast said, as she swept past them, then down another hallway.
"The women take care of themselves," Miss Prendergast turned back to them as they walked down the hall. "They have a roster for kitchen duty, cooking, washing up, cleaning, laundry. The one thing they don't do is the shopping. They can't risk being seen outside. We get most of our food donated by church groups. Jamila's on kitchen duty for lunch, so I'm told."
She pushed open a swing door, and they were in a big kitchen. A large, middle-aged woman was peeling potatoes, humming to herself as she worked. Another woman, this one not much older than Bronwen, was arranging chicken parts in a casserole dish, and the third person was standing at the window, washing up at a huge sink. Only her silhouette was visible against the sunlight, but the long braid down her back made her instantly recognizable She turned as she heard the door open, and her face lit up as she saw them.
"Mrs. Evans-Bronwen!"
Jamila ran across the kitchen to hug her.
"I'm sorry, I've made you all wet." She was laughing and crying at the same time, and Evan noticed that Bronwen was too.
"We've been so worried about you," Bronwen said. "We've thought terrible things. We thought Rashid might have killed you."
"I was afraid too. That's why I went to Miss Prendergast," Jamila said. "When Mummy and Daddy went out, he said some things to me that really scared me. I knew I had to escape while I had the chance." She looked up at Evan. "You haven't come to take me back, have you?"
"We want whatever is best for you, Jamila," Bronwen said, before Evan could answer.
"I don't see how I can go home," Jamila said. "but I don't know where else I could go either. And I can't stay here forever."
"We'll figure something out, don't worry," Bronwen said. "Things have a way of sorting themselves out."
"I hope so. I really didn't want to frighten Mummy and Daddy, but I had no choice, did I?"
"Of course you didn't. You did the only thing you could have done."
Evan watched them, feeling out of place and sensing the uneasy glances from the other women.
"Isn't it time for coffee yet?" the large woman who had been peel ing potatoes asked suddenly. "My throat's that parched. Who's on coffee duty?"
She went over to a roster on a notice board. "It says Sally. Which one is Sally?"
"That new girl who came in the day before yesterday," the woman preparing the chicken said. "You know, the one who had her cheekbone broken?"
"Oh yes, poor thing. We won't bother her then. I can make it."
"No, I'll get her," Miss Prendergast said. "It's an important part of the healing process to make everyone feel that they are needed here and pulling their weight. Sally, you say her name is? Which bedroom is she assigned to?"
"The roster's on the wall over there," one of the women said.
Miss Prendergast went over to a large notice board and started leafing through sheets of paper. "Ah, there she is. Sally. She's in Primrose bedroom. I'll go and find her for you." She looked back at Evan and Bronwen. "You two stay put in the kitchen with Jamila, please."
Evan continued to stare at the roster sheets. He hadn't been close enough to see clearly, as she had flipped through the sheets of paper, but he thought he had read a familiar name. He tried to sound relaxed and casual as he strolled across to the notice board.
"So the rooms are all named after flowers, are they?" he asked, idly flicking through the papers. "That's nice."
He let the sheets fall again and moved away from the bulletin board. His eyes hadn't deceived him. Behind the current month's was still the sheet from the month before. And on that sheet he had seen something that set his heart racing. Surely it couldn't be a coincidence.
Chapter 25
"Bronwen-" He found it hard to speak. "Look something's come up. I've just realized something important, "and I have to get back to headquarters right away."
"What is it?" Bronwen asked.
"I can't tell you. But it's nothing to do with Jamila." The words came spilling out "It's the other case I'm working on. The three murders. And now I see that I got it wrong before. I've got to call Inspector Bragg right away before he arrests the wrong people."
"What wrong people?" Bronwen's words floated after him, but he was already running down the dark hallway, making for the front door. He stood in the quiet suburban street outside and punched in the numbers, drumming his fingers on the mobile phone while he waited for the inspector to pick up. It seemed like an eternity and all sorts of horrible possibilities flashed through his mind-race riots, home office investigations, himself put on suspension . . .
"Bragg here." As usual he spat out the words
"It's Evans, sir."
"Where the devil are you?"
"I had something I had to check out, and I've got it at last. Look, I can't tell you the details, but I'd like you to bring in Missy Rogers again, right away."
"Missy Rogers? What's this now? I've just sent Wingate and a couple of uniforms to bring in your pal Rashid."
"Call Wingate immediately and tell him to come back," Evan said.
"Did I just hear you give me an order?" Bragg's voice was icily calm.
"I'm sorry, sir. It wasn't meant to sound like that, but it's very urgent. Let's just say that certain facts have just come to light that throw a whole new complexion on things. We've located that mi
ssing Pakistani girl, and she's safe and being taken care of. And her brother is in the clear at the moment. So it's quite possible those Muslim boys are guilty of nothing more than a natural suspicion of the police, and we don't want to stir up further trouble."
"So now you're telling me this whole Muslim plot idea was a load of codswallop?"
"I'm afraid so."
"You know what, Evans? You're more trouble than you are worth. I'm asking for you to be transferred out of my unit as of now."
"You do what you have to, sir. But I've only been throwing out suggestions, trying to come up with connections, not presenting you with facts. Now I'm presenting you with a fact. I'm suggesting, with respect, that you bring in Missy Rogers right away, after you've called Wingate."
"So now you're saying my first instincts were right and it was cherchez la femme after all?"
"Yes, sir. I believe you were right all along." Those were probably the hardest words he had ever had to say.
"Hmmph." Bragg gave a pleased little snort. "So do you mind telling me what has made Hercule Poirot change his mind again? What brought you back to Missy Rogers?"
"Call Wingate first, sir. We don't want a race riot around here, do we?"
"No, we bloody well don't. Let's hope I'm not too late."
Evan stood in the street and waited until the phone rang again. It seemed like another eternity while sparrows twittered in the hedge and a mother came past, pushing a pram, while a solemn two-year-old pushed a replica doll's pram beside her. At last his phone rang.
"You've got a lot to answer for, Evans," Bragg barked into the phone.
"Did you get to Wingate in time?"
"Wingate was still at the Muslim lads' house, luckily. He said he sensed they were not going to come quietly-a lot of talk about lawyers and civil rights and all that guff. He was just about to call for backup. So now we look like pansy boys, and those kids are smirking all over their faces, thanks to you."
"Look, I've said I'm sorry. And you have to admit that I did present a credible connection between the three cases. The only one we'd come up with to date."
"Only now you've got a better connection, is that it?"
"It seems that way, sir. In fact, yes, I'm sure of it."
"So do you mind telling me what great detective work you've been doing behind my back so that I don't look like a complete fool when Missy Rogers arrives?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you anything, sir. I've been sworn to secrecy."
"Sworn to secrecy? What bloody game are you playing now? Did you always go in for this kind of dramatics?"
Evan took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more at the moment, sir. I'm just asking you to trust me."
"And why the bloody hell should I trust you?"
"No reason at all, sir, but I really think I've got it right this time."
"And you can't tell me what it is?"
"Right."
"Go and boil your head, Evans. I'm too old to play games."
"I am not playing games, sir." Evan heard his own voice rising dangerously. "I've been put in a difficult position, and I've given my word not to reveal any details."
"So exactly how am I going to interview Missy Rogers if I'm completely in the dark, Evans? Or did you plan on questioning her yourself, making me look like a fool and getting the glory for yourself?"
Evan felt the blood pounding in his temples. "Let me set one thing straight, sir. I have never wanted glory. I don't want the bloody glory now. But if you bring Missy Rogers in, and then do what I'm going to suggest, I rather think she'll tell you herself."
"And she's going to do that?"
"I believe she might, if she's taken off guard."
"Taken off guard?" Bragg was beginning to sound like a parrot. "Did you always dictate like this to your old boss?"
"Only when I was sure I was right."
"So you're sure you're right now?"
"All I can say is that I have finally come up with some proof that Missy Rogers wanted her husband dead."
Bragg sighed. "I suppose I'm going to have to trust you. If it backfires, it's your head that's going to roll, I can tell you that. And if the Chief Constable hauls me onto the carpet about picking on our Muslim brothers, you can bet your life I'll let him know that it was all your idea, based on misinformation."
"I understand that, sir. You do what you have to. I'm on my way back to HQ right now."
As soon as he had hung up the phone, he called Wingate and then Pritchard. "And don't let Bragg know where you are or what you're doing until I give the signal to come into the room," he said, the words coming out in a rush. "I can't tell you anymore right now. I'm sworn to secrecy or I would. Oh, and don't get the women alarmed. Tell them it's just something we want them to take a look at and identify." Then he hung up before they had a chance to complain or question him too deeply.
He went back into the house, his heart still racing. He couldn't be wrong this time. He had to have got it right. But he knew he was taking an enormous risk. Bronwen was sitting with Jamila on a sofa while Miss Prendergast hovered in the background.
"I'm afraid something very important has come up. Would it be possible to drive me back to police headquarters right away?" he said. "I have to be there when a suspect is brought in."
"I suppose so." Miss Prendergast gave Bronwen a look that said that men were annoying creatures. "Mrs. Evans is going to pass on a message to Jamila's parents that she is safe, and she will contact them when she is ready. Until we can assure her safety there is to be no hint of her whereabouts. I don't need to remind you that her brother presents a very real threat, do I?"
"Of course I understand," Evan said. "Don't worry. I gave you my word."
Bronwen got to her feet, still holding Jamila's hand. "I have to get back to school too, Jamila. I told them I wasn't feeling well this morning but would be in later, but I should get back as soon as I can."
"I understand, Mrs. Evans. Thank you so much for coming to see me," Jamila gave her a watery smile.
"And we will work out what is best for you, I promise," Bronwen said. They hugged again, and Jamila stood looking wistfully after them as they went back down the hall.
"That poor child," Bronwen said, as they drove away. "I promised to do what was best for her, but what can that possibly be? As long as we can't trust her family not to take her out of the country or her brother not to kill her, we can't let her return home to them. So it would have to be a foster home somewhere, and that's a miserable thing for a young girl like her. If we didn't live so close to her family, I'd want to take her in myself."
"We can't keep her in the area, that's for sure," Miss Prendergast said. "My suggestion would be a good boarding school for a while. She's a bright girl. She needs to keep up her academics, and she needs protection. But if the parents take us to court, who knows how it will end up? We may have to return her to them in the end."
"Over my dead body," Bronwen said. "I could phone my old headmistress, and we could spirit her away there for a while. They'd never find her."
"A lot depends on what Jamila decides after the initial shock wears off," Miss Prendergast said. "I know I'll fight tooth and nail to keep her safe."
Chapter 26
Evan jumped out of the car as they pulled up outside police headquarters. "Thanks for the lift," he shouted after him as he ran into the building and was informed that DI Bragg had just taken Mrs. Rogers upstairs to the interview room. Evan uttered a silent prayer that his plan was going to work as he ran up the stairs. If it didn't, he sensed that he might be back in uniform again.
He took a deep breath before he knocked and entered the interview room. Mrs. Rogers was looking more haggard than Evan remembered her-as if she hadn't slept well since her husband's death. There were dark circles around her eyes, and her hair was not as perfectly in place as when they had seen her before. This time there was no plain dress and string of pearls but an ordinary cardigan over a tweed skirt. She was also lo
oking extremely indignant and glared at Evans and Bragg accusingly.
"This is coming close to harassment, Inspector. I can't think why you had to have me hauled in here rather than visiting me at my own home. It was quite embarrassing to have the neighbors watch me being taken away in a police car. I do hope it's not for another overnight. I've left Lucky in the garden."
"It shouldn't take long, Mrs. Rogers," Bragg said. "Only some interesting facts have come to light, and Constable Evans here asked that you be brought in again as he has something he wants to show you."
"To show me? You've found the murder weapon?" she asked.
"Just a couple of things that I've unearthed, and we'd like you to identify," Evan said.
" 'Unearthed'?" She frowned as she looked up at him. "That sounds like something from one of Martin's archeological digs. Unearthed what?"
"I'll go and get them," Evan said. He left the room and went to find Jeremy Wingate, who had just arrived in the building. He explained what he wanted to happen and then went to check on DC Pritchard who was waiting in a nearby office.
"Okay." Evan nodded to Pritchard. "Let's head down to the interview room now, please. DI Bragg is waiting for us." He walked ahead along the hall, then paused outside the interview room until he heard feet approaching from the other direction. Then he nodded to Pritchard to open the door. Pritchard did so and motioned for Megan Owens to step inside first. At the same time the other door to the room opened and Pamela Alessi entered.
Evan slipped into the interview room behind them and closed the door. He saw the briefest flicker of recognition cross Missy Rogers's face, but Megan Owens let out a great gasp when she saw the other two. "Oh no," she whimpered.
"Who are these people?" Missy Rogers was still very much in control of herself.
"They know," Megan Owens gasped. "They've found out."
"Found out what? What is she talking about?" Missy Rogers said in the authoritative voice the upper classes switch on to intimidate lower-class people when necessary.
Evan stepped forward. "She's right, Mrs. Rogers. We've found out. I went to The Laurels, you see."
Missy Rogers had now turned pale too. "And they told you? They swore that they would never betray us . . ."
