Evan can Wait: A Constable Evans Mystery (16 page)

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Authors: Rhys Bowen

BOOK: Evan can Wait: A Constable Evans Mystery
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“I was flattered, I suppose. It’s not easy to break into films these days—too many qualified people, and I didn’t have a degree in media or anything. And when he said Howard Bauer was going to be directing, well, that clinched it. I’d have scrubbed floors or served tea to work with Howard.”
“And has he turned out to be as good as you thought he was?”
She stared at Howard with a puzzled frown. “That’s the weird thing. He hasn’t really done anything much. He’s been content to leave all the decisions to Grantley when I’m sure he knows much better. Maybe he was just being nice and letting Grantley run the show here.”
“What made him decide to join this venture?” Evan asked. “It can’t have been the money.”
“Hell, no. None of us has been paid yet. We were doing it for Grantley, and Grantley, I suspect, was doing it for Edward.” She made a face.
“So what made you walk out?” Evan asked her suddenly. “You said it was a personal matter.”
“It was.” She got to her feet again.
“You were in love with Grantley, weren’t you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It’s all going to come out in the investigation, you know. They’re looking for someone with a motive, and a jilted lover who storms out yelling, ‘I hate you,’ is going to be something that interests the D.I. It gives you a pretty strong motive, doesn’t it?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sandie said. She pushed her blond hair back from her face and suddenly looked very young and vulnerable. “I knew they’d suspect me. And when they find out I was there … .” She looked up at him appealingly. “You seem like a nice sort of bloke. You look as if you’d understand.”
Evan nodded. “Where were you, Sandie?”
“Up in that bloody place I can’t pronounce. Blenny something. I was so angry and upset when I stormed out. Then I
thought that maybe I got it wrong. Maybe it was just Grantley being Grantley.”
“What was?”
“I found a photo of him and Edward. They were—you know—it was disgusting. I couldn’t believe it. I confronted Edward and he said it was true. He said he and Grantley had been living together—you know, like a couple. I couldn’t believe it. I mean I thought that Grantley—that he fancied me. He certainly acted that way when we were alone.”
“So you left?”
“Yeah. But I couldn’t make myself go away. I kept thinking they’d taken that photo for a joke, or that maybe Edward was that way but Grantley was just playing him along. So I decided I’d make Grantley tell me the truth. If I heard from his own lips that he was gay and he wasn’t interested in me, then I’d leave.
“I rented a car and came back here, looking for him. Howard told me that they’d gone up to the Blenny place. So I drove up there. I saw the Land Rover parked at one end of the High Street. I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find Grantley. So I came back again.” She looked up at him hopelessly. “But they’ll find out I was up there. I asked people if they’d seen him. They’ll remember me. And they’ll think I did it.” She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears from escaping. “Not that I care anymore what happens to me. Now that he’s gone. Nothing matters anymore. I just pray they catch the bastard that did it.”
Howard called her and she hurried over to him. Evan watched her go. Someone with a motive and means, he thought. She had been betrayed and humiliated. She might have seen Grantley. He might even have invited her down the mine with him. But after that … . Evan studied her slender frame. The wind was blowing her fine blond hair out behind her and flapping her jeans around her spindly legs. If she had wanted to kill Grantley,
she’d have hit him over the head with a rock, not grabbed him around the throat and strangled him. And she certainly wouldn’t have had the strength to drag his body and drop it into the water.
“I’d never met Grantley until recently.” Howard lowered himself to a rock and stretched out his legs, today clad in black cords. There was a hitch with the underwater cable and they were taking a break. The sun had broken through the clouds and was pleasantly warm when the wind dropped. Howard took out a hip flask, took a swig, and then offered it to Evan.
“Not when I’m on duty, thanks,” Evan replied tactfully.
“My only vice these days.” Howard gave a sad little smile. “I’ve given up on cigarettes and women. I’ve had three wives. Now I stay well away. Too expensive.” He grinned at Evan. “Are you married?”
“Not yet.”
“Keep it that way. Less complicated.”
Evan laughed. “I’m curious,” he asked. “What made you sign on for a project like this? I mean, I’d imagine a bloke with your reputation would be pretty much in demand. And this can’t be too exciting after the kind of high excitement things you’ve done. So were you doing a favor to a personal friend?”
Howard grimaced. “As I told you, I only met him earlier this year. I was teaching a course at the film institute in London and he was in my class. He was really interested, really keen to get on, you know. He even volunteered to be my intern, which really meant my gopher. He helped me out with my filing and editing for a while. So, when he called me about this project, he said it would only take a couple of weeks, and I thought, Hell, why not? Give the young guy a break. I wasn’t keen to fly back to California in a hurry. Wife number three has an alimony suit going. She can’t live on what I pay her, apparently. The poodles all need shampooing twice a month.”
“So you agreed to do this just to help Grantley get launched in his own career?”
Howard nodded. “He thought my name would lend the project credibility and get us backing. And I’m always happy to pass on what I’ve learned to the next generation.”
“That’s very nice of you,” Evan said.
Howard got to his feet. “Oh well. I suppose we should get back to work while the sun’s out. It makes it seem kinda pretty up here.”
Evan got to his own feet and strolled down to the edge of the lake, where the two divers were still struggling to attach a cable. No motive there, apparently. Howard Bauer wasn’t even closely connected with Grantley Smith. He had the means all right. He had been seen walking through Llanfair when he claimed to be struck down with a virus and in bed all day. He could easily have taken a bus or taxi to follow Grantley to Blenau Ffestiniog. But what for?
All the same, something didn’t make sense. Howard had said that he agreed to help out with the project as a mentor figure. He hinted that Grantley idolized him—had even helped with his office filing. And yet the exchanges Evan had witnessed were not those of master and pupil. It always seemed that Grantley was the one in charge and that Grantley took perverse pleasure in needling Howard—almost talking down to him on occasion. Howard clearly hadn’t enjoyed those exchanges, which made one wonder why he put up with Grantley.
And then there was Edward Ferrers. Evan looked back at the young man as he shouted and gesticulated. Edward was showing definite signs of stress. Obviously, the death of a close friend might have made him act that way, but Evan remembered the day Grantley went missing. He remembered Edward arriving at the lake in a very agitated state. Was it just because they had fought and then Grantley had driven off in Edward’s car? Or had Edward followed Grantley, found him down the mine, and done what he had threatened to do? Of all of them, Edward had the
strength and a compelling motive. The collapse of a relationship, Grantley’s constant humiliation and teasing. Yes, Evan could well understand if Edward had finally snapped. Of course, proving it would be another matter, and he had promised Bronwen that he’d prove Edward’s innocence. What if all facts pointed to his guilt instead?
After that, she kept harping on those blasted pictures.
“You helped build those sheds, didn’t you?” she asked me out of the blue one day, a week or so later. I’d met her down in Llandudno and we went to the pictures. Joan Fontaine in Suspicion was playing, and Joan Fontaine was one of her favorites, right up there with Ginger and Betty and Carole Lombard. But the B movie was really bad. A stupid cops and robbers.
“What sheds?” I whispered back.
She dug me in the side. “You know, the ones for the pictures.”
“You know I did. I told you.”
Someone behind leaned forward and made shushing noises. Ginger grinned at me. She leaned against me, nestling her lips against my cheek, as if to give me a kiss.
“You know what I was thinking,” she whispered. “I was thinking that someone who put them together would know how to take them apart again.”
“It was a good picture, wasn’t it?” I said as I walked her back to the hostel where she was living.
“I suppose so. I was thinking of other good pictures. Pictures that are lying there down a mine.”
“Would you shut up about them,” I snapped. “I’ve told you the
sheds have alarms on them and there’s a guard. So I couldn’t get at them, even if I wanted to—which I’m not at all sure that I do.”
“Not even for me?” She moved closer to me, rubbing her hip and thigh against mine. “I thought you said you’d do anything for me once. And this isn’t for me. It’s for us. It’s our ticket out of here, Tref. You and me. Our ticket to Hollywood.”
“You’re crazy. You’re always dreaming about impossible things.”
We were walking along the promenade. In peacetime that promenade used to be very glamorous—all the posh hotels and strings of fairy lights and bands playing. Now, of course, it was all dark. We carried a little torch with us, just to find our way, but it had to have a paper shield over it and it was the only light for miles around. To our left we could hear the crash and hiss of the waves, breaking on the sandy beach. You could taste the salt in the air.
Ginger paused and leaned on the railings, looking out over the sea. “I don’t see why it’s so impossible,” she said. “There are ways around everything, if you look for them. Like I said in the cinema, you put the sheds together. You must know how they come apart again. You could take off a back panel and get in that way, and the alarm would never go off, right?”
“And the guard? You don’t think he’d notice me with a bloody great crowbar?”
“What happens at night? Is there a guard then?”
“No. They lock up the place at night. There’s a nightwatchman on duty for the whole mine.”
“There you are then. Simple as pie.” She snuggled against me, rubbing her face against my collar like a cat. “You just stay down there one night. You hide out and don’t come up with the rest of the quarrymen.”
“Stay down there alone all night?” I could feel my heart starting to race at the thought of it—alone, in all that blackness, all those hours. “I don’t know if I could do that.” Then I remembered and let out a sigh of relief. “And anyway, I have to sign out. They’d know I was missing.”
“You couldn’t get one of your mates to sign for you?”
“I haven’t got any mates now. It’s just old blokes and me down there. All the young ones have been called up. I couldn’t ask any of them. They’re all my father’s friends. They’d tell him.”
“Yeah. I suppose you’re right. Too bad. That would have been so easy. All right. Let’s think again. Just one guard, is it?”
“One at a time.”
“Then he must need to pee occasionally. Or he could be a few minutes late on duty one morning, if he got delayed. I mean, if someone delayed him … .”
“How?”
“If a really gorgeous girl stopped him and asked him for help.” She grabbed my arm. “‘Mister, I’m in terrible trouble. The heel just came off my shoe and now I’ve dropped my purse and all my money’s spilled out and my mum’s going to kill me for being late. Please … .’ You don’t think he’d stop and help me?”
She was very convincing. I knew then that she’d be a great movie star if she ever got there.
“See?” She laughed, breaking the spell. “Then you just pop in and get one of the back panels loose. After that, you can take your time. Watch him. See when he’s paying attention and when he’s not. It’s my betting that it’s bloody boring down there. He might even doze off. Then you can just slip in, pinch a painting, and hide it until we’re ready. There are plenty of places to hide something down a mine, aren’t there?”
“No problem about that. Little caves, and piles of slate cuttings all over the place.
”
“There you are then. Piece of cake. No one will ever know.”
“When they come to take the paintings back to London, they will. They’ll notice one is missing, won’t they?”
“We’ll be long gone to Hollywood by then. I’ll probably be a famous movie star.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’d still get us. We’d still go to jail.”
She laughed. “I don’t think so. I’ll be rich and famous. We’ll
just pay them off
.
You can bribe people really easily in America
,
you know.”
I laughed nervously. “This is stupid. It’s bloody daft.”
“Don’t swear
.
It’s not nice.” She slapped my arm
.
“It’s playing with fire
.
We’re just asking to get burned.”
“I like fire.” She looked up at me
.
I could see her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “And I like getting burned.”
The village was already nestling in its smoky haze as Evan came from the Everest Inn. There had been no sign of a police presence when he dropped off Howard, Edward, and Sandie. He wondered how their investigation was going, whether the crime scene boys had turned up any clues in the slate mine. It was so frustrating not to know what was going on. The village street was deserted, even though it wasn’t much past five o’clock. The temperature was dipping rapidly and his footsteps clattered on the frosty pavement.
He hurried past the chapels, before he could be assaulted again by Mrs. Powell-Jones, and kept up his quick pace as he passed the school. He was almost past when he heard his name called. Bronwen must have been watching for him from her kitchen window. She came running across the schoolyard, a red wool shawl wrapped around her and her braid over one shoulder, looking like a heroine from a fairy tale.
He waited, patiently, not knowing how to react to her. Maybe last night had been a bad dream. Maybe he had overreacted at finding her ex-husband in her home—in her arms, he reminded himself.
“Any news?” she called as soon as she was within hailing range. “Have they found out who might have killed Grantley?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not on the case, am I?”
She looked confused at his bluntness. “I know you’re never officially on any case, but Sergeant Watkins relies on you; even that pompous little inspector … .”
“Not this time,” he said. “Sergeant Watkins has been assigned his own detective constable. The D.I. told me to go home and be a good boy.”
“Oh Evan, that’s so stupid.” There was sympathy in her face, or so he thought. But then she went on, “Poor Edward—he has to be the most obvious suspect. I don’t know what it will do to him if they put him in jail.”
“The British police don’t make a habit of throwing the wrong man into prison,” Evan said stiffly.
She came closer and touched his sleeve. “But you could still do something unofficially, couldn’t you? Remember that time when those climbers fell to their deaths. You were sure it wasn’t an accident, even though everyone else wanted to call it one. You stuck your neck out, did your own investigating, and found the killer.”
“Yes, and it nearly cost me my job.”
“But it didn’t. You’re still here. And you know that they were impressed, even though they wouldn’t admit it.”
“That doesn’t mean I can keep on poking my nose in where it’s not wanted. I’m sure Sergeant Watkins and his new D.C. will do a good job.”
“They won’t get at the truth, I know it.” She was gripping his arm now. “Please help, Evan. I can’t let him down.” She let go and turned away, as if aware that she might have gone too far. “Of course I realize you can’t go bursting into the crime lab or anything like that, but you’re the one with the instincts. You’re fantastic at making connections other people can’t see. You’re a better detective than any of them, and you know it.”
He had to smile. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“It’s the truth. Look, I know Edward is a bit of a pompous prig, but he’s very vulnerable underneath.”
“And what if he did it, Bron?” Evan asked. “Have you thought of that?”
She shook her head. “I just can’t picture Edward killing anyone. He’s the sort who faints at the sight of blood.” Then she
pulled the shawl around her more tightly and took a deep breath. “But either way, I’d rather know the truth.”
“All right,” he said. “I’m not sure if there’s anything I can do, but I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you.”
As he went on his way down through the village, Evan had the horrible feeling that he had already lost her.
There were no messages on the answering machine at his police station. He locked the door and went home.
As he came in the door, he met Mrs. Williams adjusting her hat in front of the hall mirror.
“Oh there you are, Mr. Evans. Sorry to be dashing out, but I’ve got a meeting at chapel for the Christmas bazaar. There’s a shepherd’s pie in the oven and some mashed turnip to go with it. I’ve no doubt you can fend for yourself this once, is it?”
“Don’t worry about me, Mrs. Williams,” he said. “I’ll be just fine.”
“Oh, that’s good.” She gave him a relieved smile. “I’ll be going then. Mrs. Powell-Jones doesn’t like us to be late.”
The door slammed and he was alone in the house, conscious of the silence. He went through to the kitchen and took the shepherd’s pie from the oven, looked at it, and put it back. He had no appetite tonight. He didn’t even feel like going to the Dragon for a pint. He poured a cup of tea from the pot Mrs. Williams always kept going under a cozy and sat at the kitchen table. It’s not the end of the world, he told himself. But it felt like it.
He was just telling himself not to be so bloody stupid and to get on with his dinner when there was a knock at the front door.
“I’m not disturbing some culinary masterpiece, am I?” Sergeant Watkins was standing there, his coat collar turned up against the cold.
“I was about to eat some shepherd’s pie and turnip. Not my favorite.”
Watkins indicated with his head. “Come on, get your coat. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Is Glynis with you?”
“Last seen being shepherded out by the D.I. to ‘a little place he knows where they can produce quite a decent Chardonnay,’” he imitated the inspector’s Anglicized tones. “He’s going to catch it when Mrs. Hughes finds out.” Watkins gave him a knowing grin.
“Look, sorry about today,” he said to Evan as they walked together to the Red Dragon. “It was sprung on me, too. D.I. just shows up with her and says, ‘Watkins, meet your new partner.’ She’s a nice enough girl, but … .”
“I expect she’ll make a brilliant detective,” Evan said. “Go right to the top. She’s got the brains.”
“And the legs. And the connections, too.”
They exchanged a grin.
“She’s already driving me barmy, she’s so dead keen,” Watkins said. “She’s told me about ten times how excited she is to be on her first murder case. Lucky the D.I. is so keen on giving her his Hercule Poirot imitation that he’s kept her with him for most of the day.”

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