Evanly Bodies (3 page)

"Well, I say stick to your guns, Jamila," Bronwen said.

Jamila beamed. "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Evans. You don't know how encouraging it is to hear that. Luckily I've already made some
good friends at school, and they're supportive too. I'm trying hard to learn Welsh quickly; then I can talk to my friends
on the phone, and Rashid won't know what I'm saying."

"You can come up here and practice with us," Evan said. "I'm a policeman and I often work long hours. Bronwen would enjoy
the company, wouldn't you, love?"

"That would be lovely," Bronwen said. "I'll help you with your Welsh if you like. And since I'm an old married schoolteacher,
even your brother couldn't object, could he?"

Jamila gave them both a happy smile.

"We wondered where you'd got to, boyo," Watkins said. "We thought you were going to incur the wrath of God by coming in after
He'd started talking."

"It rained all last night, didn't it?" Evan muttered. "It took me ages to get down the hill."

"You drove your car up that track?" Glynis asked. "Wasn't that asking for trouble?"

"Not the car-me. The car was parked down below, but it took me awhile to get down to it. It was so slippery, and I didn't
want to risk sitting down on my rear end and arriving here covered in mud."

"So what do you think you're going to do all winter?" Watkins asked. "In case you hadn't noticed, it does rain a lot up here,
and snow, too. Is this going to be a recurrent excuse for showing up late?"

Evan grinned. "We're going to have to do something, I know. Bronwen's father promised us his old Land Rover when he gets a
new one, but he doesn't show any signs of doing so. And we can hardly keep nagging him, so it's a case of taking the track
carefully at the moment."

"Well, luckily you haven't missed anything," Glynis whispered. "The great man is running late too."

"What is this for now?" Evan asking, looking at the other officers assembled in the room. "It looks like the whole Plain Clothes
Division is here this time. Who exactly would be holding the fort if there's a major crime?"

"Don't ask me," Inspector Watkins muttered. "I'm as much in the dark as you are. I'm too lowly to have been invited to the
brainstorming sessions among the top brass."

"What can't we have covered already?" Evan asked.

"Maybe it's to tell us that the Plain Clothes Division will now be wearing uniforms. Plainer plain clothes, so to speak."
The detective constable sitting in front of Evan turned round to him with a grin.

"Let's hope they're not as ugly as the uniforms he's planning to make the poor blokes on the beat wear," someone else chimed
in.

"No, I bet it's nothing to do with uniforms. My bet is that it's more sensitivity training." Glynis said.

"Oh God, please no," the first DC rolled his eyes. "Where did they find him, anyway?"

"He's just done a stint in America."

"As if they know anything about sensitivity training there. They just shoot first and then show great sensitivity to the corpse."

A general chuckle ran around the room. Evan noticed that DI Watkins tried not to smile but couldn't quite manage to keep a
straight face.

"Now, come on, lads," Watkins said. "That's not the spirit. We may not find his methods easy at first, but he is our new boss
and it's up to us to learn to love and appreciate him."

"Providing he's sensitive enough," someone quipped.

This time there was loud laughter.

At that moment the door opened and the new Chief Constable Mathry came in. He was followed by the division commanders of the
three regions, Chief Superintendents Morris, Talley, and Jones; and behind them the various chiefs of operations, including
Evan's own boss, DCI Hughes.

The Chief Constable looked around the room, beaming. "That's what I like to see, lads, positive team spirit. That's the ticket.
I know we're all going to get along splendidly. What we need is more meetings like this, more chances for the entire division
to interact. There has been too much compartmentalization and not enough cooperation between the regions." He perched on the
edge of the desk at the front of the room. "I've been taking a look at the logs on that recent mugging on Mount Snowdon. It
was originally reported to Colwyn Bay HQ, who referred it to Caernarfon as the national park was within their jurisdiction.
However, it was then handed back to Colwyn Bay because they had more manpower. Precious time lost with haggling back and forth."

"With all due respect, sir," DCI Hughes rose from his chair. "As senior detective of the Caernarfon Station, I have to point
out that we had only five men on the roster."

"Five people," Glynis muttered, loud enough for Evan to hear.

"This mugging happened on a Sunday when two of my men had days off after working ten days straight, and one was still on leave
of absence for his honeymoon."

"Awww," several men teased.

"Should have called him back, lazy bugger," someone else commented.

"Gentlemen, please." Hughes held up his hand. "As I was saying, we were undermanned that day. It made sense to call in a bigger
unit."

"Excuse me, sir." Glynis rose to her feet. "I don't wish to sound like a raving feminist, but I should like to point out,
for the record, that there are two women officers present. To hear only the male members of the force being addressed is somewhat
insulting."

"Quite right, young lady." The Chief Constable nodded. "Hit the nail on the head. That's exactly what I was getting at in
our session on sensitivity the other day, being aware of those around you, watching that you don't offend unintentionally.
Now would you like to rephrase what you were saying, Hughes?"

DCI Hughes turned slightly pink. "My apologies, sir. Just a slip of the tongue, I assure you. Now, as I was saying . . ."
he cleared his throat before repeating what he had just said, using nongender-specific language with great care.

"You'll be put on shoplifting detail forever after this," Evan whispered to Glynis. "Making your boss blush in front of his
fellow officers."

"I know, but I couldn't sit there and hear him address the assembly as 'gentlemen.' "

"You all know the old proverb, a new broom sweeps clean," the Chief Constable said, as DCI Hughes sat down again. "I've been
studying the running of this division, and I've decided the only thing to do is a complete overhaul. Superintendents Morris
and Talley have been working with me all weekend, and we've decided to avoid miscommunications and holdups like the one I
just referred to by instituting a Major Incident Team to be kept on call at headquarters here in Colwyn Bay. We have selected
officers from each division to rotate onto this team. My hope is that by working together with officers from all three divisions,
we will create a better spirit of cooperation throughout the force."

"How's this going to work, sir?" A detective inspector in the front row asked. "Who's going to decide what's a major incident?"

"A 'major incident' is something a local division isn't equipped to handle at any given moment. A murder, a kidnapping-any
crime that would need to coordinate with our forensics and specialist teams. Local stations will call us in when they need
us, and the next available team will be dispatched."

"Excuse me, sir?" a tentative hand went up, "but do I understand correctly that you've selected officers from all three divisions
to take their turns operating out of Colwyn Bay?"

"Quite right. Absolutely."

"That will mean rather a long drive for some of us. I live close to Wrexham. That will be an hour's commute for me."

"Yes, I do appreciate that this will be a problem for a few officers. We're working on a feasibility study to see if police
accommodations can be provided for those officers who genuinely live too far away. How many men would be seriously inconvenienced?"

A good number of hands were raised.

"Ah yes, well that is a considerable number. If you'll meet with us after the meeting, we'll take commuting distance into
consideration when forming our first teams."

"And what about the female officers?" Glynis asked in her clear voice. "You can't expect us to bunk down with the men."

There were several muttered comments along the lines of "we wouldn't mind a bit."

"Good point, Miss-uh?"

"Detective Constable Davies, sir."

"We'll definitely include your concerns in the feasibility study, DC Davies." The big man gave her an encouraging smile.

"They just don't get it, do they?" Glynis muttered to Evan.

"This will require further study, I can see. Obviously an officer is of no use to us if he's going to take over an hour to
respond to a crime scene. Chief Superintendent Morris, would you like to tell everyone where we are so far?"

"Right, sir." The older man rose to his feet. "We are setting up response teams within the Major Incident Division. Teams
will be composed of a DI, a detective sergeant, and two detective constables to each unit. When a call is received, the next
available team will be dispatched. We're going to start with three teams and see if this is sufficient for our needs. We want
to have all situations covered, but we don't want officers sitting around drinking tea and doing the crossword all day either."

"Sounds all right to me," a voice muttered.

"A roster of the first teams to be selected will be placed on the notice board after the meeting. Now if you'll-"

He broke off as the door to the room opened and a young female dispatcher came in, looking distinctly embarrassed as the attention
of all the senior officers was suddenly on her. "Excuse me, sir, but we've just had a call from Bangor. They are reporting
a homicide. The Bangor duty officer says he needs their detectives back on the job right away."

Chief Constable Mathry clapped his hands together delightedly. "Our first test, men. Superintendent Morris, whom have we assigned
to the first response team?"

The superintendent glanced down at the sheaf of papers he was carrying. "We had DI Bragg from Central, DS Wingate from Eastern,
DC Pritchard from Central, and DC Evans from Western. Let's have you four lads up here right away for briefing."

The Chief Constable was still beaming. "I realize this will be a baptism of fire, men, throwing you together like this before
you've had time to get to know each other; but I have great confidence in your abilities, and I know you'll be a credit to
the force."

It took Evan a moment to stand up.

"Good luck, Evan." Glynis gave him an encouraging smile.

Watkins leaned close to him and grabbed his wrist as he began to make his way to the front of the room. "Watch out for Bragg.
Word is that he's a right bugger to work for. Likes all the credit for himself."

Evan nodded. He gave Watkins and Glynis Davies what he hoped was a confident grin as he moved forward to join the other men.

As they approached the front door, a uniformed sergeant came out to meet them.

"What's this then?" he asked, looking at them suspiciously. "Where's our lads? Where's DI Lewis?"

"There's been a reorganization at headquarters," Inspector Bragg said, in what sounded like confrontational tones. "And you
are?"

"Presley, sir. But Ifan, not Elvis, even though I've got the looks for it."

The other men grinned, but no muscle moved on DI Bragg's face. During the high-speed ride from headquarters, which had taken
place in almost complete silence, Evan had already decided that he wasn't at all happy with this assignment. If someone thought
they were giving him a bump up the career ladder, he wasn't especially grateful. He rather suspected that DCI Hughes, his
former boss, had had a hand in it. Hughes had not appreciated being outsmarted by Evan on a couple of occasions. Evan suspected
that this new DI would like his toes being trodden on even less.

Bragg was built like an ex-Royal Marine: lean, middle aged, close-cropped grizzled air, a body that looked as if it was chiseled
from rock. He wasn't particularly tall, however, probably no more than five foot ten. He stepped forward until he was standing
eyeball-to-eyeball with Sergeant Presley. "I'm DI Bragg, in charge of the Major Incident Team that will be handling this case
from now on. Your men should report any findings to me and only to me. I want an interview room made available at your station
immediately, and I want the report from those men who handled the first response right away."

"Right you are, sir," the sergeant said. Evan thought he put a little too much emphasis on the word "sir." The sergeant looked
around the group, and his face lit up when he spotted Evan. "Hello, Evans. I'm glad to see you're here, at least."

"DC Evans is the junior member of this team," Bragg said. "His role will be confined to taking notes and running errands for
the senior officers. Now what exactly do we have here?"

"He was found lying sprawled across the breakfast table, apparently shot."

"Who was?" Bragg snapped.

"The man's name is Rogers, Professor Martin Rogers. He's head of the History Department at the university."

"It's his house?"

"Yes sir."

"We've had a positive identification? It wasn't an intruder?"

"Who broke in to eat Professor Roger's boiled egg for breakfast?" Sergeant Presley quipped, saw the steely look in Bragg's
eyes, and added, "Not an intruder, sir. His wife identified him. She was the one who found him when she came back from walking
the dog."

"Where's she now?"

"With a female PC. She resting upstairs in her bedroom."

"How's she taking it? Hysterical?"

"No sir. Very calm really. One of these upper-class ladies who's brought up not to make a fuss, I'd say."

"So it was the wife who made the nine-nine-nine call?"

"Yes sir."

"Anyone else in the house? Servant of any kind?"

"Not in evidence, sir. We just secured the crime scene and called in the plain clothes branch."

"Very good." For once Bragg sounded almost pleased. "Has the doctor been summoned, and forensics?"

"The doctor's here now, sir. It's up to you blokes to ask for forensics. Outside of our jurisdiction, you know."

Evan thought he looked rather smug when he said this, as if he was enjoying this encounter with DI Bragg.

"Right. Evans, get on to it. Use the squad car radio. We want the full Forensics Incident Team here right away."

"Very good, sir," Evan said. His feet felt like lead as he walked back to the car. After working for so long with DI Watkins
and then with Glynis Davies, people he had come to know and trust, this was a bitter blow. From the few words that had been
exchanged, he suspected that Bragg was well aware of his past successes and was determined to keep him firmly in his place:
a junior officer, whose role was confined to running errands.

DI Bragg glanced up briefly as Evan entered the kitchen: Detective Sergeant Wingate was standing close to the window with
an older, harried-looking man beside him. Evan recognized the police doctor, with whom he had worked before. Wingate was obviously
from an upper-class background, dressed in well-cut slacks and sport's jacket. His hair was a little longer than Evan would
have worn it. There was no sign of the other DC. Evan suspected he'd also been sent on some menial errand.

At first glance the kitchen matched the other rooms he had seen-understated good taste and money at work: white wood, glass-fronted
cabinets, blue-and-white Delft tile, blue-and-white china on the shelves, a vase of yellow crysanthymums as decoration, and
a red Aga discreetly nestled into a corner. Then his eyes were drawn to the table by the window. It had been set for breakfast
with a white cloth and the same blue-and-white china he'd seen on the shelves. Only now the scene was marred by a body, wearing
a checked shirt and tweeds, sprawled across the table. From where he was standing Evan couldn't see the face, but he could
see the red stain that had soaked into the white cloth around where the head lay.

"Ah, Evans. Got in touch with forensics then?" Bragg asked. "Good man. Now watch your step in here, won't you? Don't touch
anything until forensics has given the place a good going over. We don't want you mucking up the crime scene with your fingerprints."

As if I would, you berk, Evan thought.

"Anything you'd like me to do now, sir?" he asked.

"Just hang around, observe, learn," DI Bragg said. "Do you have your notebook handy? I'll need you to take notes when I conduct
interviews."

"Yes, sir." Evan produced a notebook and pen, rather wishing that he'd gone over to a handheld computer, which would have
definitely scored points.

"Right, Doctor, as we were saying." Bragg turned back to the man standing by the window. "Time of death?"

"I can't give you to the minute," the doctor said, looking at Bragg with the same distaste Evan himself felt. "He was in the
middle of eating a boiled egg. His wife can tell you at what time she served breakfast, I'd imagine. So it would be the interval
between her serving the egg and his having a chance to finish it."

"And if the scene was staged, and the egg put on the table just to confuse the investigation?" Bragg asked.

"All I can say is he hadn't been dead long when I arrived. No more than an hour probably. Of course he was lying in a south-facing
window with the sun shining full on him. That would have helped keep the body warm. But there was no sign of rigor mortis
when I first saw him."

"And cause of death?" Bragg asked.

A bloody great hole in the side of his head, Evan was dying to say. He thought the doctor remarkably patient when he answered
evenly, "A gunshot wound to the left temple, fired at fairly close range, I'd surmise."

"Any chance it could have been suicide?" Bragg asked.

The doctor glanced from Bragg to the body and back again. "Not unless somebody removed the weapon afterward. I'm no ballistics
expert, but I would estimate the shot came from a few feet away. Your spatter experts will tell you more accurately than I."

"In which case where did the shooter stand, I wonder?" Bragg asked. "The table's close to the window, and yet the shot is
in the left temple-unless he turned around and then back again as he fell."

"The shot could have come in through the window, sir," Evan said.

Bragg turned on him with a patronizing smirk. "Through the window, Constable? The window, in case you haven't noticed, is
closed."

"Somebody could have closed it," Evan said.

"He's not wrong, sir," Detective Sergeant Wingate said, looking out into the garden. "Those bushes would offer splendid cover,
and someone standing right beside that yew would have a perfect line of fire at a person seated at the table."

"And after he'd killed the poor bloke, he then went into the house and calmly shut the window, did he? Rather risky, wouldn't
you say?" Bragg said smugly.

"Not if he knew the house was empty. He'd probably observed the wife going out with the dog and knew there were no live-in
servants."

"In other words, he'd cased the joint first?"

"Well, it's clearly not a murder committed in the course of a burglary, is it?" DS Wingate said. "I've taken a look in the
other rooms downstairs, and nothing whatsoever has been disturbed. They've some nice silver, too."

"Until we have gone over the whole house with Mrs. Rogers, we have no way of knowing whether a burglary has or has not occurred.
The man's a professor. Important papers could be missing. You young officers are great at jumping to conclusions. All in aid
of the hasty arrest and your picture in the paper, is it?"

"No sir. Just trying to talk our way through the various scenarios."

"I'll decide what we talk about, Wingate. At your former station I'm sure you were all mates together; but I like to run a
tight ship, and I'm the captain, got it?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," Wingate said dryly. He caught Evans's eyes, and Evan realized with gratitude that he had at least one
ally in the camp.

"So you'll leave us your report then, Doctor?" Bragg asked.

"I'll have it typed up and sent over to you," the doctor said.

"We'll be setting up shop at the Bangor Police Station. That's where you can find us. Thanks for showing up so quickly. Evans
will show you out."

"I can find my own way, thanks," the doctor said, picked up his bag, and departed.

"Right, Constable, take this down," Bragg said. "Plan of attack: Interview wife. Go over house with her. Locate the weapon.
Search outside for footprints. Possible eye witnesses. Question neighbors. That should get us started until we've got a forensic
report and a possible motive. Wingate, you take Pritchard and search the grounds. Watch where you tread so that you don't
disturb anything. We'll need casts of any footprints. Evans, you can come with me, and we'll talk to Mrs. Rogers. Ten to one
she did it herself. Cherchez la femme. That's what they always say, isn't it?"

"Do they, sir?" Evan said, and noted a grin from Wingate. "If she did it herself, don't you think she might have taken longer
to call the police so that the time of death wasn't so obvious? And don't you think she'd have removed the boiled egg and
established a better alibi than walking the dog?"

"What did they teach you during detective training, Constable? Didn't they tell you 'always start with the obvious'? So until
the wife is ruled out, she's logically the number-one suspect. The majority of murders are committed by family members or
close friends. You should know that. It's very rare you come upon a murder among strangers, outside of the drug scene, of
which, I suppose, you've had little experience in your sheltered corner of North Wales."

"We've had a couple of cases, sir," Evan said, "now that they're shipping in drugs from Ireland through Holyhead. There are
drugs pretty much everywhere these days, aren't there?"

"I suppose there would be the odd case of drugs among the students at the university here. This man was a professor, wasn't
he? The next step will be to speak with his colleagues. There is sometimes bitter rivalry among academics, so I hear. I don't
think it should take us long at all to have this case wrapped up."

"No sir," Evan said, and followed Bragg up the thick Axminster carpet of the staircase.