Authors: Rhys Bowen

Evans Above (13 page)

BOOK: Evans Above

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“I'll be interested to hear what Greta has to say for herself,” he said.

“If it really was her,” Watkins added. “You'd be surprised how many people are so anxious to help the police that they make up things.”

“Oh, I wouldn't be surprised at all,” Evan said, chuckling. “The old woman who served us that disgusting tea yesterday swore that she'd seen Stew Potts and Simon Herries together on the mountain yesterday, and they both looked as if they were up to no good.”

“That's what makes our job so difficult,” Watkins said, smiling too. “But what would Greta Potts have been doing around here? And why would she lie about it? If she was lying, she was a good actress, I'll give her that. She seemed completely surprised to hear that her husband had been in Wales.”

“She'd have had as good a motive as anybody for bumping him off,” Evan said. “She didn't trust him, she didn't like the way he ran around with other women, and she wanted to go home to Germany. One little push off a mountain would have solved all those things.”

“And Tommy Hatcher? Do you think she pushed him too?”

“Maybe he saw her do it,” Evan suggested. Then he smiled, shaking his head. “It is a little hard to take, I agree. But she came across as a determined woman, and a bitter one. And women are capable of anything when they're determined.” He was thinking of Betsy, telling him that she was prepared to drag him to the dance, if necessary.

“That's for sure,” Watkins agreed. “The missus has taken it into her head that we need a new washing machine. I keep telling her there's nothing wrong with the old one, but she won't give up on it. Every time we're out for a walk and we pass a shop, she has to stop and point out the washing machine she wants in the window. In the end I'm going to be so fed up with hearing about washing machines that I'm going to buy her one to keep her quiet.”

“They usually manage to get their own way in the end, I notice,” Evan said.

“You're not married yet, are you?”

“No. I had one close call. Now I'm taking my time,” Evan said.

“Good idea. I'd had a drop too much one night and told Kathy that I could picture us spending the rest of our lives together, and she took it as a proposal. I suppose I must have meant it at the time, but next morning I was in a furniture store, picking out bedspreads and curtains. We had a deposit on a dining room set by the time we left the store and there was no way I could back out then. She's a nice woman, and our Tiffany's a lovely little kid, but I often wish I'd had more time to enjoy my freedom.”

“I'm trying to hang onto mine,” Evan said.

“You sound as if there's someone trying to make you change your mind.”

“More then one of them,” Evan said. “All nice girls, but â¦”

“Keep fighting, lad,” Watkins said, chuckling. “This job is hard enough without the complications of coming home to a stopped-up toilet or a washing machine on the blink.”

The mountains were receding behind them, as they crossed the flat coastal plain toward Chester and the industrial Northwest beyond. Evan could already see the brown line of pollution hanging across a pale blue sky. He couldn't imagine why anybody would want to live in a place like Manchester or Liverpool.

“Wouldn't it be great if Marshall turned out to be the one we were looking for?” Evan said.

“He's hardly going to confess to it, if he is,” Watkins said. “And if he is, then we're dealing with a tough character. We've
got to watch our step and tread very carefully. He mustn't think we're onto him. We're just curious to know if he got an invitation too and if he knows anything about this reunion and what it was for.”

“Right, sarge,” Evan said, nodding in agreement. “But we're going to do Greta first, aren't we?”

“Might as well. She's on the way and I'd like to hear what she has to say before we tackle Marshall.”

Chapter 15

Greta Potts lived in a small, box-like semidetached house on a new housing estate about five miles from the center of Liverpool. The houses were all identical, with tiny squares of garden in front of them. Most of the gardens were a riot of spring flowers, and some had plastic gnomes on handkerchief-sized lawns. The English certainly love their gardens, Evan thought. The Welsh did too, but not as fanatically.

The small square of ground in front of Greta's house was paved over and boxed in with a chain between cement posts. He wondered whether Greta hadn't picked up the English fanaticism for flowers and lawns or Stew had been too occupied elsewhere. A car was parked outside the house and two little blond girls were sitting on the front step, playing house. They jumped up and ran inside calling, “Mama!” as they saw the two men approaching.

Greta was wearing jeans and an old T-shirt and came to the door with a mop in her hand. She wasn't wearing makeup today and her hair hung around her face. Evan thought she
looked nicer this way, and younger too. He hadn't realized before that she was only in her midtwenties and he found he was thinking of her quite differently. It must be tough to find herself a young widow with two little kids in a foreign country, Evan thought.

“Yes?” She stared at them for a moment before she recognized them. “Oh, it's you,” she said flatly.

“We have a few more questions we'd like to ask you about your husband's death,” Sergeant Watkins said. “Some more evidence has come up during the week. Do you mind if we come in?”

Greta glanced back down the passage, as if making up her mind. “I suppose so,” she said. “I haven't finished doing the living room yet.”

The living room had a few toys scattered about on the floor, but it was otherwise spotless. Obviously Greta prided herself on her housekeeping because she rushed around, picking up the toys before inviting them to sit on a quilted satin sofa.

“I don't know why you came all this way,” she said, perching on the arm of a matching satin chair. “I could have answered questions over the phone, and I already told you everything I know.”

Watkins glanced at Evan. “We've come up with the name of another possible friend they went to meet,” Evan said gently. “We just wondered if you'd heard of someone called Marshall.”

“Jimmy Marshall? Oh yeah, I know him. He came to the house a couple of times. He lived not too far awayâManchesâter, wasn't it?”

Watkins nodded. “When was the last time you saw him?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I dunno. Ages agoâat least a year.”

“And Stewart didn't get a phone call from him recently?”

“I wouldn't know, would I?” Her voice was sharp again. “He doesn't like me to use the phone when he's around. He says â¦ he said that the phone was his business lifeline. He didn't want me tying it up chatting with my friends. So when he was home I always used to let him get it.”

“And he didn't mention meeting Jimmy last weekend?”

“I told you,” she snapped. “He didn't tell me anything about where he was going or who he was meeting. What's all this about anyway?”

Sergeant Watkins turned toward her. “Mrs. Potts, we're fairly sure now that your husband's death was no accident. That means that someone had to have a reason for wanting him dead.”

Evan noticed she registered genuine surprise. “And you suspect Jimmy Marshall?”

“Let's put it this way, Mrs. Potts,” Watkins went on. “There were four buddies that we know of, back in basic training days. Three of them are dead and, as far as we know, Jimmy Marshall is still alive.”

She shook her head. “Not Jimmy. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Besides, why would he want to kill Stew? They were friends. They got along just great.”

“That's what we're trying to find out, Mrs. Potts,” Sergeant Watkins said. “Somebody wanted your husband and Tommy Hatcher dead. We need to know why. Can you think back and try to remember if there is anything at all he might have told you, any little incident from his army days, that might give us something to go on.”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all. The only time he talked about the army was about the base in Germany where we met. He had a good time thereâit was real cushy duty and lots of good beer to drink. But he never spoke about what he did before. He was two years in Northern Ireland but he never spoke about that. He saw a car full of people get blown up and I know that stayed with him, because he used to have nightmares about it, but he'd never talk about it.”

“Was Jimmy Marshall in Northern Ireland with him?” Watkins asked.

She shrugged. “I don't know where he knew Jimmy from. I got the feeling they were friends from way back.” She got to her feet, clutching the mop she had rested against the chair. “Look, I'm sorry I can't help you more, but he's dead, isn't he? Talking isn't going to bring him back.”

Evan got to his feet too. “You're right, Mrs. Potts, and I know this must be painful for you, but it would help if we could find your husband's killer, wouldn't it?”

“I still think the silly bugger slipped,” Greta said. “I can't think of anyone who would have wanted him dead.”

“He wasn't at all worried or apprehensive when he left on Sunday?” Evan asked.

“I didn't see him go,” Greta said, going to peer out of the bay window to check on the little girls. “Where are those bloody kids? Oh, there they are. You can't be too careful these days, can youânot with so many lunatics around.”

Evan opened the folder. “Here,” he said. “This was the snapshot you gave us. I thought you might like to have it back.”

“Oh, thanks,” she said, taking it. “Sorry I couldn't help you, but like I said, he never told me nothing. Once he left this house, I never had a clue what he was doing.”

“Is that why you decided to follow him that day?” Sergeant Watkins asked.

“What?” She stared at him as he she hadn't heard correctly.

“Your husband,” Watkins said smoothly. “You followed him to Wales that day.”

“Don't be so bloody daft,” Greta said. “Why would I want to do that?”

“You tell us, Greta,” Watkins said.

“You gave me the wrong photo, Greta love,” Evan said. “You were on it too, remember? I showed it around and someone recognized you.”

“Who?” she asked sharply.

“Ah, so you were there then?” Watkins demanded.

“I might have been,” she said defiantly, “but I never talked to anybody.”

“Except the man at the mountain railway station in Llanberis?”

He face flushed bright scarlet. “Oh, that rude bugger. Trust him.”

“So you admit you were there, do you?”

She shrugged. “Doesn't seem any point in denying it now, does there? Okay, so I followed him. I just about had enough of him and his women. Some woman called him that Friday night. I overheard him talking to her and then he caught sight of me and went into some phony stuff about delivering orders. So I was sure that's where he was going on Sunday. I thought I'd finally catch him red-handed. I left the kids with a neighbor and I borrowed her car and followed him. You could have knocked me down with a feather when he drove to Wales. I watched him get on the mountain railway, and it looked like he was alone. I couldn't think of any woman who'd be silly
enough to want to meet him on top of a bloody freezing mountain!”

“So what did you do after that, Greta?” Watkins asked.

“I hung around for a while to see if he came back down, but he didn't. So I drove home.”

“You're sure about thatâyou came straight home? You didn't decide to follow him up the mountain on the next train?”

Her eyes became suddenly suspicious, darting around nervously. “Here, hold on a minute. You don't think I had anything to do with it, do yer?”

“You were one of the last people to see him alive, Greta. You've said yourself he was not the best of husbands,” Watkins said.

“Oh, now look here.” She was definitely flustered. “He drove me round the bend sometimes, but that doesn't mean I wanted him dead, does it? Use your headâwhy would I want Stew dead? Look at me now. I'm a widow with two little kids and no money coming in. I tried to talk him into taking out life insurance, but he wouldn't hear of it. He liked spending his money too much. So now what do I have to look forward to? We've got the payments due on the house and the car and the furniture. How am I going to make themâyou tell me that.”

“She does have a point,” Evan said to Watkins as they drove away. “She's worse off without him than with him, even if he did fool around. What's she going to live on now?”

“Unless she's got a secret boyfriend she's not telling us about. She'll wait until the fuss has died down and then she'll quietly marry someone richer and nicer.”

“How about if that was Jimmy Marshall?” Evan asked.
“She was definitely fond of him. You could hear it in her voice when she spoke about him.”

“Wouldn't that be nice and tidy?” Watkins agreed. “She followed her husband to make sure he went up the mountain, called in Marshall, and he did the dirty work.” He glanced at Evan. “You shouldn't have given her back that photo. We might need it as evidence.”

“I made a copy first,” Evan said, with a satisfied smile.

“Not as stupid as you look, are you?” Watkins said. “Now I'm going to be very curious to hear what Mr. Marshall has to say for himself.”

BOOK: Evans Above

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