Constable Evans 02: Evan Help Us Read online

  “But you didn’t say anything to the police about it.”

  “Do you think I was stupid? Ted Morgan wasn’t the kind of man you take chances with.”

  “So you killed him.”

  “I swear to you I didn’t. I wished him dead, but I didn’t kill him.”

  “Then how come it was your gun, your bullet? There wasn’t ever a prowler or a break-in, was there. If someone had broken into your house, a gun would be the first thing you’d check on. You only discovered it was missing when we ruled out suicide and it looked as if you might be suspect number one.”

  She slumped back into the chair, looking very small and frightened. “Okay, so I went to his house that night, but I didn’t kill him.”

  “But you took the gun with you?”

  “I wanted to frighten him.”

  “To do what?”

  “To leave me and Jenny alone.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I really thought I’d managed to get away this time. I thought we’d be alright here and we could have a good life.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Evan snapped. “You came here to kill Ted Morgan. You probably thought you’d get away with it because nobody would suspect you knew each other. What did you do—arrange a rendezvous to lure him here? I couldn’t get over how polite you were to each other when we met on the hill.”

  “I didn’t know he was going to be here.” Her voice was almost a hysterical sob by now. “I got the shock of my life when we bumped into him on that hill. I had no idea—”

  “Oh come on, Annie. You expect me to believe that?”

  “I swear I didn’t know he was here. I knew he was Welsh and that was all. I had no idea he’d even left London. Then to get here and see him—I didn’t know what to do. I suppose I panicked.”

  “And shot him.”

  “No.” She gave a tired sigh and closed her eyes. “You probably can’t imagine what it was like and what it felt like to get away.” She sat up again. “I suppose I should start at the beginning. My mum died when I was a little kid. My father married again and my new stepmum didn’t want me around the house. She kicked me out when I was sixteen. I’d been taking dance lessons when my mum was alive and I had this dream of becoming a dancer. So I went up to London to get into a West End show. Of course, it wasn’t that easy, was it.

  “Anyway, I met this girl, Glynis, at an audition. She’d run away from home and she was having a hard time too. So we got a room together and pooled money to buy food. Then she came home all excited one day and said she’d met this man from back home and he might hire us as dancers in this West End nightclub. Well, we were all excited. We’d been living on baked beans for a month and we didn’t have the rent. So we went to meet him and he was a real smoothy. He told us that we’d have to start out as hostesses and he’d move us up to dancers when he thought we were ready. He gave us stage names. I was Anita Dove, Glyn was Desirée St. Claire. Pretty fancy, eh?”

  She closed her eyes again and sighed. “Of course, hostesses really meant prostitutes. We only found out that too late. I was still a virgin. So was Glynis. Taffy—Ted Morgan, that is—came into my room and raped me. When I cried afterward he said, ‘One day you’re going to get to like this. You won’t be able to get enough of it.’ Then he gave me something to make me feel better. It was coke. He liked to have all his hookers hooked, so to speak. That way you were dependent on him.

  “Poor old Glyn. She really did get hooked on the stuff. She was in a bad way. She just couldn’t handle what we were doing. ‘If my dad could see me now,’ she said. She killed herself. Took an overdose. I found her. Poor kid—she was so homesick. She used to talk about Wales all the time and show me pictures. Remember that picture on Ted’s office wall? It used to make her cry. ‘That’s my home,’ she’d say. ‘That’s where I belong.’”

  “And what about you?” Evan asked quietly.

  “Me? I kept on going. I was really doing quite well, rising through the profession, so to speak.” She gave a twisted smile. “If you worked well, Taffy was nice to you. If you did something wrong, watch out. The one thing he didn’t let you do was leave. Girls who left had a habit of winding up dead.”

  “But you left?”

  “I had to, didn’t I? I always was the stupid one. After Glynis died I got really depressed and I went on this blinder—booze, coke, the lot. I was passed out all weekend. Of course, that meant I didn’t take my pill for three days. So guess who gets pregnant. Taffy was furious. He sent me to get an abortion. But I couldn’t go through with it. I mean, poor little kid, it wasn’t her fault, was it? So I climbed out through the back window of the clinic and ran away. I went as far away as I could and I wound up at a shelter in Manchester. They were nice to me there. They took care of me while I had the baby, then they found me a cheap place to live while I was on the dole. But it was a bad part of town and I was scared of how Jenny would grow up. The kids she started playing with—they were teaching her bad words and all that stuff.”

  She looked down at her hands then slowly raised her eyes to meet Evan’s. “That’s when I decided to come here. It was Glynis’ paradise. Maybe it would be paradise for me too.” She paused and took a deep breath. “And then he showed up. I nearly died. I thought, There’s nowhere to run any more. I’ve got to stand and fight. So I went over there with the gun. I told him if he didn’t leave me and Jenny alone, I’d kill him. He just laughed and he took the gun away from me. He had that sort of power. I don’t know who killed him, but I’m glad he’s dead.”

  She got up and walked over to the window, pulled the curtain back, then let it fall again. “You’re right. The jury will never believe me, will they?”

  She paced around the room like a trapped animal. Then she stopped. “Look, Evan. I’m sorry I got you into this. I’m sorry I set you up. But it’s true what I said about Jenny. She said you were the kindest man she ever met. I think so too.”

  Evan sat perched on the edge of the chair, fighting conflicting emotions. He wanted to get up, put his arms around her, and tell her that it was going to be alright. But he couldn’t. She had fooled him once before. How was he to know she wasn’t fooling him with a sob story this time?

  “Is there anyone who could back up your story?”

  “Not that Ted Morgan was alive and laughing when I left him,” she said bitterly. “And probably nobody would be willing to talk about what went on in London. They’re all too scared. Even though he’s dead now, they’d probably worry that someone would get them. Glynis would have told you. Me and Glyn—we would have done anything for each other.”

  She reached down to the bookcase and picked up a photograph album. “This is the only photo of her I’ve got,” she said. “We went to Kew Gardens on one of those riverboats when we first met. We couldn’t really afford it, but it was such a beautiful day. We took a picnic. It was one of the best days of my life.”

  She opened the book and pointed to a snapshot. Two girls were standing under a lilac tree in full bloom. They looked young and carefree, like schoolgirls on a class outing. Annie’s fair curls contrasted with Glynis’ long dark hair. Underneath she had printed, in girlish letters. “Me and Glynis Dawson. May 3rd, 1993.”

  “One of the gardeners took it for us,” she said.

  Evan got to his feet. “Dawson? Glynis Dawson, you say? And she came from around here?”

  “Yes. Not from Llanfair, but down the pass at a place called Beddgelert. I’d like to have moved there, but it’s more expensive and upscale, isn’t it? Hey, what’s the matter? Where are you going?”

  He was already halfway to the front door.

  “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back,” he yelled, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter 21

  Night had fallen and the storm which had threatened earlier was now blowing in full force as Evan drove down the pass toward Beddgelert. Rain lashed against the windscreen and great gusts of wind buffeted the small car so that Evan had to fight to keep it on the narrow road. He was
well aware that beyond that low wall there was a long sheer drop to the lake below. He tried to turn up the wipers but they were already going at full speed, unable to cope with the amount of water that streamed down the glass. The headlights cut a pitifully small arc of light into the blackness of the Nantgwynant Pass. Each hairpin curve appeared with alarming suddenness and each time Evan had the impression of swinging into nothing.

  I should have called Watkins, Evan thought. He realized now that he had acted impulsively, rushing out alone into the dark. Wasn’t it a basic premise of police training that you went out in twos whenever possible? He had been so excited when the pieces finally fell into place. He was sure his hunch had to be right. He just prayed it was. He didn’t want Annie Pigeon to spend the rest of her life in jail.

  Lights of Beddgelert appeared through the curtain of rain, and he was driving past neat gray stone houses. He crossed the bridge and swung into the courtyard of the Royal Stag Hotel. Lights were shining from every room and it looked solid and welcoming—a tall, gray stone building with the white stag sign swinging in the wind outside.

  Evan found a parking spot between a Mercedes and a Jag. Obviously it wasn’t cheap to stay at the Royal Stag. The reception desk was unoccupied, but voices were coming from the bar on his left. He pushed open the door and found himself in what must be a foreigner’s fantasy of a British pub. The walls were old oak panelling. Heavy oak beams spanned the ceiling, decorated with horse brasses. Horse brasses adorned the pillars of the bar too. In the middle of one wall a roaring fire crackled in a massive brick fireplace, even though it was summer. At the far end of the room a group was assembled around a piano, laughing as they tried out various show tunes.

  Mr. Dawson was standing at the bar, deep in conversation with a customer. He was relaxed and smiling, dressed in twill slacks, a lamb’s wool cardigan over an open necked checked shirt—very different from the scarlet faced, shouting man Evan had seen before.

  “So I told the golf pro,” he was saying as Evan approached discreetly, “what he could do with his bloody club.”

  His audience laughed. Mr. Dawson looked up to see Evan standing there.

  “Are you looking for someone?” he asked.

  “You’re Mr. Dawson, aren’t you?” Evan asked. “I’d like a word if you can spare a minute.”

  He motioned Evan toward the empty reception area then followed him. “A word about what? Do I know you?”

  “P.C. Evans. Llanfair police, sir,” Evan said. “And the word’s about a man called Ted Morgan.”

  “Ted Morgan? Never heard of him.”

  “And a young girl called Desiree St. Claire.”

  The color drained from Dawson’s face. “We can’t talk here,” he muttered, looking around. “Hold on a minute while I get a jacket. It’s raining, isn’t it?”

  “Pouring.”

  “I’ll just tell Howard to keep an eye on things until I get back,” he said. He disappeared into a back room, then came out again, already halfway into a waterproof jacket. “Let’s go,” he said. He led Evan to a hunter green Jaguar parked in the slot marked Owner.

  “Get in,” he said. “I don’t want anybody spying on us. News travels quickly in a place like this. I don’t want anyone to think that the hotel’s having trouble with the law.”

  Evan hesitated as he opened the passenger door, then got in. The car took off with a great surge of power, roaring through the deserted streets until the village was left behind.

  “Okay, what have you got to say to me?” he asked Evan.

  “I think you know that, sir,” Evan said. “I was in London, at a place called Taffy’s Club. I talked to a girl who had worked there with your daughter. I wanted to say that I can understand why you killed Ted Morgan. I might have done the same if it had been my daughter.”

  Mr. Dawson gave a short, bitter laugh. “Yes, but it won’t make any difference in court, will it? It will still be jail for life.”

  “I’m sure the sentence would be a light one, considering the emotional distress you’ve gone through.”

  “But prison, just the same.” He sighed as he continued to swing the big car around the hairpin bends. “I’ll tell you right now that I’m not sorry. He was a monster. He took away everything I ever loved. He deserved to die. I hope he rots in hell.”

  “Maybe he did deserve to die,” Evan said, “but it wasn’t up to you to pass judgement, was it?”

  Dawson drove on, tight-lipped as the tires screeched on the bends. “I didn’t give you chaps enough credit,” he said at last. “I was sure I could pass it off as a suicide. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him at that meeting, smiling, jovial, acting like the local benefactor—after what he did to my daughter. Ted Morgan, you say his real name was?”

  Evan nodded.

  Mr. Dawson took a deep, drawn out breath that sounded like a sigh. “I saw him in London, after the inquest. I went round to Taffy’s club to see for myself what hell she’d been through. That Ted Morgan character was playing the genial host. He’d already got another girl to take my Glynis’s place.” His voice cracked and he was silent for a moment and the only sounds were the deep growl of the engine and rushing of the wind.

  “I wanted to kill him then, of course. I could have killed him then, if I’d had a chance. But I didn’t have a weapon on me. I’d like to have throttled him with my bare hands but I couldn’t get near him with all those bodyguards. I never thought I’d see him again and then there he was, playing public benefactor. I couldn’t believe my luck.” He chuckled as he swung the wheel around and the tires responded, screeching. “I went round to see him after the meeting. He didn’t know who I was, of course. I told him I was interested in investing in his new scheme and he invited me in. Even offered me a drink. He sat there, calm and relaxed, telling me his plans. He looked up and I shot him. Right between the eyes. I always was a good shot. I do a lot of hunting in the winter.”

  Evan was very aware that they had been climbing steadily back up the pass, the way he had come.

  “So your men figured it out, did they? I suppose your D.I.—Hughes, isn’t it—had a whole team brainstorming on the case. Did you get Scotland Yard in on it too?”

  “No, it was sheer luck, actually,” Evan said. “Sheer bad luck for you, Mr. Dawson. I was shown a picture of Glynis and I found out that her last name was Dawson. That rang a bell because my landlady had told me all about you when you ran out of the meeting. I put two and two together and came straight to you.”

  “Then I’d say it was your bad luck,” Mr. Dawson said. He swung into a small parking lot at the scenic overlook and brought the car to a screeching halt. “Get out, please.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid.” Evan fought to keep his voice calm. “It will only make things worse.”

  “For whom? Not for me,” Dawson said, and he laughed. “Nobody knows you’re here except you and me. Go on, get out.”

  “What are you going to do—try and make a break for it? How far do you think you could drive before they get you?”

  “Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” Dawson said. “You are. You are going to have an unfortunate fall. Heaven knows what you were doing up here in the dark, but you missed your footing and plummeted down onto those rocks.”

  “Do you think you’re strong enough to throw me over the edge?” Evan asked.

  “Oh no, I know I’m not strong enough to throw you over,” Dawson said, and drew out a revolver. “Go on, get out.”

  Evan opened the car door and stepped out into the storm. He tried to think clearly what would be his best course of action. It was pitch dark. Maybe if he dropped over the parapet he could get away among the rocks, but maybe not. He didn’t know if Dawson had a flashlight in the car. If he tried to run for it, he’d be shot in the back. As the man had said, he was a very good shot. He’d got Ted Morgan clean between the eyes. The only question now was whether Dawson would shoot him in cold blood.

  Dawson got out after him, the revolver levelled at E
van’s head all the time. “Over to the edge,” he said, motioning with a jerk of his head.

  “Don’t you think they’ll be suspicious when they find a bullet wound? You think they can’t trace guns? And someone’s bound to see the car.”

  “Who? Not too many cars around on a night like this, are there? And there won’t be a bullet hole. Like I said, I’m a good shot—I’ll just wing you, enough to make you lose your balance and fall.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” Evan yelled above the wind. He prayed for a car to come up the pass, but inky blackness surrounded them. It was late for Wales. Everybody would be safely home by now, especially on a night like this.

  “I don’t see why not,” Dawson yelled back. “They’ve no way of linking me to the killing. After that meeting I drove straight home. I made sure I was seen in the bar before I slipped out of the fire exit and came back. And they won’t find my fingerprints anywhere either. I used Ted Morgan’s own gun and wiped off my prints before I put it in his hand.” He laughed again and Evan saw now that this was a man who had finally cracked under the weight of his despair. He knew that Mr. Dawson wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him.

  “That was a bit of luck, wasn’t it?” he said, coming closer to Evan and making Evan take a step back toward the low wall above the drop. “I couldn’t believe it. I had my own gun in my pocket, but his was right there on the table, within my reach—a real gift, don’t you think? That’s when I was sure I could make it look like suicide.”

  “But you couldn’t, could you?” Evan demanded. Almost horizontal rain was stinging his face and his teeth were chattering from cold and shock. “And it wasn’t Ted Morgan’s gun either.”

  Mr. Dawson hesitated. “It wasn’t?”

  “It belonged to a girl called Annie Pigeon. Ted Morgan took it away from her. The police think she killed him. In fact they have her under surveillance at this moment. The gun’s got her prints on it and I expect they’ll find her prints in Morgan’s living room. Do you know who Annie Pigeon was? Does the name ring a bell? She was Glynis’ best friend at the club in London.”