Evan Only Knows Read online

“I suppose there is a lot of inbreeding, and people go peculiar shut away among all those mountains.” The scrawny woman with three rows of pearls around a chicken neck gave the others a knowing smirk. This had to be Mrs. Davies, the other man’s wife.

  “Actually all the murders have been of outsiders. Nothing to do with our village,” Evan said.

  “I suppose that makes sense. It’s only the big cities that produce really horrible violence, isn’t it?” Mrs. Price suggested as she handed around another tray of warm cheese straws. “You’ve just come from Swansea, haven’t you? Is everyone talking about that nasty murder there? We’ve been following it on the telly. She was the daughter of a prominent family, so I gather. A woman I play golf with actually knows the mother. The poor things. What they must be going through.”

  “I heard on the news that they caught the blighter,” Tom Fearnall said.

  “Evan was at the courtroom yesterday,” Bronwen spoke up before Evan could warn her to keep quiet. “The man they’ve arrested was the same one who shot Evan’s father. They let him out because he was a young offender. Isn’t that stupid?”

  They were all instantly alert. “How frightfully interesting. He shot your father? Absolutely beastly for you. At least they’ve got him this time.”

  Evan forced a half smile to his face and answered all their questions, wishing himself anywhere else.

  “And didn’t I read that he’s some kind of foreigner?” Mrs. Davies demanded.

  “An immigrant, you mean? Not another one!” Mrs. Price rolled her eyes. “They are everywhere these days. You will never guess who has just bought that great big house on the other side of the river, Bronny. He’s a Pakistani grocer, my dear. We nearly died when we heard, didn’t we, Sybil?”

  Mrs. Fearnall nodded.

  “Then we wondered what he’d do when the hunt wants to cross his land.” Tom Fearnall gave a hearty laugh. “I can’t see him riding to hounds with the rest of us, can you?”

  “Do you think he’d hunt in his turban?” Mrs. Davies shrieked with laughter.

  “Those are the Sikhs, darling. Different chappies altogether,” her husband corrected her.

  Drinks were finished and they were ushered to the dining table, spread with white cloth, crystal, and silver. Bronwen’s mother darted around like a diligent bird, putting plates before them, whisking them away again—endive salad, poached sole with shrimp and grapes, then a magnificent piece of beef with individual York-shire puddings, new potatoes and homegrown runner beans, marrow, and peas. The food tasted wonderful, but Evan was so completely on guard the whole time that he found it hard to eat. He had always known that Bronwen came from a background different from his. She had been to Cambridge, and her folks were at least middle class. But he had no idea that the gulf between them was so wide. The whole conversation was outside of his sphere of experience. He might as well have been seated in a yurt in Outer Mongolia.

  “No seconds, Evan?” Mrs. Price asked. “Go on. Don’t be shy.” She put another large slice of meat onto his plate and heaped vegetables around it.

  “And how is that adorable grandson of yours?” Mrs. Fearnall asked.

  Bronwen’s mother stopped serving and beamed. “We’re going up to London to see him next week. I understand he’s grown so much we’ll hardly recognize him.”

  “Has your daughter gone back to work?”

  “Yes, she has. But they’ve got an absolutely fabulous nanny and little Dominic adores her. Gillian hates to leave the baby, but when you have a practice like hers, you can’t stay away too long. She has so many patients who only want to be seen by her. The price of being so successful, I’m afraid. And her husband has just been made a partner in his law firm. They’re thinking of buying a house in the country. Goldalming, maybe.”

  “Stockbroker belt, eh?” Tom Fearnall commented. “That will cost them a pretty penny.”

  “I don’t think pennies are a problem for them,” Alan Price said as he reached across to pour more wine. “Rolling in dough from what we can see. You should see that child’s nursery. Every gadget known to man in there.”

  Evan looked up and caught Bronwen’s eye. She made a face, and he suddenly sensed that she was as uncomfortable as he was. As they moved away from the table to take coffee in the drawing room she drew to his side. “I knew we wouldn’t get through dinner without extolling the praises of my wonderful sister, Gillian, the orthopedic surgeon, and her highly successful husband, the lawyer. I’m a great disappointment to them, as you can imagine.”

  “Even more so now that you’re marrying me, I should imagine,” Evan muttered into her ear.

  “Don’t say that. It proves that I’ve shown one morsel of good sense during my life of horribly wrong decisions.”

  “They should come and see you at your school.” Evan put his arm around her. “They should see how much good you do.”

  “Ah, but it doesn’t pay well, does it? That is the criterion by which things are measured.”

  Evan squeezed her tighter. “What do we care? We like where we live and what we do.”

  Bronwen beamed up at him. “You’re right. To hell with the lot of them.”

  Chapter 8

  Evan couldn’t sleep. The moon shone directly onto his bed through the net curtains. Even with the windows open, it was still warm in the room. He got up and walked across to the window. From outside came a symphony of night noises—crickets, frogs, the faraway barking of a dog, the hooting of an owl. He jumped as a white shape loomed from the darkness until he realized it was the owl, gliding on silent wings from the copper beech. He felt tense and uneasy, as if something momentous was about to happen. He longed for the solid reality of Bronwen’s arms around him. He wished they hadn’t put him in a room at the far end of the hall.

  “What’s wrong with me?” he asked himself. It was obvious that he felt uncomfortable in these surroundings. Bronwen’s parents had been gracious and welcoming and given no hint that they were disappointed in their daughter’s choice. However, there was no denying that Bronwen’s background was very different from the life he was about to offer her. Would she ever regret rejecting the pampered life of her upbringing? he wondered. It was true that she had chosen to live in a cramped old-fashioned schoolhouse and to teach twenty-five village children, but had she really planned to spend the rest of her life in humble surroundings? What if she was just playing at village schoolteacher until the novelty wore off?

  Evan moved away from the window and paced the room. Why should this be bothering him so much? He had been brought up by his father to believe he was as good as the next bloke. He wasn’t the sort to go around with a chip on his shoulder.

  Evan paused. His father. Something about his father was troubling him. Obviously going to court had inflamed an old wound in his heart. He sat at the foot of his bed and went through that courtroom scene again in his mind. He saw that skinny, dark kid acting the innocent again. They had been unlucky with their judge last time. Tony had claimed it was all an accident, he hadn’t meant to kill anybody, and the softhearted judge had believed him. The judge had told the court he was willing to believe that there was good in the boy and that he had a chance of rehabilitation. He was therefore sending him to a young offenders institute. Evan remembered the horrified intake of breath and his mother exclaiming, “Five years? Five years for my husband’s life?”

  The anger that he had bottled up for five years came boiling to the surface. What if Tony managed to con his way out of this one too? He had managed to persuade his employer not to press charges when he was caught stealing at the factory. He was good at knowing how to press the right buttons and play the misguided wayward child. Bill Howells had seemed confident enough, hadn’t he? And yet when Evan analyzed what he had been told, it all seemed like circumstantial evidence. Tony had a grudge against Turnbull for firing him. Tony was caught running away from the scene of the crime at about the time the medical examiner said the girl had been murdered. But, as far as he knew, Tony had
n’t confessed to anything.

  Evan felt a sudden chill going down his spine. He had to do something to help ensure that Tony Mancini did confess. He couldn’t just stay here, wasting his time having inane conversation over bowls of Pimm’s while his mother was going through hell at home. He needed to be occupied, working on the case. He should go back to Swansea right away.

  “It’s none of your business,” he told himself. “The South Wales Police know what they are doing. They won’t want you interfering, so go back to bed and get some sleep.” He climbed into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. He lay there until the night noises were replaced by the first crow of a rooster, the dawn chorus in the woods beyond the river, then by a cold light coming in through the window. Then he got up again and pulled on his robe against the early morning chill. One thing had become perfectly clear to him. He would never find peace until he confronted Tony Mancini. He had to face him and tell him what a mess he had made of other peoples’ lives. Surely the local police would grant him that request, and perhaps talking to Tony might help with this case. It was too much to hope that it might result in a real confession, but it might help to break him down a little. He left his room and tiptoed down the hall to Bronwen’s door.

  For a long moment he stood there, watching her sleep. Her fair hair was spread across the pillow like a princess in a fairy tale. She looked so peaceful and beautiful that it almost took his breath away. He couldn’t believe that she had chosen him. Then he reached out and touched her bare shoulder gently. “Bron,” he whispered.

  She woke with a start, sitting up and staring up at him in alarm. “What is it?” Then a smile spread across her face. “Oh, it’s you. I don’t think you’re supposed to come creeping into your fiancée’s bedroom, you know. It’s not done in the best of circles.”

  He sat on the bed beside her and caressed her shoulder. “My intentions are quite honorable.”

  “Pity.”

  “Look, Bron, I’ve been up all night thinking. And I’ve decided I have to go back to Swansea right away.”

  The smile faded from her face. “Why—what’s happened? You haven’t decided not to marry me because of my ghastly family, have you?”

  “Of course not. And on levels of ghastliness, I think my mum is still one step above your folks. They’ve been very nice to me, which is more than I can say for my mother.”

  “But you’re still escaping. I know you don’t feel very comfortable here. I don’t either. I can’t stand the thought of a week of sherry parties and croquet on the lawn.”

  “I can’t say I was looking forward to it too much, but I would have stuck it out for your sake. Who knows, I might have learned to like sherry.” He took both her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Look, I’ve decided I can’t just sit here doing nothing. I’m worried Tony Mancini will be let off again. From what I’ve heard they only have circumstantial evidence, Bron. Any good lawyer could get him off. I can’t let that happen.”

  “Oh, and what do you think you can do about it? Evan the great detective finds the missing evidence that has eluded the local police? That won’t make you very popular.”

  “Nothing like that.” Evan gave a nervous chuckle. “I just want to be involved in some way. I need to feel I’m doing something for my dad. I was useless last time I know. I was so shocked and stunned that I was no use to anybody, especially not to my mum when she needed me. I’m ashamed of myself, Bron. I want to make it up to everyone.”

  “Of course you were upset last time. You were grieving for your dad, Evan.”

  “But now I get the chance to do my part. I want them to let me talk to Tony Mancini. If I could make him see how his actions have wrecked lives, maybe I could do some good.”

  “You think he’s going to take one look at you, then break down and repent? Isn’t that rather naive, Evan?”

  “No, I don’t think that,” Evan snapped. “Look, maybe I need to do it for me then. I’ve been carrying around all this anger for five years. Maybe it will help me get some peace of mind at last.”

  “If it helps you find peace, that’s different,” she said. “But I’m not sure you’ll get the result you want. This is a kid who has been in trouble with the law all his life. You may find yourself coming away angrier than you started.”

  “That’s a risk I have to take. I have to do it, Bron.”

  Bronwen shifted away from him. “I still think it’s an excuse to go running out of here, leaving me alone.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise. And you’ll have fun. I expect your mother will hastily arrange tennis parties to try and match you up with someone more suitable before it’s too late.”

  Bronwen threw herself into his arms. “You are silly. And infuriating. Why do you always have to do your duty like some bloody Lord Nelson!”

  A discreet cough behind them made them turn around. Mrs. Price stood there with two cups of tea in her hands. “I had a feeling I might just find you both in here,” she said with a knowing grin on her face. “I should have been a little more thoughtful and modern, shouldn’t I. I’ll have Mrs. Todd make up the double bed in the blue guest room tonight—only don’t tell Daddy. He’s still rather old-fashioned about such things.”

  She put down the cups of tea and tiptoed out again, closing the door carefully behind her.

  “There you are,” Bronwen said. She had gone rather pink. “You have Mummy’s blessing.”

  “Damn,” Evan muttered. “I spent a whole night trying to sleep alone, not wanting to risk your reputation. And now I’m off to Swansea to that lumpy mattress at my mother’s house.”

  Bronwen glanced at the door. “It’s very early still, and she did close the door behind her.”

  “It’s your parents’ house, Bronwen. And your father is old-fashioned about such things, remember.”

  “My father also goes out walking with the dogs at the crack of dawn.” She turned back the sheet and patted the bed beside her. “And I’m feeling very cold.”

  Evan didn’t need inviting twice.

  Chapter 9

  There were a dozen times during the two-hour drive that Evan decided to turn back. His hasty departure had been well received by Bronwen’s parents, who obviously thought he was escaping from their carefully planned social schedule. When he finally found a parking spot in a back street behind Kingsway and cut through an alley to the police station, his feet felt as heavy as lead. What did he think he was doing here? Bronwen was right. It was none of his business. The DCI would probably think he was poking his nose in and not take kindly to any offer to help. But it was too late to turn back now.

  He asked for DCI Vaughan and was told he was out on a case. Evan could wait if he liked. He joined the ranks of those in the aquariumlike waiting area. From time to time the door opened and various people from the benches were summoned into the inner sanctum. Some went willingly, others glanced around uncertainly before they stepped through that doorway. That was the interesting thing about police stations, Evan thought. You never knew which side of the law anyone was on. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead. It really was extremely hot in there.

  After a while Bill Howells came through the door.

  “Well, look who’s here. I thought you were off yesterday. We can’t get rid of you, can we?”

  “I decided to come back. I’m here for a word with DCI Vaughan,” Evan said.

  “Oh yes?” Bill Howells held the door open for Evan to go through.

  Evan waited to speak until they were alone in the hallway beyond. “Actually what I’d like to do is talk to Tony Mancini. Do you think they’d let me see him? I never got that chance before.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Bill said. “I can ask the DCI for you, if you’d like. The kid’s not going anywhere. Just cooling his heels in the jail. Of course you’d like to talk to him”—he nudged Evan in the side—“and if you delivered a little justice of your own — a quick knee where it would make him sing boy soprano—I don’t th
ink anyone would mind too much. We all felt pretty bad about your dad, you know. And that little fart walking out free and cocky after a couple of years playing Ping-Pong and weaving baskets. It’s about time he got what was coming to him.”

  “I just want to talk to him, Bill,” Evan said. “Five years ago I’d have given anything for the chance to beat him up, but not now. I’m over that stage.”

  Bill Howells glanced around. “Not everyone around here is over it, I can tell you. The DCI had to take certain members of the force off the case because he couldn’t trust what they might do if they found themselves alone with Tony. He wants to make sure it’s all done strictly by the book. He doesn’t want any loopholes for that little weasel to wriggle through.”

  “That’s another thing that’s got me worried,” Evan said. “The evidence you’ve given me doesn’t seem too strong so far. Are they holding back their trump cards, do you think?”

  “Don’t ask me. I’m not part of Vaughan’s Major Crimes team, but I tell you one thing, boyo, he’s a good bloke, Vaughan. He knows his stuff.”

  As if on cue, the door behind them swung open and DCI Vaughan himself strode through, with several members of his team in his wake, like ducklings hurrying to keep up with the mother duck. As they turned the other way, Bill Howells called out to him and introduced Evan. The frown lines softened on the older man’s face as he shook Evan’s hand.

  “Robert Evans’s son? That’s right. You spoke up in court. Good of you to come. It couldn’t have been easy for you. You used to be on the force here, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But you’d had enough after what happened to your father. I can understand that.”

  “I’m with the North Wales Police now,” Evan said. “Just about to start training with the plainclothes division.”

  “North Wales Police? Good God. What on earth took you up there?”

  “It’s a long way from down here.”

  “So you’re up among the sheep?” The older man smiled.