heart sank as I thought that it would be just like Eva to forget the details and remember them too late, sending her rushing across … No, I’d go no further.
‘What about the pub?’ I asked. ‘Didn’t anybody there see or hear anything? There’s a large outside seating area.’
‘Apparently not. Brandon said the body was quite a way from the pub, on the far side of the bridge and sluice and hidden in undergrowth.’
‘Right. It was. And the noise of the sluice meant no one would have heard anything anyway. Of course. Very useful spot for a murder.’ My brain was spinning like a washing machine without its cleansing properties. ‘Did Eva pack a gun in her luggage?’ I still couldn’t believe that.
‘Don’t know, but no gun’s yet been found at the crime scene, although they’re still checking the river. Trouble is, Carlos himself was in the habit of packing a Smith and Wesson with his underwear. Evidence from the Mexican police is that he always carried one.’
That was cautiously good news. Eva wouldn’t have the nous to be clever over removing the gun and hiding it somewhere less than obvious. ‘Trace evidence?’ I asked. ‘DNA?’
‘Lab’s still working on it. But there was an imprint of a high heel or two in the earth. It doesn’t look good, Jack.’
He was right, and we both knew it. ‘What’s her story?’ I might as well know the worst.
‘Guess what. She thought Carlos was meeting a woman so she admits she dashed out to find him. She thought he was in one of the moored boats on the lock side of the river, but he wasn’t, so she crossed the bridge thinking he might have gone to one of those moored on the far side, but went nowhere near the point where he was found, and as there was no sign of him she then went home.’
Then went home.
If anything more was needed to convince me that Eva’s story was economical with the truth those words nailed it down. An Eva in pursuit of Carlos and a floozie would not have given up and just gone home. Never.
I waited impatiently for Monday, eager to get on with something, anything, that might help me get to the truth of the situation. Cara was Eva’s next of kin, and former husbands did not rank in the list of those to be informed, even through Dave as intermediary. My fear was that Eva had indeed murdered Carlos. In vain I told myself how unlikely this was, because each time I did so, I remembered those intemperate rages of hers when she was beside herself with unfounded jealousy. She had not changed. Who else but Eva would even consider a tryst might be taking place on a towpath at nearly midnight in showery, cool Maytime?
Come to that, I still thought it was an odd place for a business meeting. Unless a boat was indeed involved. That would make sense – frightening sense. I reminded myself that both Carlos and Eva had been on the opposite bank to the lock, but there were boats on both sides of the river and they were an obvious line of enquiry that Brandon would be pursuing.
I repeatedly rang Cara without success or a return call and grew increasingly jittery. On her home landline, I did reach Harry, but he simply told me Cara wasn’t there – either he was the uncommunicative sort or was protecting Cara’s whereabouts on her own instructions. Even from her father? That really made me feel great, and even my two classics failed in their duty to comfort me.
When Sunday, Monday and several hours of Tuesday morning passed without news, I felt like a Ford deprived of its V8, empty and unable to move in any direction. And then Cara drove up, looking so drawn and white that all thought of reproach left me. She wasted no time.
‘Eva’s been charged, Dad.’
I hardly noticed her use of ‘Dad’. The nightmare was upon us.
‘She’ll get bail, Cara,’ I said firmly. No point uttering panaceas such as ‘it’s all a mistake’.
Luckily, she was still in ‘coping’ mode. ‘I suppose they think she’ll flee the country?’
She was
‘What about the pub?’ I asked. ‘Didn’t anybody there see or hear anything? There’s a large outside seating area.’
‘Apparently not. Brandon said the body was quite a way from the pub, on the far side of the bridge and sluice and hidden in undergrowth.’
‘Right. It was. And the noise of the sluice meant no one would have heard anything anyway. Of course. Very useful spot for a murder.’ My brain was spinning like a washing machine without its cleansing properties. ‘Did Eva pack a gun in her luggage?’ I still couldn’t believe that.
‘Don’t know, but no gun’s yet been found at the crime scene, although they’re still checking the river. Trouble is, Carlos himself was in the habit of packing a Smith and Wesson with his underwear. Evidence from the Mexican police is that he always carried one.’
That was cautiously good news. Eva wouldn’t have the nous to be clever over removing the gun and hiding it somewhere less than obvious. ‘Trace evidence?’ I asked. ‘DNA?’
‘Lab’s still working on it. But there was an imprint of a high heel or two in the earth. It doesn’t look good, Jack.’
He was right, and we both knew it. ‘What’s her story?’ I might as well know the worst.
‘Guess what. She thought Carlos was meeting a woman so she admits she dashed out to find him. She thought he was in one of the moored boats on the lock side of the river, but he wasn’t, so she crossed the bridge thinking he might have gone to one of those moored on the far side, but went nowhere near the point where he was found, and as there was no sign of him she then went home.’
Then went home.
If anything more was needed to convince me that Eva’s story was economical with the truth those words nailed it down. An Eva in pursuit of Carlos and a floozie would not have given up and just gone home. Never.
I waited impatiently for Monday, eager to get on with something, anything, that might help me get to the truth of the situation. Cara was Eva’s next of kin, and former husbands did not rank in the list of those to be informed, even through Dave as intermediary. My fear was that Eva had indeed murdered Carlos. In vain I told myself how unlikely this was, because each time I did so, I remembered those intemperate rages of hers when she was beside herself with unfounded jealousy. She had not changed. Who else but Eva would even consider a tryst might be taking place on a towpath at nearly midnight in showery, cool Maytime?
Come to that, I still thought it was an odd place for a business meeting. Unless a boat was indeed involved. That would make sense – frightening sense. I reminded myself that both Carlos and Eva had been on the opposite bank to the lock, but there were boats on both sides of the river and they were an obvious line of enquiry that Brandon would be pursuing.
I repeatedly rang Cara without success or a return call and grew increasingly jittery. On her home landline, I did reach Harry, but he simply told me Cara wasn’t there – either he was the uncommunicative sort or was protecting Cara’s whereabouts on her own instructions. Even from her father? That really made me feel great, and even my two classics failed in their duty to comfort me.
When Sunday, Monday and several hours of Tuesday morning passed without news, I felt like a Ford deprived of its V8, empty and unable to move in any direction. And then Cara drove up, looking so drawn and white that all thought of reproach left me. She wasted no time.
‘Eva’s been charged, Dad.’
I hardly noticed her use of ‘Dad’. The nightmare was upon us.
‘She’ll get bail, Cara,’ I said firmly. No point uttering panaceas such as ‘it’s all a mistake’.
Luckily, she was still in ‘coping’ mode. ‘I suppose they think she’ll flee the country?’
She was
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