Read Online Constable Evans 02: Evan Help Us by Rhys Bowen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rhys Bowen
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club, maybe a night out at the pictures once a week. Not much of a life, poor man. He’d outlived all his friends and relatives, look you.”
“So he didn’t get any visitors then?”
“Never had a visitor in all the years he’s been here.”
“And what about letters? Did he get letters or phone calls from London?”
“Nothing. The poor man had nobody in the world, did he?”
“It seemed that way,” Evan said. He got up from the hard kitchen chair. “At least you made his last days happy, Mrs. Owens. That’s something worth thinking about, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Owens nodded and blew her nose again before she got up and opened the door for him. He retraced his steps across the Owenses field, pausing to stare up at the slopes above where the colonel had made his great discovery. Was there any way that his death could have had something to do with that? Had somebody not wanted him to find the ruin? If so, then they were too late, weren’t they? Now the whole village knew about it, and they were excited about it too.
Evan lay awake thinking most of the night. The colonel had had no enemies, no friends either. His only encounters seemed to be in the pub, but there was nobody he knew well. Not well enough to make him a target for murder. Nothing made sense.
Who would possibly benefit from his death? That was the first question they always taught you to ask in detective training. The colonel had outlived his family and friends. He had no fortune to leave to anyone. In fact Evan got the feeling that the colonel had just about made do on his pension. His well-worn clothing attested to that. Not exactly the kind of man who got bumped off for his money—unless he was one of those old eccentrics who lived like paupers but had pound notes stuffed in the mattress. Even knew that such people existed, but he doubted that the colonel had been one of them. For one thing the colonel was a generous man. He had never been slow to return hospitality in the pub. Oh well, no use speculating until they had the pathologist’s report on Monday. He could be quite wrong …
* * *
Sunday dawned clear and bright and Evan looked out of his window wondering if he should even think about taking a day off. Would it be too crass and unfeeling to go out hiking the day after the colonel’s death? Might someone dare to cross the police tape and tamper with the site while he was gone? Was it possible that he’d be needed if some kind of evidence turned up?
Then he reminded himself that he wasn’t a detective, in fact he had been told to mind his own business and not do any detecting on his own. If they were dealing with a murder, he had done what was required of him—he had alerted the criminal investigation unit in Caernarfon and now it was up to them. He was a humble bobby and it was his day off.
He put on his climbing boots and went downstairs. There was no radio playing in the kitchen. Mrs. Williams greeted him with a somber nod. She was dressed in black and she looked in horror at his sweater and cords.
“You’re never going up to the mountains today, Mr. Evans?” she asked in a shocked whisper. “And the poor colonel not even buried decently yet?”
Evan shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do, is there, Mrs. Williams? And I’m sure the colonel wouldn’t mind if I went out walking. After all, it was what he loved doing best.”
“That’s true enough,” Mrs. Williams nodded. “A kind of tribute to him, then, poor dear man.” She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “Such a terrible tragedy. I always said that little bridge was unsafe. Why couldn’t he have gone up the road instead of taking that stupid shortcut. Then he’d be with us still.” She fought to control herself. “Life must go on,” she said stiffly. “You’ll be wanting your breakfast then, is it?”
“Just some toast will do,” Evan said. He was really looking forward to bacon, sausage, and the works, but for once it
“So he didn’t get any visitors then?”
“Never had a visitor in all the years he’s been here.”
“And what about letters? Did he get letters or phone calls from London?”
“Nothing. The poor man had nobody in the world, did he?”
“It seemed that way,” Evan said. He got up from the hard kitchen chair. “At least you made his last days happy, Mrs. Owens. That’s something worth thinking about, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Owens nodded and blew her nose again before she got up and opened the door for him. He retraced his steps across the Owenses field, pausing to stare up at the slopes above where the colonel had made his great discovery. Was there any way that his death could have had something to do with that? Had somebody not wanted him to find the ruin? If so, then they were too late, weren’t they? Now the whole village knew about it, and they were excited about it too.
Evan lay awake thinking most of the night. The colonel had had no enemies, no friends either. His only encounters seemed to be in the pub, but there was nobody he knew well. Not well enough to make him a target for murder. Nothing made sense.
Who would possibly benefit from his death? That was the first question they always taught you to ask in detective training. The colonel had outlived his family and friends. He had no fortune to leave to anyone. In fact Evan got the feeling that the colonel had just about made do on his pension. His well-worn clothing attested to that. Not exactly the kind of man who got bumped off for his money—unless he was one of those old eccentrics who lived like paupers but had pound notes stuffed in the mattress. Even knew that such people existed, but he doubted that the colonel had been one of them. For one thing the colonel was a generous man. He had never been slow to return hospitality in the pub. Oh well, no use speculating until they had the pathologist’s report on Monday. He could be quite wrong …
* * *
Sunday dawned clear and bright and Evan looked out of his window wondering if he should even think about taking a day off. Would it be too crass and unfeeling to go out hiking the day after the colonel’s death? Might someone dare to cross the police tape and tamper with the site while he was gone? Was it possible that he’d be needed if some kind of evidence turned up?
Then he reminded himself that he wasn’t a detective, in fact he had been told to mind his own business and not do any detecting on his own. If they were dealing with a murder, he had done what was required of him—he had alerted the criminal investigation unit in Caernarfon and now it was up to them. He was a humble bobby and it was his day off.
He put on his climbing boots and went downstairs. There was no radio playing in the kitchen. Mrs. Williams greeted him with a somber nod. She was dressed in black and she looked in horror at his sweater and cords.
“You’re never going up to the mountains today, Mr. Evans?” she asked in a shocked whisper. “And the poor colonel not even buried decently yet?”
Evan shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do, is there, Mrs. Williams? And I’m sure the colonel wouldn’t mind if I went out walking. After all, it was what he loved doing best.”
“That’s true enough,” Mrs. Williams nodded. “A kind of tribute to him, then, poor dear man.” She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “Such a terrible tragedy. I always said that little bridge was unsafe. Why couldn’t he have gone up the road instead of taking that stupid shortcut. Then he’d be with us still.” She fought to control herself. “Life must go on,” she said stiffly. “You’ll be wanting your breakfast then, is it?”
“Just some toast will do,” Evan said. He was really looking forward to bacon, sausage, and the works, but for once it
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