Constable Evans 03: Evanly Choirs (17 page)

“No doubt it will all come out in good time, madam,” Sergeant Watkins said evenly. “Now, please take a good look around. Has anything else been moved. Is anything missing?”

She studied the room in silence then she let out a horrified cry. “Something most definitely is missing, Officer. One of my prized possessions—a bronze statue of an eagle in flight. It used to sit here, on the sideboard.” She pointed dramatically at the spot where there was now an innocuous bowl of fruit.

Watkins glanced at Evan. “A bronze statue. We better search the garden and the area outside.”

Evan didn’t like to say that the area outside extended to a hundred or so square miles of rugged mountains. Anyone who wanted to dispose of a bronze statue could do so in any number of streams or gullies, over cliffs, under bracken, even down abandoned mine shafts. Some areas were so hard to reach that there was a good chance a hidden object might never be found.

“Make sure it is recovered immediately, Sergeant,” Mrs. Powell-Jones said. “It belonged to my grandfather. It is a priceless family heirloom.”

“We’ll do our best, madam. I promise you,” Watkins said. He broke off as he became aware of a disturbance outside. Voices were raised. A car door slammed. Evan ran outside to see the black Mercedes waiting at the police cordon. A young man in jeans and a black T-shirt had just got out.

“We’re his family,” he was saying to the unmoving policeman. “They sent my mother to the airport to pick me up and we were told to come straight back here. Well, here we are.”

Evan stared at the newcomer. He was a slim young man with hair cut very short in the European way. He had an angular, boyish face and an air of arrogance. Evan had seen him before, he was sure of that. But where?

The young man’s voice had risen until he was yelling over the background noise. “Now for God’s sake move the damned tape.”

The voice was familiar—a young voice raised in anger. A car door slamming and a young girl shouting, “Bugger off, Justin!”

That was it! He had seen Justin twice before—once fighting with a young girl outside the Powell-Joneses’ driveway where he now stood, and once at the edge of a lake when a car went into the water.

Chapter 14

Evan managed a welcoming smile as he went to meet the newcomer. “Mr. Llewellyn? We’ve been expecting you. Please come in. Sergeant Watkins is waiting.”

“This way?” the young man asked indicating the house. He moved aside as his mother drove her car back into its parking space. “Will they need to talk to my mother anymore? She’s very tired. Naturally she didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Just a few more questions, sir.”

A spasm of anger crossed Justin Llewellyn’s face. “I can’t see why we’re being put through all this. Aren’t the news media bad enough? We’ve been hounded for years, you know. My poor mother—she couldn’t go anywhere without someone letting off flashbulbs in her face.”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” Evan said. “We’re only doing our job. Following instructions.”

Justin looked at him scornfully. “I don’t see what my mother or I have to do with a really unfortunate accident. We were both far away, minding our own business.”

Evan opened the door and ushered the young man inside. He stood in the hallway, waiting for his mother to catch up.

“It happened in the drawing room,” Evan said.

Justin looked around. “The drawing room?”

“You’ve never been here before, sir?” Evan asked.

“Good God no. I’ve stayed well away. My father and I were on different planets, Constable. He led his life, I led mine.”

“So you didn’t come to visit your mother?”

“I just told you,” Justin’s voice had risen again. “I arrived from Milan this morning. Do you want to look at my boarding pass?” He turned to his mother. “Really, this is too much. Why don’t we just get out of here and go to a hotel somewhere?”

“This won’t take long, sir,” Evan said, “but I know the detective sergeant has a couple of questions.” He pushed open the drawing room door. “In here, please.”

Mrs. Powell-Jones, Sergeant Watkins, and the two lab technicians looked up with interest as the Llewellyns were ushered in.

“Oh good, you’ve arrived at the right moment,” Sergeant Watkins said. The relief that Mrs. Llewellyn had shown up again was noticeable on his face. “Maybe there’s something you can clear up for us. This is Mrs. Powell-Jones.” The minister’s wife nodded her head graciously in a sort of regal greeting. “She owns the house and she has noticed that a valuable object is missing.”

Justin looked around the room with amusement. “Does she think you’ve been pinching the silver, Mother? Doesn’t she realize that you could buy her and her house many times over?”

Mrs. Llewellyn gave him a warning frown. “What kind of object, Sergeant?”

“A bronze sculpture,” Mrs. Powell-Jones said. “Of an eagle in flight, presented by the grateful employees to my grandfather on his fiftieth anniversary as owner of the slate quarry.”

“It sat there on the sideboard, apparently.” Sergeant Watkins pointed. “Where the fruit bowl is now.”

Unaccountably Mrs. Llewellyn began to laugh. “That thing?” she said. “Is that what all the fuss is about?” She started for the door. “Please come with me,” she said. “I think this is one mystery I can clear up for you.” She led them to the big oak cupboard under the stairs and opened the door. “Is that what you’re looking for?” she asked.

Mrs. Powell-Jones gave a cry and darted in to retrieve the bronze bird from among the rags and brushes. “My valuable sculpture, tossed into a broom cupboard!”

Sergeant Watkins took it from her. “Just a moment, madam.” He turned to Mrs. Llewellyn. “Any idea how the statue wound up in there?”

Mrs. Llewellyn was still trying not to smile. “I can tell you exactly when it was put in there, Sergeant. It was placed there the day we arrived, by my husband. He said it was a god-awful Victorian horror and he couldn’t stand to look at it on a daily basis.”

“Well, I never did! The cheek of it!” Mrs. Powell-Jones clutched at her throat, stricken. “If you’ve quite finished, Sergeant, I think I’ll be going now. I promised my mother I’d check in on her and I want to see if they’ve finished judging my tapestry … besides which it’s too painful to stay here any longer.”

“I understand, madam,” Sergeant Watkins said. “Thank you for your assistance. We have your phone number, don’t we? We may be calling on you again.”

“Not to tell me that more valuable pieces of artwork have been flung into cupboards, I hope,” she snapped. Then she made a grand exit.

“Whoops,” Justin said, grinning at his mother. “You really put your foot into that, didn’t you?”

“Well, for once I agreed with Ifor. It is truly hideous,” Mrs. Llewellyn said. Then her eyes widened as she focused on the bronze bird. “Why were you so interested, Sergeant? You can’t think … are you suggesting that my husband might have been hit with … that?”

“We’re not ruling out any possibilities, madam.”

“Let the poor man rest in peace, Sergeant,” she said. “Why try and find a mystery when there isn’t one?”

“No, madam. Just trying to get to the truth,” Watkins said. “Now if we could go somewhere to talk where we won’t be disturbed?”

“I think the minister’s study is across the hall,” Evan said. He led the way to a dark, book-lined room. Watkins took the chair at the desk and offered the two leather armchairs to the Llewellyns. Evan stood at the doorway. Mrs. Llewellyn was no longer smiling.

“Well. Get on with it,” Justin said.

He was tense, Evan noticed, perched on the edge of his chair, his fingers plucking at the fabric of his trouser leg.

Watkins cleared his throat. “You arrived in this country only this morning, is that correct, sir?”

“That’s correct. I got in at ten-thirty. Nine o’clock flight out of Milan. You gain an hour coming this way, you know. I’ve got my ticket and boarding pass somewhere…” He started fumbling with his jacket pocket.

“That won’t be necessary for the moment,” Watkins said. “You were in Milan when you got the news?”

“In Bellagio. We have a summer home on Lake Como. That’s where I was.”

“Were you alone in the house?”

“Apart from the servants.”

“You have a sister, I believe,” Watkins asked. “She wasn’t there with you?”

“My sister is a career woman,” Justin said with something close to a sneer. “She is very busy in Milan, arranging fashion shoots. She pops up to the lake when she gets a chance but I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“So how long since you were in England, Mr. Llewellyn?” Evan asked.

Justin spun around to stare at him, as if he had completely forgotten his presence. “In England last? Gosh, that must have been awhile ago now. Last spring sometime? I’ve forgotten. Can you remember, Mother?”

“I think you came over when Dad did that gala performance at Covent Garden back in March,” Mrs. Llewellyn said evenly. She was looking steadily at her son.

“Oh, that’s right.” The young man sounded relieved. “Of course. I remember now.”

“And you haven’t been over since?” Evan asked. He noticed Watkins’s querying look.

“Not that I can remember,” Justin said.

“So you’ve never been here before?”

“Good God, no. Why would I want to come to a dump like this? Especially if my father was here. I’d keep well away, believe me.”

“As a matter of course, sir,” Watkins said, making Justin turn back to him, “can you detail for us your movements this week?”

“My movements this week? Do you think I killed him by remote control from Milan?” He gave a brittle laugh, paused, and then said, “That is what you’re getting at, isn’t it? The reason for all these questions—you don’t think it was an accident at all.”

“No sir,” Watkins said. “We have reason to suspect that it wasn’t an accident.”

“Then I suggest you start looking further afield, Sergeant,” Justin said. “There were many people in the world who wished my father dead, but my mother and I weren’t among them. There were times when he annoyed us, but we had plenty of reasons for wanting him alive … including a very generous allowance in my case.”

“You must be tired after your flight,” Sergeant Watkins said. “If you’d just be good enough to write down for us your complete movements during the week, with the names and addresses of people we could contact as witnesses…”

Justin rose to his feet. “I just told you, Officer,” he said in a shrill voice, “I had no reason to kill my father. None at all. Now will you stop hounding me!”

“We haven’t even started hounding yet, sir,” Watkins said pleasantly. “We’ll be asking the same questions of everyone who was connected with your father. Show him out, will you, Evans?”

Mrs. Llewellyn rose to accompany her son.

“Not you, madam,” Sergeant Watkins said. “We have a few more details to go over with you.”

“But I thought I answered any possible questions earlier,” she said. “Really, I’m very tired and I’d enjoy being able to relax with my son…”

“Only one question,” Sergeant Watkins said as Evan came back into the room. “Where were you, really, yesterday?”

Evan saw her visibly start. “What do you mean? I told you. I was in London. I came back on the seven-thirty train.”

She saw Watkins look across at Evan.

“What are you trying to tell me?” she demanded.

“There was no seven-thirty train last night, Mrs. Llewellyn,” Evan said. “It was an hour and a half late, due to a points failure at Crewe. It hadn’t even got in to Bangor when you showed up at this house.”

“So I’ll repeat the question, Mrs. Llewellyn,” Watkins said. “Where were you yesterday?”

“Oh, very well.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I should have told you right away and saved all this unpleasantness. I came back from London a day early and I spent the day with friends in Llandudno. I didn’t want Ifor to know where I was. He didn’t like these particular friends, so I had to arrange meetings around other trips.”

Watkins opened his notebook. “The name and number of these friends in Llandudno, if you don’t mind.”

“They’re not in Llandudno any longer. We just found it a convenient place to meet. The home address is actually in Cheshire. But I can look the number up for you.”

“And the place you stayed in Llandudno—they’ll have a record of your stay, will they?”

For the first time she looked really flustered. “I—didn’t actually sign the register myself. My friend’s name will be there, of course.”

“Of course,” Watkins said.

Evan’s opinion of Watkins’s interviewing techniques was steadily rising. He was being quiet and genial and yet succeeding in getting Mrs. Llewellyn rattled.

“We have a picture of Mrs. Llewellyn that we can show for identification purposes, don’t we Evans?” Watkins asked, looking over her head.

“That’s right, sir,” Evan produced the picture from his pocket.

“That’s my personal property. You’ve no right…” she began.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of it,” Evan said. “You’ll get it back, good as new. Unless you’d like to supply us with a better one. This one’s rather old now and it doesn’t show you clearly.”

“Oh, keep it,” she snapped. “I don’t suppose you can do much harm to it.”

“What did you want me to do, sir?” Evan asked.

“I thought we’d take a spin down to Llandudno—see if anyone at the hotel could vouch for Mrs. Llewellyn being there.”

The woman’s face had flushed bright red. “Is that really necessary?” she asked.

“You’ve nothing to worry about if you’re telling us the truth, have you?”

“Well, the truth is … Sergeant. I was there with … a close friend … a married, close friend. I’d hate him to be dragged into this.”

“Let us have his name and address and we’ll be discreet, madam,” Watkins said. “We’re trying to find out who killed your husband. I’m sure you’d want to give us your full cooperation, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I would,” she said.

She took the piece of paper Watkins offered her. “Very well. His name’s James Norton. He lives in Cheshire. I’m not quite sure of the post code…”

“The phone number would be helpful,” Watkins added.

She scribbled quickly and handed him back the paper. “He really doesn’t need to be brought into this, you know. It’s not fair on him.”