Evanly Bodies (20 page)

She pushed open a swing door, and they were in a big kitchen. A large, middle-aged woman was peeling potatoes, humming to
herself as she worked. Another woman, this one not much older than Bronwen, was arranging chicken parts in a casserole dish,
and the third person was standing at the window, washing up at a huge sink. Only her silhouette was visible against the sunlight,
but the long braid down her back made her instantly recognizable She turned as she heard the door open, and her face lit up
as she saw them.

"Mrs. Evans-Bronwen!"

Jamila ran across the kitchen to hug her.

"I'm sorry, I've made you all wet." She was laughing and crying at the same time, and Evan noticed that Bronwen was too.

"We've been so worried about you," Bronwen said. "We've thought terrible things. We thought Rashid might have killed you."

"I was afraid too. That's why I went to Miss Prendergast," Jamila said. "When Mummy and Daddy went out, he said some things
to me that really scared me. I knew I had to escape while I had the chance." She looked up at Evan. "You haven't come to take
me back, have you?"

"We want whatever is best for you, Jamila," Bronwen said, before Evan could answer.

"I don't see how I can go home," Jamila said. "but I don't know where else I could go either. And I can't stay here forever."

"We'll figure something out, don't worry," Bronwen said. "Things have a way of sorting themselves out."

"I hope so. I really didn't want to frighten Mummy and Daddy, but I had no choice, did I?"

"Of course you didn't. You did the only thing you could have done."

Evan watched them, feeling out of place and sensing the uneasy glances from the other women.

"Isn't it time for coffee yet?" the large woman who had been peel ing potatoes asked suddenly. "My throat's that parched.
Who's on coffee duty?"

She went over to a roster on a notice board. "It says Sally. Which one is Sally?"

"That new girl who came in the day before yesterday," the woman preparing the chicken said. "You know, the one who had her
cheekbone broken?"

"Oh yes, poor thing. We won't bother her then. I can make it."

"No, I'll get her," Miss Prendergast said. "It's an important part of the healing process to make everyone feel that they
are needed here and pulling their weight. Sally, you say her name is? Which bedroom is she assigned to?"

"The roster's on the wall over there," one of the women said.

Miss Prendergast went over to a large notice board and started leafing through sheets of paper. "Ah, there she is. Sally.
She's in Primrose bedroom. I'll go and find her for you." She looked back at Evan and Bronwen. "You two stay put in the kitchen
with Jamila, please."

Evan continued to stare at the roster sheets. He hadn't been close enough to see clearly, as she had flipped through the sheets
of paper, but he thought he had read a familiar name. He tried to sound relaxed and casual as he strolled across to the notice
board.

"So the rooms are all named after flowers, are they?" he asked, idly flicking through the papers. "That's nice."

He let the sheets fall again and moved away from the bulletin board. His eyes hadn't deceived him. Behind the current month's
was still the sheet from the month before. And on that sheet he had seen something that set his heart racing. Surely it couldn't
be a coincidence.

"What is it?" Bronwen asked.

"I can't tell you. But it's nothing to do with Jamila." The words came spilling out "It's the other case I'm working on. The
three murders. And now I see that I got it wrong before. I've got to call Inspector Bragg right away before he arrests the
wrong people."

"What wrong people?" Bronwen's words floated after him, but he was already running down the dark hallway, making for the front
door. He stood in the quiet suburban street outside and punched in the numbers, drumming his fingers on the mobile phone while
he waited for the inspector to pick up. It seemed like an eternity and all sorts of horrible possibilities flashed through
his mind-race riots, home office investigations, himself put on suspension . . .

"Bragg here." As usual he spat out the words

"It's Evans, sir."

"Where the devil are you?"

"I had something I had to check out, and I've got it at last. Look, I can't tell you the details, but I'd like you to bring
in Missy Rogers again, right away."

"Missy Rogers? What's this now? I've just sent Wingate and a couple of uniforms to bring in your pal Rashid."

"Call Wingate immediately and tell him to come back," Evan said.

"Did I just hear you give me an order?" Bragg's voice was icily calm.

"I'm sorry, sir. It wasn't meant to sound like that, but it's very urgent. Let's just say that certain facts have just come
to light that throw a whole new complexion on things. We've located that missing Pakistani girl, and she's safe and being
taken care of. And her brother is in the clear at the moment. So it's quite possible those Muslim boys are guilty of nothing
more than a natural suspicion of the police, and we don't want to stir up further trouble."

"So now you're telling me this whole Muslim plot idea was a load of codswallop?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You know what, Evans? You're more trouble than you are worth. I'm asking for you to be transferred out of my unit as of now."

"You do what you have to, sir. But I've only been throwing out suggestions, trying to come up with connections, not presenting
you with facts. Now I'm presenting you with a fact. I'm suggesting, with respect, that you bring in Missy Rogers right away,
after you've called Wingate."

"So now you're saying my first instincts were right and it was cherchez la femme after all?"

"Yes, sir. I believe you were right all along." Those were probably the hardest words he had ever had to say.

"Hmmph." Bragg gave a pleased little snort. "So do you mind telling me what has made Hercule Poirot change his mind again?
What brought you back to Missy Rogers?"

"Call Wingate first, sir. We don't want a race riot around here, do we?"

"No, we bloody well don't. Let's hope I'm not too late."

Evan stood in the street and waited until the phone rang again. It seemed like another eternity while sparrows twittered in
the hedge and a mother came past, pushing a pram, while a solemn two-year-old pushed a replica doll's pram beside her. At
last his phone rang.

"You've got a lot to answer for, Evans," Bragg barked into the phone.

"Did you get to Wingate in time?"

"Wingate was still at the Muslim lads' house, luckily. He said he sensed they were not going to come quietly-a lot of talk
about lawyers and civil rights and all that guff. He was just about to call for backup. So now we look like pansy boys, and
those kids are smirking all over their faces, thanks to you."

"Look, I've said I'm sorry. And you have to admit that I did present a credible connection between the three cases. The only
one we'd come up with to date."

"Only now you've got a better connection, is that it?"

"It seems that way, sir. In fact, yes, I'm sure of it."

"So do you mind telling me what great detective work you've been doing behind my back so that I don't look like a complete
fool when Missy Rogers arrives?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you anything, sir. I've been sworn to secrecy."

"Sworn to secrecy? What bloody game are you playing now? Did you always go in for this kind of dramatics?"

Evan took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more at the moment, sir. I'm just asking you to trust me."

"And why the bloody hell should I trust you?"

"No reason at all, sir, but I really think I've got it right this time."

"And you can't tell me what it is?"

"Right."

"Go and boil your head, Evans. I'm too old to play games."

"I am not playing games, sir." Evan heard his own voice rising dangerously. "I've been put in a difficult position, and I've
given my word not to reveal any details."

"So exactly how am I going to interview Missy Rogers if I'm completely in the dark, Evans? Or did you plan on questioning
her yourself, making me look like a fool and getting the glory for yourself?"

Evan felt the blood pounding in his temples. "Let me set one thing straight, sir. I have never wanted glory. I don't want
the bloody glory now. But if you bring Missy Rogers in, and then do what I'm going to suggest, I rather think she'll tell
you herself."

"And she's going to do that?"

"I believe she might, if she's taken off guard."

"Taken off guard?" Bragg was beginning to sound like a parrot. "Did you always dictate like this to your old boss?"

"Only when I was sure I was right."

"So you're sure you're right now?"

"All I can say is that I have finally come up with some proof that Missy Rogers wanted her husband dead."

Bragg sighed. "I suppose I'm going to have to trust you. If it backfires, it's your head that's going to roll, I can tell
you that. And if the Chief Constable hauls me onto the carpet about picking on our Muslim brothers, you can bet your life
I'll let him know that it was all your idea, based on misinformation."

"I understand that, sir. You do what you have to. I'm on my way back to HQ right now."

As soon as he had hung up the phone, he called Wingate and then Pritchard. "And don't let Bragg know where you are or what
you're doing until I give the signal to come into the room," he said, the words coming out in a rush. "I can't tell you anymore
right now. I'm sworn to secrecy or I would. Oh, and don't get the women alarmed. Tell them it's just something we want them
to take a look at and identify." Then he hung up before they had a chance to complain or question him too deeply.

He went back into the house, his heart still racing. He couldn't be wrong this time. He had to have got it right. But he knew
he was taking an enormous risk. Bronwen was sitting with Jamila on a sofa while Miss Prendergast hovered in the background.

"I'm afraid something very important has come up. Would it be possible to drive me back to police headquarters right away?"
he said. "I have to be there when a suspect is brought in."

"I suppose so." Miss Prendergast gave Bronwen a look that said that men were annoying creatures. "Mrs. Evans is going to pass
on a message to Jamila's parents that she is safe, and she will contact them when she is ready. Until we can assure her safety
there is to be no hint of her whereabouts. I don't need to remind you that her brother presents a very real threat, do I?"

"Of course I understand," Evan said. "Don't worry. I gave you my word."

Bronwen got to her feet, still holding Jamila's hand. "I have to get back to school too, Jamila. I told them I wasn't feeling
well this morning but would be in later, but I should get back as soon as I can."

"I understand, Mrs. Evans. Thank you so much for coming to see me," Jamila gave her a watery smile.

"And we will work out what is best for you, I promise," Bronwen said. They hugged again, and Jamila stood looking wistfully
after them as they went back down the hall.

"That poor child," Bronwen said, as they drove away. "I promised to do what was best for her, but what can that possibly be?
As long as we can't trust her family not to take her out of the country or her brother not to kill her, we can't let her return
home to them. So it would have to be a foster home somewhere, and that's a miserable thing for a young girl like her. If we
didn't live so close to her family, I'd want to take her in myself."

"We can't keep her in the area, that's for sure," Miss Prendergast said. "My suggestion would be a good boarding school for
a while. She's a bright girl. She needs to keep up her academics, and she needs protection. But if the parents take us to
court, who knows how it will end up? We may have to return her to them in the end."

"Over my dead body," Bronwen said. "I could phone my old headmistress, and we could spirit her away there for a while. They'd
never find her."

"A lot depends on what Jamila decides after the initial shock wears off," Miss Prendergast said. "I know I'll fight tooth
and nail to keep her safe."

He took a deep breath before he knocked and entered the interview room. Mrs. Rogers was looking more haggard than Evan remembered
her-as if she hadn't slept well since her husband's death. There were dark circles around her eyes, and her hair was not as
perfectly in place as when they had seen her before. This time there was no plain dress and string of pearls but an ordinary
cardigan over a tweed skirt. She was also looking extremely indignant and glared at Evans and Bragg accusingly.

"This is coming close to harassment, Inspector. I can't think why you had to have me hauled in here rather than visiting me
at my own home. It was quite embarrassing to have the neighbors watch me being taken away in a police car. I do hope it's
not for another overnight. I've left Lucky in the garden."

"It shouldn't take long, Mrs. Rogers," Bragg said. "Only some interesting facts have come to light, and Constable Evans here
asked that you be brought in again as he has something he wants to show you."

"To show me? You've found the murder weapon?" she asked.

"Just a couple of things that I've unearthed, and we'd like you to identify," Evan said.

" 'Unearthed'?" She frowned as she looked up at him. "That sounds like something from one of Martin's archeological digs.
Unearthed what?"

"I'll go and get them," Evan said. He left the room and went to find Jeremy Wingate, who had just arrived in the building.
He explained what he wanted to happen and then went to check on DC Pritchard who was waiting in a nearby office.

"Okay." Evan nodded to Pritchard. "Let's head down to the interview room now, please. DI Bragg is waiting for us." He walked
ahead along the hall, then paused outside the interview room until he heard feet approaching from the other direction. Then
he nodded to Pritchard to open the door. Pritchard did so and motioned for Megan Owens to step inside first. At the same time
the other door to the room opened and Pamela Alessi entered.

Evan slipped into the interview room behind them and closed the door. He saw the briefest flicker of recognition cross Missy
Rogers's face, but Megan Owens let out a great gasp when she saw the other two. "Oh no," she whimpered.

"Who are these people?" Missy Rogers was still very much in control of herself.

"They know," Megan Owens gasped. "They've found out."

"Found out what? What is she talking about?" Missy Rogers said in the authoritative voice the upper classes switch on to intimidate
lower-class people when necessary.

Evan stepped forward. "She's right, Mrs. Rogers. We've found out. I went to The Laurels, you see."

Missy Rogers had now turned pale too. "And they told you? They swore that they would never betray us . . ."

"Nobody told me anything. I saw your names together on the roster sheet for last month. Missy isn't a usual name around here,
is it?"

"Oh well." Pamela Alessi sank onto on the nearest chair. "It was worth a try, wasn't it? I never really thought we'd get away
with it."

"Of course we would have got away with it," Missy Rogers said. "We would have done now if you two had kept your heads."

"Would someone mind explaining to me what The Laurels is?" DI Bragg demanded.

"Mrs. Rogers?" Evan looked at her. "Would you like to tell the inspector?"

Her gaze did not flicker. "It's a safe house for abused and battered women. We met there a month ago." She looked from one
policeman's face to the next. "I can see you're surprised. Surely not respected, cultured Martin Rogers? He was never a wife
batterer? Well, he wasn't, not like Pamela's husband, or Megan's. I didn't come there with a black eye, like Pamela or having
had a miscarriage because my husband had kicked me in the stomach after he knocked me to the floor like Megan. But there are
other effective ways of abusing somebody, and Martin was a master at all of them. First the belittling, the humiliating, making
me think that I wasn't good enough for anything, that I couldn't function without him, then the power over me-handing out
the housekeeping money, making me account for every penny, flying into a rage when the least little thing was wrong, cross-questioning
me whenever I dared to go out, cutting me off from everybody I loved and trusted until I had nobody."

"You could have left him," Bragg said sharply. "You didn't have to put up with that."

"I could have left him?" She looked at him and gave a brittle laugh. "I told you he had driven a wedge in between me and any
friends I might have had. He had alienated me from my one sister, and if I dared to disobey him, he was frightening. He told
me that if I ever had the nerve to leave him, he'd findme, wherever I was; and not only would he kill me, he'd punish those
who had helped me too." She looked at Pamela. "Pamela's husband told her the same sort of thing."

Pamela nodded. "Nowhere to run; nowhere to hide," she said.

"So what gave you the courage to try to walk out on him?" Evan asked, turning back to Mrs. Rogers.

"Lucky. My dog means everything to me. Martin became horribly jealous that the dog preferred me to him, and that I lavished
affection on it. So he set about torturing Lucky: teasing him, brushing him so fiercely that Lucky yelped in pain . . . that
kind of thing. It was no good telling him to stop because he went on all the more savagely. I had to keep Lucky locked in
the summerhouse for his own safety. Then, out of the blue, Martin announced that he had become allergic to animals and was
advertising for a good home for the dog. No more hairs around the place, he said. That was it, as far as I was concerned.
The straw that broke the camel's back. I took Lucky with me and called the battered women's hotline. And I moved into the
shelter."

"And so you decided to kill him," Bragg said, "because he wanted to get rid of your dog." There was almost a smirk in the
way he said it. Evan could hear the prosecuting barrister adopting exactly the same tone as he looked at the jury.

"Because he had abused me for years; taken away any life I might have had; and reduced me to a phantom who worked in the garden,
walked the dog, and looked after Martin's needs." She glared at them, suddenly animated. "Oh, and he did have needs too, Inspector,
let me tell you that. If he'd been screaming at me, frightening me, reducing me to tears, he took sadistic pleasure in forcing
me into bed and then raping me. It was the ultimate humiliation, you see. Oh no, Martin Rogers deserved to die. I have no
regrets at all about doing it."

She reached across and patted Megan's hand. "Strangely enough, I think that Pamela and I would have endured somehow, if it
hadn't been for Megan. We're old. We should know better, but Megan-nobody should have to go through that at twenty. Her husband
was out of control. Terrifying rages, especially after he'd been drinking. She'd tried to get police protection but with no
success. In essence they told her it was her fault and not to upset her husband when he'd had a drop. She was terrified of
going back home. 'He's going to kill me,' she kept on saying. But if she went to her mother's, he'd find her there and bring
her back. I decided there and then that such men should not be allowed to live."

"So you came up with the plan," Evan said.

Missy looked at the other two and nodded. "It seemed foolproof. We'd each be the other's alibi. I couldn't see any way you
could ever have connected the three of us. You should never have."

"It was luck," Evan said. "Pure luck."

"Our bad luck, as usual," Pamela said.

"So you took turns shooting your husbands with the same gun?" Bragg said.

Missy nodded. "After I had shot Martin, I sewed the gun into a small pillow I had embroidered, put it into a padded envelope
I had prepared, and prestamped and posted it to Pamela on my dog walk that morning. Pamela dropped it into the post to Megan
. . ."

"And Megan?" Bragg asked. "Where is the weapon now?"

"It's gone," Missy Rogers said firmly before Megan could speak. "It's gone to a place where you will never recover it. It
will never be used as evidence if it comes to a trial. Your case will be all supposition."

"So it was all done just as we suspected in the beginning," Bragg said, looking rather pleased with himself. "You turned on
the lawn mower so nobody would hear the shot. You opened the window, called your husband to it, and when he appeared, you
shot him then closed the window."

"Not exactly like that," Missy Rogers said. "He came to the window and yelled "Turn off that bloody lawn mower while I'm trying
to eat my breakfast." He looked quite surprised to see the gun pointed at him. I was too close to miss. Then I sewed up the
pillow in no time and went on my dog walk, dropped off the gun at the post office, and came home to discover his body."

"And Mrs. Alessi?" Bragg turned to Pamela. "How did you manage with the sleeping pill?"

She shrugged. "I only took half, at one in the morning. It left me so groggy that I could hardly walk straight when I went
to post the package with the gun in it to Megan. I said I had to go out for butter. The kind constable offered to go for me,
but I needed the sub-post office at the back of the corner shop, so I convinced him that fresh air would do me good."

She gave a wistful smile. "I'm not sorry either. I'm fed up with years of lying, saying I fell down the stairs, I burned myself
on the iron, to cover up for the way he bashed me around. And like Missy, he never let me out of his sight either. Always
wanted to know where I'd been, who I'd spoken to. And heaven help me if I chatted to one of the customers if I was helping
out in the café. If I'm going to hell for killing him, I don't really care. What I've gone through was worse than hell."

"I've been through hell too," Megan said. "But I still can't help feeling terrible about it. My Terry wasn't always like that,
you know. We were in love once. He was lovely when we were going out together. Then he got laid off, and he felt angry and
powerless so he just took it out on me."

"Don't make excuses for him," Missy said. "We've all spent too many years making excuses. If I had cooked the meat the way
Martin liked it, if I had ironed his favorite shirt better, I wouldn't have made him angry. That's how those men operate.
They want us to feel guilty for pushing them over the top."

Pamela Alessi was nodding as she spoke. "And afterward he'd be loving and sweet as if nothing had happened. He'd go out and
buy me presents. Bastards, all of them. I'm staying away from men from now on."

"And the weapon," Bragg asked. "The one we'll never find?"

"It was, as you correctly established, my father's from the last war. Taken from a captured Japanese officer. A bit of a trophy.
And light enough for amateurs like us to handle."

"But you're not going to tell us where it is?"

"No." She eyed him steadily. "And you haven't yet formally charged us, Inspector. So before we proceed, I think we should
have a solicitor present. And while one is being found, I should like to go home and make arrangements for my dog." She saw
Bragg open his mouth to speak and gave a scornful smile. "Oh, don't worry. You can send an officer with me if you like. I
wouldn't dream of leaving my sisters to face this alone."

Bragg looked at the other officers with a triumphant smile as the door closed. "We did it," he said. "We bloody well pulled
it off. Well done, Evans, for spotting those names. Very sharp of you. A nice open-and-shut case with a full confession, that's
what I like."

"But they won't be charged with murder, will they?" Evan asked.

"Of course they will. Shot their husbands in cold blood."

"But the court will consider the extenuating circumstances," Evan insisted. "They were in fear of their lives. Their husbands
had battered them and threatened to kill them . . ."

"Not at the moment they fired the gun. The prosecution will say it was premeditated murder. I reckon they'll get life."

"But we can't let that happen!" Evan banged a hand on the table. "That's not justice, is it?"

Bragg looked up in surprise. "Quite the little orator, isn't he? Listen, lad, it's not our job to decide what is justice and
what is not. We bring in the guilty party, and the court takes it from there. It's over as far as we're concerned, apart from
getting them to make a statement, which we'll do later today."

"But those poor women. You heard what life was like for them." Evan looked at Wingate for confirmation.

"The prosecutor will say they could have walked out at any time they liked. It didn't have to end in death," Bragg said.

"I'm sure the defense will produce psychologists who will talk about post traumatic stress and inability to make valid decisions
and all that kind of stuff," Wingate said. "I know how you feel, Evan. This leaves a nasty taste in my mouth too. I had to
evict a family from a house once. I felt like a heel."