Evan and Elle - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,31

to Watkins, who dropped it into a plastic bag, then he brushed his hands clean. “All right boys, if Dr. Owens has finished, you can take him away now.”

“I can’t do any more until I get him back to the lab,” Dr. Owens said. “Cover him up, Thomas, and get him to the van.”

Evan helped the other constable carry the body. It felt surprisingly light as they carried it back to the van.

“I’ll give you my report as soon as I can,” Dr. Owens said.

“And you get me your analysis as soon as you can, too, Potter,” D.I. Hughes said, wiping his hands on a spotless handkerchief as he picked his way back through the debris. “Watkins, you might want to check local hotels to see if any guests didn’t show up last night.” He reached the van and opened the passenger door. “Frankly, I don’t think it should be too hard to find out who he was. He must have got here somehow. Check for parked cars nearby and ask local taxi drivers.”

“Right you are, sir,” Watkins said.

Evan said nothing. He was used to being dismissed, sent back to his beat.

“I’ll be getting back to Llanfair, then, sir,” he said.

“Hold on a minute, Evans,” D.I. Hughes said. “On second thought I’ll go and talk to Madame Yvette myself right now. I’d like to see her reaction before she has time to hear the news from anyone else. Watkins, you can ride back in the van with the others and I’ll take your car. Evans, you can show me the way.”

“Yes sir.” Evan tried to hide his pleasure. “It’s just down here at the pub.”

“Now Evans,” Hughes began as they walked away, “tell me about this lone man last night. Could he have been our victim?”

“It’s possible, sir. He came in at the same time as a party of four other people. He sat alone on the far wall. It was pretty dark in there so I didn’t get a good look at him, but I’d say he was around forty, maybe, good-looking in a sort of outdoor way—with dark curly hair, grayish at the sides. He was wearing a leather jacket with a dark turtleneck under it.”

“Foreign, do you think?”

Evan shrugged. “It’s hard to tell where someone comes from these days. Everyone looks pretty much the same, don’t they, sir?”

“And how did Madame Yvette react to him? Do you think she knew him?”

Evan considered this. “I don’t think so, sir. She was at our table when he came in and she didn’t react at all that I could see. She went over and took his order and brought him a bottle of wine. It was only later that he called her over and then she seemed upset. It might have been nothing at all. Maybe he complained about the food. Anyway, he left quite a while before we did and I don’t think she even spoke to him again.”

“As you say, it might have been nothing at all,” Hughes said. “You’ve met her a couple of times. What’s your impression of her?”

“Well, she’d had those two threatening notes,” Evan reminded him. “She was very upset about them. My impression is that she’s very proud of her cooking and she wanted to make a success of her restaurant.”

“That’s one ambition that’s gone up in smoke now,” Hughes said as they neared the long white building. “I’d imagine it would take her quite a while to start up again after this. If nationalist extremists are really responsible, I’m going to nail them good and proper this time. I don’t like anyone burning down holiday cottages, but when it comes to destroying someone’s livelihood . . .”

“And maybe killing into the bargain,” Evan ventured.

“You’ve got a point there, Constable. They’re looking at manslaughter at the very least this time.” He went ahead and pushed open the studded oak door. “Oh, and Constable,” he murmured as they stepped into the flagged hallway, “don’t mention the body unless I bring it up.”

Evan nodded then rapidly ducked his head as he stepped under a beam.

Madame Yvette was sitting in a dark oak booth, sipping dubiously at a cup of pale frothy liquid. She looked hollow around the eyes but her hair was still well groomed in her usual top-of-the-head style, and she had brightened her pale cheeks with rouge. She was wearing a garish red-and-purple Fair Isle sweater with a knitted brown scarf wrapped around her throat, which didn’t enhance her appearance. She looked up