Evan and Elle - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,48

with looking at a motorbike. So what were you really doing?”

His eyes darted nervously. “I was . . . just trying it out . . . that’s all. I was sitting on the saddle, seeing what it felt like. I’m going to get a motorbike when I’m old enough.”

Evan put his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “Terry, you know you’re asking for trouble, don’t you? I know you, but if another policeman saw you getting on a motorbike, you know what he’d think, don’t you?”

Terry nodded. “He’d think I was trying to steal it.”

“Right.”

Terry glanced back at the Hopkinses’ cottage. “It’s just that Bryn—” He broke off, unable to find the words. “It’s pretty cool being a fireman, isn’t it, Mr. Evans?”

“Not very cool, I’d say,” Evan said. “Pretty hot most of the time.”

Terry grinned. “You know what I mean. Exciting—all those flames and walls crashing down and windows exploding . . .”

Evan steered the boy out of the Hopkinses’ garden and across the street. “Terry,” he said quietly. “I’m going to be away for a few days, working on a case. I want you to keep your eyes open for me, and make sure there are no fires while I’m away. You’re pretty observant, so I’m counting on you, okay?”

Terry nodded solemnly. “Okay, Mr. Evans. I’ll do what I can.” His face lit up. “Tell me about the body, eh, Mr. Evans. Did you see it? What was it like—all frizzled up and cooked and gross-looking?”

Evan had to smile. “Pretty gross-looking, Terry.”

“I bet I know who did it,” Terry said.

“Did what?”

Terry’s face was still alight. “Killed him and then set the place on fire to hide the body.”

Evan wondered whether this was just a clever guess or the result of watching too many gangster films. Surely even the Llanfair grapevine couldn’t have heard the pathologist’s findings?

“That’s what they do all the time in movies,” Terry went on. “I saw him, Mr. Evans. He was all foreign-looking and he was carrying a gun in his car. I saw it on the seat beside him, Mr. Evans. He was driving a red car, wasn’t he? He stopped me and asked me where the restaurant was. He spoke funny—foreign like.”

“What did he look like?”

“I dunno.” Terry frowned. “Foreign looking. He was wearing a leather jacket, I remember that. And dark curly hair. And he looked really creepy. I bet he was a Mafia hit man.”

Evan wasn’t sure how much of this was Terry’s imagination. It was a pretty accurate description of the man in the restaurant, the probable victim. And the car had been maroon. It was quite possible that Terry had indeed spoken to him, but had added the gun and the sinister appearance for effect. No gun had been found in the car or on the body.

“Thanks for the tip, Terry,” Evan said. He didn’t like to tell the boy that the man he had seen was now almost certainly dead.

“Right, Mr. Evans. I’ll keep my eyes open while you’re away,” Terry said. “In case he comes around again.”

“Just one thing,” Evan said. “I don’t want you roaming around while I’m away. I want you to stay inside after dark. One of these days you might be hit by a car, so be a good boy and don’t give your mother any grief while I’m not here, all right?”

“All right, Mr. Evans.” Terry grinned. Then he demanded, “Are you going to marry Miss Price, then?” He went on grinning. “I saw you kissing her.”

“You are too inquisitive by half, young man,” Evan said, forcibly shepherding the boy to his own front door. “One of these days you’re going to find yourself in big trouble if you’re not careful.”

“I’m just practicing to be a detective,” Terry said. He opened his front door. “You should marry Miss Price. She’s very pretty.”

He darted inside, leaving Evan standing alone in the cool darkness.

Chapter 15

“We’re here,” Evan said. He had been driving since they switched positions when they joined the M25 and had made good time while Sergeant Watkins dozed.

Watkins roused himself from the passenger seat. They were driving along a wide boulevard beside a serene blue sea. Beds of late flowers separated the road from the broad promenade, along which elderly couples strolled arm in arm, and proud fathers were pushing prams. A military band was playing in the bandstand while pensioners relaxed in deck chairs. There were even a few brave children paddling at the edge of the waves or building castles in