Evan and Elle - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,84
sort things out.”
“She’s got some pretty unpleasant times ahead of her, I’d say. She’s not out of the woods by a long way.”
“It’s still probably nothing to her compared to knowing she’s finally safe from her husband. And when the jury hears what she’s been through, I think she’ll get off lightly.”
“Too bad she’s gone. The wife had been badgering me to take her to the French restaurant. Now I’ve blown it, haven’t I? She won’t let me forget it in a hurry, either.”
Evan returned his smile, then became serious again. “I don’t suppose Gaston has ever said exactly what happened in Madame’s flat that night—why he killed Jean Bouchard, I mean? Do you think there was a drug connection and he’d traced down someone who double-crossed him?”
“I don’t think so,” Watkins said. “I got the impression that he found another bloke in his wife’s bedroom. That was all the incentive he needed to kill.”
“If he’d asked him who he was, Jean Bouchard might have said he was Yvette’s husband—which wouldn’t have been a good answer, considering.”
“Well, now they’re gone—the lot of them,” Watkins said, walking past Evan’s desk to stare out the window at the hills. “I don’t suppose that Englishman is going to rebuild that cottage up there, is he?”
“I doubt it very much.” Evan got up to look as well.
“So your butcher friend will be happy—Llanfair has been ethnically cleansed and is now purely Welsh again. The boy’s doing okay, is he—the one who got shot?”
Evan started, uneasy that Watkins had linked Bryn’s name subconsciously to the fires. “Yes, he’s making a good recovery. He was bloody lucky the bullet went through where it did. A couple of inches farther down and he would have been a goner.”
“So we never really found out who was behind the fires, did we?” Watkins asked.
“Maybe Sergeant Potter is still working on it,” Evan said.
Watkins chuckled. “No, didn’t you hear? He’s got a transfer to Chester. He couldn’t get the hang of Welsh, you see, so he had to give up and look for a job in England. Can’t say I’m too heartbroken, are you?”
“The man was a pain,” Evan agreed.
Watkins went to perch on the corner of Evan’s desk. “I’d still like to know who wrote those notes. If there are extremists at work, I’d like to know it.”
“So would I, but I wonder if we ever will.”
Watkins slid off the desk again. “All right. Well, I’d better be getting along. I’ve got a burglary down in Beddgelert to look into. Same old routine stuff after all the excitement. That’s the problem with this job. When it’s all routine, you wish for excitement and when it’s all go, you long for regular hours. Ah well, there are worse ways of learning a living.”
“I’m thinking of asking for a transfer myself,” Evan said. “I’m finally going to send in my application for detective training.”
Watkins didn’t smile, as Evan had expected. Instead he looked uncomfortable.
“What?” Evan demanded. “You don’t think I’d be good enough for the job.”
“I know you would, boyo,” Watkins said. “You’d be bloody good. It’s just that it won’t be for a while, that’s all. We’re in hot water with the commissioner, so it seems, because North Wales Police has the lowest percentage of female detectives. So the next recruits have to be female—starting with our Glynis Davies. She’s been accepted for the next training class. She’ll make a good detective, don’t you think? Very ingenious. Very thorough.”
“Oh yes, great,” Evan said halfheartedly.
“It was matching those prints that got her transfer through in a hurry,” Watkins said. “That and the fact that her boyfriend happens to be the commissioner’s nephew.” He grinned at Evan, then slapped him on the back. “Be seeing you then, boyo. Take care of yourself.”
As soon as Sergeant Watkins had gone, Evan took out the application and tore it up. He tried not to feel angry or disappointed, but he couldn’t help it. It looked as if he was destined to be stuck in Llanfair, at least for the immediate future.
He glanced at his watch. Almost five o’clock. He’d put in enough overtime to leave early for once. He closed up for the day and came out into the soft glow of late afternoon. Without any clear idea of where he was heading, he started up the street. It wasn’t Glynis’s fault that she’d been chosen over him. And she was bright, too. She’d do well as a detective.
He strode past the school without looking