Evanly Bodies - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,15

wanted to be discovered."

They came back out into the fresh air.

"So what's next, sir?" Sergeant Wingate asked.

"We'll know more as soon as forensics get here," Bragg said, staring with annoyance in the direction of the road again. "And we'll need to do a detailed search of the house once forensics have taken fingerprints. We need to find out if that antique weapon is really missing or just moved somewhere else."

"And if it's been recently fired," Evan added.

Bragg gave him a withering look. "Obviously we'd like to know if it's been recently fired, Constable. That goes without saying."

"Oh, have you found the weapon, sir?" Constable Pritchard asked.

"Possibly. Rogers has an antique gun collection. One of them is missing."

"I see." Wingate nodded. "It would be good if we knew the type of weapon we were looking for. What sort of bullets do antique guns use?"

"They just used to melt lumps of lead and pour it into a mold, didn't they? I've no idea if any modern bullets would fit. Let's hope the ballistics bloke knows the answer to that one," Bragg said. "Right, let's get on with it. We're wasting precious time standing here chatting."

"I think we should interview the neighbors as soon as possible, while the whole thing is still fresh in their minds." Wingate stared at the tall Victorian house next door that could be seen above the high hedge.

Bragg looked around. "It's hardly likely the neighbors will have seen anything with all these bloody trees and bushes in the way. The houses are too far apart."

"But someone would have heard a shot, surely," Evan said. "And there always seems to be somebody who just happens to be looking out of a window and notices who comes and goes from neighboring houses."

"Thus speaks the expert detective," Bragg said. "How long have you been on the force, Evans? How many months is it?"

"Not many, sir." Evan laughed it off.

"But that's a valid observation," Wingate commented. "There usually is one nosy neighbor on every street. Even if they saw nothing this morning, they might be able to offer us some insight into the dynamics of the Rogers's household."

" 'Insight' and 'dynamics.' My, we are into big words this morning, aren't we, Wingate? Are you planning to ram your university education down our throats?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll choose my language more carefully in future."

Evan stifled a smile. As an insult, it could not have been better.

"Don't get me wrong," Bragg went on, as if nothing had happened. "I fully intend to interview the neighbors. And it will be worth asking for the public's help through the media too. Evans, this comes under Western Division, doesn't it? You'd be familiar with the local media. I'm leaving it to you to get it onto this evening's news and into tomorrow's paper. Can you do that?"

"Yes sir. I think I can manage it."

"Good lad."

Bragg really had no appreciation of sarcasm, Evan decided.

"Be careful how much you tell them. A suspicious death-don't call it a homicide until we're sure of our facts. You can tell them the street name and the approximate time of the incident. Anyone who was passing and noticed suspicious or unusual activity is requested to call the Bangor Police Station, got it?" He looked up as a white van turned into the drive and scrunched over the gravel. "Ah, finally forensics have got off their arses. It's important that I stick around while they're here, but I think I can send you off to interview the neighbors, can't I, Wingate?"

"Yes. I think that may be within the realm of my capabilities, sir," Wingate answered.

This time the sarcasm was not lost. "There's no need to be smart, Wingate. We're a brand-new team, and I'm the fall guy if anything goes wrong. I have to make sure my officers know what they are doing."

"I assure you that I am quite capable of interviewing the neighbors, sir, as I suspect are Pritchard and Evans."

"Yes, well, I'll need Pritchard with me while Evans is away. You can bugger off now, Evans, and you too, Wingate."

The two men walked down the driveway together, passing the forensic crew as they opened up the back of their van.

"Hello, Evans. Having fun, are we?" the young police photographer asked in Welsh. "He's a right bugger, so they say, that Bragg." He saw Evan's face and grinned. "And his Welsh isn't too hot either."

Evan turned to Wingate. "How is your Welsh?"

"Not a native speaker like you. My family farms in border country,