Evanly Bodies - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,22

herself, you only kill somebody when there is no other way out."

Chapter 9

The University of Wales in Bangor was perched on top of a steep hill, with spectacular views toward the Snowdon range in one direction and the Island of Angelsey in the other. The town of Bangor huddled directly below, in its shadow. A fierce wind was blowing off the Menai Strait as Evan emerged from the squad car, and there was promise of rain in the bank of clouds out beyond Anglesey. DI Bragg started up a flight of steps to what was obviously the main building, a tall Victorian monstrosity, complete with towers and turrets.

University campuses always evoked strange feelings in Evan. He had certainly been bright enough to win a university place, even before universities sprouted up everywhere like mushrooms. But he had been the dutiful son and did what was expected of him by following his father into the police force. In truth, in those days his only passion had been rugby, and he had no great desire to prolong his academic studies. But every time he crossed a quadrangle like this one, and saw young people deep in discussion, clutching armfuls of books, he felt a gnawing sense of regret that he had missed out on that carefree step in his life. He had also missed out on expanding his horizons. Bronwen, who had gone to Cambridge, could talk easily on almost any subject and throw in words like Descartes and Kant, making Evan realize just how well-read she was. He found himself thinking that he should start reading again, maybe even check out night school classes.

"Lazy lot of unshaven buggers, aren't they?" DI Bragg brought Evan out of his reverie. "It's too bad they did away with conscription. I'd love to get this lot into uniform and shape them up." He shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked around him. "Do you know your way around this place? Any idea where we'd find Rogers's colleagues? Some kind of faculty building?"

"He was a professor in the History Department," Evan said. "I'm sure one of the students can direct us there."

He stopped a pair of young girls, who seemed remarkably underdressed for the chill of early autumn, with bare midriffs and low-slung jeans. They pointed to a smaller building set in its own grounds, as the wind whipped their long hair across their faces. One of them gave Evans a flirtatious smile as they continued on their way.

"History," Bragg commented, setting off in the new direction toward the building that housed the department, "now that's a bloody waste of time for a start. Ten sixty-six and all that. Magna Carta. Lot of useless dates. What's the point in it, Evans? We never seem to learn from history, do we?"

"We can always hope, sir," Evan said.

"You're too much of a bloody optimist, boyo," Bragg said, but in not unfriendly fashion.

Inside the building they located an office and were told they'd probably find Dr. Skinner in his office, if he wasn't in the SCR.

"SCR?" Bragg asked.

"Senior common room. Where the professors hang out," the girl said. "But I think I saw him going down the hall to his office, and he's got a lecture at four."

Evan led the way and passed an office door with Professor Martin Rogers, Ph.D., written on it in neat script. They found the next door half open and a man sitting at a desk.

"Enter!" he called in theatrical tones, in response to their knock. Then he registered surprise at two strange faces. "Yes, gentlemen? What can I do for you?"

"North Wales Police." DI Bragg produced a warrant card. "I'm Detective Inspector Bragg, and this is Detective Constable Evans. And your name, sir?"

"Dr. Skinner."

"How do you do, Dr. Skinner. We'd like to talk to you about Professor Rogers."

"Rogers? What's he done?" The look on his face was half astonishment, half joy. He was, Evan thought, a caricature of the absentminded professor-old tweed jacket, frayed cuffs, tartan tie with various things spilled on it, hair not properly combed, and thick-lensed glasses. But a second glance at him made Evan realize that he wasn't quite as old as he had first thought. A relatively young man still, in fact.

"I'm afraid he was found dead this morning," Bragg said.

"Good God." Skinner lapsed into silence, staring down at the papers in front of him. "I presume he didn't die of natural causes, or you wouldn't be here," he said at last.

"You don't think he'd have