Evanly Bodies - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,72

head? Oh, that would wrap it up nice and conveniently for you, I must say."

Evan raised a protesting hand. "Nobody's accusing you of anything, Mrs. Alessi. We have to follow up on all the leads we've been given, however absurd they seem. I'm sorry to have troubled you."

With that he made his exit. A visit to the regional hospital nearby did not show that she had been admitted there. Neither did a phone call to Ysbyty Gwyneth, the big regional hospital in Bangor. Of course there were always private nursing homes and hospitals out of the region. He'd have to see what the other two came up with.

Soon after he arrived back at HQ, Pritchard came back with the news that Megan Owens had been admitted overnight to the regional emergency center just over a month ago. Reason listed was miscarriage. She was discharged the next morning. Then Wingate arrived. No hospital in the area showed Missy Rogers as a patient. She denied ever having said that she was going into hospital-was quite indignant about it, in fact. And yet Gwyneth Humphries had insisted that she had been away getting medical treatment and Martin had been desolate without her.

"Maybe it was some kind of treatment she didn't want to admit to," Evan suggested. "Mental illness, maybe? Perhaps she went to a facility outside of the area. And it's just possible that Pam Alessi was also treated at a place like that."

"But Megan Owens wasn't. We've got records of her visits to the health clinic during her pregnancy prior to the miscarriage. She couldn't have left the area for more than a couple of days."

"So that shoots that theory," Bragg said. "Any more bright ideas, Evans? I thought you were supposed to be the whiz kid."

"I never claimed to be anything special, sir," Evan said. "I just try to do my job, like everyone else. And right now I'm as stumped as the rest of you. But the connection has to be out there. I thought that maybe we might be dealing with a hit man after all. If the men secretly gambled, took drugs, borrowed money and didn't repay it . . ."

Bragg considered this then shook his head. "I've had a bit of experience with lowlifes. They don't shoot you for not paying your debts. They'd like those debts repaid. They might bash you about a bit, break your legs, set fire to your car, just as a warning. But why kill off the goose before it can lay the golden egg?"

"That's just what it boils down to, isn't it?" Wingate said thoughtfully. "Why do it? What had anybody got to gain from it? The wives are going to be struggling financially as widows. Alessi and Owens had zero money to speak of. What was it for?"

"When we find that out," Bragg said, "then we'll have solved it. Until then let's get cracking again. So the gay angle turned up nothing, did it?"

"Quite the opposite in my case," Evan said. "Martin Rogers was so anti-gay that he tried to stop the gay/lesbian dance last year and nearly caused a campus riot."

"He seems to have been a proper killjoy," Wingate said. "Vetoing everything he didn't agree with."

"Yes, but you don't kill somebody for stopping you from having fun, do you?" Bragg sucked thoughtfully at the end of his pen.

"Especially not if you're a student," Evan agreed. "You protest. They love having something to protest about. They've got some kind of big rally going on. They were trying to put up the banners. Celtic Pride, I believe."

"Celtic Pride!" Bragg sniffed. "When I was young you were given a clip round the head and told you were lucky to be born Welsh and should feel sorry for everybody else. We didn't need bloody festivals to remind us to have pride in ourselves."

"So what else before we wrap it up for tonight?" Wingate asked wearily.

Bragg considered for a moment. "I suppose we should go back to the housing estate where the Owens lived. People who were out at work will be home by now. We can find out if Owens crossed swords with anybody there. Also telephone his mates-I've got their numbers-and find out what they've got to say about him." He got up, started to walk to the door, then looked back at them. "Well, come on. Don't just stand there."

It was after eight when Evan drove wearily back up the pass. Wind swirled dead leaves around the car and buffeted him