Evans looked up suspiciously, his body tensing, his trunk leaning forward as if he were going to rise.
'Relieved she wasn't there. She hadn't had an accident.'
'Yes.'
'What did you do then?'
'Well, I came back to the Club, didn't I? You know that bloody well. You just said so.'
'Straight back.'
'Yes.' 'So you left the Club about ten past eight, went home, found all was well, and went straight back?' 'That's right. Yes. Though,' he added slowly as if thinking something out, T didn't leave there for, oh, about twenty, perhaps thirty minutes, I shouldn't wonder. Yes. That's right.' Dalziel clapped his hands together as though a tricky point had been made simple. 'Good!' he said. 'That's why you didn't get back till after nine-fifteen. It's only five minutes' drive, isn't it?'
Now Evans did stand up.
'Yes,' he said. 'Is that all then? I don't see the point, but if it helps you, you're welcome. And I'll be on my way.'
Dalziel shook his head with a sad smile.
'Don't be silly, Arthur. You're not daft. You know that's not all. I'm just giving you a chance to tell us, that's all. If you don't want your chance, then just sit down again, and we'll tell you.' Slowly Arthur Evans resumed his seat.
'Sergeant, just refresh us with your information again.'
'Certainly, sir.' Pascoe rippled through the pages of his notebook, stopped, coughed and began to speak in an impersonal monotone as before. 'Information given to us states that Mr Evans's motorcar was seen parked in Glenfair Road just before its junction with Boundary Drive at about eight-forty p.m. on the evening of Saturday last.' He raised his eyes from the page. He might have done this a good deal earlier if he had wanted for it was completely blank.
His interviews the previous night had been done with all his customary thoroughness, but the most productive one had been not the Fernies or young Curtis, those most directly concerned with the incidents which had taken him to Boundary Drive, but with Ted Morgan whom there was really no reason to interview at all. Except that he had had mud down his suit. Anyone who came back covered with mud after an evening with Jenny Connon had some answering to do, Pascoe had decided, surprised at his own concern.
Or jealousy.
Me jealous? he thought. Nonsense. I'm questioning this man because he might be able to help us. Not jealous. Just zealous. But whatever his motives, he soon realized that he had tapped a very useful vein of information in Ted Morgan. Ted had been a little belligerent at first but a couple of hints that Pascoe had seen him drinking in the Club earlier and an oblique reference to the breathalyser test had calmed him down and made him most cooperative. Once he got started, like all the best gossips, there was no stopping him. Ten minutes with Morgan was more informative than all the rest of his questioning put together. What he said about Evans's movements and behaviour on Saturday evening plus his confirmation of Jacko Roberts's placing of Connon high on the Evans suspect list had set Pascoe's mind racing. He knew that the constable on patrol in Boundary Drive had noticed no strange cars parked in the road that night as he passed along. Now he checked with the policeman whose beat took him down Glenfair Road, the main thoroughfare into which Boundary Drive ran. The list of car numbers he had noted that evening for one reason or another was unproductive. Evans's was not among them. But after much thought the constable did vaguely recall noticing a car parked very near to the corner of Boundary Drive, not near enough to constitute a danger, but near enough for him to notice it. 'I didn't make a note,' he had said defensively. 'Why should I? There was no offence being committed. Nothing suspicious.' But his vague memory was of a white or cream Hillman. Evans drove a white Hillman Minx. It had all been so flimsy that Pascoe had hesitated about presenting it to Dalziel. But in the end, he knew he had to. The superintendent's reaction had been unexpected. He had been as near to complimentary as Pascoe could recall. 'I've been wanting a chat with Arthur,' he had said gleefully. 'I'm worried about that wife of his. A woman like that's a… one of those things that helps other things to get started?'
'A catalyst,' said Pascoe.
'Right. A catalyst to violence.' 'You can't question a man because his wife's well built!' protested Pascoe. 'I once questioned a vicar because his choir was too big. Other churches were complaining, he was poaching their kids. It turned out he was paying well over the odds. But it didn't stop at singing. Let's have him in first thing.'
'All right,' he said. 'So I was there. What of it?'
'Where is 'there', Mr Evans?' asked Dalziel. 'There. At Connon's. You know. I'm damned if I know why I didn't tell you in the first place, back when all this started happening. Must look a bit odd, I suppose.' 'Perhaps. Perhaps not. Lies, evasions, we get 'em all the time, Arthur. I sometimes use them myself,' he said, chuckling.
'I've noticed,' said Evans drily.
Tell us about it then, Arthur,' invited Dalziel.
Evans grunted again, then started talking. Having made up his mind to talk, he spoke rapidly and fluently and Pascoe's pen flew over the paper as he took shorthand notes. He was so occupied with the accuracy of his record that he scarcely had time to pay attention to the narrative as a whole and it wasn't until Evans fell silent that the statement jelled in his mind. The Welshman had set off home in a cold fury. He was convinced that his wife was with another man. He was almost as convinced that this man was Connon. He went right through the house when he arrived home but there was no sign of Gwen; nor of anyone else. Connon had left the Club early, he remembered, saying he was going home. Now Evans got back into his car and drove round to Connon's house. He had not parked in front of the house because he had no desire to draw attention to himself. All he wanted to do was to see if Connon's car was in the garage. The only sign of life he could see in the house was the white light from a television screen shining through a chink in the living-room curtains. He went as silently as he could up the drive and peered into the garage. The car was there. Still unconvinced, he considered ringing the bell and inventing some pretext for coming to see Connon if Mary Connon answered the door. Instead, not wanting to risk a scene without more evidence of his suspicions, he went back to his car and drove back to the Club, stopping briefly at a couple of pubs on the way to see if Gwen was in either. But when he reached the Club she was there already. It's a reasonable story, thought Pascoe. And if he had rung the bell at Connon's what reason would he have had to kill Mary? 'And did you find out where Gwen had been, Arthur?' asked Dalziel softly. 'She said she thought Dick and Joy had forgotten they were to pick her up, so she set off to catch the bus.'
'It must have been a slow bus.'
It was a flat, totally unaccented statement.
'She just missed one, so she dropped in at our local for some fags, and stayed to have a drink.'
'And did she?'
Evans was having difficulty in controlling his voice. 'I do not go around public houses asking if my wife is telling me the truth. That's more in your line.' 'Oh it is. Quite right,' said Dalziel with equanimity. 'We'll ask, never fear. But we won't bother you with our findings if you feel that way.' A touch of the knife, thought Pascoe. Just a hint, a reminder.
Dalziel wasn't finished.
'Why do you suspect Connon of… whatever you suspect him of?'
'Don't be mealy-mouthed, Bruiser.'
'All right. Of having it away with your wife. Why Connon?' Evans spoke softly now so that Pascoe had to strain to catch his words. 'Nothing positive. Things she let slip. We had a row. She said I should pay her more attention, I was always round at the Club with my drinking mates. I said at least I knew where I was with them. I could trust the men I drank with. So she laughed at that, see. Said, 'oh yes?' I asked what she meant. She said that not all of them were overgrown boys like me. One at least, she said, was a man. Still waters run deep, she said.'
He fell silent.
'That's little enough to go on.' 'Oh, there's other things. I've seen 'em talking. Seeing her looking at him. And when she goes missing like she did last Saturday he's usually not around either. But I wasn't certain, see? That's why I didn't ring the bell.' 'You were certain enough last Saturday afternoon when you put the boot in,' said Pascoe casually from his corner. Evans flushed and looked far more embarrassed than he had done at any stage so far. 'What? Oh, that. How do you know? Oh, I don't know what made me do that, rotten thing to do, that was. I was
