Evan Only Knows (2 page)
Authors: Rhys Bowen
“What you can do is go and talk to some damned farmer,” the man said. “We’re here on a walking holiday, and we were just about to hike up Glydr Fach when we found the path had been blocked off.” Evan glanced over at the car where two other elderly men with round cherubic faces watched from wound-down windows. “My fellow members of the clergy and I have been coming here every summer since 1956, and until now we have had no problems.”
Evan was just realizing the implications of the man’s complaint. “The path was blocked, you say?” he asked.
“Taped across, more like it,” one of the other elderly gentlemen chimed in from the car. “Lots of yellow plastic tape. And not just one path either. We drove up to the second footpath, and it had tape across it too. And the words ‘Keep Out.’”
“Some bolshie farmer trying to deny an ancient right of way,” the first man said. “It happens from time to time. Some chap thinks he can ignore a public footpath across his land. But we never let them get away with it. We’d like you to go and talk to him, Constable. Let him know that it’s against the law to block off a right of way.”
“I’ll come down and see it with you,” Evan said, “but I don’t think the farmer had anything to do with it this time. I don’t know
whether you’ve been reading the papers, but I’m afraid that foot-and-mouth disease has spread to this part of Wales. I was just at a briefing in Caernarfon, and it doesn’t look good. It seems it’s only a matter of time before the farmers here have to slaughter their flocks.”
whether you’ve been reading the papers, but I’m afraid that foot-and-mouth disease has spread to this part of Wales. I was just at a briefing in Caernarfon, and it doesn’t look good. It seems it’s only a matter of time before the farmers here have to slaughter their flocks.”
The man’s bluster evaporated. “But that’s terrible,” he said with concern. “So you think that was why they’ve blocked off the footpaths?”
“I would imagine so, sir. I understand the Ministry of Agriculture’s men are already in the area doing inspections, and they’ll be doing everything they can to stop the disease from spreading—which would mean closing footpaths, I expect.”
“Of course, I quite understand,” the vicar said, nodding to his fellows. “They wouldn’t want to risk having anyone carrying infected soil on his boots. Well, this is a setback, I must say.”
“It will completely spoil our holiday,” one of the men in the car said.
“I should think it will spoil a lot of holidays,” Evan said. “The timing couldn’t have been worse, right at the beginning of the school summer holidays too. It will be a disaster for all the local business people.”
“Yes, I suppose it will. Never thought of that.” The vicar stood staring up at the mountains with a wistful look on his face. “So what do you suggest, Constable? Do you think we should get out as soon as possible and try somewhere else?”
Evan glanced up at the hills, from which came the sporadic bleating of sheep. “You’re all clergymen, you say? Then I suggest you gentlemen do some serious praying. We’re going to need it.”
Evan watched the car drive away. He pictured the same scene being replayed all over the area, families packing up and leaving, souvenir shops and cafés with no customers. Everyone in the area would be affected somehow. But with any luck he’d be out of it—sitting in a classroom in Colwyn Bay, taking notes on the art of surveillance and the psychology of the criminal mind. He stood outside the police station, staring up at the hillside. Some of this year’s lambs, now fat and fleecy, were chasing one another in a last fling of youthful exuberance. Higher on the hillside he could see the square white building of Owen’s farm. As he watched, a squat, solid figure wearing a cloth cap and gumboots came striding purposefully down the track toward the village with two black-and-white sheepdogs at his heels. Farmer Owens was heading down to the village. Evan wondered if he’d heard the bad news yet. If he hadn’t, it would be kinder coming from Evan himself than from some officious young chap at the Ministry of Agriculture. He hurried up the track to meet the farmer.The two dogs ran forward to meet him, tails wagging furiously.
“Mot, Gel, get back here,” the farmer commanded, and the dogs scurried back to his heels.
“I was just coming to see you, Mr. Owens,” Evan said.
“And I was just on my way to see you, Constable Evans,” the
farmer said. “I must have called the station ten times and all I got was the bloody answering machine.”
farmer said. “I must have called the station ten times and all I got was the bloody answering machine.”
Evan noted that the farmer had called him constable instead of by his first name. “So you’ve already heard, have you?” he asked. “I was on my way to warn you.”
“Well, then, you’re too bloody late,” Farmer Owens snapped. “I’ve had some pale-faced young prick in a raincoat telling me I’m under quarantine until further orders. I can’t move any stock; I can’t sell any stock. I’ve got a field full of fat lambs ready for market, look you. Who do they bloody well think they are, coming up here from London and dictating to us?”
“I suppose they’re only doing their job,” Evan said, wincing as he said it at the triteness of the remark. “They’re trying to stop the disease from spreading even farther.”
“Then they’re doing a pretty poor job of it, aren’t they? They could have contained it in Cumberland when they had a chance.”
“I agree, but they obviously didn’t realize how serious it was going to be. Look how quickly it crossed the Pennines and spread to the Lake District.”
“But there are no cases that I’ve heard in our area yet,” Farmer Owens said. “What gives them the right to go around slaughtering stock willy-nilly, just in case the disease might come here?”
“I suppose they’re trying to create something like a firebreak, to halt the spread southward.”
“They’re not using my animals as a firebreak,” Farmer Owens said so aggressively that his dogs cowered. “Do you know how long it’s taken me to build up that stock? I’ve got a couple of breeding rams that cost me a year’s income, and some young idiot from Whitehall tells me to be cooperative when the army arrives to slaughter them?”
“Look, I’m really sorry,” Evan said.
“Sorry isn’t good enough. Well, I’m not going to take it lying down, I can tell you that, Evan
bach.
It’s my land and I have a right to keep trespassers off it, haven’t I?”
bach.
It’s my land and I have a right to keep trespassers off it, haven’t I?”
“Trespassers, yes, but …”
“Then I want you to help me enforce it. Next bloody young
squirt in a raincoat who tries to come through my gate, you arrest him for me.”
squirt in a raincoat who tries to come through my gate, you arrest him for me.”
Evan laughed. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Then I’ll have to do it on my own. But I’m warning you right now—let them try and bring their army trucks up to my farm. They’ll not find it easy. I’m building roadblocks across both my tracks, and I’ll be waiting with my shotgun.”
Evan chuckled nervously. “Come on now, Mr. Owens. How would it help if you wound up in jail?”
“Just making my stand, look you, Evan. I don’t really intend to hurt anyone, but if my little skirmish makes the daily papers and I can get public sympathy on the side of us farmers, maybe I’ll have done some good. I’m writing to the minister of Agriculture today. I’m telling him that I keep my rams separate from the rest of the flock, so there’s no need to slaughter them if it comes to that.”
Evan didn’t reply. He had a feeling that hundreds of such letters had been landing on the minister’s table.
“Or I was thinking of putting them in my van one night and driving them across to my cousin’s place on Anglesey. Surely this stupid foot-and-mouth won’t be able to jump across the water to get there, will it?”
“And what if your rams have been exposed and you’re the one who brings the disease over there?” He bent to pat the sheepdog’s head, so that he didn’t have to look the farmer in the eye. “Look, I know this is terrible for you, but it’s the same for everyone, isn’t it? This is one of those times when we all have to do things we don’t like for the good of the whole. I bet your dad didn’t want to go off to fight in World War Two, did he? But he went just the same.”
“You’re talking like a sanctimonious little bugger, you know that?” Farmer Owens glared at Evan. “It’s all right for you, isn’t it? What have you got to lose? How would you know what it’s like to work your whole life for something, then watch it taken away from you? It will break my wife’s heart, you know.”
“I’m really sorry—”
“You said that before, didn’t you? I dare say you are, but you’re
not prepared to help us keep those bastards out, are you? Good day to you then, Constable. I’ve got work to do. I’m driving the flock up to the high pastures. They’ll not be so easy to catch up there!”
not prepared to help us keep those bastards out, are you? Good day to you then, Constable. I’ve got work to do. I’m driving the flock up to the high pastures. They’ll not be so easy to catch up there!”
He turned on his heels and strode back up the track with the dogs running at his heels. Evan watched him for a while before he turned for home. When he got back to the police station, his answering machine was blinking furiously. Probably Mr. Owens, he thought, and pressed the play button.
“Constable Evans, where have you been?” came the imperious female voice that he recognized so well. “The most extraordinary thing has happened. I went to go out of my back gate and some malicious person has taped it shut. And I think I know who it was too. I saw the Parry Davies woman out on the path this morning with her horrid little dogs. It would be just the kind of thing she would do to spite me. And one of her dogs left a nasty calling card just outside my gate too. Please go and confront her. I am just getting the scissors to remove her tape.”
Evan sighed. For once Mrs. Powell-Jones, wife of the Reverend Powell-Jones, minister of Capel Beulah, was not his major problem. But he’d have to go and face her before she had a confrontation with the brainless twit from the Ministry of Agriculture who was sealing footpaths without explanation. He let the answering machine play on as he went through the mail. Among the letters was one from police headquarters in Colwyn Bay. He opened this eagerly. It would be the details of his new assignment.
Then he sat there, staring in horror and disbelief. The message was from the Chief Constable, brief and to the point.
To all personnel in North Wales Police. Due to the current emergency situation, all training sessions will be postponed. All leave, apart from compassionate, is cancelled until further notice. I hope I can count on all of you to make this difficult process go smoothly.
Evan dropped the letter, got up, and paced the room. So there was to be no escape after all. He imagined having to restrain Bill
Owens as his prize rams were led to the execution pit, and of the same scene being played over and over with other farmers who had become his friends. Even visiting Mrs. Powell-Jones seemed preferable to sitting here brooding at this moment.
Owens as his prize rams were led to the execution pit, and of the same scene being played over and over with other farmers who had become his friends. Even visiting Mrs. Powell-Jones seemed preferable to sitting here brooding at this moment.
Surprisingly that encounter went remarkably smoothly. When Mrs. Powell-Jones realized why her back gate had been taped shut, she was more than cooperative.
“Anything I can do to stop this awful disease from spreading, Constable Evans—anything at all. You just have to ask. We all have to pull together at moments of crisis like this. Mummy was wonderful in the war, you know. She rallied the whole community. I will speak to my husband and arrange a meeting in the village hall. We’ll need volunteers to patrol the area and keep intruders out of the fields. You can start with that monstrosity, the Everest Inn, Constable Evans. Go up there and set them straight. Just because people come there and pay exorbitant amounts, they’ll think they have the right to hike and climb wherever they please.”
Evan left with a full list of instructions and in need of a drink. He went home for a hurried snack of bread and cheese then headed across the road to the Red Dragon, looking forward to a Guinness and good cheering up. The bar was full as he pushed open the door and ducked under the oak beam. There was the usual hum of chatter in Welsh and figures silhouetted in the smoky fug. He stood in the doorway, feeling the tension slip away, then eased his way through the crowd up to the long oak bar with his usual cheerful,
“Noswaith dda,
everyone.”
“Noswaith dda,
everyone.”
Usually this greeting was returned warmly, often with the offer to buy him a pint. Betsy the barmaid’s face would light up on seeing him, and she would usually pull the neckline of her T-shirt just a little lower, leaning forward provocatively across the bar. Tonight, however, he was met with stony faces.
“Hello, Betsy
cariad,”
Evan said, more than a little surprised. “The usual, if you don’t mind.”
cariad,”
Evan said, more than a little surprised. “The usual, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m busy at the moment,” Betsy said frostily. “You’ll just have to wait your turn.”
“Hang on a minute,” Evan said. “Have I done something to upset you?”
Betsy went on calmly drawing a pint with just the right amount of froth on top. “You’ve upset everyone, haven’t you?”
“By doing what?”
“If you don’t know, we’re not going to tell you.” She put the pint down in front of a small wiry man. “There you are then, Charlie
bach,
get that down you and you’ll feel a lot better.”
bach,
get that down you and you’ll feel a lot better.”
Evan turned to the elderly man. “Charlie?” he said. “What’s this all about then?”
Charlie only half met his gaze. “Owens-the-Sheep was in here already. He told us about you. Said you weren’t even sympathetic. Told him a lot of guff about doing his duty. I thought you were one of us, Evan
bach.”
bach.”
“Of course I’m on your side,” Evan said. “But there’s not much I can do, is there? I can’t arrest the blokes from the Ministry of Agriculture for trespassing, like Mr. Owens wants me to do. And I certainly can’t stand by and watch him keep the army at bay with his shotgun.”
“But it’s just not right, is it?” Charlie Hopkins demanded. “He’s worked all his life to build up that flock. Do you know how much he paid to buy one of those rams from a fancy breeder in the South? How’s he going to start again if they slaughter the lot? He’ll be ruined, that’s what he’ll be.”
“It’s not as if we’ve had any cases in the area, is it?” Evans-the-Milk turned to join in the conversation. “I’ve been talking to the dairy farmers and none of them have tested positive yet. But they’ve got to stop selling their milk, just the same.”
“If you want my opinion,” Evans-the-Meat, the large, blustering butcher, poked his head between the other men, “it’s a bloody English plot to wipe out Welsh sheep. They know our lamb is better than theirs and fetches a higher price, so this is a good excuse to finish us off.”
“Oh come on, Gareth
bach.”
Evan attempted a chuckle. “Look how many English flocks have already been slaughtered. It was really only a matter of time before it reached us.”
bach.”
Evan attempted a chuckle. “Look how many English flocks have already been slaughtered. It was really only a matter of time before it reached us.”
“I’m with Evans-the-Meat for once,” Evans-the-Milk said, draping an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “They’ve no right to come interfering in Wales. We’ve got our own Assembly now, haven’t we? They should be making the rules, not some idiots in London.”
“I tell you one thing,” Evans-the-Meat went on, fired by the support around him. “I’m going to stand by Owens-the-Sheep, no matter what.”
“Me too.” A well-built young man in dirty overalls edged his way into the circle. “I’ve already told him I’ll bring the bulldozer to help build a blockade across his tracks. Let’s see how keen those army blokes are if they have to slog half a mile up the mountain.”
“I knew we could count on Barry-the-Bucket,” the butcher said, beaming at him proudly. “One of us, that’s what you are, boyo. Llanfair born and bred.”
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