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Authors: Rhys Bowen

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“What nasty language, Mr. Policeman.” Jingo Roberts stepped out into Tony’s front hall and stood behind Tony. “If you don’t beat it right now, I might have to call the cops and say Tony’s being harassed by you.”
“Listen to me, Tony,” Evan said, ignoring the insolent smile behind Tony’s back. “If you get busted, it’s you who’ll go to jail. He won’t. His sort never do. So why don’t you get right away from here and find yourself a real job, while you’ve still got the chance.”
“A real job?” Jingo said. “What sort of real job did you have in mind, Mr. Policeman?” He put his hand into his pocket and produced a thick wad of twenty-pound notes. “Does your job pay this well? Tony’s got a bright future with me if he does what he’s told.”
“My job won’t wind me up behind bars one day,” Evan said.
“It might wind you up dead, though,” Jingo said, still grinning.
The desire to hit him was becoming overwhelming. Evan dug
his clenched fist into his side. “Just think about what I said, Tony. Make up your own mind, okay?”
Then he turned and strode back to his car. He thought he heard them laughing behind him.
 
That evening Evan paid a visit to the pub. It had been a stressful day, the atmosphere at home was still frosty in the extreme, and he felt in need of a pint. He also wanted to see Maggie. He might find himself out of a job when he got home, so there was no harm in letting her know he was still interested in trying out for the rugby team. Luckily Bronwen refused his invitation to accompany him. “No thanks. You go and see your old friends. I’ve still got to catch up on sleep.”
Maggie was standing at the bar with a group of men, but she came across to Evan when she saw him.
“Looking for me, are you? That’s a good sign. So you finally got bored with Blodwyn. I knew you would.”
“About the rugby team,” Evan said. “You know, I think I might be interested after all. I might find myself looking for a job when I get home.”
Maggie gave him a beaming smile. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “Stew will be pleased. He needs someone reliable like you, and your police work would be a help too, dealing with the crowds and things.”
“Dealing with the crowds?”
“Well, the assistant manager is really a bit of a general dogsbody, you know. Everything from handling the ticket money to evicting hooligans. I’m afraid the pay won’t be brilliant, but it could get better once the club is on its feet.”
“You want me to be the assistant manager?” Evan felt his face flushing bright red.
“Yes, didn’t I say? What did you think we wanted you for? I told Stew, you can’t trust those shifty types up in North Wales. You need someone like Evan who’s steady and reliable.”
“You know, I’m afraid I’ll have to say no after all,” Evan managed with great dignity. “If the pay won’t be brilliant, that is. I’m getting
married, you see. I’ll need to earn enough to support a family. But thanks for the offer anyway.”
He made his way out through the evening crowd at the bar.
 
The next morning as Evan was packing his bag, ready to leave, he went into Bronwen’s room.
“You said you wanted one of these,” he said, and held out an object wrapped in tissue paper.
“What is it?” She gave him an excited smile. “A little large for an engagement ring. Oh.”
“It’s a love spoon,” Evan said, noting the reaction wasn’t the one he had expected. “I went to that little shop. You said you wanted one.”
“One that you had carved yourself, I meant. Like boys did in the old days.”
“I tried that,” Evan said. “In fact I started on one while you were away.”
“So why don’t you finish it?”
Evan went back into his room. “Maybe because it looks like this? Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing,” Bronwen said.
“It looks like a camel doing the splits. I never was any good at woodwork.”
“I think it’s lovely just,” Bronwen said, using one of Betsy the barmaid’s favorite expressions. “Bring it home with you, and when you finish it, we’ll hang it up in our house.”
There was no understanding women, Evan decided. He would never learn what pleased them.
 
Then finally, they were heading home.
“I hope Eirlys won’t mind that I’ve left Prince William with my parents,” Bronwen said. They were driving home by the quicker route, up the motorway on the English side of the border after a couple of days with Bronwen’s parents.
“She’ll be delighted that he’s safe.”
“She won’t recognize him when she sees him again. He’ll be a big fat sheep.”
“A big, fat healthy sheep.”
“That’s true. I think I’m going to miss him. When we finally move into a house of our own, can I have a pet lamb, do you think?”
“I thought most women wanted children.”
“I want both.” She smiled at him. “Children, dogs, lambs, chickens …”
“Hold on a minute, you’ll be turning the place into a bloody Noah’s ark.”
“And why not?” Then her smile faltered. “Evan, look,” she said.
“What?”
“The fields.”
“What about them?”
“They’re empty. No animals in them.”
“So they are. That’s not a good sign, is it?”
After they left the motorway at Shrewsbury and drove west, the silence became oppressive. Empty field after empty field. Hardly any traffic on the roads. And then they saw the brown pall ahead of them.
“What do you think that is?” Bronwen asked. “A forest fire? I thought we’d had plenty of rain this summer.”
They had been driving with the windows down. Soon the acrid smell was borne on the breeze toward them, not the pleasant odor of roasting meat but rather of singed hair and burning bone. Bronwen coughed and rolled up the window. Evan followed suit.
“This is terrible,” she said. “There seems to be burning going on everywhere you look.”
“I dread to think what we will find when we get home.” Evan slowed to negotiate a mound of disinfected straw across the road, then another. “I wonder if I could have done anything if I had stayed here?”
“Of course you couldn’t. These things are best left to strangers.”
By the time they reached Betys-y-Coed, there were no more burning pyres in the fields and Evan’s spirits began to rise. Maybe the disease had bypassed Llanfair after all. They drove past Capel
Curig and up to where the road branched and dropped down to the Llanberis pass.
“I still don’t see any sheep,” Bronwen said.
There was an ominous silence as they got out of the car. Llanfair was basking in pink twilight, but the place appeared empty and abandoned. On a normal August day there would have been a stream of cars heading back to the hotels on the coast. The little general store and the petrol station would have been doing a roaring trade, but both were closed. As they watched, a lone figure came out of one of the cottages and made his way slowly down the street. Evan recognized Charlie Hopkins. He called out and Charlie came over to the car.
“Hello, Evan
bach
. I’d say welcome home, but it’s not much of a welcome, is it?”
“It looks pretty grim, Charlie,” Evan said. “What happened to all the sheep?”
“Slaughtered, every single one of them. They didn’t wait to check which ones were healthy and which were not. They all went. Poor Mr. Owens, he was shouting and cursing and pleading, but it didn’t do any good, did it? They threatened to arrest him if he got in their way. I’m glad you weren’t here to see it. And then they made a great big bonfire and everywhere you looked you could see other bonfires burning. The stench of it was something terrible. I said to Mair, I don’t think I’ll ever fancy lamb again.” He gave a resigned sigh.
“Poor Mr. Owens,” Bronwen said. “What will he do now, do you think? Are they going to compensate farmers for the animals they’ve lost?”
“Oh yes, they’ll do that,” Charlie Hopkins said. “But what good is compensation when he’s worked for years building up good breeding stock.”
“Like those two prize rams of his,” Evan said. “That must have been the most bitter blow.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that.” Charlie looked around, up and down the deserted street. “If you happen to be ever taking a hike
up and over Glydr Fach, you come down to a little stand of evergreen trees in a corrie, and right behind it is a disused sheep byre. Not very visible unless you happen to know about it, which, of course, those soldiers from the outside didn’t.”
Evan gave Bronwen an incredulous grin. “You don’t mean that Mr. Owens has put his two prize rams in it?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, because I’m not sprightly enough to climb up there anymore, but I have seen him heading that way with a bag of fodder from time to time.”
“I know I shouldn’t really approve of breaking the law,” Evan said, “but I’m really glad for him. And glad I wasn’t here when he did it.”
“Well, anyway, I hope you two have had a nice holiday,” Charlie said. “You didn’t do anything stupid like run off and get married, did you?”
“Nothing stupid like that,” Evan said, smiling at the old man. Bronwen glanced down at the new sapphire ring on her finger and smiled too.
“Oh, and talking of getting married, you’ll never guess what’s been going on while you were away?” Charlie’s old, weathered face lit up. “Betsy’s gone and got herself a bloke.”
“Really?” Evan asked. “Who?”
“Who do you think? The last person in the world you’d expect. Barry-the-Bucket.” He was nodding delightedly. “He took her to the dance last week, and it seems they really hit it off just fine. And now he’s showing up at the Dragon every evening with flowers, and they’re both acting all daft.”
“Barry-the-Bucket. Who would have thought it. Now you’re off the hook.” Bronwen slipped her hand into Evan’s.
“I’ve lived long enough to know that little miracles are happening every day,” Charlie Hopkins said. “That’s what we need in times like this—a few little miracles. I’ll see you down at the Dragon later then, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Evan said. Charlie shuffled on down the street and into the pub. Evan put his arm around Bronwen’s shoulders and they stood together, watching the twilight fade behind the black silhouette of the mountains.
bach
—little. Used as a term of endearment, similar to English “love” (pronounced like the composer)
 
noswaith dda
—
good evening (pronounced
nos-why-th thah)
 
cariad
—darling. Term of endearment (pronounced
ca-ree-ad)
 
Hen Diawll
—old devil. Harmless cussword like damn (pronounced
he de — owl-ch)
 
bara brith
—speckled bread (bread with mixed fruits in it) (pronounced as it looks)
 
Ydych chi’n siarad cymraeg?
—Do you speak Welsh? (pronounced
udich-een sharad cumrige)
 
Abertawe
—
Welsh name for Swansea. Means mouth of Tawe River (pronounced
aber-tah-way
)
 
Escob Annwyl
—
dear Bishop. Mild exclamation of horror (pronounced
escobe an-wheel)
 
Nain
—
grandmother in North Wales (pronounced
nine
)
 
eisteddfod
—Welsh cultural gathering. Literally means sitting (pronounced
eye-steth-fod)
 
cawl
—a thick lamb soup (pronounced
cowl)
The Constable Evans Mysteries
Evans to Betsy
Evan Can Wait
Evan and Elle
Evan Help Us
Evans Above
Evanly Choirs
 
 
The Molly Murphy Mysteries
 
Death of Riley
Murphy’s Law
EVAN ONLY KNOWS. Copyright © 2003 by Rhys Bowen. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
 
 
 
 
eISBN 9781429992176
First eBook Edition : June 2011
 
 
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bowen, Rhys.
Evan only knows / Rhys Bowen.—1st ed. p. cm.
1. Evans, Evan (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Murder victims’ families—Fiction. 3. Trials (Murder)—Fiction. 4. Police—Wales—Fiction. 5. Swansea (Wales)—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6052.O848 E886 2003
823’.914—dc21
2002031890
First Edition: March 2003

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