Paul Gitsham - No Smoke Without Fire

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In the interview room, Warren finished advising Bill Evans that he was not under arrest and that he was there to answer questions on a purely voluntary basis. The man nodded wearily. He had aged in the past hours, Warren saw, looking even more haggard than he had during the press conference. Was it grief? Guilt? A mixture of the two? Warren’s gut was sending him conflicting signals. Bill Evans had something to hide; he was certain of that. But what? The scenario and timing just didn’t seem right to Warren. Everything pointed to a planned, premeditated kidnapping and attack but the only scenario under which Warren could see Bill Evans killing his beloved daughter was anything but that.

Beside him sat Tony Sutton. It was the first time that the detective inspector had met Evans and he stared at him with barely concealed fascination, the way one might look at a strange and dangerous creature in the zoo. Of course, it was all part of the act. Sutton’s role in this was to keep Evans on edge, making it more likely that he would slip up and reveal something that he didn’t want to.

With all of the legal requirements fulfilled, Warren decided to open with a quick, hard question designed to rattle the man’s cage.

“Tell me, Mr Evans, why did you lie to us about your whereabouts on the night of your daughter’s disappearance?”

Evans blinked in surprise. “I didn’t.”

“Come on, Bill, we’re not idiots. You claimed to have been up in Leeds overseeing one of your new branches. We phoned head office and they said that you hadn’t been in Leeds for months and that you had been working exclusively in the Cambridge office since the summer.”

Evans continued to look bewildered. “I never said any such thing. I hardly said two words to you before I left.”

Suddenly a cold feeling of dread went through Jones, followed by a flush of embarrassment. The man was right. He had said no such thing. It was Jane Evans who had claimed that her husband had been working away in Leeds; he had not even discussed his whereabouts that night. Shit! What a stupid mistake! And worse, he’d potentially squandered any opportunity of a ‘perverting the course of justice’ charge that would have at least given them a pretext to release him on police bail whilst they continued their enquiries.

Well, no use crying over spilt milk, Warren quickly decided.

“Well, your wife seems to think you have been working there — what are you doing there each month?”

As if sensing that Warren was on the back foot, Evans sneered, “I don’t see what that has to do with anything, Detective Chief Inspector. My private life is just that.”

“Be that as it may, Mr Evans. Perhaps we should confine ourselves to the night Sally went missing. Your wife appears to be under the impression that you were in Leeds. Your company claims otherwise. This gives you the perfect window of opportunity to take your daughter away from work, kill her and dump her body, before appearing at three a.m. to help with the hunt for her. We know all about the arguments that you had with Sally about her job and her boyfriend. What was it that caused you to snap Mr Evans?”

There was silence in the room, before the father in front of them started to cry — great wracking sobs that shook his shoulders and sent tears coursing down his face. Finally, he regained his composure enough to speak.

“You’re right, but not about killing Sally. I could never hurt my darling daughter.” He paused for a moment, then continued.

“I haven’t been to Leeds for months. It’s just an excuse. I’ve been seeing someone I met on the Internet. I think she’s married as well. I use the excuse of staying overnight in Leeds to spend time with her. She does the same.” He started to cry again. “I’m such a fucking coward. On the night that Sally went missing, Jane phoned me. I was supposed to be in Leeds. My little girl was missing and yet I stayed in bed with my lover in a bloody Cambridge hotel for two and a half hours before driving home to my family, just so I wouldn’t arouse suspicion. My place was with my wife…” He stopped, unable to continue.

Warren waited for the man to compose himself.

“You realise that we are going to have to check out your story, don’t you? We’ll need to contact this woman and get her to back you up. We’ll also need details of the hotel.”

The man nodded miserably. “I can get you the details of the hotel. I use my credit card — it just comes up as a Travelodge, doesn’t say where it is. The problem is, I don’t know the name of the woman.”

Warren blinked in surprise. “How does that work?”

Evans stared at the table-top, his voice now rough with embarrassment. “We met on the Internet. It’s a special, discreet site for people wanting affairs. No names, no details, just anonymous sex. If you want something more regular they supply an untraceable private email account and mobile phone SIM cards. We arrange to meet online.”

“Well, you must call her something.” Sutton struggled to hide the incredulity in his voice.

The man’s voice was barely audible. “Boadicea.”

“As in the ancient queen of the Britons? What are you called?”

“Arthur,” he mumbled.

“But that’s two completely different legends…”

Warren placed a hand on Sutton’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “I’m sure we can discuss the details later if necessary. In the meantime, how can we get hold of this…woman?”

Evans looked helpless.

“I don’t know. We arrange to meet up the first weekend of each month. I log on a couple of days before and she leaves me a message telling me when to keep my mobile phone switched on for her to call. Then she tells me when we are going to meet up. I book the room on my credit card.”

“Send her an email and ask to see her sooner.”

“It doesn’t work that way. We keep to the arrangement to avoid getting caught. She probably won’t read her email.”

“Can’t you phone her?”

“I don’t have her number — she blocks it when she calls me. Besides, I think she uses a separate SIM card — I know that I do. I don’t even put it in until I need to and I’ve never had a missed call. I think she does the same.”

Warren sighed in frustration. “You aren’t being much help here, Bill.”

The other man gestured helplessly. “The whole point of this set-up is not to make it easy to track each other down.”

Again he started to look tearful. “The thing is, I love my wife very much. She really is the one I want to grow old with and I know that she feels the same, ‘till death us do part’ and all that…”

“Isn’t the next line, ‘forsaking all others’?” interjected Sutton.

A brief flash of anger crossed the man’s face.

“Don’t be so fast to judge, Detective. My wife is not a well woman — we haven’t been intimate for years. A man has needs…” He broke off. “Anyway, I don’t need to explain myself to you.” With that he folded his arms and stared at a spot above both men’s heads.

Needing to get the interview back on track, Warren spoke softly.

“You are right, Mr Evans, the details of your private life are none of our concern. However we are in the middle of a murder investigation and it is our job to eliminate suspects. For that, we need your co-operation.”

After a few moments, Evans grunted softly and agreed to hand over what details he had of his mysterious lover and the mobile phone that he used to Welwyn’s IT specialists.

With the interview back on track, Warren steered it around to the sensitive subject of Darren Blackheath. Immediately Evans’ eyes flashed with anger.

“I can’t understand what she sees in that man. I really can’t. She was so beautiful and she had so much going for her… Why would she waste herself on that loser?”