last.
"You don't think he'd have killed himself?" Bragg asked.
"Martin Rogers kill himself? Good God, no. Last person on earth to do that. He had a very high opinion of himself, Inspector.
No, I'd be most surprised if you told me that Martin had killed himself."
"But not surprised if I told you that somebody else had killed him?" Bragg asked.
"Well, yes, actually I would be surprised. We all had our differences with Martin. He wasn't always easy to get along with,
but he could be highly entertaining, too. And as for someone killing him-was it some kind of home invasion, some kind of young
thug? There have been too many of those around town these days."
"We can't tell yet, sir. Our forensic team is still working on the crime scene. We're just here asking preliminary questions,
trying to get some idea of the man's life and whether anyone might have had a motive for wanting him out of the way. You worked
closely with him, did you?"
"Yes, we're a tightly knit bunch in the History Department. We work closely together."
"And do I understand correctly that Professor Rogers was head of the department?"
"Yes, he was. Not to everyone's satisfaction, I might say."
"Meaning what? He wasn't good at his job?"
"Oh no, he was a first-rate historian. Meticulous researcher. Really knew his stuff. But our department is now called the
School of History and Welsh History. Professor Rogers isn't a native Welsh speaker, you see. He's quite fluent, but it's different
if you're not born to it, isn't it?"
"And you are a native Welsh speaker?" Evan couldn't resist asking.
"Not me. Good Lord, no. I can barely stammer through Iechyd Da! He pronounced it Yacky da . I'm an archeologist and I'm currently digging up a Roman camp nearby, so luckily language doesn't matter in my case. No,
it's Dr. Humphries who really cares. She's been in the department as long as Rogers, you see, and Welsh history is her speciality.
She's very bitter that the chair went to Rogers."
"Bitter enough to want him out of the way?"
Dr. Skinner gave an embarrassed chuckle. "No, I don't see Gwyneth as the killing sort. How was he killed, by the way?"
"Shot through an open kitchen window."
"I see." He paused, considering. "So anyone could have done it. It would be easy enough to slink into that large garden, hide
out in the bushes, and wait for the perfect chance. If one believes the papers, some young people do it for sport these days,
just for the fun of watching someone die." He looked up as if the thought had just crossed his mind. "Presumably Missy knows
he's been killed. How is she taking it?"
"Very calmly so far," Bragg said.
"Yes, she would. What a trouper. She's a saint, that woman."
"What makes you say that, sir?" Bragg was quick to ask.
"As I said before, Martin wasn't the easiest man in the world. He liked everything his way, all the time, and heaven help
the person who upset him. I don't imagine that Missy had an easy life with him. In many ways he was like an overgrown child.
Hewas sent off to boarding school at seven, you know. It's my personal belief that they stunt one's emotional growth. Martin
was emotionally frozen at seven. If he didn't get his own way, he'd have a temper tantrum. But from what I saw, Missy was
quite good at handling him-like an efficient nanny, you know."
Evan had been watching Skinner's face as he spoke. He was making a supreme attempt to stay calm, casual, and disinterested.
He's sweet on her, Evan decided. And if she was secretly sweet on him, they'd have a perfect motive for doing away with Martin
Rogers right there in front of them.
"Did you have much chance to observe Professor Rogers at home?" Bragg was asking.
"We went round there quite often, as a matter of fact. Martin liked to hold faculty meetings there. Most of the rest of us
aren't married, you see, and Rhys Thomas's wife is a God-awful cook, so it made sense. Missy always puts on a wonderful spread
for us, and Martin