Free Evan Blessed by Rhys Bowen

pleasure of your company when you were involved in a case of domestic violence, Mr. Matthews. You came home drunk and knocked around your lady friend. Is that correct?”
    â€œYou can’t hold that against me,” Dave Matthews said, looking at them defiantly, “because she dropped the charges. It never got to court. So as far as you’re concerned, it never happened.”
    â€œBut one thing that did happen was that you were fingerprinted,” Watkins said.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œWould you mind telling us what you were doing yesterday?”
    The reaction was complete surprise. “Yesterday? What the bloody hell is this about? Yesterday I was working the early shift at Tesco, mate, then I came home and had an afternoon kip because I’d been up since five, and then me and the band practiced over at Gareth’s house in the evening. Not exactly the most thrilling day of my life.”
    â€œYou ride a motorbike, is that correct?”
    â€œThat’s right. A Harley. My pride and joy.”
    â€œEver take it off road?”
    â€œWhat’s this all about? That old git down the street complaining about me revving the engine and waking him up late at night again?”
    â€œEver drive up Llanberis way and onto the mountain?”
    â€œWhat on earth for?”
    â€œSo you’ve never ridden your bike through Llanberis?”
    â€œI might have done, although I can’t think why. Deader than a doornail once you get to those bloody villages, isn’t it? Not recently anyway. And I don’t take her off road. I’m not risking mud on the chrome.”

    â€œWhat time did you clock out yesterday?”
    â€œTwo o’clock.”
    â€œAnd you said you took a nap when you got home. Anyone vouch for that?”
    â€œYeah, I’ve got my harem waiting for me, haven’t I? Of course nobody can bloody vouch for it.”
    â€œYour girlfriend? Are you still together?”
    â€œWe don’t live together no more. She’s a bloody pain in the arse, nagging about my smoking all the time.”
    â€œSo nobody saw you come home yesterday and nobody saw you leave again?’
    Matthews shrugged. “Someone on the street might have done,” he said. “The old biddy opposite has got nothing better to do than sit behind her curtains.”
    Watkins glanced at Evan. “Anything you’d like to ask, Constable?”
    Evan wasn’t at all sure where this was going. He couldn’t equate this unkempt, overweight individual with the builder of the bunker who had meticulously stacked supplies, made the bed with hospital corners, and who listened to Bach.
    â€œNot really, sir,” Evan replied.
    Watkins gave him a swift look before he said, “All right, Matthews, you’re free to go for now.”
    Dave got to his feet. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
    â€œNot at the moment. We may be calling on you again.”
    â€œThen do you mind calling my supervisor and telling him that I ain’t done nothing wrong. I don’t want him getting ideas about me when I’m a law-abiding citizen.” The big man pushed his way past them and stumped out of the interview room.
    â€œSo what do you think?” Watkins asked when Matthews had been escorted out.
    â€œIf you want my opinion, he had nothing to do with it,” Evan said.
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    â€œWrong type,” Evan said. “Men who bash their women around don’t have to fantasize about keeping one of them in chains. And
you saw how neat and ordered that bunker was. This bloke probably only takes a wash once a week.”
    Watkins pushed back his sandy hair, which was now showing the first signs of gray at the sides. “I can’t disagree with that. But the fingerprint on the baked beans tin?”
    â€œHe does work at Tesco,” Evan pointed out. “He was probably the one who put it on the shelf.”
    Watkins