Evans Above by Rhys Bowen Page B

constable,” the friendly young policewoman at the front desk said to Evan when he arrived at headquarters the next morning. “Sergeant Watkins has got Thomas Hatcher’s mother here to see the body. He’s expecting you.”
    Evan had driven down right away in response to a phone call. The more he thought about the two accidents, the more he was convinced he was not wrong in his first suspicion. Scotland Yard hadn’t been helpful. It turned out that Thomas Hatcher was only an ordinary copper on the beat and not, as Evan had hoped, an undercover cop pursuing some secret assignment on the mountain. He hoped Thomas Hatcher’s mother might reveal something, because Sergeant Watkins was clearly anxious to close this case and release the bodies for burial.
    She looked up as he came into the room, a small, skinny woman with a sharp cockney face and even sharper eyes. She was clearly wearing her Sunday best—a wool coat that had
once been black, now faded to brownish gray, and a small black hat. She clutched a large black purse and her umbrella defiantly to her.
    â€œYou were the one who found my Tommy, was yer?” she asked.
    Evan nodded. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Hatcher. It must be a nasty shock for you.”
    Mrs. Hatcher nodded and Evan noticed that her fingers clenched and unclenched around the handle of her purse, even though her face remained impassive and her eyes dry. “He was a good boy,” she said. “A good son, too.”
    â€œDid he live with you?” Evan asked.
    She shook her head. “No, he had his own place, but he came over to visit regular, once a month. Always tried to come to Sunday dinner and never forgot my birthday. He was a good boy.”
    â€œDid he do a lot of walking and climbing? Was that his hobby?” Evan asked.
    The small, sharp eyes opened wider. “Not that I ever heard of. He had his motorbike, of course. That was his main hobby—always working on it, he was. He loved that bike. But I’ve never heard he had any interest in mountain climbing. Of course, he liked excitement. He might have gone if one of his friends suggested it.”
    â€œDid he have a lot of friends?”
    â€œOh yes. Everyone liked Tommy,” she said.
    â€œEver hear him talk of a friend called Stewart? Stew Potts? Funny old name, isn’t it?”
    The face registered no change of expression. “I can’t say I ever heard that name. Of course, he was always close—never told me much, even when he was a little kid. I used to say”How was school?” and he’d say”All right.” That’s all I ever got out of him.”
    â€œSo he didn’t tell you why he was going to North Wales for the weekend?”
    â€œHe never even told me he was going,” she said. “You could have knocked me down with a feather when the policeman came to the door. I didn’t believe it was my Tommy, not until I saw the body …” Her voice trailed away into silence. “It seems such a waste, don’t it?” she said in a cracked voice. “He was doing so well. He was so happy now. He’d got a nice girlfriend and he loved being a policeman. We were all so glad he’d finally found something he wanted to do with his life. We all knew he’d made a mistake going into the army, but you can’t tell a seventeen-year-old anything, can you? They always know better.”
    She got to her feet. “I best be getting along then. I’ve got a train to catch. They’ll tell me when I can make the funeral arrangements, will they?”
    â€œYes, they’ll be in touch,” Evan said. “And Mrs. Hatcher, if you take a look in his flat and you find anything that would give us a hint what he was doing here, let me know, will you?” He scribbled his phone number and address on a sheet of paper.
    â€œYou think there’s something wrong, don’t you?” she asked, the sharp eyes