Swansong (19 page)

‘Daddy’s girl indeed,’ replied Dixon. ‘Look at this. He even had to get an order allowing service of the petition by email because he had no address for her. I wonder what became of Mr Taylor?’

‘I’ll find out.’

‘What about her medical records?’

‘Here they are. Not much use, though. They begin nine years ago, presumably when she got back from Kenya.’

‘It’s time I had a proper word with Rowena, I think,’ said Dixon. ‘Where’s Chard?’

‘Gone home.’

‘Whatever time she’s being charged tomorrow morning, get it put back. Set up an interview for 10 a.m. but don’t tell her it’ll be me interviewing her. She’ll need Dunn here too, don’t forget.’

‘She’s in the Custody Centre at Express Park.’

‘That’s fine. They’ll be bringing her over anyway to be charged.’

‘Chard’s gonna love this.’

‘Get him to ring me if you have to. And get DCI Lewis here as well.’

‘Lewis?’

‘Someone of equal rank to Chard who’s on my side . . .’

‘I think you’ll find he’s on his own side.’

‘Possibly, but that’s better than nothing.’

‘Let me try Chard now. Then we can go and get something
to eat.’

‘OK.’

Dixon waited while Jane rang DCI Chard.

‘I’ve got DI Dixon with me, Sir. He’d like to interview Rowena Weatherly in the morning and I was wondering if we could put her charging back to the afternoon.’

Jane flinched, looked at her phone and then dropped it back into her handbag.

‘What’d he say?’

‘We’ll worry about it in the morning, apparently. 8 a.m. sharp.’

‘Tosser.’

‘Let’s go home,’ said Jane. ‘Nothing’s gonna happen tonight. We can feed Monty and then nip over to the Red Cow.’

‘Better not. If the birth certificate is genuine, then Gordon
Patrick
Lee is in that school somewhere, and that’s where I need to be.’

‘The Greyhound, then?’

‘OK. Just let me send Lewis a text,’ replied Dixon.

He took out his phone and tapped out a message to DCI Lewis.

Taunton ps tomorrow 8am can u be there? it’s going to hit the fan

The reply came as Jane drove out of Taunton towards Staple Fitzpaine.

that was quick! yes will be there

Monty was sitting at Dixon’s feet in the corner of the public bar with his lead looped around Dixon’s leg. He had stopped tying him to the table in pubs after an unfortunate incident with a cocker spaniel in the Red Cow that had ended in a horrible mess, another round of drinks and empty stomachs. Monty had just wanted to play, of course, but it had been after 9 p.m. and too late to order more food. Dixon would not make the same mistake again.

‘So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?’ asked Jane.

‘The first thing we’ve got to do is make sure Rowena is charged with the right offences.’

‘Which are?’

‘The murders of Clive Cooper and Derek Phelps.’

‘And the attempted murder of DI Nick Dixon?’

‘I’m not too fussed about that. She’ll get life, anyway, so . . .’ Dixon shook his head.

‘I’m guessing you want Lewis there because it’ll come out ab
out Fran
?’

‘It will.’

‘Chard’ll go nuts.’

‘Possibly. But I’m relying on Lewis to calm him down. After all, Chard’s the one who’s going to look a prat.’

‘So, what if Rowena clams up?’

‘We’ve got to hope she doesn’t,’ replied Dixon. ‘Time’s running out and we haven’t got the DNA results on the lock of hair yet, so I’ll be breaking my golden rule.’

‘Golden rule?’

‘Never ask a question you don’t know the answer to.’

Jane rolled her eyes.

‘Anyway,’ continued Dixon, ‘I can tell you who she’s protecting right now if you want.’

‘Really?’

‘I can even tell you his name.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘Gordon Patrick Lee.’

‘You really are a twat.’

‘Thank you, Constable.’

Jane dropped Dixon back at the school on her way home to feed Monty and give him a run in the field. It was just before 10 p.m. and all was quiet apart from a few sixth formers still in the library. The masters’ common room was empty and dark. Dixon felt for the light switches and turned them on. Then he walked along the lines of pigeonholes on the table to the left of the door, looking at the names of the teachers one by one.

Griffiths had no pigeonhole of his own but several envelopes addressed to him were in Haskill’s. Otherwise, Dixon spotted
nothing
untoward apart from a sealed envelope in Rowena’s. He opened it to find a memo informing her that the governors had decided to end the term a week early. Term would, therefore, finish this coming Friday morning, after the carol service on Thursday evening.

It came as no surprise, given Dixon’s conversation with the headmaster earlier that day. What it meant, though, was that he had a little over two days to find Rowena’s father.

He walked up to his rooms, unlocked the door and switched on the hall light. There was a note on the floor.

‘Could we have a chat when convenient, please, Sir? Ben
Masterson
.’

Dixon folded it up and put it in his pocket. He wondered what it was that Ben wanted to talk about. Tomorrow afternoon would be the earliest he could speak to him, unless he could catch up with him at breakfast, perhaps.

He lay down on the bed, set his alarm for 7 a.m. and closed his eyes. He imagined himself taking Monty for a walk on the beach on Saturday morning. It would all be over by then, one way or
the other
.

Chapter Thirteen

W
here the fuck have you been?’ said Chard. ‘I said 8 a.m.’

Dixon had been to breakfast at the school in the hope of catching Ben Masterson, but he had not turned up or, at least, had not done so before Dixon had to leave.

He looked around the room. Jane was sitting at her temporary desk in the far corner. DCI Chard and DI Baldwin were standing in front of the whiteboard talking to DCI Lewis, who was sitting on the corner of a desk. Dixon had watched them through the small windows in the door before he walked in. They had been engaged in an animated conversation, with lots of gesticulating by Chard at various photographs pinned on the board. You didn’t need to be an accomplished lip reader to get the gist of what he had been saying.

‘What’s this all about, Nick?’ asked Lewis.

‘Where’s Rowena Weatherly?’ asked Dixon.

‘On her way here,’ replied Baldwin.

‘Good. I need to speak to her about the murder of Clive
Cooper, among
st other things.’

‘The friend of Derek Phelps?’ asked Chard.

‘That’s right. On or about 7th March last year, Rowena staved in the back of his head, possibly with her hockey stick, and pushed him into the River Taff. He was found floating face down in the water just along from the Millennium Stadium. Coroner’s verdict was open.’

‘Why?’ asked Baldwin.

‘Blackmail.’

‘Jolly fucking hockey sticks,’ said Chard, with a sneer.

‘Best get on with it, then,’ said Lewis.

‘Thank you, Sir. There are other matters arising, so I suggest you watch the interview on the TV?’

‘Sounds fine to me,’ replied Lewis.

‘Has someone spoken to her solicitor?’

‘He’ll be here at 9.30 a.m.,’ said Baldwin.

‘And nobody’s told her or the solicitor it’ll be me interview
ing he
r?’

‘No.’

‘Let’s keep it that way, please.’

‘What’s the big deal?’ asked Chard. ‘She knows who you are from the school, anyway.’

‘She knows who I am and she knows what I know. That’s what frightens her and it’s why she tried to kill me.’

‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You’ll find out.’

‘How much longer are we going to be kept waiting?’

Stephen Dunn and Rowena Weatherly were sitting in an interview room. Opposite them DI Baldwin was sitting next to an empty chair. Chard, Lewis and Jane were sitting in an adjacent room watching the scene unfold on the television screen.

‘Where the bloody hell is he?’ asked Chard.

‘I don’t know, Sir,’ replied Jane.

‘Don’t give me that. You know full well where he is.’

He was right. She did. But taking his dog for a walk in Vivary Park was almost certainly not the answer Chard would have been expecting. ‘It’s about composure,’ Dixon had said, ‘mine and
Rowena’s
.’

‘I should imagine he’s doing it deliberately, if I know Nick,’ said Lewis. Jane smiled. Maybe Lewis was on his side, after all.

Rowena was picking at her fingernails with the top of a BIC biro, pushing back the skin at the base of her nails with it and then running the thin end along underneath them. No doubt Dunn would not want it back. She was wearing blue jeans and a black polo neck sweater. Jane and DCI Lewis watched her intently. She did not look up, even when the interview room door opened.

‘Who are you? We were expecting DCI Chard,’ said Dunn.

‘My name is Detective Inspector Dixon. I will be interviewing Miss Weatherly this morning.’

That got Rowena’s attention. She looked up sharply, dropped the pen top and glared at Dunn.

‘This can’t . . . this is not right . . . do something!’

Her face was flushed red and she was shaking.

‘An interesting reaction,’ said Lewis.

Chard nodded.

Dixon sat down opposite Rowena. He placed a thin green file on the table in front of him, looked at DI Baldwin and
nodded
.
She start
ed the tape. Dixon confirmed the date, time and place before introducing those present and asking each of them to acknowledge their presence for the record. Then he reminded Rowena that
she was
under caution.

‘My client knows she is to be charged with the murders of Derek Phelps and Isobel Swan. She has made a full statement
confessing
to both and has nothing further to add,’ said Dunn.

‘I don’t intend to ask Rowena anything about the murder of Isobel Swan.’

‘Why not?’

‘She didn’t kill her, so what would be the point?’

‘I did kill her,’ screamed Rowena. ‘I cut her throat.’

‘My understanding is that Miss Weatherly is to be charged with her murder,’ said Dunn.

‘New evidence has come to light that calls into question
Rowena’s
involvement in the murder of Isobel Swan,’ said Dixon, matter of fact and without looking up.

‘You can’t,’ shouted Rowena. ‘I . . .’ She placed both hands over her mouth and began breathing hard.

‘What about Phelps?’ asked Dunn.

‘Your client made a full and frank admission that she killed Derek Phelps and we have evidence corroborating that.’

‘So?’

‘I may wish to ask about her motive and the timing of his
murder
but we’ll come back to that later, perhaps. Let’s talk about Clive Cooper first.’

‘Who is Clive Cooper?’ asked Dunn.

‘Do you want to tell him, Rowena, or shall I?’ asked Dixon.

‘He was a friend of Derek’s.’

‘And why did you kill him?’

‘He was blackmailing my . . .’ Her voice tailed off. ‘No
comment
.’

‘Nearly had her then,’ said Lewis, grimacing.

‘How did you kill him?’

‘I arranged to meet him on Fitzhamon Embankment,
opposite
the stadium. There’s no CCTV there. And I hit him with my hockey stick. He went into the river and that was that.’

‘When was this?’

‘March last year.’

‘How many times did you hit him?’

‘Three.’

‘What time of day was it?’

‘Nineish. I wanted it dark for obvious reasons.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘A coat. Jeans. I can’t remember.’

‘Was he carrying anything?’

‘No.’

‘That’s right. He wasn’t. He’d left his belongings behind a bush.’

Rowena looked nervously at Dunn and then back to Dixon.

‘You get used to hiding your stuff when living rough,’
continued
Dixon. ‘How did you get in touch with him?’

‘He wrote to me and I had to ring a payphone number at a certain time.’

‘He wrote to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure he didn’t write to someone else and you intercepted the letter, perhaps?’

‘No.’ Agitated again.

‘What did he want?’

‘Money, of course.’

‘Was this the first time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why not pay up, then? You’d been paying Phelps for years.’

‘He was a down and out. No one would miss him.’

Not even his own mother, thought Dixon.

‘What about Phelps, then? Why kill him now, after all these years?’

‘He said he recognised you. He was going to tell you
everything
.’

‘What does Colossians 3:25 mean to you?’

‘Sounds like a Bible reference,’ said Rowena, shaking her head.

‘What does it say?’

‘I don’t know.’

Dixon opened the file on the desk in front of him and took out a piece of paper.

‘This is a photocopy of the flyleaf from a
New World
Translation
of the Bible found in Clive Cooper’s rucksack.’ Dixon pointed at it. ‘What does that say?’

‘Colossians 3:25.’

‘Whose handwriting is that?’

Rowena hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do, Rowena.’

She shook her head and looked at Dunn but he kept his head down, writing notes.

‘Let’s wind it back a bit, then. How did you first meet Clive?’

‘He was a friend of Derek’s and I met him when he came to Brunel.’

‘Wrong,’ said Dixon. ‘Try again.’

‘I don’t . . .’

‘Try harder.’

‘I can’t . . .’

‘Let me refresh your memory, then. He was a kitchen porter at St Dunstan’s. You and I both know that because we were both there, weren’t we?’

‘Yes.’ Rowena had her head bowed.

‘They were at school together?’ said Chard. ‘For fuck’s sake.’

Lewis looked at Jane and raised his eyebrows.

‘You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you, Rowena?’
continued
Dixon.

‘Yes.’

‘And Derek Phelps. Remember, it was a standing joke, wasn’t it? Derek and Clive?’

‘Yes, yes, I remember.’

‘So, what do you think we found in amongst Derek’s
belongings
?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do.’

‘A Bible?’

‘That’s right. A
New World Translation
identical to the one we found in Clive’s rucksack.’ Dixon took another piece of paper out of the folder and put it on the table in front of Rowena.

‘What can you tell me about the
New World Translation
?’

Rowena shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Are you a Jehovah’s Witness, Rowena?’

‘No.’

Dixon pointed at the copy of the flyleaf. ‘What does that say?’

Rowena craned her neck forward and read aloud.

‘Colossians 3:25.’

‘Let’s have another go, then, shall we? What does it mean?’

‘It’s about revenge. I can’t remember the exact words.’

‘Revenge. For blackmail, perhaps?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you recognise the handwriting on this one?’

‘No.’

‘I think you do.’

Rowena was shaking her head from side to side violently. Tears began falling off her cheeks onto the table in front of her.

‘Look at it, Rowena.’

She looked up slowly and stared at the handwriting in front
of he
r.

‘It’s your father’s, isn’t it?’ asked Dixon.

Rowena began sobbing and buried her face in her hands again.

Dixon waited.

‘Whose writing is it, Rowena?’

‘No comment.’ The reply came through deep sobs and sharp intakes of breath.

‘Take your time.’

‘No comment.’

‘OK, here’s what I think happened. Phelps is blackmailing your father. We’ll come onto why in a minute. That’s when you and he go to Kenya, perhaps? Or was it back to Kenya?’

‘How d’you . . . ?’

‘Had you been to Kenya before, Rowena?’

‘How do you know about Kenya?’

‘The divorce petition filed by your ex-husband, or should
I sa
y annulment. Your dearly beloved paints quite a picture of a real
daddy’s
girl, doesn’t he? Couldn’t bring yourself to leave your father, even on your wedding night, it seems?’

‘He’s all I’ve ever had and . . .’ More sobbing. ‘You’ll never understand.’

‘Try me.’

No reply.

‘OK. Now, where were we? Poor old Clive can’t stomach it, hits the bottle and loses his job.’

‘No comment.’

‘Then when you come home the blackmail starts again, doesn’t it?’ Dixon paused. ‘Phelps even moves to Brunel so he can be near you. Must’ve been difficult, that?’

‘No comment.’

‘And as if that wasn’t enough, Clive Cooper finally decides he needs some money. And we know where he ends up, don’t we?’

Dixon opened the file in front of him and took out a piece
of pap
er.

‘Let’s move on, then. For the tape, DI Dixon is placing a photograph on the table in front of Miss Weatherly. Who is that, Rowena?’

She stopped crying, wiped her eyes and leaned forward.

‘Isobel Swan.’

‘It is. Well done.’

He took another piece of paper out of the folder.

‘For the tape, DI Dixon is placing another photograph on the table in front of Miss Weatherly. Who’s that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I’ll give you a clue. You told me the other day that she’d been a good friend of yours, but we know that wasn’t true, don’t we?’

‘What the fuck is going on?’ asked Chard.

Lewis looked at Jane and raised his eyebrows. She shrugged her shoulders.

Rowena looked away.

‘Let me ask you again. Who is that?’

‘Fran Sawyer.’

‘It is. Well done.’

‘Who the hell is Fran Sawyer?’ asked Chard.

Lewis turned to Jane. ‘Do you know?’

Jane nodded.

They turned back to the television screen when Dixon
spoke again
.

‘And what happened to Fran Sawyer?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Derek Phelps and Clive Cooper knew, didn’t they?’

No response.

‘One more, then. For the tape, DI Dixon is placing a third
photograph
on the table in front of Miss Weatherly. Now, who
is that
?’

Rowena peered at the photograph. Dixon looked for any
reaction
but there was none.

‘Who is it, Rowena?’

She sat back in her chair, looked at Dunn and then back
to Dix
on.

‘You know who it is.’