Swansong (11 page)

Dixon set the alarm on his phone for 9 p.m., lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He still hadn’t recovered from the trip back from Cyprus. It wasn’t proper jet lag, of course, but it felt like it and he needed a couple of hours’ sleep to sharpen his mind. He knew
that som
eone had said something today that had not rung true.
It was
irritating him but try as he might he could not pin it
down. I
t was either in direct conversation with him or he had
overheard
it, a
nd all he could say with any degree of certainty was that he had not seen it on a screen, so it was not something that either Gittens or Lloyd had said in interview.

He thought about each conversation in turn. None had been particularly enlightening. Was it something Roger had said,
perhaps
? Dixon decided he would go to Musgrove Park Hospital for Derek’s post mortem in the morning, but Roger had said nothing today to ring any alarm bells, surely? The headmaster, perhaps? Chard? Rowena Weatherly? She knew who he was and why he was there, of that there was no doubt, but she hadn’t said anything that might compromise him, nor had she given any indication that she would. The headmaster also knew about Fran but had given Jane no cause for concern. It was also possible that if Rowena Weatherly and the headmaster knew who he was, so did the killer.

Dixon sat up. He wasn’t getting anywhere with the
investigation
, nor was he getting any sleep. It didn’t help that he was now in a race against time. If the school governors opted to end the term early, as the headmaster would be recommending, that gave him four days. It would also not be much longer before Chard started
looking
at previous cases and then Dixon’s personal connection would
come out
.

So far, his only progress had been to identify Gittens and Lloyd as possible witnesses, but neither had seen anything of use. He felt as if he had just had his hair cut and all of the hair down his back was just out of reach. Try as he might, he just couldn’t scratch it.

Chapter Eight

D
ixon woke just before midnight. He had a vague recollection of his alarm going off earlier but did not remember switching it off or deciding to have another five minutes’ sleep. He was still fully clothed so he got up and stood in the window, looking out into the darkness. He could see two lights on at the far end of the Underwood Building off to his right, and the street lights on the far side of the playing fields were still on, marking the boundary of the school grounds. Otherwise, it was pitch dark.

He stood there for several minutes, listening to the wind and watching the stars disappear behind clouds and then appear again a few seconds later. If he had been at home he might have taken Monty for a walk, but that was not an option tonight.

He began to feel a little shaky so he checked his blood sugar levels. He was getting better at recognising the early signs of a hypo these days and this was confirmed by a blood sugar level of 4.8. Dixon knew it was a bit low for him, particularly at this time of night when it was likely to be dropping still further. He needed something to eat quickly before his level dropped much lower and, whilst he had packets of fruit pastilles, these were for emergency use only. A quick search of the small kitchen revealed a packet of stale biscuits and some cornflakes but no milk, so he decided on a visit to the school kitchens.

He went out onto the landing, locking the door of the flat behind him. All the lights were off, so he waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness rather than switch the lights on. He tiptoed down the stairs and stood in the middle of the main corridor in front of the library. He could see lights on at the far end of the corridor but otherwise the only light this end was coming from under the door of the masters’ common room. He tried it and was surprised to find it locked.

He walked down the steps opposite and along the corridor towards the dining room. Light was streaming in through the large windows on his left from the war memorial, which was lit by four lamps set in the ground around it.

He walked past the dining room and down the steps into the kitchens. A light had been left on in the far corner above the ovens, and illuminated green fire exit signs above the doors cast an eerie glow across the stainless steel worktops. Dixon waited until he was satisfied that no one was there and then went in search of food. He guessed that the two large steel doors in the far wall with red and green lights above them were the fridge and freezer but did not risk venturing into either of them. A safer bet was the store room, which had no lock on the door, and he emerged a minute or so later with a piece of fruit cake and a banana.

He was walking back along the corridor towards the masters’ common room, brushing crumbs from his jacket, when he heard soft footsteps in the cloisters off to his right. He stopped and waited. The footsteps were running away from him towards the chapel. Then he heard the door of the chapel open and close again with a bang. Dixon sprinted along the corridor and down the two stone steps into the cloisters. He was running on the balls of his feet trying to stop his heels clicking on the tiled floor.

He opened the door to the chapel and listened. Silence. No one would have had the time to run the full length of the aisle and escape through the Lady Chapel at the far end before Dixon opened
the do
or, so they must have gone out through the main double doors at the back of the chapel. He switched on the lights and checked the doors. The left hand door was unbolted. He opened it and looked outside into the darkness, but could see and hear
nothing
except the wind whipping the tall pine trees on the far side of the lawn
to and
fro.

He closed the door and bolted it from the inside. Then he turned and looked down the aisle. He could see something on the floor halfway along, so he walked towards it. He stopped when he recognised it was a Ouija board. On the floor next to it was a pad of paper and a white candle that had probably blown out when he opened the back door. Dixon took out his iPhone, switched it to camera mode and took several photographs of the scene. Then he walked up and down the aisle, checking the pews on either side.

When he was satisfied that the chapel was deserted, he went back to the Ouija board and crouched down to have a closer look at it. It had been placed on the stone plinth that marked the site of the old altar, no doubt to add to the drama, the planchette pointing to the words ‘GOOD BYE’.

Dixon froze when he looked at the pad of paper. On it was written one word. The writing was faint but he could just about make it out.

FRAN.

Dixon tore the top piece of paper from the pad, folded it in half and put it in his inside jacket pocket. Then he took several more photographs of the scene before leaving the chapel, switching off the lights on his way out. At the door he looked back and smiled. Someone had been trying to spook him, but it hadn’t worked.

‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ he muttered, as he walked back down the cloisters.

Dixon sat on the end of his bed and took out his iPhone. He deleted the first set of photographs he had taken of the Ouija board showing the writing on the pad of paper. Then he sent Jane a text message.

How’s Monty? x

He waited a couple of minutes and then dialled Jane’s pay as you go number. She answered straight away.

‘What’s up?’

‘Someone just tried to get me off the case.’

‘How?’

‘They left a Ouija board on the floor in the chapel with Fran’s name written on a pad next to it. It would’ve been found in the
morning
and then you can bet I’d have faced some awkward
questions
.’

‘A Ouija board?’

‘You communicate with the dead. You sit round it with your fingers on a pointer and it spells out words.’

‘And it’s supposed to have spelt out Fran?’

‘That’s what we’re meant to think. Only I got there first.’

‘Someone else knows who you are, then?’

‘Looks that way.’

‘Are you’re sure it wasn’t . . . ?’

‘Don’t tell me you believe that stuf
f
? It takes more than one person, for a start, and I only heard one set of footsteps.’

‘No, I meant are you sure it wasn’t the headmaster or Rowena Weatherly. They both know who you are.’

‘I didn’t get a look at ’em, unfortunately. Could’ve been, I
suppose
. Check if either of their parents got divorced too, will you?’

‘OK.’

‘It was pure chance I was there. Otherwise it’d still have been sitting there in the morning.’

‘And the chaplain finds it, calls the police, Chard gets Fran’s file out and then you’re off the case . . .’

‘That was the plan, no doubt.’

‘But then the connection would’ve been made, surely?’

‘It will be anyway, sooner or later. Or at least it should be. And he’ll be banking on getting away with it again. Just like he did
last ti
me.’

‘So, what happens next?’ asked Jane.

‘That depends on what you turn up, doesn’t it? Otherwise, I’m just sitting here waiting for something to happen.’

‘It has already, hasn’t it?’

‘Phelps?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not sure that’s down to me being here or not. I’m not sure it’s the same killer, for a start. I need to have a word with Roger
tomorrow
.’

‘Not the same killer . . . ?’ asked Jane.

‘No. Think about it. He’s armed with a knife and knows how to use it. He cut Isobel’s throat, didn’t he?’

‘Chard hasn’t even considered that possibility.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me. It’s just an idea, but Roger’ll tell me one way or the other at the post mortem tomorrow. You going to
be ther
e?’

‘No. I’d better keep digging.’

‘Don’t forget Clive Cooper.’

‘I won’t. And you be careful.’

‘I will.’

‘Monty’s missing you,’ said Jane.

‘Only Monty?’

‘No. Now get some sleep.’

Jane rang off, leaving Dixon staring at his phone. He took the piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and looked at the writing. It was in block capitals with any semblance of handwriting style
disguised
by almost childlike straight lines. No doubt the writer wore gloves too but, either way, it was evidence and might come in useful later. He took the file out from under his mattress, slotted the piece of paper into it and then put the file back.

Dixon set his alarm for 7 a.m. and then closed his eyes. He thought about the Ouija board and remembered rumours of two boys
getting
caught playing with one at St Dunstan’s. Nothing had come of it, of course, except for several lost Saturday afternoons in detention. Then there was the urban myth that every generation told as if it were a true story that happened only last week. The version Dixon knew involved the death of a boy called Rufus at Upham School. He had been experimenting with a Ouija board and legend had it that it spelled out the words ‘death to Rufus’. Only a few days later Rufus had been killed in a car accident. Dixon didn’t believe in coincidence but on this occasion he could make an exception.

He thought about the other urban myth that used to do the rounds and the vision of an axe murderer banging a severed head
on the
roof of a car flashed across his mind. Thankfully, he was asleep before the unfortunate victim’s wife had to get out of the passenger door.

The staff meeting got under way just after 9 a.m. Dixon had thought it odd that the teachers were required to stand when the
headmaster
walked into the masters’ common room—they were adults after all—but found himself conforming before he had time to question it. Not that he would have done so out loud, of course.

He was sitting on the window seat watching Rowena Weatherly. She was sitting in a leather armchair with her back to him, reading from an exercise book in her lap. From time to time she looked up at the headmaster standing at the front of the room with Robin Phillips. Dixon thought he could recognise most of the teachers now, but there were still some he didn’t. They must have had the weekend off. He also noticed that the supply teacher, Griffiths, was not there.

Hatton began by assuring the staff that progress was being made in the police investigation, which came as news to Dixon.
Hatton
looked away sharply when he saw him looking at
him. Hatton
had, he said, spoken to the senior investigating officer and
been inform
ed that the police would have finished their
initial
enquiries by lunchtime, after which the school could return to
normal
. The school would, therefore, spend the morning in private study with lunch, as usual, at 1 p.m. After that, the normal Monday afternoon timetable would take effect and, in the meantime, all housemasters were asked to ensure that their pupils had enough to keep them occupied for the morning. Any coursework due that week could be posted on the intranet so the students could make a start on that if needs be.