Swansong (16 page)

It had been a long and interesting day. He had been involved in firearms incidents before but had never experienced anyone shooting at him with intent to kill. Best not to dwell on it. There would be plenty of time for that later.

He set the alarm on his phone for 7 a.m. and went to sleep with the bedside light on.

Chapter Eleven

R
owena Weatherly had been rearrested on arrival at Taunton Police Station the following morning on suspicion of the
murders
of Isobel Swan and Derek Phelps and was now in a private conference with her lawyer, Stephen Dunn. DCI Chard was pacing up and down in the CID Room waiting for Dixon to finish with the coffee machine.

‘I’ve got a good feeling about this, Dixon,’ said Chard.

‘I shall watch the interview with interest, Sir,’ replied Dixon, turning around with a plastic cup in each hand. He walked over to Jane’s desk in the far corner of the CID Room and handed her one of the cups.

‘What’d he say?’

‘He says he’s got a touch of wind this morning.’

Jane coughed and spluttered, spraying coffee across her
keyboard
. Tears of suppressed laughter began streaming down
her cheek
s.

‘Come now, Constable, get a grip,’ said Dixon, patting her on the back.

Jane began mopping up the coffee on her desk with a tissue.

‘Did you see Monty?’ she asked.

‘He was asleep on the parcel shelf when I got here so I didn’t wake him up.’

‘He’s fine.’

‘Do me a favour, will you?’ asked Dixon.

‘What?’

‘Ring Clive Cooper’s mother in Wiveliscombe and make us an appointment to go and see her this afternoon. Threeish. I’ve got the masters’ Christmas lunch so you could pick me up at 2.30 p.m.?’

‘Fine. Leave it with me.’ Jane knew better than to ask why.

‘Was there anything interesting in Derek Phelps’ stuff?’

‘There’s a box down in the store. Nothing that springs to mind though.’

‘How long till the interview starts?’

‘Half an hour or so. Her lawyer’s only been in with her twenty minutes.’

‘Let’s have a look in this box, then,’ replied Dixon.

‘I’ll go and get it.’

While Jane went down to the store Dixon logged in to her computer, and had just about finished deleting all his emails when she dumped the box on the corner of the desk next to him.

‘It’s the personal items from his room at the school.’

‘Did he live anywhere else?’

‘No. Not that we’ve been able to find, anyway.’

‘So, this is it?’

‘Apart from a CD player, clothes and books, that sort of
stuff. Th
e school are waiting for the nod from us before they dispose of it.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Still in his room.’

‘Gloves?’

‘There are some in the drawer,’ replied Jane.

Dixon put on a pair of disposable rubber gloves and began rummaging in the box. He pulled out a brown leather wallet in a small clear plastic bag and held it up in front of Jane.

‘Nothing of interest,’ she said.

‘Bank cards?’

‘There’s a Barclays current account. We’re waiting for the
statements
to arrive.’

‘How far back?’

‘Twelve months.’

‘Get onto the bank and ask for statements going back as far as they can.’

‘As far as they can?’

‘At least ten years. Twelve would be better if they can do it.’

Dixon put the wallet on the desk and then turned his attention back to the contents of the box. He placed an iPod, no doubt loaded with Beatles songs, several pairs of spectacles and a small leather bound pocket Bible on the desk before pulling out a set of keys.

‘Door keys, a bike lock and his locker in the staff room.’

Next came various boxes of prescription medication, all bag
ged up.

‘They all check out. We’ve spoken to his doctor.’

Dixon nodded. ‘You were right, then,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Nothing of interest.’

The interview with Rowena Weatherly began just before 10 a.m. DCI Chard introduced those present for the tape and then reminded Rowena that she was under caution. Dixon and Jane were watching on a television screen in an adjacent room. They could see both DI Baldwin and Rowena’s lawyer, Stephen Dunn, making notes. Rowena herself sat impassively, staring at the table in front of her.

‘Right, then, Rowena, let’s talk about yesterday. What was that all about?’ asked Chard.

‘No comment,’ said Dixon. Jane rolled her eyes.

To everyone’s surprise, Stephen Dunn spoke first.

‘My client wishes to read a prepared statement for the tape, after which she will answer ‘no comment’ to each and every
question
asked of her.’

DCI Chard looked at DI Baldwin and then back to Rowena. ‘Go ahead.’

Rowena took a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and, without looking up, began reading aloud.

‘I was in love with Isobel.’

Dixon sat back and folded his arms.

‘I asked her to marry me but she said that she hated me and threatened to expose me to the school,’ continued Rowena. Tears were streaming down her face. ‘I couldn’t allow that. So I killed her. I cut off her ring finger so that no one else could have her. Derek Phelps was blackmailing me so I agreed to meet him behind the sports hall and killed him. I was not trying to kill Nick Dixon.
I bel
ieved that Gittens and Lloyd could identify me and I was trying to kill them. Tell Nick I’m sorry he got in the way.’

Rowena folded the piece of paper and passed it to Dunn.

‘Is that it?’ asked Chard.

‘No comment.’

‘You’re gonna have to do better than that, Rowena. We need to verify . . .’

‘No comment.’

‘From where I’m sitting it looks like a pack of lies. If you want us to believe you then we need more details. Proof.’

‘No comment.’

DCI Chard turned to Dunn. ‘I suggest you explain to your
client
that we need her to prove what she’s said. Otherwise she’s just wasting everyone’s time.’

Dunn leaned across and whispered in Rowena’s right ear. She listened and then nodded.

‘Go ahead,’ said Dunn.

‘This is gonna be good,’ said Dixon.

‘How did you kill Isobel?’ asked Chard.

‘She came to my room for a glass of wine. I told her I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. I drugged her with ketamine, cut off her ring finger and then tried to get her in the car. That’s when
Gittens
and Lloyd saw me. Or at least I thought they saw me.’

‘Where did you get the ketamine?’

‘No comment.’

‘What happened then?’

‘I hid down on the playing fields. Cut her throat and left her body in the stream. Then I disposed of the car.’

‘Tell me about this car.’

‘It was an old Ford Focus with a boot. Not the hatchback.
I pai
d cash for it.’

‘Where is it now?’

‘I dumped it.’

‘Where?’

‘Bristol. Then I caught the train back.’

‘When?’

‘A few days later. I don’t remember.’

‘What about Phelps, then? How’d you kill him?’

‘I hit him with my hockey stick. Three times on the back of the head.’

‘Where’s the stick now?’

‘I left it in the girls’ changing rooms.’

‘Describe it for me.’

‘It’s a Grays. Pink and white with a black handle.’

‘Hidden in plain sight. Very clever,’ said Dixon.

‘You believe her?’ asked Jane.

‘About the murder of Phelps, yes. The rest is bollocks.’

‘So, what about yesterday, then?’ asked Chard.

‘I took the gun from the range and followed the minibus.
I kn
ew they’d be coming past Crowcombe Park Gate one way or the other so I waited for them.’

‘And you were after Gittens and Lloyd?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you met Nick Dixon before?’

‘No comment.’

‘You knew he was a police officer?’

‘No comment.’

‘That’s enough for now I think, Inspector,’ said Dunn. ‘My
client
has clarified her statement, as you requested.’

Chard terminated the interview and Rowena was taken back to the cells. Dixon listened to the voices outside in the corridor.

‘Get the superintendent to extend the time we can hold her while we see what else we can find,’ said Chard. ‘First things first, though. Let’s go to the Vivary Arms for a celebratory beer.’

Dixon shook his head. ‘He’d believe her if she confessed to shooting JFK . . .’

The door opened and Chard walked in, followed by DI
Baldwin
.

‘A good result all round, I think,’ said Chard.

‘If you assume she’s telling the truth,’ replied Dixon.

‘And you don’t think she is, I suppose.’

‘About the murder of Phelps, yes. She killed him to protect whoever killed Isobel Swan. And there is no way on God’s clean earth that she was shooting at Gittens and Lloyd yesterday. I know. I was on the receiving end of it.’

‘Well, you’re in a minority of one,’ said Chard.

‘Two.’

Dixon looked at Jane and smiled. Then he turned to Chard.

‘You enjoy your beer, Sir. Jane and I have got a murder to
investigate
.’

Dixon left Jane tracking down CCTV coverage of Bristol Temple Meads railway station for the three days after Isobel Swan’s murder. If Rowena was telling the truth about dumping the car then she would appear on camera travelling back to Taunton. It was a good place to dump a car, of course, provided she chose her spot carefully. With the keys left in it, it would pretty soon be taken for a spin and then left burnt out in a field somewhere with entirely unrelated fingerprints all over it. Dixon had to admire her ingenuity. Talk about getting someone else to do your dirty work for you. Dixon nodded. That was exactly what Rowena was doing. Someone else’s dirty work. Cleaning up the mess. Or trying to. And now taking the fall for it.

He walked around the corner into Vivary Park and let Monty off the lead. Watching him tear off across the grass had never failed to raise a smile from Dixon. Until today. He was remembering walking through Vivary Park on a summer’s evening many years ago, hand in hand with Fran, after a meal in the wine bar at the top of the High Street. La Bonne Vie. And it had been a good life. It was going to be an even better life too.

Dixon looked across at the bandstand. It was in need of a fresh coat of paint but it was still the same bandstand where they had sheltered from the rain and sat talking for hours without noticing it had stopped. He could picture her face there in front of him even now. It had been that night he had told her he loved her and that he would never let her down.

He was brought back to the present by a stick dropping onto his shoes. Monty was sitting at his feet looking up at him.

‘C’mon you, best get back.’

Dixon threw the stick in the direction of the exit and followed Monty as he tore off after it. He stopped at the gate to put his lead on and looked back at the bandstand. He knew then that he still loved Fran and, no, he wouldn’t let her down.

Dixon looked at his watch. It was just after midday.

‘I’m off back to the school, otherwise I’ll be late for that bloody lunch. Here are your keys,’ he said, dropping Jane’s car keys onto her desk.

‘OK. I’ll pick you up at 2.30 p.m.’

‘How far have you got?’

‘British Transport Police are getting the CCTV for us,’ rep
lied Jan
e.