Swansong (26 page)

‘Right, right, into Bradney Lane.’

‘Am I the nearest car?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Dixon saw houses flashing past on either side of the nar
row lan
e.

‘Where am I?’

‘Bawdrip, Sir,’ replied the controller.

Dixon looked up and saw the searchlight come on underneath the helicopter. It was hovering much lower now with the beam of light pointing straight at the ground beneath it.

‘What’s happening?’ screamed Dixon.

‘Stand by.’

Dixon oversteered on the bend by the church and the back of the Land Rover swung out and hit a parked car. He kept going.

‘The car’s gone into the Drain. Left before the bridge into the field. You can see the light.’

‘What the . . . ?’

Dixon threw his phone onto the passenger seat. He spotted too late the five bar gate that Father Anthony had driven through and was going too fast to make the turn anyway, so he aimed at the fence just beyond it instead. His Land Rover crashed through the wooden fence, bouncing over the rough ground behind it where the cattle congregated. He changed down into first gear and accelerated out of the mud and across the field.

He could see Jane’s red VW floating nose down in the water about thirty yards away. He slammed on his brakes and skidded to a halt. Then he jumped out of the Land Rover, opened the passenger door and reached into the back. He tipped up an old cardboard box in the rear passenger footwell and picked up the car jack. Then he ran down the bank and launched himself into the river.

The cold water hit him exactly as he knew it would but he was able to suppress his gasp reflex. He surfaced only two or three yards from the back of Jane’s car and swam towards it. The searchlight in the belly of the helicopter lit up the scene, the downdraft from the rotor blades sending spray high into the air.

Monty was running up and down the bank barking at the car but Dixon could hardly hear him over the noise of the helicopter.

He reached up and tried the boot of Jane’s car. It was locked. The car was sinking now, the weight of the engine taking it down nose first. He swam round to the driver’s door and looked in.
Treading
water, he could see Father Anthony unconscious and slumped
forward
over the steering wheel. Dixon swung the car jack at the window, smashing it with the first hit. Then he dropped the jack and reached in for the car keys. Water started pouring in,
making
the car sink even faster.

His breathing was speeding up but his movements were
becoming
slower. He managed to swim round to the back of the car, which had reared up still further out of the water as the
passenger
compartment was swamped. His fingers were cramping and he needed to use his left hand to line up the key properly in his right. Then he pulled himself up on the bumper and inserted it in the lock. He turned it and the boot popped open.

The car began sinking fast, the boot getting lower and lower in the water. Suddenly, Jane was right in front of him. She was
unconscious
, so he reached in and grabbed hold of her coat just as the car sank from underneath her. He held her head above the water and managed to kick out towards the bank.

Blue lights were flashing all around him now. Dixon looked up at the bank. There were several police cars and an ambulance in
the field
.

‘Whose is that damn dog?’

‘It’s the inspector’s.’ Dixon recognised Louise Willmott’s voice.

Suddenly, he felt hands lifting Jane clear of the water. He paused.

‘Put her here . . . she’s still breathing . . .’

An outstretched hand appeared in front of Dixon. He looked up. It was Louise.

‘Tell ’em she’s had ketamine. They’ll know what to do,’ said Dixon. Then he turned and swam out to where Jane’s car had sunk. He stretched down with his legs and could feel the roof of the car under his feet. He took a deep breath and dived down.

The searchlight penetrated the murky water to a depth of five or six feet and Dixon could just about make out the roof of the car beneath him. He reached down and took hold of the driver’s door, pulling himself down the rest of the way. The cold was clawing at his flesh, every second he spent in the water making movement more difficult.

He fumbled in the darkness for the door handle, found it and pulled open the door. The pain in his fingers was excruciating. Then he grabbed Father Anthony’s arm, pulled him out of the car and kicked out for the light above.

Gasping for air as he broke the surface, Dixon turned to see Louise in the water swimming towards him. A second officer took off his hi-vis jacket and jumped in. It was PC Cole. He took hold of Father Anthony and, keeping his head above the water, made for the bank.

Louise tried to help Dixon but he was spent. All feeling in his legs and arms had gone and Louise was fighting to keep his head clear of the water.

‘Help me, someone,’ she screamed.

PC Cole passed Father Anthony to the paramedics, who lifted him onto the bank. Then he swam back out to help Louise. Together they dragged Dixon to the bank and lifted him out of the water.

He lay on the grass listening to the helicopter and the sirens all around him. A blanket was thrown over him.

‘Well done, Sir.’

Louise was standing over him with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

‘Is she . . . ?’

‘She’s going to be fine, Sir.’

Dixon lay back and closed his eyes. Then he felt Monty licking his face.

Dixon watched the paramedics working on Jane. She was on a stretcher, wrapped in foil blankets with a mask over her mouth.

Louise helped him to his feet.

A second helicopter, this one yellow with a green stripe, was landing in the field behind them.

‘It’s the air ambulance, Sir,’ shouted Louise.

‘Father Anthony?’

‘Going to Frenchay Hospital, Bristol.’

‘Is he . . . ?’

‘He’ll live, Sir.’

Dixon nodded.

He’s got some explaining to do
.

‘You’ll get a medal for this, Sir.’

‘I doubt that, Louise,’ replied Dixon. ‘I doubt that very much.’

Chapter Nineteen

J
ane woke slowly. It took several minutes for her eyes to focus on a nurse standing at the end of her bed.

‘Where am I?’

‘Musgrove Park Hospital.’

‘What happened to me?’

‘You were drugged with ketamine and thrown in the boot of a car. You’ve got a broken collar bone and your right arm’s in a sling, but apart from that you’ll be fine. Once the ketamine wears off, that is.’

Jane raised her left hand and looked at it, first the palm and then the back.

‘It’s still there.’

‘What is?’ asked the nurse.

‘My ring finger. I thought for a minute it might . . .’ Her voice tailed off.

‘You may need it one day,’ said the nurse, nodding in the
direction
of the armchair next to Jane’s bed. ‘He’s been here all night.’

Jane turned her head on the pillow to see Dixon, fast asleep next to her. She smiled.

‘I remember water . . .’

‘The car went into the King’s Sedgemoor Drain. He dived in and got you out.’

Jane reached over with her left arm and tapped Dixon on the knee. He woke up.

‘You’re awake?’

‘I am,’ replied Jane.

‘How d’you feel?’

‘Bit of a headache but fine, really.’

Dixon smiled. He stood up, leaned over and kissed her.

‘This is becoming a habit.’

The voice came from behind them. Dixon and Jane looked up to see DCI Lewis standing in the doorway.

‘Three times in as many weeks I’ve visited one of you in hospital and I hate these bloody places.’ Lewis turned to the nurse, who was still standing at the end of Jane’s bed. ‘No offence.’

‘None taken,’ she replied, walking to the door, ‘I’ll leave you in peace. Give me a shout if you need anything.’

‘I will, thanks,’ replied Jane.

Lewis turned to Dixon. ‘I thought I’d find you here.’

‘Where else would I be?’

‘Where’s Father Anthony?’ asked Jane.

‘Frenchay Hospital. He’s on a life support machine, but he’ll live,’ replied Lewis. ‘And his precious daughter has become very talkative since he was arrested.’

‘What’s she got to say for herself?’ asked Dixon.

‘Swears blind she never knew he killed her mother. And she only found out about the Peters girl after Fran was murdered and the blackmail started.’

‘I can believe that. She was just a kid then, don’t forget,’ said Dixon.

‘Phelps saw him take Fran and they must have followed him in Cooper’s car. Next thing they know they get a photograph of Cooper standing on the riverbank and it’s the usual story from then on. Paid them once. Then Phelps came back for more. That’s when they buggered off back to Kenya.’

‘So Nick was right about everything?’ asked Jane.

‘Pretty much. It started again when Phelps caught up with them at Brunel but it was little and often, and they could cope
with that
, apparently. Till Cooper decided to stick his nose in the trough and Daddy met Isobel Swan.’

‘What’s his real name, then?’ asked Dixon.

‘She said she doesn’t know, he’s changed it that many times. You were right about the Jehovah’s Witness thing too. He was one. Went to Kenya a Witness and came back an Anglican Priest.’

‘Is there a real Father Anthony?’

‘There was. Kenyan police are looking for him but they don’t hold out much hope of finding a body. Hyenas and vultures
don’t tend
to leave much behind.’

‘How did you know it was him?’ asked Jane, looking at Dixon.

‘You get a bloody good look at the priest’s shoes when you take Communion.’

Jane frowned.

‘I’ll explain later.’

‘What about Chard?’ asked Jane.

‘Just keep out of his way for a while, Nick,’ replied Lewis. ‘I’ll see what I can do but he’s gonna want the book thrown at you. And it’s a large and very heavy book.’

Dixon nodded.

‘And I am sorry about Fran,’ continued Lewis. ‘Sorry you had to go through that.’

‘Don’t be,’ replied Dixon. ‘It’s done now.’

‘We’ve still got to find her though, haven’t we?’ asked Jane.

‘Well, we do at least know where to look,’ replied Lewis.

‘We do,’ said Dixon. ‘The King’s Sedgemoor Drain.’

Dixon was driving north on the M5 three hours later when his phone rang. He passed it to Jane, sitting in the passenger seat.

‘Jane Winter.’

Dixon listened to her side of the conversation.

‘Yes, he’s driving.’

‘OK, I’ll tell him.’

‘We’re on our way.’

‘Yes, fine, thanks, Louise.’

‘That was Louise. She says we need to get over to Bawdrip. There’s something she thinks you ought to see.’

Dixon turned off the M5 at Bridgwater North, avoiding the broken glass on the motorway roundabout where he had smashed into the patrol car less than twenty-four hours earlier. He was
driving
down through Bawdrip before he spoke.

‘Louise saved my life last night.’

‘What happened?’

‘I was in the water too long. The cold. She jumped in and got me out.’

Jane smiled and nodded.

Dixon turned into the field just before the bridge over the Drain. Louise was standing there waiting for him with a man in blue overalls and a hi-vis jacket. Dixon parked next to a patrol car and helped Jane out of the Land Rover.

‘This is Keith Bates, Environment Agency, Sir,’ said Louise.
‘I tho
ught you should see what they’ve found.’

‘Well?’

‘We’ve lowered the water level to recover the VW and . . . well . . . see for yourself,’ said Bates.

Dixon walked over to the top of the bank and looked down at the water. The roof of Jane’s VW Golf was sticking out of the water right in front of him. Ten yards to the left was the roof of a small white van and then, further left, two more cars were visible. One red, one blue. They were covered in sediment and looked as if they had been in the water for some time.

Dixon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt Jane put her arm around his waist and pull him close to her. Tears began streaming down his cheeks. His bottom lip trembled when he spoke.

‘We’ve found her.’

‘I know,’ said Jane. ‘I know.’

Dixon parked across the drive and looked up at the large detached house on the edge of Minehead. He had been back only once since Fran died.

‘I’ll wait in the car,’ said Jane. She had insisted on coming with him even though she still felt a bit groggy.

Dixon looked at her, unable to speak. He blinked, releasing the tears in his eyes. He wiped them away with the palms of his hands before reaching across and putting his hand on Jane’s thigh. She held it in her free hand and squeezed it.

He got out of the car and stood in the middle of the gravel drive. The wisteria had gone and the large square Volvo estate had been replaced by something sleeker, but apart from that, nothing much had changed.

It took him several minutes to summon up the courage to knock on the door. It was answered by a woman in her late sixties. Her grey hair was tied back in a ponytail and Dixon doubted they were laughter lines on her face. Otherwise, it was like mother, like daughter.

It took Mary Sawyer a moment to recognise him.

‘Nick?’

He nodded.

‘Michael, Nick Dixon’s here.’ She shouted over her shoulder without taking her eyes off him.

He heard the sound of a broadsheet newspaper being folded up in a hurry and thrown onto a coffee table. Then Michael
Sawyer
appeared in the doorway next to his wife. Neither of them had changed very much.

Dixon put his hand in his jacket pocket and his fingers closed around a gold chain with a crucifix on it.

‘It’s lovely to see you, Nick,’ said Mary. Then she noticed his bloodshot eyes. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Michael.

Dixon handed him his warrant card.

‘You’re a policeman?’

Dixon took a deep breath.

‘Can I come in?’