Swansong (10 page)

‘I’ve seen enough,’ said Chard, leaning forward and switching off the television. ‘Where the hell’s that vicar?’

‘Father Anthony Johns. And he’s the chaplain,’ replied Dixon.

‘Is there a difference?’

‘Yes.’

‘Whatever.’ Chard pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down. ‘The fact is that we’re no further forward, are we? They saw nothing and think they might’ve heard something but don’t know what it was. It could’ve been a bloody fox . . .’

‘If they could identify the killer then they’d have done so before now,’ replied Dixon. ‘Not even these two idiots would’ve held that back. What it has confirmed is that they were out and about both nights and it’s possible it was them who disturbed Isobel’s killer. We are also left with the possibility that it was them the killer was after last night and that Derek Phelps stepped in.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Chard. ‘Pure bloody guesswork. There’s not a shred of evidence . . .’

The phone rang. Chard answered it.

‘Yes. Good. I’m coming now.’ He replaced the handset. ‘The vicar’s here. Let’s get this bloody fiasco over with.’

Dixon waited until Chard left the room.

‘Did you get anywhere with Haskill?’ he asked Jane.

‘Haskill’s in Kuala Lumpur. Malaysian police spoke to him this morning,’ she replied.

‘And Griffiths?’

‘We’ve got his CV from the agency. Nothing exciting but it confirms he’s taught at both schools. CRB check is clear and he’s not known to police.’

‘He and I need to get better acquainted, then, I think. What about Clive?’

‘Clive Cooper. Sacked from St Dunstan’s a couple of years before Derek left. Alcohol problems, by all accounts.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Don’t know yet.’

‘And Isobel’s father?’

‘Bus driver now but used to drive coaches for Woodberrys. They had the contract for . . .’

‘. . .  St Dunstan’s. I remember going on them for away matches.’

‘He’s divorced from Isobel’s mother and married again,’ s
aid Jan
e.

‘Interesting.’

‘I can’t very well speak to him, though, without alerting Chard.’

‘True,’ said Dixon. ‘Leave him for now. What about Isobel’s mother?’

‘Married again and living in Aberdeen.’

‘Who to?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Find out, will you?’

‘OK.’

‘Almost ready,’ said DI Baldwin, switching on the television. ‘DCI Chard’s doing this one.’

Dixon nodded. He looked at Jane and rolled his eyes.

DCI Chard was sitting opposite Nigel Lloyd. Next to him was Father Anthony. The dog collar had been replaced by a thick wool pullover, both Sunday services at the school having been cancelled, and he had been going from house to house offering pastoral care to those who needed it, hence the delay in his arrival at the station.

Chard reminded Lloyd that he was not under arrest and then spent the next twenty minutes extracting an almost identical
version
of events to that given by Simon Gittens. Dixon thought that either they had prepared their stories in advance or both were sensible enough to omit any reference to the gallery in the old
convent
chapel
. Chard pressed him on the noise he heard when he got back to the school.

‘It came from the far side of the car park. It was faint but I’m sure I heard something.’

‘What could you see?’

‘Nothing. We were in the lights at the front of Gardenhurst looking into the dark. Couldn’t even see the minibuses in the far corner.’

‘What did the noise sound like?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Was it something moving?’

‘It could’ve been.’

‘Large or small?’

‘Don’t know that either.’

‘If you had to make the noise yourself, how would you do it?’

Dixon thought that an interesting question and made a
mental
note of it for future use. He watched Lloyd mulling it over for
several
seconds.

‘Take your time, Nigel,’ said Father Anthony.

‘I’d drag my toe in gravel.’

‘So it was someone moving on the far side of the car park?’ asked Chard.

‘Yes, I think so. Or something. I couldn’t say it was definitely a person.’

Chard terminated the interview and arranged for a car to take Father Anthony back to the school. Dixon and Jane followed DI Baldwin up to the CID Room on the first floor of Taunton Police Station where Chard was waiting for them.

‘Well, that was a waste of time.’

‘If you were expecting them to identify the killer, then, yes, it was a waste of time,’ replied Dixon. ‘But only an idiot would’ve been expecting that.’

Jane watched the anger flash across Chard’s face. His eyes
narrowed
. He opened his mouth to speak but DI Baldwin spoke first.

‘It was useful to the extent that we know the killer was
disturbed
, surely?’

‘And the killer doesn’t know that he wasn’t seen,’ replied Dixon. ‘Perhaps he thinks he was, which explains why he killed Isobel down on the playing fields.’

‘He must’ve returned later to get rid of the car too,’ said
Baldwin
. ‘Everyone said it was gone the next day.’

‘That’s right. So he didn’t go far, presumably. It also brings us back to the possibility that these lads were the target last night and Phelps got in the way . . .’

‘Enough,’ said Chard. ‘We’ve got two witnesses who heard something. That’s it, so let’s not get overexcited. There’s certainly no evidence whatsoever that these boys were any sort of target at all. Don’t forget, they saw and heard nothing unusual last night.’

‘Where are they now?’ asked Dixon.

‘They’ve gone back to the school with the vicar.’

‘Back? You’ve sent them back?’

‘What else did you have in mind?’ asked Chard.

‘I’d have sent them home, to be on the safe side. Get Hatton to rusticate them.’

‘Rusticate them? What the fuck does that mean?’

‘Send them home for the rest of term.’

Chard turned to Baldwin. ‘These bloody places even have their own language now.’

‘I’d better get back,’ said Dixon.

‘They’re no more in danger than anyone else in that place . . .’

Dixon stared at Chard. ‘You’d better hope so. Sir.’

Jane sat in the Land Rover with Dixon while he waited for the windscreen to clear. A can of de-icer had dealt with the outside and the fans would clear the inside. Eventually.

‘Did you get the floor plans of the main school?’ asked Dixon.

Jane handed him two rolls of paper.

‘Here they are. First and second floors.’ Jane had to raise her voice to be heard over the noise of the fans and the old diesel engine.

‘Thanks.’

‘You need to be careful with Chard. If he finds out you’ve
withheld
the connection with Fran’s disappearance, he’ll have you.’

‘He’s bound to find out about it at some point. It’s just a
question
of when.’

Jane shook her head. ‘You’re playing a dangerous game.’

‘It’s not a game. Besides, I haven’t found a connection yet, if you think about it. It’s still just a . . . well, I don’t know what it
is, reall
y.’

‘Just be careful.’

‘I’d better go.’

Dixon arrived back at the school to find a line of girls walking in a crocodile along the main corridor, presumably back from the
dining
room after supper if the smell wafting from that direction was anything to go by. He didn’t recognise any of them, nor did he recognise either of the teachers supervising them. He stepped back into the foyer and watched them troop past. He felt a sudden blast of cold air behind him and turned to see Phillips coming in through the front door.

‘It’s bloody cold out there,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘Nipped home for a couple of hours. What’s going on?’

‘They’re coming across one house at a time for supper.’

‘What about the police?’

‘All finished out the back but there are still some here taking statements. Have they spoken to you?’

‘Yes. Is there anything I can do?’ asked Dixon.

‘Not at the moment. I’ll give you a shout if I need you.’

‘OK.’

Dixon waited for the line of pupils to pass along the main
corridor
and then went up to his rooms. Once inside, he made himself a cup of tea and spent the next hour reading Isobel’s post mortem report again and examining the floor plans. Then he went down to the dining room for something to eat. He was surprised to find it empty but could see that the kitchen staff were getting ready for the arrival of another house for supper. Dixon helped himself to some food and then sat in the dining room to eat it. He was alone apart from a kitchen porter waiting to collect the dirty plates at
the count
er in the far corner, where Derek Phelps had been
only the da
y before.

Dixon finished his meal and carried his tray over to the counter.

‘Shame about Derek.’

The kitchen porter shrugged his shoulders.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Harry.’

‘How long have you been here, Harry?’

‘Five years.’

‘Did you know Derek?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was he a friend of yours?’

‘Not really.’

‘Did he ever mention someone called Clive?’

‘Not for a while.’ Harry spoke slowly and without looking up.

‘He did mention him then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why not for a while?’

‘Clive’s dead.’

‘Dead?’

‘He killed himself.’

‘When was this?’

‘A year ago. I dunno.’

‘Where . . .’ Dixon turned his head to see a long line of
schoolboys
streaming along the corridor into the serving area behind the dining room. He raised his voice to be heard over the commotion. ‘Where was this?’

‘Cardiff.’

‘Thanks.’

Dixon went back to his rooms, sat on the end of the bed and sent Jane a text message. He waited two minutes and then rang her on the pay as you go number.

‘Clive Cooper’s dead.’

‘How?’

‘Committed suicide about a year ago in Cardiff, according to one of the kitchen porters.’

‘I’ll get the file.’

‘Thanks. I need to know why.’

‘OK.’

‘Soon after Fran disappears he starts drinking, gets sacked from St Dunstan’s and ends up killing himself.’

‘I’ll get it tomorrow. The Cardiff lot may still have their fi
le ope
n.’

‘Thanks.’