by Damien Boyd
‘The night Isobel was murdered, where were you?’
‘I led a Bible study group at the Kingdom Hall in Staplegrove. I was home by 10 p.m. and went to bed. My wife has confirmed all this.’
‘Do you share a bedroom?’
‘That’s a very personal question, Inspector.’
‘It is.’
‘Do I have to answer it?’
‘You do.’
‘No, we don’t. We haven’t done for years.’
‘So, you could have gone out again later and Mrs Davies might not have heard you?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘But you could’ve done?’
‘You don’t honestly think I . . .’
‘I have to keep an open mind, Mr Davies.’
‘Am I under arrest?’
‘No.’
‘Then I can go?’
‘You can,’ said Dixon.
He terminated the interview and Jane showed Mr Davies out of the station. Dixon was still sitting in the interview room when Jane got back.
‘Well?’
‘He’s still a possible, but I believe him, oddly enough,’ replied Dixon, shaking his head.
‘So do I. What now, then?’
‘We have a closer look at Griffiths. The headmaster too. And I think the time has come to rattle Rowena’s cage.’
‘Have a look at this,’ said Jane, leaning across to the printer next to her desk.
‘What is it?’ asked Dixon, turning around from the coffee machine with a cup in each hand.
‘Rowena’s birth certificate,’ replied Jane. She waited until Dixon put the coffees down before handing him the piece of paper. ‘Louise just emailed it over.’
‘Anything else?’
‘“Hi Jane, Rowena’s birth certificate attached. It was found in her flat at Firepool Lock”,’ Jane read from Louise’s email. ‘“Both parents disappear off the radar after that. No trace of any siblings either. Sorry. PS I’ve also attached her divorce papers”.’
‘Print them off, will you?’
Dixon looked at the birth certificate. Rowena had been born on 2nd July 1979 in the County of Fife, Registration District Dunfermline. Rowena Judith Sampson. Her father’s name was Gordon Patrick Lee and he was a student.
‘Not worth the paper it’s written on,’ said Dixon.
‘Eh?’
‘How do we know it’s hers, for a start. And if her father’s been changing his identity, he’s gonna change his daughter’s too, isn’t he?’
‘It could be the real thing, though. There’s no maiden name for the mother,’ said Jane. ‘And the first name is Rowena.’
‘All that tells us is that the parents weren’t married,’ replied Dixon.
The mother’s name was given as Charlotte Rebecca Sampson.
‘I wonder what happened to her.’
‘Let’s have a look at that decree absolute,’ said Dixon. ‘It’s gonna be more recent.’
Jane reached over and took several pieces of paper from the printer, before passing them to Dixon.
‘This is a nullity petition.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Jane.
‘Her marriage was annulled.’
‘Is there a difference?’
‘A big difference,’ said Dixon, flicking through the pages. ‘The petitioner was her husband, Peter John Taylor. Here we go, the Facts, “The marriage was not consummated owing to the wilful refusal of the Respondent to consummate it”.’
‘I wonder why?’ asked Jane.
Dixon turned the page.
‘Part 6, Statement of Case. It’s handwritten so it looks like her dearly beloved didn’t use a solicitor. “The Respondent has failed to consummate the relationship and continues to live with her father. She has not stayed in what was supposed to be the matrimonial home with me once since the marriage and has now left for Kenya with her father. I have no idea when or if she is intending to return”.’
‘Daddy’s girl,’ said Jane. ‘I wonder why she bothered to get married in the first place.’
‘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 about 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
Where 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, amongst 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 interviewing her?’
‘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 started 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?’
