by Damien Boyd
‘Colossians 3:25.’
‘Whose handwriting is that?’
Rowena hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I think you do, Rowena.’
She shook her head and looked at Dunn but he kept his head down, writing notes.
‘Let’s wind it back a bit, then. How did you first meet Clive?’
‘He was a friend of Derek’s and I met him when he came to Brunel.’
‘Wrong,’ said Dixon. ‘Try again.’
‘I don’t . . .’
‘Try harder.’
‘I can’t . . .’
‘Let me refresh your memory, then. He was a kitchen porter at St Dunstan’s. You and I both know that because we were both there, weren’t we?’
‘Yes.’ Rowena had her head bowed.
‘They were at school together?’ said Chard. ‘For fuck’s sake.’
Lewis looked at Jane and raised his eyebrows.
‘You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you, Rowena?’ continued Dixon.
‘Yes.’
‘And Derek Phelps. Remember, it was a standing joke, wasn’t it? Derek and Clive?’
‘Yes, yes, I remember.’
‘So, what do you think we found in amongst Derek’s belongings?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I think you do.’
‘A Bible?’
‘That’s right. A New World Translation identical to the one we found in Clive’s rucksack.’ Dixon took another piece of paper out of the folder and put it on the table in front of Rowena.
‘What can you tell me about the New World Translation?’
Rowena shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Are you a Jehovah’s Witness, Rowena?’
‘No.’
Dixon pointed at the copy of the flyleaf. ‘What does that say?’
Rowena craned her neck forward and read aloud.
‘Colossians 3:25.’
‘Let’s have another go, then, shall we? What does it mean?’
‘It’s about revenge. I can’t remember the exact words.’
‘Revenge. For blackmail, perhaps?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you recognise the handwriting on this one?’
‘No.’
‘I think you do.’
Rowena was shaking her head from side to side violently. Tears began falling off her cheeks onto the table in front of her.
‘Look at it, Rowena.’
She looked up slowly and stared at the handwriting in front of her.
‘It’s your father’s, isn’t it?’ asked Dixon.
Rowena began sobbing and buried her face in her hands again.
Dixon waited.
‘Whose writing is it, Rowena?’
‘No comment.’ The reply came through deep sobs and sharp intakes of breath.
‘Take your time.’
‘No comment.’
‘OK, here’s what I think happened. Phelps is blackmailing your father. We’ll come onto why in a minute. That’s when you and he go to Kenya, perhaps? Or was it back to Kenya?’
‘How d’you . . . ?’
‘Had you been to Kenya before, Rowena?’
‘How do you know about Kenya?’
‘The divorce petition filed by your ex-husband, or should I say annulment. Your dearly beloved paints quite a picture of a real daddy’s girl, doesn’t he? Couldn’t bring yourself to leave your father, even on your wedding night, it seems?’
‘He’s all I’ve ever had and . . .’ More sobbing. ‘You’ll never understand.’
‘Try me.’
No reply.
‘OK. Now, where were we? Poor old Clive can’t stomach it, hits the bottle and loses his job.’
‘No comment.’
‘Then when you come home the blackmail starts again, doesn’t it?’ Dixon paused. ‘Phelps even moves to Brunel so he can be near you. Must’ve been difficult, that?’
‘No comment.’
‘And as if that wasn’t enough, Clive Cooper finally decides he needs some money. And we know where he ends up, don’t we?’
Dixon opened the file in front of him and took out a piece of paper.
‘Let’s move on, then. For the tape, DI Dixon is placing a photograph on the table in front of Miss Weatherly. Who is that, Rowena?’
She stopped crying, wiped her eyes and leaned forward.
‘Isobel Swan.’
‘It is. Well done.’
He took another piece of paper out of the folder.
‘For the tape, DI Dixon is placing another photograph on the table in front of Miss Weatherly. Who’s that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ll give you a clue. You told me the other day that she’d been a good friend of yours, but we know that wasn’t true, don’t we?’
‘What the fuck is going on?’ asked Chard.
Lewis looked at Jane and raised his eyebrows. She shrugged her shoulders.
Rowena looked away.
‘Let me ask you again. Who is that?’
‘Fran Sawyer.’
‘It is. Well done.’
‘Who the hell is Fran Sawyer?’ asked Chard.
Lewis turned to Jane. ‘Do you know?’
Jane nodded.
They turned back to the television screen when Dixon spoke again.
‘And what happened to Fran Sawyer?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Derek Phelps and Clive Cooper knew, didn’t they?’
No response.
‘One more, then. For the tape, DI Dixon is placing a third photograph on the table in front of Miss Weatherly. Now, who is that?’
Rowena peered at the photograph. Dixon looked for any reaction but there was none.
‘Who is it, Rowena?’
She sat back in her chair, looked at Dunn and then back to Dixon.
‘You know who it is.’
‘I do. But I need you to tell me.’
‘It’s my mother.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Charlotte. Charlotte Sampson.’
‘What do you notice about all three photographs, then?’
Rowena spoke without looking at them.
‘They all look the same.’
‘Who do?’
‘The people in them.’
‘Describe them for the tape.’
‘You can see them for yourself.’
‘I want to know what you see.’
‘Blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Smiling.’
‘What happened to your mother?’
The question caught Rowena off guard. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Dixon watched and waited.
‘She . . .’ Rowena hesitated. ‘She abandoned me. Disappeared.’
‘When?’
‘Just after I was born.’
‘Disappeared where?’
‘We never knew.’
‘Who never knew?’
‘My father and I.’
‘I think your father did know, Rowena, don’t you?’
Dixon watched the tears falling slowly down Rowena’s cheeks, his facial expression blank.
‘He told me she didn’t want me and left.’
‘Did he.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your mother told your father she didn’t want him, not you.’
Rowena was shaking her head violently.
‘That’s why he killed her,’ continued Dixon.
Rowena threw herself forward onto the desk, her tears falling onto the picture of her mother.
‘And why he kills anyone who looks like her
.’
Dunn opened his mouth to speak but decided against it when Dixon glared at him.
‘Fran Sawyer seventeen years ago. Isobel Swan. How many others are there we don’t know about, Rowena?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And you’re protecting him. The man who killed your mother.’
‘He didn’t. He couldn’t have done.’
‘He cut off her ring finger and then killed her. Just like he did to Isobel.’ Dixon paused. ‘And just like he did to Fran.’
Lewis and Chard were watching Rowena on the television screen. Jane watched Dixon. He reminded her of a shark hunting its prey, no expression in his dark, blank eyes. She knew it was an act. He was dying inside with each question, just a little. And she was dying for him too.
Rowena sat back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling.
‘Let’s assume your birth certificate is real . . .’ said Dixon.
‘It is real.’
‘How do you know?’
‘My father told me. He got it for me.’
‘They weren’t married, were they? So, he asked her to marry him, and she said no. Rejected him. So he killed her. He cut off her ring finger so no one else could have her. That was your expression when you confessed to killing Isobel, wasn’t it? Then he killed her and dumped her body somewhere. Took you to Kenya and told you she disappeared when you were old enough to understand.’
‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘How old were you when you first came to England?’
‘Seven.’
‘Really? So, it was like that?’
‘No.’
‘What was it like, then?’
‘No comment.’
‘You saw all the other kids with their mummies so you asked Daddy where your mummy was?’
‘No.’
‘What did he say when you asked him, Rowena?’
Her eyes glazed over. Dixon waited.
‘He said she didn’t want me and abandoned us. That’s when we went to Kenya.’
Dixon nodded.
‘Kenya? Becoming a bit of a routine that, isn’t it? A girl disappears then you and Daddy go to Kenya. It happened after Fran disappeared, didn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
Dixon waited.
‘He said Mummy left us.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘What choice did I have?’ asked Rowena, screaming now.
‘None,’ said Dixon, shaking his head. ‘None. But you did have a choice when you killed Phelps and Cooper. And you have another choice now. You’re protecting the man who killed your mother. Aren’t you?’
‘No.’
‘You’re going to prison for life to protect the man who killed your mother.’
‘He didn’t.’
‘Two men have died so you can protect him.’
Rowena shook her head.
‘How many more girls are going to die, their only crime being that they looked like your mother? How many, Rowena?’
‘None.’
‘Good. So, let’s start at the beginning. Did you kill Isobel Swan?’
‘No.’
‘Who did?’
‘My . . .’ Rowena was shaking violently. Her eyes were bloodshot and tears were streaming down her cheeks, dripping onto the photographs on the table. A small drop of blood appeared under her left nostril. Dixon waited. ‘. . . father.’
‘What’s his name? Give me his name.’
Rowena shook her head.
Dunn spotted the blood trickling down Rowena’s face. ‘I think that’s enough for now, Inspector. My client needs medical attention.’
Chapter Fourteen
What just happened in there?’ asked Chard, storming into the CID Room with Jane and DCI Lewis close behind him.
Dixon was standing in the window, looking down at Jane’s car and watching Monty asleep on the parcel shelf. Any last hope that Fran was still alive somewhere had just vanished and he was hurting all over again. He had known it all along, of course, but now, for the first time in seventeen years, it had been confirmed. He thought about a long and difficult conversation that he knew was coming. Still, her parents had to know. He turned around and walked over to the coffee machine.
‘Rowena admitted that her father killed Isobel Swan,’ he said.
‘And who the hell is Fran Sawyer?’
‘She was a seventeen year old student at St Dunstan’s who disappeared seventeen years ago.’
‘And Rowena’s father killed her too?’
‘He did.’
‘Where’s her body?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
‘Let me get this straight. You were at St Dunstan’s when that happened?’
‘I was. That’s why I was sent in there, don’t forget.’
‘So, you knew the cases were connected . . .’
‘Not until now, no.’
‘But you suspected . . . ?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you never thought to mention it?’
‘I’m mentioning it now. And if you’d done your job properly you’d know about it . . .’
‘You cheeky little . . .’
‘Dixon has a point, though, Simon,’ said Lewis. ‘Perhaps he should have told you about it before now, I don’t know, but you’ll need to be able to explain why you don’t know about it anyway. Have you checked for previous cases?’
‘Murders, yes, of course.’
‘But not missing persons?’
‘Where’s Margaret Baldwin?’
‘Her fault now, is it?’ asked Dixon.
‘It’s not a question of fault,’ replied Chard.
‘It will be when the shit hits the fan.’
‘This is getting us nowhere,’ said Lewis. ‘What happens now, Nick?’
‘We find her father.’
‘How?’ asked Chard.
‘Rowena was born on the second of July 1979, as far as we know, so we DNA test every male in that school old enough to be her father. Anyone born on or before second July 1963 should cover it.’
‘We’ll need authorisation for a test like that.’
‘Get it,’ replied Dixon. ‘There are several teachers who were at St Dunstan’s seventeen years ago, so start with them. Griffiths . . .’
‘Who’s he?’ asked Chard.
‘The supply teacher. Haskill and the headmaster.’
‘The headmaster?’
‘He was only there for one term but check him all the same. And the driving instructor. Don’t forget the driving instructor.’
‘Was he at St Dunstan’s?’
‘He taught Fran Sawyer to drive.’
‘How do you know that?’
Because I waited for her with a bunch of flowers when she took her test.
‘I interviewed him,’ replied Dixon.
‘Haskill’s in the Far East, isn’t he?’ asked Lewis.
‘A man holding Haskill’s passport was spoken to by Malaysian police. That’s all we know for sure, Sir.’
‘We can have another go at Rowena this afternoon too,’ said Chard.
‘You can try but I doubt you’ll get very far.’
‘Looks like you’ve got your work cut out, Simon,’ said Lewis.
‘Don’t think this is over, Dixon. You’ve got some serious explaining to do . . .’
Dixon turned his back on Chard and walked towards the door.
‘Where the fuck are you going?’
‘Back to school,’ replied Dixon, without turning round.
Dixon was sitting in his Land Rover looking up at the front of Brunel School when a beep coming from his pocket announced the arrival of a text message. He checked his phone.
Monty’s claws need clipping
J x
He wondered what on earth had made Jane think of that, while he switched the SIM cards over. Another text message arrived seconds later.
Chard getting Fran file out of store
He tapped out a reply.
inevitable. how long
He looked at his watch. It was just before 1 p.m.
tomorrow morning x
He nodded. Things had to happen fast now, or not at all. And a few risks needed to be taken.
Dixon spotted Ben Masterson sitting on the far side of the dining room with three other boys he had not seen before. He walked over and stood next to him, holding his tray of food in both hands.
‘You all right, Ben?’
‘Yes, thank you, Sir.’
Dixon noticed him look nervously at his friends.
‘Only you pushed a note under my door yesterday.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing, Sir, really,’ replied Ben, blushing.
‘Well, if you’re sure?’
‘Yes, Sir, I’m fine now.’
Dixon put his tray on the table and took a business card out of his pocket. He handed it to Ben and watched him reading it.
‘So you can find me, if you need a chat.’
Ben looked at Dixon and then back to the card. Then he slipped it into the top pocket of his jacket.
‘Yes, Sir,’ replied Ben. He smiled at Dixon and nodded.
Dixon sat down at an empty table to eat his lunch and wondered what it was that Ben had wanted the day before. Whatever it was, he was clearly too nervous or embarrassed to discuss it in front of his friends. Dixon also wondered whether and if so how long it would be before everyone in the school knew he was a police officer.
It was just before 2 p.m. when Dixon walked into the masters’ common room. It was largely deserted apart from Clarke, the English teacher of French, and McCulloch, the Scottish teacher of English. Mercifully, Clarke spotted him first.
‘Robin was looking for you. He’s gone down to his lab, I think.’
‘I thought Wednesday afternoon was sports?’ asked Dixon.
‘Cancelled. We’re running Thursday afternoon’s timetable, given that we shut up shop tomorrow.’
‘Thanks.’
Dixon walked down to Phillips’ chemistry lab and peered in through the small window in the door. It was empty, so he opened the door and then looked in the small office at the back. Phillips was sitting at his computer with his back to the door.
‘Come in, Nick. You need eyes in the back of your head in a place like this.’
