Free Swansong by Damien Boyd

believed him.
    Dixon watched Phillips eating his cake. At the same time, he was watching the kitchen porter on the far side of the dining room. There was no chance that Dixon would be recognised, he was sure of that, but he now had positive identification of at least one person who had been at St Dunstan’s when Fran disappeared and at Brunel when Isobel had been murdered. He wondered how many more there might be. Taunton was a small place, after all.
    As soon as Phillips finished his cake, Dixon picked up the tray.
    ‘I’ll take that.’
    ‘Oh, thanks.’
    He joined the back of the small queue and waited. When he got closer to the counter, he began whistling ‘Norwegian Wood’, a suitably obscure song that would only be recognised by a real Beatles fan. He waited for a reaction and the man did not disappoint, turning sharply to look at Dixon.
    ‘You a Beatles fan?’
    ‘Is there anyone else?’ replied Dixon.
    ‘John or Paul?’
    ‘John.’
    The man smiled. ‘Good taste.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘We’ve had this conversation before.’
    ‘Have we?’ replied Dixon.
    ‘I never forget a face.’
    Fuck it .
    Dixon handed the man his tray and walked out of the dining room. Phillips was just getting up, giving him a few seconds. He tapped the student in front of him on the shoulder.
    ‘What’s that man’s name?’
    ‘Derek.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Dixon stepped out of the line filing out of the dining room and waited for Phillips to catch him up.
    ‘Right, that’s me off duty. I’m going home,’ said Phillips. ‘What are you up to this evening?’
    ‘I said I’d meet my girlfriend for a bite to eat in town.’
    ‘Fine. See you in the morning for chapel patrol?’
    ‘What time?’
    ‘Nine o’clock.’
    ‘See you then.’

Chapter Five
    J ane arrived at the Greyhound Inn at Staple Fitzpaine to find Dixon’s Land Rover already in the car park behind the pub. She parked next to it and ran across the gravel car park to the back door, sheltering under her handbag. The last few red leaves still clinging to a large Virginia creeper were visible in the light streaming from the windows. The rest were on the ground or being blown around by the wind.
    Once inside the door she wiped the raindrops from her nose and looked in the mirror on the wall. She was grateful that her mascara was waterproof. Then she spotted Dixon at the bar, tiptoed over and stood next to him. He was sitting on a bar stool, staring into his beer and did not notice her arrive. She nudged his arm and he looked up. There were tears in his eyes.
    ‘You all right?’
    ‘Miles away,’ said Dixon, shaking his head.
    He put his arm around Jane’s waist, pulled her towards him and kissed her.
    ‘We do rooms,’ said the barman. The look on Dixon’s face stopped him in his tracks. ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Gin and tonic, please,’ said Dixon.
    ‘Yes, Sir.’
    ‘How’s it been?’ asked Jane.
    ‘Teaching is definitely out.’
    Dixon paid for Jane’s drink and they sat down in the far corner of an otherwise deserted lounge bar.
    ‘Apart from two law lessons that I sat in on, God help me, I’ve spent the day with Phillips, the school gamekeeper. Please tell me he’s not on your list.’
    Jane shook her head.
    ‘He’s got an oddly relaxed attitude to drug taking at the school but, apart from that, he’s . . .’
    ‘Drug taking?’
    ‘I found the drug den but my guess is he knew it was there all along and just never wanted to look.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘School’s reputation, I expect.’
    ‘Well, that’s buggered now anyway, isn’t it?’
    Dixon nodded. ‘How many on your list?’ he asked.
    ‘Four.’
    ‘I’ve spotted one. Derek somebody. A kitchen porter.’
    ‘Derek Phelps. Left St Dunstan’s ten years ago and then popped up at Brunel a year or so later.’
    ‘He said he knew me.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yeah, it’s nothing to worry about. He’d have no idea from where.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ asked Jane.
    ‘Yes. Does he live