Free Swansong by Damien Boyd Page A

in?’
    Jane took a plastic wallet out of her handbag and passed it to Dixon.
    ‘Copies?’
    Jane nodded.
    Dixon slid the papers out of the wallet and then flicked through them until he found the ones he was looking for. Jane watched his eyes scanning the pages.
    ‘He does,’ said Dixon, nodding. He looked up. ‘At St Dunstan’s he used to work with a man called Clive . . .’
    ‘Derek and Clive?’
    ‘I know. Find out what became of him, will you?’
    ‘What was his surname?’
    ‘No idea.’
    Jane took her notebook out of her handbag and began making notes.
    ‘Who else’ve we got?’ asked Dixon, turning back to the bundle of papers. ‘Marcus Haskill. I don’t remember him.’ Dixon shook his head.
    ‘Isn’t he the one on sabbatical?’ asked Jane.
    ‘Yes, I’m using his bloody rooms, for heaven’s sake.’
    ‘He only taught at St Dunstan’s for your last year.’
    ‘I see that. And ancient history wasn’t exactly on my radar.’
    ‘Do you want me to check him out?’
    ‘Yes. See if he’s really gone to the Far East,’ replied Dixon. He was speed reading Haskill’s employment history. ‘Ex-army. Did the old SSLC, saw active service in the Falklands and then went into teaching.’
    ‘What’s an SSLC?’ asked Jane.
    ‘Short Service Limited Commission. Three to five years then you’re out. Don’t think it exists any more. That’s odd . . .’
    ‘What is?’
    ‘You’d expect him to be involved in the Cadets, wouldn’t you? With his background . . .’
    ‘I’ll find out if there’s a reason why not.’
    Dixon was reading the next set of papers.
    ‘Rowena Weatherly?’
    ‘She was a contemporary of yours,’ said Jane.
    ‘But I don’t . . .’ Dixon closed his eyes. ‘Rowena Abbot, of course. She was in the year below us. Played hockey with Fran. Must’ve got married, I suppose. I was only introduced to her this afternoon, for heaven’s sake.’
    ‘Did she recognise you?’
    ‘“A change is as good as a rest”, my . . .’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘Yes, she recognised me. But I sure as hell didn’t recognise her.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘She’s dyed her hair, for a start. And we only overlapped for a year, I suppose.’ Dixon shook his head. ‘I wonder why she didn’t say anything?’
    He turned to the last set of copy documents. Jane waited for the inevitable expletives to follow.
    ‘What the f . . . ?’ Dixon looked at Jane and then back to the papers in front of him. ‘The headmaster?’
    ‘Seems so.’
    ‘I don’t remember him being there . . .’
    ‘It was just the one term. He was doing the Oxbridge entrance exams. It would’ve been your first term too. And he’d been gone for over a year by the time Fran disappeared.’
    ‘He never let on he’d been to St Dunstan’s.’
    ‘It means he must know about Fran, surely?’ asked Jane.
    ‘Not necessarily, if he’d left by then.’
    ‘I suppose so. Wouldn’t he have been there at the same time as her, though?’
    ‘She’d have been a couple of years below him,’ replied Dixon.
    ‘If you assume he knows, then there can be only two reasons why he’s said nothing. One, he doesn’t want the added scandal or, two, he’s in it up to his neck,’ said Jane.
    ‘Get his school records, will you. I want to know what sort of pupil he was.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘There are two types. Those who leave and never look back and those who wear the old school tie every chance they get. If he was one of the never look back lot then it’s possible he doesn’t know about Fran.’
    ‘Which were you?’
    ‘Never looked back. Not once.’
    Dixon glanced around the bar. It was filling up, so they ordered some food before the kitchen became too busy.
    ‘Did you get a pay as you go SIM card?’
    ‘Yes,’ replied Jane.
    They exchanged numbers and agreed a code. Any reference to Monty in a text message would trigger a switch to the new numbers.
    ‘What about alibis?’
    ‘They’ve all been checked. The headmaster was