school.’
‘Perfect,’ said Phillips. ‘I’ll get our computer studies boffin to sort out the webcam next week.’
Dixon was last out of the old chapel and closed the door b ehind him.
‘Let’s go and watch the rugger,’ said Phillips.
Dixon scanned the touchlines of the four rugby pitches he could see for anyone from St Dunstan’s who might recognise him, and saw only one teacher he’d need to steer clear of watching a team of younger boys, probably the junior colts. He’d also need to give the AstroTurf hockey pitches a wide berth. His old housemaster was watching one game and his biology teacher, Miss Macpherson, was watching the other.
‘Let’s give the thirds a bit of support,’ said Phillips. ‘Everybody and their dog watches the firsts.’
‘OK.’
Dixon looked across the car park in front of Gardenhurst to the far corner where the mysterious small car had been parked. The four minibuses that were usually parked there had gone, taking students to the away matches at St Dunstan’s and Roedean, no doubt.
According to the various witness statements, the car had been reversed into the corner space, adjacent to the wall, with its boot facing the playing fields. The wall that ran along the far side of the car park dropped away in the corner down the slope and then along the outer perimeter of the sports field. Just inside the wall was a line of mature and very large leylandii that would have provided more than enough cover for the killer to disappear into had he been disturbed. The leylandii ended at a hedge that then continued the outer boundary at right angles. According to the file the whole area, including the gap between the wall and the trees, had been the subject of a fingertip search, but nothing had been found except cigarette butts and empty bottles. Dixon would have a look for himself later.
In the meantime, he followed Phillips around the back of the sports hall and down through a line of trees to the 3rd XV rugby pitch. A small crowd was assembled along the near touchline at the halfway line. Phillips looked at his watch. It was just after 3.30 p.m.
‘Second half must be under way.’
He spoke to a boy standing at the end of the crowd.
‘What’s the score, Thompson?’
‘15–9, Sir.’
‘Who to?’
‘Them.’
‘What about over there?’ he asked, nodding in the direction of the 1st XV pitch.
‘We’re winning, 21–0,’ came the reply.
‘That’s better,’ said Phillips. ‘Want to watch that game instead?’
‘Sounds like this lot need our support more,’ replied Dixon.
‘You’ll go far,’ replied Phillips, smiling and lighting his pipe at the same time.
‘Not watching the firsts, Robin?’ The voice came from behind them.
‘Ah, Rowena, how did your girls get on?’ asked Phillips, turning around.
‘We won, 3–0.’
‘Well done.’ Phillips pointed at Dixon with his pipe. ‘This is our trainee teacher. You got the email?’
‘I did,’ replied Rowena.
‘Nick, this is the Miss Weatherly I was telling you about.’
They shook hands.
‘All good, I hope,’ said Rowena.
‘Yes,’ replied Dixon.
Rowena Weatherly was tall and slim with short hair, dyed jet black. She looked every inch the hockey coach in a red and black Brunel tracksuit with a Grays hockey stick bag slung over her shoulder .
‘How long are you here for?’ she asked.
‘Till the end of term.’
‘Having fun?’
‘He’s sitting in on His Lordship’s law classes,’ said Phillips, rolling his eyes.
‘Oh. Still, it could be worse. It could be chemistry . . .’
‘Yes, thank you, Rowena.’
‘It’s not that bad, really,’ said Dixon.
‘Well, a change is as good as a rest. I must dash. Got another match starting in ten minutes.’
Dixon turned back to the rugby match. He felt odd cheering for a team he had always thought of as the opposition but did his best to sound enthusiastic, even remembering to limit his reaction to a St Dunstan’s try under the posts
‘Perfect,’ said Phillips. ‘I’ll get our computer studies boffin to sort out the webcam next week.’
Dixon was last out of the old chapel and closed the door b ehind him.
‘Let’s go and watch the rugger,’ said Phillips.
Dixon scanned the touchlines of the four rugby pitches he could see for anyone from St Dunstan’s who might recognise him, and saw only one teacher he’d need to steer clear of watching a team of younger boys, probably the junior colts. He’d also need to give the AstroTurf hockey pitches a wide berth. His old housemaster was watching one game and his biology teacher, Miss Macpherson, was watching the other.
‘Let’s give the thirds a bit of support,’ said Phillips. ‘Everybody and their dog watches the firsts.’
‘OK.’
Dixon looked across the car park in front of Gardenhurst to the far corner where the mysterious small car had been parked. The four minibuses that were usually parked there had gone, taking students to the away matches at St Dunstan’s and Roedean, no doubt.
According to the various witness statements, the car had been reversed into the corner space, adjacent to the wall, with its boot facing the playing fields. The wall that ran along the far side of the car park dropped away in the corner down the slope and then along the outer perimeter of the sports field. Just inside the wall was a line of mature and very large leylandii that would have provided more than enough cover for the killer to disappear into had he been disturbed. The leylandii ended at a hedge that then continued the outer boundary at right angles. According to the file the whole area, including the gap between the wall and the trees, had been the subject of a fingertip search, but nothing had been found except cigarette butts and empty bottles. Dixon would have a look for himself later.
In the meantime, he followed Phillips around the back of the sports hall and down through a line of trees to the 3rd XV rugby pitch. A small crowd was assembled along the near touchline at the halfway line. Phillips looked at his watch. It was just after 3.30 p.m.
‘Second half must be under way.’
He spoke to a boy standing at the end of the crowd.
‘What’s the score, Thompson?’
‘15–9, Sir.’
‘Who to?’
‘Them.’
‘What about over there?’ he asked, nodding in the direction of the 1st XV pitch.
‘We’re winning, 21–0,’ came the reply.
‘That’s better,’ said Phillips. ‘Want to watch that game instead?’
‘Sounds like this lot need our support more,’ replied Dixon.
‘You’ll go far,’ replied Phillips, smiling and lighting his pipe at the same time.
‘Not watching the firsts, Robin?’ The voice came from behind them.
‘Ah, Rowena, how did your girls get on?’ asked Phillips, turning around.
‘We won, 3–0.’
‘Well done.’ Phillips pointed at Dixon with his pipe. ‘This is our trainee teacher. You got the email?’
‘I did,’ replied Rowena.
‘Nick, this is the Miss Weatherly I was telling you about.’
They shook hands.
‘All good, I hope,’ said Rowena.
‘Yes,’ replied Dixon.
Rowena Weatherly was tall and slim with short hair, dyed jet black. She looked every inch the hockey coach in a red and black Brunel tracksuit with a Grays hockey stick bag slung over her shoulder .
‘How long are you here for?’ she asked.
‘Till the end of term.’
‘Having fun?’
‘He’s sitting in on His Lordship’s law classes,’ said Phillips, rolling his eyes.
‘Oh. Still, it could be worse. It could be chemistry . . .’
‘Yes, thank you, Rowena.’
‘It’s not that bad, really,’ said Dixon.
‘Well, a change is as good as a rest. I must dash. Got another match starting in ten minutes.’
Dixon turned back to the rugby match. He felt odd cheering for a team he had always thought of as the opposition but did his best to sound enthusiastic, even remembering to limit his reaction to a St Dunstan’s try under the posts
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