Yeah, right 
Chapter Thirteen
‘No Jane?’
‘We were going to have a chat about maternity leave this morning and, as you can see, she’s buggered off.’
Louise was standing in the kitchen at Dixon’s cottage, watching him eat a bowl of cereal. ‘She won’t go with all this going on. I wouldn’t.’
‘It’s not all bad news, though,’ he said, with a cheeky grin. ‘It means I can have a sprinkle of sugar on my cornflakes, with the diabetes police safely out of the way.’
‘She’ll probably dust the bowl for prints if you leave it in the dishwasher.’
‘I’ll wash it up before we go.’
There was a reason Louise was standing in his kitchen at seven-thirty in the morning, and no doubt she would get round to telling him what it was in her own time. Dixon flicked on the kettle. ‘Coffee?’ he asked, through a mouthful of cornflakes.
‘We haven’t really got time, Sir,’ replied Louise. ‘You have seen your messages, haven’t you?’
Perhaps he should have checked his phone? It was still in the pocket of his jacket, hanging over the back of the dining chair, and had been there since he’d got back from his walk with Monty at two in the morning.
Louise took the hint. ‘A care home over at Shepton Mallet had an unusual visitor yesterday, early evening. A person claiming to be an occupational therapist visited one of their residents; signed the visitors’ book as June Jones. The night duty manager rang late last night, said she’d hang on for us this morning.’
‘Someone has a sense of humour,’ said Dixon, rinsing his bowl under the tap. ‘April Smith when she visited Thomas Fowler and June Jones this time. Alias Smith and Jones.’
‘I’ve heard of Alas Smith and Jones, but not Alias.’
‘It was an American TV series in the seventies. Wild West. Do we have another victim?’
‘That’s the funny thing. She visited a Mr George Sampson, aged eighty-seven, and didn’t kill him.’
‘Let’s go and find out why then, shall we?’
‘Lucerne House, it is.’ Louise was following the satnav on her phone. ‘Up here on the right.’
‘There’s CCTV covering the car park,’ said Dixon, spotting the camera as he turned into the gravelled entrance. He parked next to the patrol car, two uniformed officers visible in the lobby of the care home. ‘Are Scientific standing by?’
‘Donald Watson said he could get here for about ten, if we need him.’
One of the uniformed officers saw them walking up the ramp to the front door and pressed the buzzer, the door opening automatically.
‘We’ve preserved the CCTV images, Sir,’ she said. ‘And this is the duty manager, Tammy Davies.’
‘I saw it on the telly, then Faith said she’d let someone in, so I thought I’d better let you know. Everyone’s fine, though, so I’m probably wasting your time.’
‘Is Faith still here?’ asked Dixon. The door had closed behind him, taking the fresh air with it, leaving only the faint smell of urine and bleach.
‘She’s stayed, in case you wanted to speak to her. She was on duty all night, so is probably having a nap in the staff room.’
The entrance lobby opened into a television lounge, various elderly people slumped in chairs; some asleep, none actually watching the film. It was a good one too – A Night to Remember – far better than the remake.
An upright piano was standing against the far wall, double doors leading out into the garden via another ramp; a large noticeboard covered in pictures of the residents with party hats on.
That lyric again. Dixon could hear the line, see Roger Daltrey belting it out even, but couldn’t remember the name of the song.
Tammy noticed him looking all around. ‘The only camera is the one outside, I’m afraid.’
‘Can I see the footage?’
Black and white; grainy. The same car. A night vision camera, maybe, but it was not a good one, even with the light streaming from the care home windows. That said, whoever it was had the hood of their coat up anyway, so a view of the face was not going to happen, but it was raining so that was to be expected, perhaps.
‘Faith’s your best bet,’ said Tammy. ‘She actually spoke to her. The staff room’s just here.’
Slightly bleary-eyed, but that was to be expected as well. Faith had changed into jeans and a pullover after her shift and was clinging on to a mug of strong black coffee as if her life depended on it. Straggly dark hair, pale complexion, bags under her eyes; it must’ve been a long night.
‘I didn’t get your names,’ said Tammy, intending to make the introductions, but realising she couldn’t.
‘That’s the one that was on the telly, Tam,’ said Faith. ‘You wanted to give him a good—’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Tammy blushed.
‘Tell me about this visitor, June Jones,’ said Dixon, glaring at Louise, who was chuckling to herself.
‘It was about seven, I suppose. The doorbell went and there was this OT standing under the canopy.’
‘She said she was an OT?’
