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Gardenhurst from the main entrance. Dixon read Susannah’s statement several times before putting all of them back in the file and hiding them under the mattress. Then he walked back down to the main entrance and followed Isobel’s route back to Gardenhurst.
    Once past the headmaster’s house the corridor narrowed and at the far end double doors led into the boys’ toilets. There were also doors either side of the corridor: a pair of large double doors to the left, leading to the back of the school, opposite a smaller door leading to the front. Dixon looked out of the window in the smaller door. It was almost dark this way, illuminated only by the glow from the lights at the back of the headmaster’s house.
    Once through the door Dixon found himself in a small car park, which he took to be the headmaster’s private parking area. There were flowerbeds on three sides with large bushes that gave it an intimidating feel. If Isobel had been anything like Fran there was no way she would have come this way, even if it was a shortcut.
    Dixon walked back to the side door, into the main corridor and then out of the swing doors opposite. The area behind the school was well lit with several outside lights and there were a number of students milling around, two throwing an American football to each other on a lawn to the left. Dixon walked around the side of the toilet block and into the bright lights coming from a large building set at right angles to the main school. The sign above the door told him it was the Underwood Building, and it was a hive of activity. Every light was on and all of the rooms were occupied.
    In front of Dixon was the Bishop Sutton Hall. He could hear the school play rehearsal going on inside and, judging by the noise, it was a musical. He followed the path around to the left. It was wide, well lit by lamps along the side of the hall and overlooked by all of the windows along the side of the Underwood Building. Isobel would’ve come this way.
    ‘Can I help you, Sir?’
    ‘And you are?’
    ‘Chamberlain, Sir. I’m a prefect.’
    ‘My name’s Dickson. I’m a trainee teacher here for two weeks’ work experience before the end of term.’
    ‘Do you have any identification, please, Sir?’
    ‘A letter from the headmaster.’ Dixon reached into his inside jacket pocket and handed the letter to the boy. He read it and handed it back.
    ‘Thank you, Sir. I’m sorry . . .’
    ‘Don’t be,’ replied Dixon, ‘and well done.’
    At the far end of the hall was a door with a sign on it. ‘Sixth Form Bar.’ Dixon shook his head. At that time of night on a Saturday there would have been students everywhere, surely? He could see Gardenhurst a short distance away and the car park off to the left, down a slope. She would have been in plain view of any number of different people if she had come this way just after 10 p.m. on a Saturday night. Dixon felt sure that she would have done, which left only one alternative. She was intercepted before she got here.
    He walked back to the end of the corridor and stood outside the toilets, in between the two exit doors. It was possible that Isobel had been snatched by an assailant waiting in the darkness behind the smaller door. Possible but unlikely. The noise would have alerted anyone in the toilets to her abduction, and certainly if she had screamed. She would also have been taken to a waiting car and, in all probability, have simply disappeared. Like Fran.
    The exercise had confirmed what Dixon already knew. Isobel had been taken by someone familiar to her and who presented no obvi ous threat. Someone she trusted. There would have been no sound, no scream, and it would explain the red wine in her system.
    Dixon looked back down the corridor towards the entrance hall. There were several doors on either side, one leading to the headmaster’s house, and two flights of stairs, one leading up to Reynell House and the other to Neales. Dixon checked the time. It was