The Cadaver Game (22 page)

‘You think there was someone else there in the trees – someone he spoke to before he was shot?’

‘I can’t be sure. It could have been the wind in the trees because it was pretty breezy that night, but now I think about
it, it could have been a voice.’

‘Did you see anybody else? Hear footsteps?’

He shook his head. ‘It was very dark, not much moon. And when you’re lamping you can’t see anything outside the range of your
beam.’

‘You’ll have to come to the station to make a full statement. And we’ll need to examine your gun.’

‘No problem.’ He looked Wesley in the eye. ‘I was going to come forward right away, but I thought I might get the blame. It’s
been eating me up, like, that I was there when it
happened and I couldn’t stop it. I feel so bad ’cause Jimmy was just a kid. His mum must be in pieces.’

‘If what you say is true, Mr Walker, you weren’t responsible for his death. But you really should have stayed there until
the emergency services arrived.’

‘Do you think I don’t regret doing a runner? I’d do anything to turn the clock back.’

Wesley led Walker out to the car, carrying the rifle, unloaded and well concealed from the watching eyes of the hooded youths
who were still hanging around like wasps at a picnic.

Who was Evie? And was Evie even her real name? Where had she come from? Who were her next of kin? How did a woman who was
clearly on the game come to be using a house belonging to an apparently respectable woman who ran a jewellery business in
a craft centre? The questions swirled around Gerry’s head as he sat at his desk. He’d had officers trying to trace her through
the usual official records but they’d had no luck. It was almost as though she had never existed.

The officer who’d visited the address Marsh had mentioned, 23 Roly Walk, had drawn a blank. The new tenants knew nothing about
Evie and no trace of her remained there. Although, a couple of weeks ago, the new tenants had received a visit from a well-dressed
man in a business suit, who had asked for Evie and had seemed rather disappointed not to find her there. The new people also
provided the information that the letting of their town house was handled by Morbay Properties and the name made Gerry’s heart
beat a little faster. Morbay Properties had let out Lister Cottage as well. He’d thought that the manager, Kris
Kettering, had been hiding something and he had always prided himself on being a good judge of these things.

He had just been upstairs to brief Chief Superintendent Nutter on the latest developments in the case, and his frustration
at the way bureaucracy, form-filling and covering your back could hamper a murder inquiry kept bubbling to the surface. It
had been many years since Nutter had led a major criminal investigation and Gerry imagined he’d probably forgotten what it
was like sifting through evidence, knocking on doors and interviewing suspects in windowless rooms.

And Nutter wasn’t the only source of Gerry’s frustration. The local vice squad had never heard of Evie at either her old or
her new address. Sometimes Gerry wondered what they did with themselves all day.

He stood up and wandered out into the main incident room. He knew Wesley was downstairs taking a statement from the man who’d
been with Jimmy Yates on the night he died, so he looked around for someone reliable who would fancy a trip out to Morbay.

Paul was sitting at his desk, staring at his computer with an intensity that suggested he didn’t want to be disturbed. Gerry
knew that Sophie’s death was still at the forefront of his mind and, although he thought that a trip out might do him good,
he was reluctant to divert him from his work. At least if he was helping to investigate his cousin’s murder, he’d feel as
though he was doing something constructive.

He saw that Trish had just put her phone down so he bore down on her, beaming like a benevolent uncle.

‘Evie’s old address and Lister Cottage were let by the same company – Morbay Properties – and I don’t believe in coincidences.
Fancy paying them a visit?’

Trish didn’t need asking twice. She picked up her handbag and as she slung it over her shoulder her phone began to ring again.
When she answered it, she turned away, and Gerry noticed that she was blushing. He heard the words ‘Hi Steven,’ but he couldn’t
make out the rest of the hushed conversation, even though his natural curiosity meant that he was straining to hear.

‘Want me to drive, sir?’ she said when the call was finished.

Gerry nodded. Driving was something he always left to others. ‘Who was that on the phone?’

She hesitated before replying. ‘Tessa Trencham’s dentist. He just wanted to know if she’d turned up yet.’

Trish was a good officer, but she was a bad liar. However, Gerry said nothing.

The journey was impeded by the thickening tourist traffic and when they finally reached Morbay Properties, Gerry pushed the
door open, warrant card at the ready. The plump receptionist was wearing the same black trouser suit she’d worn the other
day, and as soon as she recognised the DCI, her expression changed from mildly welcoming to wary.

‘I’ll get Kris,’ she said, as though she was anxious to shift the responsibility onto someone else.

‘In a minute, love. Maybe you can help us. Do you know the woman who lived at this address until a couple of weeks ago? Her
name was Evie Smith.’ He passed her a slip of paper bearing Evie’s old address.

‘Twenty-three Roly Walk. Is this to do with the … with the woman who died … Ms Trencham?’

Gerry didn’t answer the question. ‘If you could just look the address up in your records.’

As the woman rose and walked over to the filing cabinet in the corner, Kettering emerged from his office. At first only Trish
was in his line of vision and he made straight for her, wearing a cocky smile on his face as he looked her up and down appraisingly.
When he spotted Gerry the smile vanished.

‘Hello, Mr Kettering. Remember me? DCI Heffernan. And this is my colleague DC Walton. We’re after your help again, I’m afraid.’

‘I’ve already told you everything I know,’ Kettering sounded defensive. ‘I hardly had anything to do with Ms Trencham.’

‘Oh, didn’t I say? The body in Lister Cottage wasn’t Tessa Trencham. She’s in France and the dead woman was house-sitting
for her.’

‘Has Ms Trencham told you who the—?’

‘Her name was Evie Smith and she lived in another of your properties until recently. Roly Walk. Number twenty-three.’

‘I don’t remember anyone of that name renting that particular property.’ The answer came too quickly and Gerry had a sneaking
suspicion that he was lying.

Kettering’s receptionist had been rooting through the filing cabinet, but now she turned to Gerry with a puzzled frown on
her face. ‘I’ve found the file on Roly Walk and it contains the details of the people who are in there now but there’s nothing
about the previous tenant.’ She passed the file to Kettering. ‘Do you know anything about the last tenant, Kris?’

‘No.’ He didn’t sound too convincing. ‘Maybe someone’s filed the papers somewhere else by accident.’ He looked at the woman
accusingly.

She looked a little sheepish and it occurred to Gerry that filing might not be her strong point. ‘Not to worry, love. If you
find it, give me a ring.’ He handed her his card. ‘It could be important.’

Gerry glanced back over his shoulder as they left Morbay Properties and saw that Kettering was standing, fists clenched, with
a blank expression on his face. Poker face, he’d heard it called. Only the police held most of the good cards.

‘Did you believe him, sir?’ Trish asked as they were walking to the car.

‘Not a chance. If anybody mislaid that file, I bet it was him.’

‘Maybe he saw Evie in a professional capacity,’ she said with a knowing smile.

‘You could be right. It’s just a matter of getting him to admit it.’

‘Are we taking him in for questioning?’

Gerry shook his head. ‘We’ll let him stew for a while. In the meantime I might get a search warrant and get someone to go
through the office for those missing details. That should soften him up nicely.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘Are you and Paul
still OK? I reckon he needs a bit of support at the moment.’

‘I know, sir.’

They spent the rest of the journey back to Tradmouth in silence.

Kevin Orford had vanished for a while after his spat with Richard Catton, then he returned half an hour later as though nothing
had happened.

From what Neil knew of Orford, he imagined the
argument could have been about something trivial, but he didn’t bother to ask because he couldn’t whip up the necessary interest.
He just wanted to get this project finished, receive the cheque and then move onto something more interesting, like the investigation
of the Napoleonic fort at Fortress Point.

The most fascinating aspect of the dig so far had been the discovery of the skeleton. However, although the police had gone
through the motions, they were dealing with the shooting of the two teenagers and the murder in Morbay, so the bones didn’t
seem to be top of their priority list.

Now that they were able to resume digging they’d reached the level of the sixteen-year-old picnic. The state of preservation
of the various items was mildly interesting from a professional point of view, although it wasn’t really his specialism. However,
some of his colleagues, those with a more scientific bent, seemed to be in a state of high excitement.

Orford had asked for the individual items to remain
in situ
rather than being lifted and placed in trays, so the remains lying in the bottom of the trench looked as if someone had just
abandoned the feast to nature. The food on the plates had long rotted away into the earth but the crockery, glasses and bottles
still lay grubby but intact on the filthy, shredded fragments of a patterned tablecloth.

The artists kept up their strange surveillance regime and the archaeologists’ every action was photographed and videoed. Orford
had told him that a video of the excavation would be played on large screens at the exhibition, which was to be held at Tate
Modern. It was some kind of immortality, Neil supposed. Although he would have preferred something a little more conventional
and less
pretentious. A portrait above a fireplace in the Council for British Archaeology headquarters perhaps, casually posed with
trowel in one hand and some impressive find in the other.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of a voice saying ‘hello’ and when he looked up he saw Richard Catton had returned
and was standing at the edge of the trench watching him.

‘I want to ask you a question.’ He spoke quietly as if he didn’t want Neil’s fellow diggers to overhear.

‘Fire away,’ Neil said, immediately regretting his choice of words when he recalled the double murder nearby.

‘Those bones you found.’

‘What about them?’

‘I’ve heard they’re male.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Can you tell how old the person was when he died?’

‘Late twenties we think.’

‘And was he tall or short?’

‘Around five nine. Why?’

‘Do you know how old the bones are yet?’ Something told Neil that the question was more than a casual enquiry.

‘A sample’s been sent away for dating but it’ll be a couple of weeks before we get the results. Our expert thinks they’re
probably old but they were found in a bin bag which suggests—’

‘What?’

‘Well, we can’t be sure, but I’ll know for certain when we get the test results. You seem very interested.’

The man didn’t speak for a few moments. ‘I was here when they filled in the trench. I’d like to know how the skeleton got
there.’

‘You and me both. Have you any ideas?’

Catton stood in silence for a while, staring at the earth. Neil sensed he still had more to say, so he waited. Eventually
his patience was rewarded.

‘Have you heard Kevin Orford mention someone called Daniel?’

‘I don’t think so. Who’s Daniel?’ The man’s vague hints at something amiss were beginning to annoy him.

‘A friend,’ he said with a secretive smile. A lost soul.’

Then Richard Catton turned slowly and walked away.

‘Wesley, can I have a word?’

Rachel was standing by his desk and from the determined expression on her face, he sensed she was about to tell him something
important.

‘What is it?’

‘I’ve been to see Sophie and Barney’s school friends, the ones who played that Blood Hunt game with them online.’

‘Learn anything interesting?’

‘As a matter of fact, I did. A girl called Jodie said that Marcus was obsessed with Sophie. He had a fight with Barney over
her.’

‘Remind me, what’s his alibi for the time of their deaths?’

‘He claims he spent the evening at home, but his family were out so they can’t vouch for him. At first he said that he was
on his computer, but when I told him that Internet use can be traced, he changed his story and said that he was reading. He’s
going to study English at Cambridge and he said he has a lot of reading to do before the course starts.’

‘He will have but it’s strange that he changed his story.’

‘And there’s something else. Marcus’s dad owns one of these estates that runs shooting weekends for townies and
he helps out. He knows how to handle a gun and apparently he’s a good shot.’

Wesley sat back in his seat, considering the implications. ‘So he had a grudge against Barney, he knew where they’d be that
night, and he has access to firearms. We need to bring him in.’

When Rachel didn’t move he knew there was more to come.

‘I asked Paul if Sophie’s parents could give him the names of some of the teachers at Corley Grange. When I got back here
there was a list on my desk and I contacted the headmaster for their details. When I rang them most just came out with the
usual stuff about how tragic it was et cetera, but there was one – a Mr Dickens – who mentioned a piece of creative writing
Marcus did a few months ago. He said it was quite remarkable and extremely well-written, but the subject matter was pretty
violent and disturbing. It was about this boy stalking people who’d offended him and …’