The Cadaver Game (32 page)

Was it a coincidence that Marcus had described the murder scene so well? Or was it something he’d dreamed of doing for a long
time? An itch that had to be scratched? Had he regarded hunting fellow human beings to the death as the ultimate thrill? If
he had, he needed to be stopped before he decided to repeat the experience. Murder can be addictive. And easier second time
around.

When he arrived in the incident room he found Gerry leafing through statements, frowning with concentration. He looked up
as Wesley walked in. ‘Richard Catton called. He wanted to know if his dad’s going to be charged.’

‘What did you tell him?’

Gerry shrugged. ‘That it’s up to the CPS to decide what’s going to happen. He told me they’re starting work on the holiday
park on Monday. Him and Heckerty are going to be up there today getting things ready.’

‘I take it we’re going to ask Heckerty what he was doing near Lister Cottage around the time Evie was murdered?’

‘There might be an innocent explanation, but let’s go and have a word.’ He stretched and Wesley saw his shirt straining dangerously
over his stomach. ‘The Nutter said he wants to be brought up to date with developments, but he can wait.’

They took the stairs down to the reception and picked up a pool car to drive over the river. There was no queue for the car
ferry and they made it to Catton Hall in record time.

Just after nine o’clock they parked next to what Wesley now thought of as the picnic field. The place was empty now, the only
sign of all that artistic activity being a long strip of bare, red earth scarring the expanse of rough pasture. Orford and
his colleagues had gone, probably back to London. Last night Neil had been wondering whether to travel to London to see the
fruits of his labours when Orford’s work was exhibited at Tate Modern. But, from his lack of enthusiasm, Wesley thought, it
was far more likely that he’d just take the cheque for the Archaeological Unit and put the experience behind him.

They crossed the field and stepped through the broken-down fence into that other world of crumbling holiday memories. As they
made for the chalets, they looked around for signs of life, and it wasn’t long before they saw Richard Catton and Carl Heckerty
deep in conversation with a man whose hard hat and clipboard marked him out as something to do with the building work.

Gerry had brought along the still photo of Heckerty walking in the direction of Lister Cottage and, as he approached the three
men, he took it from his jacket pocket.

‘Can we have a word in private, Mr Heckerty?’

For a split second a flash of panic appeared on Heckerty’s face, but he swiftly composed himself and forced out a weak smile.
‘Of course. The old site reception is fairly comfortable. We can talk there.’

Heckerty led them between the empty chalets and when he arrived at the reception office he took a huge bunch of keys from
his pocket, trying several in the lock before he found the right one. Wesley had heard it said that the more keys a man possesses,
the more cares he has. If this was the case, Heckerty was bearing a lot of burdens. And things might be about to get worse
for him.

They stepped into an office strewn with litter, mostly old leaflets about tourist attractions, at least a decade out of date.
But there were several usable chairs and Heckerty invited them to sit, the perfect host in his tattered domain.

‘What can I do for you
this time?’
Heckerty began, emphasising the last two words. ‘I’ve admitted that Richard and I moved the bodies and there’s really nothing
more I can add.’ He leaned forward, taking them into his confidence. ‘Look, you can see why we did it. We couldn’t afford
to have the work on this place held up. Time is money and budgets are tight.’

‘We’re aware of that, sir,’ said Wesley. ‘The CPS is looking at the charges and you’ll be hearing in due course. However,
something else has come up.’

On cue, Gerry handed the photograph to Heckerty. ‘This was taken around the time we estimate the woman at Lister Cottage was
murdered, the woman we thought at one time was your former employee, Tessa Trencham.’

Heckerty stared at the picture for a while before handing it back to Gerry as though it was contaminated. ‘There’s a
simple explanation,’ he said. ‘I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to get involved.’

‘And what’s that?’

Heckerty took a deep breath. ‘I went to see Tessa that Saturday morning, but she wasn’t in.’

‘You told us you hadn’t seen her for a while.’

‘I was telling the truth, I hadn’t. But I wanted to ask her if she’d come back and work for me when the holiday park’s up
and running. To be honest I didn’t reckon her jewellery business would be going that well and I thought she might be glad
of a job with a regular income. I’d tried to call her but there’d been no answer – she has an annoying habit of switching
her phone off. Anyway, I happened to be in Morbay that morning so I thought I’d call in. No harm in that.’

‘No harm at all,’ said Gerry. ‘If it’s true. What happened?’

‘A woman answered the door. I’d never seen her before. I said something like “Hi, is Tessa in?” and she told me Tessa was
away in France and she wouldn’t be back for a while. I said I’d catch her when she got back, then I went away. That’s it.’

‘Did this woman say who she was?’

‘No. Actually she was a bit short with me, as if she was disappointed that I wasn’t after her, if you know what I mean.’

Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. If Evie had been expecting a client, a caller looking for somebody else might have been a little
irksome, especially if she had to summon up fresh courage for each encounter. Perhaps Evie hadn’t been so cool and professional
after all.

‘What time was this?’

‘Around midday.’

‘You should have told us this before,’ Gerry growled. ‘It would have saved us a lot of wasted time.’

‘I’m sorry. When I heard about the murder I thought it was best to keep quiet. After what happened here I didn’t want to be
a suspect, did I?’

There was no way of proving Heckerty was lying. In fact Wesley had the impression that he was telling the truth. But there
was something he needed to ask.

‘While you were there, did you see anybody hanging around?’

Heckerty’s lips twitched upwards in a knowing smile. ‘Now you come to mention it, I did see someone walking away from Tessa’s
place. I was really surprised because I didn’t expect to see him there.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Kevin Orford. He wasn’t wearing his wig and his clothes were pretty normal – perhaps he always dresses like that when he’s
off duty.’

‘You mean that hair’s a wig?’ Gerry sounded astonished.

‘You can tell if you look carefully. I believe it’s part of his “artistic persona”.’

‘Did you actually see him come out of Lister Cottage?’ Wesley asked.

‘I can’t say for certain, but he was certainly walking away from there. I don’t think he saw me.’

Wesley produced the remainder of the pictures and handed them to Heckerty. ‘Can you see him on these?’

Heckerty examined the pictures and handed one back to Wesley. ‘That’s him.’

Wesley studied the picture. He’d wondered where he’d seen those tattoos before, and now he knew. The shaved head and the clothes
had fooled him.

‘Do you know where we can find him?’

‘Rich might know. Is Kevin a suspect?’

Wesley didn’t answer. If he’d left the house before Heckerty saw Evie alive, he was probably in the clear. But he might still
be an important witness. ‘We’d like you to make a statement, at the police station.’

Heckerty nodded meekly. Wesley suspected, in view of the pending decision about his prosecution, he didn’t want to make things
worse for himself by protesting.

Gerry said he’d wait in the car and Wesley went off in search of Richard. He found him talking to the surveyor and, when he
interrupted, the man seemed to welcome the distraction. He excused himself before asking Wesley to walk with him towards the
hall.

‘How’s your dad?’ Wesley asked as they walked.

‘OK.’

Something in Richard’s voice told Wesley that the subject of Alfred Catton was off limits, so he came straight to the purpose
of his visit. ‘At least you’ve got rid of the artists now.’

‘Yes. I thought it would be easy money having them here, but it only opened up things that should have been forgotten long
ago.’

‘You mean Daniel?’

Richard didn’t reply.

‘Has Orford gone back to London?’

‘No, he’s still around. He’s asked to see me. I hope he doesn’t want to get out of paying me what he promised.’

‘Do you know where we can find him?’

‘He’s staying in Morbay – the Riviera Towers, no less.’ He sighed. ‘There must be money in bullshit.’

Wesley left a few moments of silence before he spoke again. ‘Your friend, Daniel, was an artist.’

‘Yes. But he had talent.’

Wesley watched his expression and saw pain there. Orford’s return must have been an unwelcome reminder of his loss. ‘I hope
your holiday park’s a success,’ he said with some sincerity.

‘If it isn’t I’m in the shit. Look, do you think there’s a chance I’ll go to prison for moving those bodies?’

‘That’s not up to me.’

‘I didn’t kill them and neither did Carl. You do believe me?’ The man looked at Wesley with pleading eyes as though his whole
future was hanging on the reply.

But Wesley could offer him no reassurance. He had to play this by the book and Richard and Heckerty were still on the suspect
list.

Catton suddenly stopped walking and turned to face Wesley. ‘Do you believe my father’s story about the bones?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I still can’t get the fact that Daniel disappeared out of my head.’

‘You really think that skeleton is Daniel?’

‘I can’t understand why he hasn’t been in touch.’

‘Maybe he didn’t want commitment? Some people don’t.’

‘But he wanted me to go to London with him.’

‘People change their minds,’ said Wesley, wondering how he’d come to be acting as relationship counsellor to one of his suspects.
But it was part of his job to listen in the hope that some secret would be betrayed.

‘If he changed his mind, I blame my father. He drove my mother away with his manic fixations and he drove Daniel away too.
I shouldn’t be able to forgive him for that.’

Wesley stared down at the ground. ‘Maybe life would be easier if we were quicker to forgive people.’

‘That’s an odd thing for a policeman to say.’

‘It’s what my brother-in-law says. He’s a vicar.’

‘That’s his job. Yours is putting away the bad guys.’

‘I don’t think your father’s a bad guy. He was probably trying to look out for you in his own clumsy way. Look, I’ve got to
go.’

‘Will you come back? Will you need to ask me any more questions?’ Wesley could hear a note of desperation in his voice.

‘I’m not sure. Good luck with the holiday park.’ He turned and walked quickly back to the car, aware that Richard was watching
him. As soon as the car was in sight he took out his phone and made a quick call the Riviera Towers, to ensure that their
journey wouldn’t be wasted, and he was told that Orford was still in residence.

He couldn’t wait to see what Orford had to say about why he was on St Marks Road around the time of Evie Smith’s murder.

The Riviera Towers was one of Morbay’s more upmarket establishments and the automatic doors swished open as they walked in.

Gerry looked round. ‘Nice place, if you can afford it.’

Behind a polished mahogany reception desk stood a young woman with scraped back, dark hair and an immaculate black suit. She
fixed a smile of cold greeting to her face and asked how she could help them. But when they showed their ID, the smile immediately
vanished and she picked up a telephone to call up to the room. But Gerry stopped her in time.

‘Just give us the room number, love. We want it to be a surprise.’

After a brief show of reluctance, the woman mumbled the number and Gerry bounded towards the lift, Wesley following.

‘It’s only one floor; we should have taken the stairs,’ he said.

‘I’m conserving my energy,’ the DCI replied as they stepped out into a thickly carpeted corridor lined with doors.

Eventually they found the room and Gerry tapped on the door, calling out ‘Room service’. When the door opened a crack, Gerry
stuck his foot in the gap with the deftness of a seasoned door-to-door salesman and pushed until the room beyond came into
view. Orford was standing there, shaven headed, wearing a snowy T-shirt and well-cut chinos. His white hair was draped over
a wig stand on the dressing table, like a small abandoned animal. Wesley found the sight of it rather disconcerting.

‘We’d like a word, Mr Orford,’ said Gerry.

‘As far as I’m aware I’ve committed no crime, but do sit down.’ The voice was confident but the man’s restless fingers plucked
nervously at the T-shirt.

‘You’ve changed a bit since I last saw you.’

Orford glanced at the wig. ‘I suppose you could call that my stage persona – my mask, if you like.’

Wesley and Gerry said nothing. They made themselves comfortable on the sofa by the window and Orford sat down in an armchair
opposite. He appeared relaxed, but Wesley knew he was putting on a show for their benefit. He was used to living a lie so
it probably came easily to him.

‘You were seen on St Marks Road here in Morbay a week last Saturday around eleven thirty in the morning,’ Wesley began, handing
over the still photograph taken from the CCTV footage.

Orford stared at the picture and it was a while before he spoke. ‘I was calling on an old friend.’

‘Name?’

‘Karen. She’d read about the Catton Hall art project in the local paper and contacted me.’

‘Where does she live?’

‘St Marks Road.’

‘What number?’

‘It had a name. Something Cottage, I think.’

‘Had she lived there long?’

‘She was looking after the place for a friend.’

Up until that moment they’d had nothing but nebulous suspicions, but now it seemed they might be in luck.