The Cadaver Game (17 page)

‘Did you have a warrant?’ It was hard to tell whether Catton was joking.

‘We can get one if you like,’ Gerry growled. ‘In view of the two murders that occurred on this property—’

‘Those bodies weren’t found on this estate. That coastline belongs to the National Trust.’ Catton was sounding worried now.

‘Oh, didn’t I say? Our search team’s found the place where the two youngsters were killed … and they died on this estate.’

Wesley saw fear in Catton’s eyes as he sat there frozen, lost for words. ‘You were seen coming out of one of the chalets with
a bag full of clothes.’ He took the evidence bag containing the bra from his pocket. ‘I think you dropped this.’

Catton stared at him for a few seconds. Then he spoke. ‘I was checking the chalet out and I found some clothes in one of the
bedrooms. The last people who stayed there must have left them.’

‘Where are these clothes now?’

Catton swallowed hard. ‘I burned them … in the garden.’

‘Bit drastic. They might have come back for them. There was a hunt on your land on Thursday night.’

‘Hunting’s illegal,’ Catton said quickly.

‘I’m not talking about hunting foxes. I’m talking about hunting human beings.’

There was no mistaking the flash of alarm on Catton’s face, there for a moment, then swiftly hidden.

‘I understand quad bikes were used. And bloodhounds.’

There was a long silence; the silence of a man who knows he’s cornered and who’s trying desperately to think up a way out.

‘What is it about these hunts that you don’t want to become common knowledge? What goes on?’

There was a long silence. Gerry was about to speak but Wesley caught his eye and shook his head. In his experience if there
was a silence, people could never resist the temptation to fill it.

Eventually Catton bowed his head as though he was ashamed of what he was about to say.

‘The hares run naked.’

‘Hares?’

‘Kids who act as the quarry.’

‘I take it they get paid for being chased round naked in the dark?’

Catton swallowed. ‘A hundred quid a time.’

‘Nice little earner for your average teenager then. Have any of them ever been injured … or harmed in any way?’

Catton shook his head vigorously. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Until two of them ended up dead at the foot of a cliff,’ said Wesley quietly.

‘That was nothing to do with the hunt. They were shot and we never use guns. The dogs trail them, then the hunter puts his
tag on them and gets the collar they wear as a trophy.’

Wesley looked at Gerry. ‘Collar and tag? Explain that to us.’

‘The hares are naked apart from a leather collar – like a dog collar. The huntsmen remove the collars and keep them as trophies.’

‘And the tag?’

Catton blushed. ‘The winner writes his initials on the hare’s backside with a felt-tip pen. It’s another proof of victory.’

Wesley said nothing for a while. He couldn’t help visualising the type of person who would get a kick out of hunting a naked
adolescent and subjecting him or her to the humiliation of putting his mark on their backside. Perhaps he was old-fashioned
– Pam often told him he was – but the thought of Sophie submitting herself to this treatment made him uncomfortable.

‘So how many hares were caught on the night of the murders?’

‘Just the one. Dun, I think his name was.’

‘And three set out?’

‘Two weren’t caught.’

‘So why weren’t they wearing these leather collars when they were found?’

‘Maybe whoever killed them took them off? I don’t know.’

‘We were told they were allowed to keep their trainers on.’

‘I don’t know anything about that.’

Wesley could see beads of sweat forming on Catton’s forehead.

‘What did you think had happened to the kids?’

‘I thought they’d got away.’

‘Without claiming their hundred quid apiece?’ Gerry asked.

‘I thought they’d had second thoughts. I thought they must have doubled back and gone home.’

‘Naked?’

Catton looked away.

‘Those clothes you burned belonged the dead kids, didn’t they? We’ve got the bra so we can match the DNA on it with the dead
girl’s.’

Richard bowed his head. ‘OK. I found their clothes in the chalet and when I heard they were dead I panicked and thought I’d
better get rid of them. It was a stupid thing to do. I realise that now.’

‘Yes,’ Gerry growled. ‘It was stupid. You could face charges for tampering with evidence; perverting the course of justice.’

‘I panicked.’

‘They had other things with them, I believe,’ said Wesley. ‘Rucksacks and mobile phones?’

‘I burned the rucksacks in the garden incinerator when I got rid of the clothes and I chucked the phones into the sea. I just
wanted to get rid of everything.’

Wesley sensed he was telling the truth. But they needed to know more. ‘How did the murdered kids get here? Did they come in
a car?’

‘I don’t know. There were no cars there after everyone had left so …’

‘Who’s the Game Master?’

He hesitated. ‘His name’s Carl Heckerty. The hunts were his idea. He owns a paintball centre near Dukesbridge, and he’s wanted
to organise them ever since he learned that one of my ancestors used to have them here a couple of hundred years ago. He got
in contact with one of the local hunts who lent us some bloodhounds, so that was no problem, and someone he knew provided
the quad bikes. He thought it was a great idea. There’s no harm in it. It’s not illegal.’

‘But murder is, Mr Catton,’ said Wesley. ‘I need you to come with us to Tradmouth Police Station. Do feel free to bring along
your solicitor. We want to do everything by the book.’

Wesley saw a look of sheer terror in Richard Catton’s
eyes. But somehow he couldn’t conjure up much sympathy for the man.

When one of the PhD students began to uncover what appeared to be a wine bottle, Orford and his companions moved their seats
closer to the action. But their expressions remained impassive, as if they were trying hard not to display any interest or
excitement.

Neil knew that some of his colleagues were uncomfortable about the constant scrutiny, but when he caught their eye he winked
and mouthed the word ‘money’ – it seemed to work wonders.

It made it worse that the deadpan watchers never spoke or communicated with them. They seemed to be taking it all so seriously,
and it was only Kevin Orford who showed anything approaching emotion. He seemed nervous, on edge, and when his PR man appeared
– which he did most days – Neil could sense his anxiety, as though he was discussing a matter of life and death.

Neil adjusted his kneeling mat and started to scrape away at the earth, relieved that they appeared to have hit the picnic
level. He had just found the edge of what looked like a white china plate, filthy with caked soil but otherwise intact, when
he heard a voice.

‘What’s this?’

He turned his head and saw one of the students sitting back on his heels, poking at something with his trowel.

‘Not sure what it is yet. Looks like plastic – remnants of a rubbish bag maybe.’

The student had been speaking in a low voice but the operator of the video camera must have heard because he had moved along
the trench, edging towards them.

The student continued what he was doing, trying to ignore the prying lens. He scraped the earth away carefully from the brittle,
shredded plastic. Then he suddenly stopped, his hand froze in mid-air, and called Neil over in an urgent whisper.

‘Have a look at this,’ he said quietly, shifting his body round to hide his discovery from the camera.

Neil straightened himself up and picked his way carefully across the trench, trying to look casual. He crouched next to the
student and scraped away some soil.

‘I see what you mean,’ he whispered after a few moments. ‘That looks like bone.’

‘Maybe they had a big joint of meat,’ the student suggested hopefully.

‘It looks to me like the top of a skull.’

The student swore under his breath. ‘Could it be a boar’s head or something? They might have had some sort of medieval banquet.’

Neil removed some more soil. The camera had now reached the other side of the trench so their discovery was no longer hidden.

And as Neil and his colleague scraped the soil away carefully from the grinning human skull, their every move was recorded
for posterity.

The Steward’s Journal

17 June 1815

I fear the Squire and Henry Catton are arranging another entertainment. For two days now they have been huddled together with
John Tandy, laughing and whispering. In my presence they are silent, but I have ears to hear by doors.

I was outside the stables yesterday when I saw Tandy with two lads who work in the garden here. They were listening to his
words most attentively and I watched as he handed them some coins.

I spoke to the Head Gardener and told him of my fears. He too is of the Methodist persuasion and he spoke to the lads most
firmly, but this was to no avail for they denied any dealings with Tandy. I feel there is nothing more I can do but pray for
their safety.

18 June 1815

This morning I saw a man in the garden, but I did not recognise him as a worker on the estate. When I approached him to ask
his business he told me some tale about looking for his sister. I told him that no new maidservant had come to work at the
house and that he must seek his sister elsewhere. He said he would do so and fled into the trees. Perhaps he is a thief. Or
someone connected to Henry Catton, which I think more likely, for he has all manner of undesirable acquaintances.

Today the Squire received an invitation from Lord Townstall to bring the Lady Pegassa to a soirée at his grand house in Tradmouth.
Perhaps if she were to go into society she would be safer. I am concerned about the way she is kept here like some wild and
exotic pet.

I feel it my duty, humble though I am, to be that lady’s protector, for in a strange country she will be innocent in certain
matters. I have seen the way Henry looks at her – with lust in his eyes – so it might be as well that I should seek out another
home for her with ladies who would ensure that she comes to no harm.

‘I’m calling the police in.’

Kevin Orford stared at Neil as though he’d just uttered an obscenity. ‘I can’t allow that.’

‘We’ve no choice. When human remains are found unexpectedly, we have to report it.’

When the bones were first unearthed, Neil had half suspected that they were part of the artwork – after all, he’d read on
the Internet that one of Orford’s aims was to ‘shake people out of their complacency’. But the artist’s shocked reaction seemed
genuine enough … unless it was all part of an elaborate charade.

Orford’s colleagues, who had been watching so assiduously all day, had now made their excuses and vanished, leaving him to
face the fallout alone. But the PR man remained and he was watching the proceedings with interest.

‘It will destroy the whole artwork.’ Orford sounded peevish, like a child refused an expected treat.

‘Oh I don’t know,’ said the PR man who was standing there, arms folded. ‘It might get us more press attention. How did the
skeleton get in there? Who could it be? The story could run and run.’

‘You’re sure it isn’t someone who ate the picnic?’ one of the students chipped in. ‘Nasty case of food poisoning?’

As Orford gave him a withering look, Neil took out his phone and selected Wesley’s number. When he’d made the call he turned
to the artist.

‘We’ve only just reached the level of the picnic, so it looks like the skeleton was placed on top.’ He looked at Orford accusingly.
‘I take it you were here when that trench was filled in?’

Orford shot a desperate glance at the PR man. ‘Yes, but I don’t know anything about it. This whole thing’s a nightmare,’ he
shouted before striding away.

Carl Heckerty had already come to their attention because he’d provided Tessa Trencham with a reference for her rented house.
But now they knew he’d sent the two teenagers off into the woods, naked and vulnerable, to their deaths, so he’d just shot
to the top of the list of people they wanted to speak to.

Wesley parked the car in front of the paintball centre when his phone rang. He was aware of Gerry watching him, probably hoping
it was good news, and when he looked at the caller display, and saw that the call was from Neil, he was almost tempted to
let his friend leave a message. But as Neil was working near Catton Hall, there was a chance he might have something relevant
to report, so he held the phone to his ear and said ‘hello’.

‘We’ve found a skeleton in our trench.’ Neil had always believed in coming straight to the point.

‘The picnic? Can you tell if it’s recent or—’

‘It was wrapped in a black bin bag and placed just above the picnic so it must have been buried sixteen years ago or later.’

Wesley sat there for a few moments. He could see the hopeful look on Gerry’s face and he wondered how he was going to break
the news. They had enough to deal with at that moment without this new development. ‘Orford must have been there when the
trench was filled in. What does he say?’

‘He threw a hissy fit when I told him the police had to be notified and I’ve not seen him since.’

‘Did he seem surprised when it was found?’

‘Yes, I’d say so. However, I could be wrong. He’s been really jumpy since we started – like something’s on his mind – but
he might always be like that, for all I know. I can’t see him going to all this trouble to reopen the trench if he knew it
was there, can you? It wouldn’t make sense. Unless it’s all part of his artwork.’

‘Is that likely?’

‘I wouldn’t rule it out.’

‘Is the skeleton male or female?’

‘Definitely male. Are you coming over?’

‘Yes, but there’s something I have to do first.’

‘OK. We’ve stopped digging and sealed off the trench.’