The Cadaver Game (19 page)

According to Trish, Dunstan’s father hadn’t been home when she’d talked to the lad; he’d been off in some distant field tending
to his livestock, a farmer’s work – like a woman’s or a police officer’s – never being done. But this time Len Price was home
and he greeted them at the door, telling them his son was upstairs playing on his computer.

‘I couldn’t believe it when he told me what he’d been up to,’ Price said as he led them through to the living room of the
farmhouse. ‘If I’d known about these hunts I would have put a stop to it. He could have got himself killed. If that lunatic
had found him—’

‘Yes, Mr Price,’ said Wesley. ‘We just have to be thankful that he came to no harm. I expect his mother’s worried too …’ There
was no sign of a Mrs Price and Wesley didn’t like to ask directly.

‘Yes. She’s very upset about it.’

‘Is she about?’

‘She’s at work at the moment. Sit down, won’t you.’

Wesley looked around at the shabby room. From the state of the farm, he’d been wondering how Price could afford private education
and now he had the chance to satisfy his curiosity.

‘What made you decide to send Dunstan to Corley Grange?’ he asked, his interest not entirely confined to the case. Since Michael
was almost at the age when they had to consider his future education, he was keen to glean any information he could about
local secondary schools – although he suspected Corley Grange might be way beyond his and Pam’s budget.

‘Dun was getting in with the wrong crowd at the
comprehensive and his grandparents offered to pay for the school fees.’ Somehow he didn’t look too happy about the older generation’s
generosity.

‘Has he been happy there?’

Price shrugged. ‘It’s hard to tell.’

‘Is he going to university in September?’

‘He’s got a place at Southampton and I want him to go straight there, but all his mates are having gap years, travelling round
the world, so he wants to do the same. The grandparents have stumped up the cash again. I really wish they wouldn’t. The lad
needs a dose of reality.’

Gerry nodded earnestly, as though he agreed with every word. But before he could say anything, the door opened and Dunstan
walked in.

Wesley made the introductions and the boy studied their warrant cards carefully, as though he suspected they might be impostors.

‘I’ve already given a statement,’ he said as he sat down.

‘I know but DC Walton must have told you that we’d probably need to speak to you again.’ Wesley gave the boy an encouraging
smile and received a solemn nod in return.

They began by going over his statement and he repeated the story, adding a few more trivial details as he went along. But
Wesley had other avenues he wanted to explore. They’d heard the authorised version from their classmates at Corley Grange
but now it was time they tried to find out more about Barney and Sophie. Get to know the victim and you get to know the killer:
that was something that had been instilled into Wesley from the very first day he’d started in CID at the Met.

‘I’d like to talk about Barney,’ he said, watching the boy’s face closely.

‘What about him?’

‘Did he have any mates who went shooting?’

Dunstan suddenly looked wary. ‘A few.’

‘Any who went lamping? You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’

‘You can’t live around here without knowing what lamping means. Some people at school did it from time to time.’

‘Have you ever been lamping?’ He saw Dunstan glance at his father before answering.

‘I don’t like guns much. I use them around the farm of course. Dad taught me to shoot, didn’t you Dad? I sometimes go out
after pigeons or rabbits but it’s not something I particularly enjoy.’

‘But Barney did?’

‘Oh yeah.’

‘And he went shooting with his mates? Lamping?’

Dunstan looked uncomfortable, as though he feared he was about to betray the dead boy’s secrets. ‘Suppose so.’

‘When did you last use a gun, Dunstan?’ Gerry asked.

It was the father who answered. ‘I asked you to take a few shots at those bloody crows in the top field yesterday, didn’t
I?’

‘That’s right.’

‘How well do you know Carl Heckerty?’

‘I’ve played the Blood Hunt computer game, and I’ve done a few hunts but I wouldn’t say I know him that well.’

‘I believe it was Sophie and Barney’s first one?’

‘Yeah. But they knew what to expect; the stripping off and everything.’

Price half rose out of his seat and glowered at his son. ‘You never mentioned …’

Dunstan rolled his eyes. ‘It’s no big deal, Dad.’ He looked
at Wesley. ‘A few of my other mates did it too. I mean a hundred quid – easy money.’

‘Which mates are you talking about?’

‘Jodie and a couple of others. But it was mainly Marcus. I think he did every hunt, apart from the one last week.’

‘So Marcus must know Carl Heckerty quite well?’

Dunstan leaned forward. ‘He first met him at a paint-balling party. I wasn’t there ’cause I was ill, but when Marcus came
into school he was full of it; how he’d met this cool guy who ran the place. Then the game started up –on the computer – and
a few months later Carl started organising it for real.’

‘What about Sophie?’

‘Barney was up for it and she went along with anything he did.’

‘Do you know what she thought of Carl?’

‘She’d played online for a while but that night was the first time she’d met him. I think she seemed a bit scared of him,
but that’s just the impression I got. I can’t be sure.’

Wesley sensed that Dunstan was getting bored with their questions. But he had one more thing to ask. ‘You say you borrowed
your dad’s Land Rover to get there?’

‘That’s right. He did,’ said Price, sounding a little defensive.

‘How did Barney and Sophie get there? No car was found near the scene and neither of their families are missing a vehicle.
Did you give them a lift?’

Dunstan shook his head. Then he looked up, as though he’d suddenly remembered something.

‘I think Sophie said they’d got a lift from one of their mates.’

‘Which mate?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Which of your mates knew where they’d be that night?’

Dunstan shrugged. ‘Anyone could have known. It was no big secret.’

Wesley stood up and handed the boy his card. ‘If you remember anything, however small, please call me.’

‘He will,’ Price said, taking the card from his son’s fingers. ‘I’ll make sure of that.’

Wesley wanted to revisit Catton Hall and have a look at Neil’s discovery, but his workload seemed to thwart his plans at every
turn. They had to find out how Barney and Sophie got to Catton Hall that night, and the Lister Cottage case was always there
in his mind, tantalising and frustrating.

At last, he managed to get away. As he was leaving the office, he passed Paul in the corridor and asked him how things were
going at his aunt’s place.

‘Not good,’ Paul replied. ‘My aunt’s in pieces and I can tell my Uncle Brian’s on the verge of losing it.’ He paused. ‘It’s
hit my cousin Jack badly too. He won’t come out of his room. I’ve been trying to spend some time with him but …’

Wesley looked at his colleague’s forlorn face and felt a pang of sympathy, so strong that it almost hit him like a punch in
the stomach. ‘The poor lad’s probably in shock,’ he said.

‘I’ve left them with the family liaison officer. Thought I’d do a stint back in the incident room. I want to do something
to find out what happened.’

Wesley let him go. Paul’s dark-ringed eyes were fixed ahead, determined to achieve his goal. At least there’d be
one more officer on the team now – and with Paul’s drive to catch the culprit, he’d probably be as effective as two.

Just as he was about to set off for Catton Hall, Gerry burst out of his office, a wide smile of triumph on his face. ‘I’ve
just been speaking to Tessa Trencham. She’s got our messages at last – very apologetic.’

Everybody in the incident room looked round, he had their attention.

‘Have we got a name for the dead woman?’ Wesley asked.

‘Tessa let someone called Evie Smith house-sit while she was away, and Evie fits the description of the dead woman. She doesn’t
know of any jealous husband, in fact, she wasn’t able to tell me that much because she kept losing the phone signal. Anyway,
she’s driving straight back and coming here as soon as she arrives. I had to break the news that her house has been sealed
off as a crime scene. And with the body having been there so long there’ll be a fair amount of work to do in that bedroom.
What a homecoming, eh?’

Wesley didn’t answer. Soon the Lister Cottage case would become red-hot again. And he just hoped that Neil’s bones wouldn’t
add to their workload.

The field where Neil was working was crawling with crime scene officers, aided by archaeologists dressed in matching crime
scene suits. Neil was amongst them but he was deep in concentration and he didn’t look up as Wesley approached.

Colin Bowman stood on the edge of the trench, watching the activity, and he turned to greet Wesley, smiling broadly.

‘Wesley. It’s good to see you. We’ve got a bit of a puzzle here. Neil, says the skeleton was lying just above the remains
of a picnic that was buried sixteen years ago. Apparently, to an archaeologist, context is everything, so he says the bones
must have been buried around or just after the time of the picnic, which means that our man died sixteen years ago or possibly
later.’

‘You don’t sound convinced.’

Colin shook his head. ‘I’m not. And neither is Neil, or Dr Spender, the forensic anthropologist he called in. It had been
placed in a plastic bag – the plain black sort you put your rubbish out in every week – and it has no modern dental work.
To be honest, without further tests we can’t confirm how old it is. Do you want to have a look?’ He nodded towards a white
tent. ‘I’ll take the bones back to the mortuary later for closer examination and the archaeologists are checking whether there’s
anything in the ground that might be related to the burial.’

He led Wesley towards the tent where a photographer was snapping away, taking pictures of the bones from different angles.

‘The skeleton doesn’t appear to be articulated and it’s missing a few tiny bones from the hands and feet, the sort that often
get lost in old burials. If a body had been put into the bag prior to decomposition, I would really have expected them to
be there.’

‘So someone might have dug up an old skeleton and reburied it here?’ Wesley said as he stared down at the bones.

‘That would be my guess, but of course I could be wrong.’

‘What can you tell me about our skeleton?’

‘According to Dr Spender, he was in his mid to late twenties, around five foot nine, and he was strong, possibly used to manual
labour.’ He smiled. ‘Or of course he might have worked out in the gym. Neil and Dr Spender have suggested radiocarbon dating
and I think that’s the only way we’re going to get a definitive answer.’

‘That takes time.’

‘Indeed it does. But it’s the best option in the circumstances.’

‘What about the cause of death?’

‘There appears to be a rather nasty skull fracture and some broken bones, all of which were probably acquired around the time
of death, but I’ll know more once I’ve had a chance to conduct a proper examination.’

Wesley thought for a few moments. ‘Is it likely that he’s been dead for more than seventy years?’

Colin smiled. ‘So it wouldn’t be your problem?’

‘You’ve read my mind, Colin.’

Colin squatted down and picked up one of the larger leg bones. From his days studying archaeology, Wesley recognised it as
the tibia. ‘Our man here broke his leg at one time, probably in childhood. You can see for yourself that it wasn’t set very
well. This doesn’t suggest a trip to a modern A & E to me, but on the other hand he could have broken it when he was travelling
and found himself in a country without access to good health care.’

‘Or he might date from a time when only the rich could afford a proper doctor.’

Colin pondered the possibility for a few seconds. ‘My instincts tell me this skeleton is old, but I’m not sure, and neither
is Dr Spender.’ He gave Wesley a rueful smile. ‘Thankfully it’s your problem, not mine.’

Wesley took his leave, glancing at the skull that was grinning up at him from the plastic sheet. If Colin’s instincts were
proved right, there would be one less thing for him to worry about. But as he made his way over to where Neil was working,
he knew that things rarely turned out to be that simple.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked.

Neil had been concentrating so hard on his task that the sound of Wesley’s voice made him jump. ‘You’ve seen our bones?’

‘Colin thinks they might be old.’

Neil shrugged. ‘But why would someone stuff an old skeleton into a bin bag and put it in a newly dug trench?’

‘Someone who’d found it somewhere and didn’t know what to do with it?’

‘Perhaps. But I wouldn’t put money on it.’

‘Any sign of Orford?’

Neil sat back on his heels and shook his head. Then he focused his gaze beyond Wesley’s face and swore under his breath. ‘Talk
of the devil …’

Wesley looked round and saw Kevin Orford marching straight towards them. He looked agitated, as though he was carrying the
weight of the artistic world on his shoulders and this latest outrage was about to break him.

‘Neil. What’s going on? I never expected all this …’

Neil stood up. This is DI Peterson – he’s with Tradmouth CID.’

Orford gave Wesley a wary look.

‘I need to ask you a few questions, sir,’ said Wesley, showing his warrant card and keeping it formal. ‘I believe you were
here when the trench was filled in sixteen years ago. Can you throw any light on how these bones got here?’

‘Of course not. How can you think I’ve got anything to do with this? I’m an artist.’

‘I’ll need the names of the people who were with you at the time the trench was filled in.’

Orford took a deep breath. ‘OK. Three other artists were working with me at the time. My publicity people were there too but—’