The Cadaver Game (33 page)

‘Was that friend called Tessa?’

‘She never mentioned her name.’

Wesley knew evasion when he saw it. He took the photograph of Evie and Penny out of his pocket and handed it to Orford. ‘Is
this Karen?’

It was a few seconds before he spoke. ‘Yes, that’s her.’

‘How do you know her?’

‘When I was down here sixteen years ago we had a thing going. She left her husband and we lived together in London for a while,
then we split up. It was all quite amicable. No big deal.’

Perhaps it wasn’t a big deal on Orford’s part, but Wesley suspected the consequences had been more serious for Karen, if that
was her real name. ‘Did you know she was working as a prostitute?’

Orford looked shocked. ‘You’re joking aren’t you?’

‘Why would we joke about something like that?’ Gerry asked.

‘I’m amazed. She was always quite … bourgeois.
Perhaps that’s why we split up – she didn’t fit in with my lifestyle.’

‘Ordinary people can be driven to extraordinary lengths by necessity,’ said Wesley. ‘Maybe she had it tough after you’d broken
up with her. You wouldn’t know. Why should you?’

Orford turned his palms upwards in an appeasing gesture. ‘All right, I was immersed in my work so I never contacted her to
see how she was. But we didn’t owe each other anything. We were both free agents and whatever decisions she made after we’d
parted had nothing to do with me.’ He had raised his voice a few decibels, as though he was anxious to convince them of something.
Maybe that he had nothing to do with her life … or her death.

‘Did you see her that Saturday?’

‘I paid her a visit. I stayed for about an hour.’

‘What time was this?’

‘In the morning. About half ten, quarter to eleven maybe. It was the only time I had free.’

‘What happened?’

‘She asked me for money and I gave her a hundred quid.’

‘Why?’

‘If you must know, I felt sorry for her. She said she’d lost her job and she needed some cash. I had a feeling it was a sob
story, but I gave her the money, like I said, but I told her there would be no more where that came from.’

‘Did you have sex?’

‘For old times’ sake. Nothing wrong in that.’

‘You got it cheap,’ said Gerry bluntly. ‘Her usual rate was four hundred. Mate’s rates, I believe the Aussies call it.’

‘Look, I’d no idea she was on the game. She never said.’

‘How would you have reacted if you’d known?’

‘I would have told her to be careful, to think very hard about what she was doing.’

‘That’s very conventional of you, Mr Orford,’ said Gerry. ‘Very bourgeois.’

‘It just seems wrong for her, that’s all.’ He sounded defensive, as though the accusation of being bourgeois had rattled him.

‘How did you find out about her death?’

‘I heard that some woman had been murdered in Morbay, but that was about a week after we’d met so I didn’t associate it with
Karen.’

‘Didn’t the address make you wonder? Didn’t you want to check if Karen was OK?’

‘We’d started the project then and I spent every waking hour with my colleagues. You’ve no idea how intensely we work.’

‘The thing is, Mr Orford, she wasn’t strangled a week after you’d met. She died around the time you say you were with her.
She just wasn’t found till a week later.’

Wesley waited for Orford to speak but he just studied his fingernails, avoiding their gaze.

‘Did you go back later and kill her, Mr Orford?’

‘Of course not. Why should I?’

‘If she was making demands on you. If she threatened to make life awkward.’

‘I swear she was fine when I left her.’

‘Did you see anyone else around her house at the time?’

‘Actually I did. I’d just come out when I saw Carl Heckerty. I’d met him when I had to gain permission for the project and
I didn’t particularly want to make small talk, so I hurried off in the other direction.’

‘Did you see him go into Lister Cottage by any chance?’

‘I looked back and I saw him standing on the doorstep. Karen opened the door and they had a brief conversation – just a few
words – and then he walked away and got back into his car.’

Wesley saw Gerry nod. Without knowing it, Orford had just put Heckerty in the clear as regards Evie’s – or Karen’s – murder.
Orford’s account matched his exactly and both men had put Keith Marsh in the clear. Two witnesses had spoken to the victim
after he’d set off for Heathrow to take his flight to Germany.

‘Tell us more about Karen?’ said Wesley. The life of the murdered woman had remained an enigma until that moment. He just
prayed that Orford would be able to fill in the many gaps.

‘When I first met her she was in a boring marriage. It was stifling her. She reckoned her husband had a bit on the side and
she wanted some excitement too.’

‘Where did you meet?’

‘I was down here creating the first Feast of Life and we had a drinks reception at Catton Hall to thank the Cattons for their
co-operation.’

‘You knew Mrs Catton?’

Orford nodded. ‘Now there was an unhappy woman if ever I saw one.’ He fell silent.

‘You were telling me about Karen.’

‘She was a waitress with the outside caterers we brought in. I spotted her and …’ He snapped his fingers and Wesley found
the gesture profoundly irritating. ‘Her simplicity appealed to me, and I engineered a couple of meetings. She didn’t take
much persuading to come to live with me in London.’

‘Did she have a child?’

‘The kid stayed with its father. It was all rather boring.’

‘Was it a girl?’

Orford shrugged. ‘I thought it was a boy but she never spoke about it when we were together, which suited me fine. Look, she’d
led a dull existence in some godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere before she met me. She said her husband had someone
else, and was the most boring man in the universe to boot. In the circumstances you can hardly blame her for wanting to break
out of her cage, can you?’

Gerry looked affronted. ‘Since when has being boring been a criminal offence? If it was, our cells would be full to bursting.
We all have our boring moments. Even artists, I don’t doubt.’

Orford looked away.

‘What was her surname?’

When Orford said the name, Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. It could be a coincidence. But on the other hand, it had to be checked
out.

‘We’ll need you to come down to the station and make a statement. I’ll get a car to pick you up. Don’t leave town, will you,
Mr Orford,’ Gerry said before sweeping out of the room with Wesley following in his wake.

‘That man is a pretentious shit,’ he hissed as they hurried down the stairs. ‘Come on, Wes, we’ve got another visit to make.’

Bidwell Farm looked good in the sunshine. The weather even lent the shabby corrugated-iron cow sheds and the rusting tractors
a degree of rural charm. As Wesley brought the car to a halt in front of the house, Dunstan Price emerged from the front door,
his mother hovering behind him.

When they showed their identity Mrs Price seemed to relax. She’d obviously thought they were somebody else. Debt collectors,
Wesley wondered. The place certainly looked run-down. Or perhaps a pair of DEFRA officials come to pull them up on some breach
of regulations.

‘Do you need to speak to Dunstan again? She placed a hand on the lad’s arm but, unlike many teenagers with an over-protective
mother, he made no move to shake it off.

‘It’s your husband we need to see,’ said Gerry. ‘Is he around?’

‘He’s up in the top field,’ said Dunstan. ‘I’ll show you the way.’

‘Just point us in the right direction,’ said Gerry with avuncular jollity. ‘We’ll find our way. Not taken part in any more
hunts, have you?’

Dunstan shook his head.

‘Don’t blame you.’

The boy opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something else. Wesley waited for him to gather his thoughts and speak.

‘I heard you’ve spoken to Marcus about …’

He took a step towards the boy and lowered his voice. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

‘It’s just that he wrote this story at school about … hunting someone and killing them.’ Dunstan gazed down at his feet, embarrassed.
‘Look, I don’t want to grass on a mate or anything but …’

‘We already know about the story. But if there’s anything else you know that might help us, call me any time and I’ll check
it out.’ He handed the boy his card and watched as he shoved it into his pocket.

Gerry had already stridden away across the farmyard
and, as Wesley followed, he suddenly realised that his footwear was hardly suitable for the terrain.

It was quite a trek to the top field and when they got there, shoes and trouser bottoms splattered with mud, they found Price
examining the hoof of a large ewe who seemed to be taking the invasion of her privacy philosophically. Price spotted them
and hesitated before releasing the ewe and sending her on her way with a pat on her woolly backside.

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

‘What about?’

‘About your former wife, Karen,’ said Wesley. It was a pure guess. For all they knew Karen Price had been his sister-in-law,
or no relation whatsoever. But anything was worth a try.

Price’s expression gave nothing away. ‘What about her? I haven’t seen her in years.’

‘When did she leave?’

He shrugged. ‘Eighteen, nineteen years ago, something like that.’

‘So she’s not Dunstan’s mum?’

‘Pat’s Dunstan’s mum.’ There was a determination in his voice that didn’t encourage argument.

‘Why did Karen leave?’

‘Went off with another bloke.’

‘An artist? Was his name Kevin Orford?’

The answer was another shrug, as though the events of the past held no interest for him.

Wesley produced the only picture they had of Evie. It was getting a little dog-eared now but it was still clearly recognisable.
‘Is this your ex-wife?’

Price took it in his soiled hands, holding it by the edge, as
though he didn’t want to get it dirty. He studied it for a while and then nodded slowly.

‘I’m afraid she was found dead in Morbay. She was looking after a house in the St Marks area for a friend and someone strangled
her. She wasn’t found for a week. It’s been on the news and in all the local papers.’

The farmer stood for a while staring at the grass. ‘I don’t have time to watch the news,’ he said, looking up at Wesley. ‘I’ve
got a farm to run. And I only read the papers for the football scores. But I’m sorry to hear about Karen. Whatever she’d done,
she didn’t deserve that.’

‘The man she went off with said she had a child.’

‘I wouldn’t trust anything he says.’

‘We’ve spoken to him and he says it’s only sixteen years since Karen went off to London, so by my reckoning she must be Dunstan’s
mother.’

‘Pat’s his mum.’

‘So he’s not yours?’

‘Yes, he’s mine. Me and Pat … Maybe that’s one of the reasons Karen left.’ He pressed his lips together as if he’d said all
he was going to say on the subject.

‘You don’t seem very upset about this.’

‘Why should I be? She walked out on me years ago. Past history. Is that all? I’ve got work to do.’

Wesley wasn’t usually a gambler but on this occasion he decided it was worth a shot. ‘Were you in St Marks Road around the
time your ex-wife was killed?’

To his surprise he saw a flicker of panic pass across Price’s face. ‘Of course I wasn’t.’

Wesley handed him the grainy photo from the shop’s CCTV. ‘This is your Land Rover in the corner of the picture.’

He saw Gerry looking on with approval. There was absolutely no evidence that it was Price’s Land Rover, but Wesley knew that
if you say something with enough conviction, people tend to believe it.

For a few moments Price stared at it in silence. ‘I was just passing. That’s not a crime is it?’

Wesley felt a thrill of triumph. His gamble had paid off.

‘I parked there and I went into Morbay because I had some shopping to do.’

‘It’s a long way to walk to the shops.’

Price didn’t answer.

‘So your car happened to be parked on that particular street around the time your ex-wife was murdered?’ said Gerry. ‘I don’t
believe in coincidences like that. Besides, our forensic people are wonderful these days. If you stick to your story we’ll
run all the tests and if you were inside that house where Karen died we’ll find out.’

‘OK, I went inside to have a word with her. But I didn’t kill her.’

‘We’d like you to come to Tradmouth Police Station to answer some more questions,’ said Wesley before reciting the familiar
words of the caution.

Gerry had been hoping that it would be a night of celebration, because it was traditional for the team to have a drink once
a suspect had been charged. Price, however, was sticking to his story. And even if he’d made a full confession Wesley would
have had misgivings about celebrating before they’d cleared up the murders of Barney, Sophie and Jimmy Yates, especially with
Paul’s forlorn presence in the incident room.

Price had made a statement. He’d had a call from Karen
asking to see him and he’d gone round that Saturday just after twelve thirty. He’d sat in the Land Rover for a while, mustering
the courage to face her, and when he’d called at the house she’d been in an argumentative mood.

Then she’d asked him for money. She reckoned he owed her because they’d been married and she should have had her fair share
of the farm when they’d split up. She’d even suggested that he take out a further mortgage on the place to make up for the
fact that he’d been too mean to give her any financial support all those years ago.

They’d quarrelled, but, according to Price, she’d been alive when he’d walked out, slamming the door behind him.

When Wesley asked whether he knew anything about the deaths of Sophie and Barney, or whether he’d ever heard of Jimmy Yates,
he shook his head. He’d admitted he’d seen Karen and that was all he was admitting.

Perhaps the death of Karen Price, alias Evie Smith, would turn out to be a simple domestic matter: a greedy ex-wife threatening
the financial stability of a man’s family. Maybe she hated the life she was living and wanted the money she thought was due
to her in order to give it up? It certainly made sense, but Wesley knew that it was dangerous to leap to conclusions.