The Cadaver Game (28 page)

‘Did Evie know these rules?’ Wesley asked.

‘Oh yes. I made sure of that. She was very particular – even changed the sheets after each client. She was always careful.’

‘Not careful enough,’ Gerry muttered. ‘What did you mean, you made sure of it?’

Penny looked down. ‘It was me who suggested she became an escort. Her kid was having trouble at school – got in with this
boy who was bad news. The job she was in
didn’t pay much and she wanted money to send the kid to private school – to get a good education and have the chances she
never got.’

‘Do you know which school?’

‘I don’t know, sorry.’

‘What else can you tell us about Evie?’

‘She’d been married, but her husband had someone else. Anyway she went off with another man but it didn’t work out. After
that she found it hard to make ends meet. The kid was still living with her ex, but she was worried about this boy.’

‘Her child was a girl?’

Penny shook her head. ‘She always called it “my kid” like she didn’t want to give too much away. I think there was a lot she
kept back, if you know what I mean. I only thought the kid was a girl because she mentioned a boy who was a bad influence.’

‘So it could have been a boy?’

‘It could have been. I don’t know.’

‘What job was Evie doing when you first met her?’

‘Working in a pub, I think. She got married early and she wasn’t qualified to do much else.’

‘Did she want her child to live with her?’

‘She said the kid was better off staying with her ex rather than being dragged round cheap bedsits, because that’s how she
was living at the time. Like I said, she was desperate. The husband married his other woman and claimed he was broke so he
didn’t give her any money, but she said he was lying.’

‘Did the kid go to private school?’

‘Once Evie started working she was able to pay the fees. I asked her why she didn’t have her kid live with her but she
said she didn’t want to, not with the job. It’s not right for a kid to see … You know what I mean. And there was no way she
wanted the kid to know where the money for the school fees came from. I can understand that, can’t you?’

‘We need to contact her ex-husband,’ said Wesley.

Penny sighed. ‘I can’t help you there, I’m afraid. One thing you should know about Evie is that she wasn’t one for talking
about her life and I’m sure half of what she told me was made up, to protect her family maybe. I never even knew her husband’s
name, or the kid’s. She just referred to them as “my ex” and “my kid”.

‘What about the man she left her husband for?’

‘She never said much about him either. I think he was from London and he may have been a writer or something, but she was
vague about everything. She liked to keep her life a mystery.’

‘Even to you?’ said Gerry. ‘You were her friend.’

‘But she knew what I did from the start. I reckon she was trying to protect herself. It was like that fairy tale, “Rumplestiltskin”.
Never let anyone know your real identity – if they know the truth about you, they have power over your soul.’ She hesitated
for a while before she asked the next question. ‘How exactly did she die?’

‘She was strangled,’ Wesley said. He saw her nod slowly. ‘Have you any idea at all who might have done it?’

‘If you mean did she have a client who liked using violence, if she did, I wasn’t aware of it. We compared notes sometimes,
maybe shared clients if one of us couldn’t keep an appointment or was double-booked. I certainly can’t think of any regulars
who’d do anything like that.’

‘It might not be a regular. Someone new?’

‘We don’t walk the streets, Inspector. We only take on
someone new if they’re recommended by one of our existing clients.’

‘Do you know a man called Keith Marsh? He’s a businessman from up North. Had quite a crush on Evie by all accounts.’

‘She mentioned him a few times. He wanted to leave his wife for her but she reckoned he was harmless. I told her to be careful.
If punters get obsessed with you it can turn nasty.’ She sat forward. ‘Do you think it was him?’

‘We don’t know. But he was the one who found her and reported her death anonymously.’ He suddenly remembered Kris Kettering’s
reaction when they’d asked him about Evie. ‘Do you know a man called Kris Kettering? Manager at Morbay Properties?’

‘Oh yes, I know Kris. I rent this place through his company. I think he helped Evie out as well. The lease on her old place
was running out and she said he was going to find something else for her.’

‘And is he a client of yours or Evie’s?’

‘We’ve both seen him professionally from time to time. But I don’t see him as a murderer. He doesn’t seem the obsessive type.’

Wesley was about to point out that sometimes appearances can deceive but he had more questions to ask. ‘Do you know George
Pickard? He was one of Evie’s regulars.’

‘That’s right. I sometimes saw him when she was busy.’

‘His son was murdered a few days ago.’

Her eyes widened.

‘He was one of those kids who were shot up at Catton Hall.’

She bowed her head. ‘That’s awful.’

‘Look,’ said Wesley. ‘Is there anything else you can tell us about Evie? Anything at all?’

She shook her head. ‘Like I said, she was a very private person. We were friends but I always knew there were parts of her
life she kept hidden from me. But I can tell you something for nothing.’

‘What’s that?’ From the expression on her face Wesley had a feeling that he was about to learn something vital.

‘I’m sure Evie wasn’t her real name. And before you ask, I have no idea what she was really called. She said Evie was a name
she’d always liked and it went with the new life she was going to lead.’

Eve – the new creation, Wesley thought. Eve the mother.

Their visit to Marcus Dexter had been postponed because of developments in the Evie case, but Gerry reckoned this would have
its advantages. The longer the lad was kept waiting, the more he’d think he’d got away with whatever it was he’d done. And
a cocky suspect ends up making mistakes.

After sending Trish and Paul over to Morbay to pay Kris Kettering another visit to find out about his association with Evie,
Wesley and Gerry set off for the Dexter place with a trio of detective constables and a search warrant.

When they arrived, Marcus’s father greeted them, his face red with barely suppressed fury, and followed the search team around
the house, protesting his son’s innocence and complaining loudly about the incompetence of the police. For Marcus, it meant
another trip to Tradmouth police station to be interviewed under caution. And, although he did his best to hide it, there
was no mistaking that this time he looked terrified at the prospect.

Now they had evidence that Marcus had issued death threats against Sophie, Wesley felt more optimistic. And they also knew
he was a crack shot, used to firearms since he was big enough to handle a gun. Killing Barney and Sophie would have been easy
for him, and however much his father insisted on his safety procedures, there are always ways around the rules. Marcus had
probably practised the shooting over and over in his head and online many times; rehearsed that moment of horrified astonishment
when he appeared in front of them with the gun raised, pointing at their bodies, and they finally realised that his threats
were no joke. That what he said had to be taken deadly seriously.

This time Wesley was relieved that the father was tied up with work because he knew Marcus would talk more freely in his absence.
At first they made him go over the story he’d already told them. It was only when the boy started to look comfortable, assuming
that they had nothing new on him, that Wesley switched on the laptop that was sitting in front of him on the table and played
the DVD of Sophie’s party. He watched Marcus’s face for any giveaway sign of guilt but the boy’s expression remained neutral,
as if he was being shown something vaguely interesting that was really none of his concern. However, there was no mistaking
the alarm in his solicitor’s eyes, which wasn’t a good sign.

When the video was finished, Wesley and Gerry waited for him to speak. There was a long silence but Wesley knew that the guilty,
like nature, deplore a vacuum. Marcus, however, held out longer than most before he spoke.

‘It was a joke,’ he said, glancing at the solicitor. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

‘Then why say it?’

‘I fancied Sophie and she went off with Barney. I would have got over it. In fact I have.’

‘You seemed pretty angry,’ said Wesley. ‘She’d let you down, betrayed you with your friend. Believe me, men have killed for
less.’

Marcus moved his seat back so that the legs scraped loudly on the floor. ‘You don’t want to be questioning me. What about
Jodie? She’s really hated Sophie ever since they had a row over Barney.’

Wesley and Gerry exchanged looks.

‘Tell us more,’ said Wesley, folding his arms.

‘Like I said, they couldn’t stand each other. There’d been this thing between them, ever since Sophie had started going out
with Barney. He used to go out with Jodie and they split up because of Sophie.’

Wesley didn’t respond for a few moments, as he tried to get the teenage relationships, complex as any soap opera plot, straight
in his head.

‘Sophie used to spread stories about her – that she’d slept with people – screwed around. Some of the stories weren’t nice.’

‘Or true?’

Marcus shrugged.

‘Can Jodie use a gun?’

Marcus smiled. ‘Oh yes. She learned to shoot years ago and she helped out on one of my parents’ shooting weekends last year.
Dad said she was a natural. Can I go now?’

‘Sorry,’ said Gerry. ‘We’ve not finished with you yet. Are you telling the truth about Jodie? You’re not just trying to distract
us from your fight with Barney?’

Marcus put his head in his hands. ‘Believe what you like, but I’m telling the truth. Ask Jodie.’

‘We will. And we might ask her about your death threat to Sophie while we’re at it.’

The sunshine shone dimly through windows clouded with years of accumulated dirt. Alfred Catton had always been too mean to
pay for anything but the most basic of cleaning, and as Richard watched his father sitting at his dusty desk with his beloved
old letters and documents strewn chaotically around him, he longed for the day when he would be in charge. Once the holiday
park was up and running and the money was coming in, he’d have the hall cleaned and restored to its former glory.

‘I told you about the skeleton they found in the field while they were digging up that picnic. You remember the picnic?’

His father was reading an old, leather-bound book containing pages of slanting handwriting in faded brown ink and he looked
up, impatient at the interruption. ‘Of course I remember. I’m not senile yet.’ He waved his son away as if he was shooing
a fly. ‘Now let me get on.’

‘What is it?’

Alfred’s expression changed. ‘Glad you’re taking an interest. It’s the journal of Christopher Wells who was steward to Squire
Edward Catton who was my …’ He paused to make a calculation. ‘Great, great, great uncle. On his death the estate was inherited
by his cousin, my great, great grandfather, Henry – the one they buried in a caged tomb so that he could never rise again.’

‘And hunt through the woods with his ghostly whisht hounds. It’s all crap. Ghost stories of old Devon to entertain the tourists.’

‘It’s not “crap” as you so elegantly put it. Read in conjunction with John Tandy’s account I’m getting a far clearer picture
of what happened when Pegassa died.’

‘Pegassa. You’re obsessed with that woman.’

Alfred looked hurt. ‘This is our family’s past, your past, Richard. Squire Henry had a reputation for evil and history repeats
itself, don’t you think?’

‘So you keep on saying. But this story about Pegassa has nothing to do with us. It might not even be true.’

‘It’s definitely true. Her grave’s in Queenswear churchyard.’ He paused, his hand shaking slightly. Then he lowered his voice
as though he was afraid of being overheard. ‘She’s still here in this house. Sometimes I almost feel as if I can talk to her.’

Richard felt his fists clenching with frustration as he resisted the temptation to haul the old man to his feet and shake
the truth out of him, to bring him hurtling back to the present. But he breathed deeply and tried to keep his voice calm and
reasonable. ‘Look, I need to know why Daniel left so suddenly. Do you know anything about it?’

The old man looked startled. Then he sat for a few moments, turning his pen over and over in his fingers before answering.
‘Why should it be anything to do with me?’

Richard slumped down on a chair and put his head in his hands, going over and over the time when he had last seen Daniel.
He had just lost Ursula, his precious black Labrador, who’d been his faithful, uncritical companion whenever he’d come home
from school in the holidays. His father had buried the dog because he’d been too upset to do the job himself, and now she
lay in the little pets’ cemetery at the back of the house, sleeping in the cold ground. He
was rather ashamed to realise that he hadn’t felt his own mother’s loss as keenly as Ursula’s, but she’d been a distant figure,
subcontracting his early upbringing to a young nanny while she busied herself with her own concerns and sent him off to boarding
school at the age of seven.

Then Daniel had vanished one day without saying goodbye. Richard had thought of him over the years, he’d even tried to contact
him with no success, but now a terrible possibility suddenly entered his head.

‘You hated Daniel. You hated what we had together.’

The old man began to turn the pages of the journal, a small, maddening smile on his lips. ‘You were seventeen and he took
advantage of your inexperience. I admit I didn’t like the man, but he was a predator, and he moved on, as predators do.’ Richard
leapt up and his father started at the unexpected movement. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ve got an appointment.’

‘Is it with that dreadful Heckerty man? A date is it?’ His lips twitched upwards in an unpleasant smirk. ‘This place needs
an heir. It needs to be passed on to the next generation when the time comes. When are you going to understand that?’