The Cadaver Game (37 page)

Dunstan gave a sob that jerked through his whole body. ‘She looked so … so cold … so hard. She stared at me like she’d seen
a ghost and asked me what the fuck I was doing there. Then she yelled at me to get out and she started to cry. I lost it and
all I remember is squeezing her neck and wishing she was dead. She didn’t fight back; she just looked … I don’t know … sad.
When I came to my senses she was lying there on the floor, and I realised what I’d done.’ Tears were rolling down his cheeks
now. ‘She shouldn’t have been there like that. She shouldn’t have done it. She was my mum.’

He flung his head back and issued a primitive howl that brought a nurse hurrying to the bedside. Wesley knew she was about
to order them out but, as Dunstan sobbed, Gerry took her to one side and promised they’d try not to upset her patient further.
She hovered at the end of the bed for a while watching, making sure they didn’t overstep the mark.

It was a minute or so before they were able to continue and Wesley tried to keep the questioning gentle.

‘You say she was on the floor? You moved her on to the bed later?’

‘I didn’t touch her – I couldn’t. I just ran out and threw up in the loo. Then I remembered Barney was waiting for me, and
I knew I had to cover up what I’d done somehow. I knew I had to try and act normal.’

‘So you pulled yourself together and tidied up a bit. You’d watched cop shows so you knew you mustn’t leave any trace. You
searched the place and took her phone and anything else that might identify her as Karen Price. Is that right?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘What happened when you met Barney again?’

‘He asked me how it went and I just said “OK”. I told him I had to go ’cause I found it hard to act normal after … I went
home and sat out in the top field till it was dark, and after a while it just seemed like a bad dream – like it had never
happened. And when there was nothing about it on the news, I thought maybe I hadn’t killed her, that maybe she’d just been
unconscious.’

‘So let’s move on a week. Karen’s body was found and there was a lot of publicity. Then Barney puts two and two together and
says “Hey, that sounds like the woman we visited. You were acting a bit oddly when you came out. Did you kill her?” He was
joking, of course, but you were terrified he was going to tell the police, so he had to be silenced. Only the one chance you
had was at the hunt when Sophie was with him. Did you think he’d told her your secret? Was that it?’

‘Something like that.’

‘What the jury will find so hard to take is the way you must have planned it all. Did you take the shotgun in the Land Rover
and double back to get it? Maybe a torch to shine in their eyes? You’ve been lamping, haven’t you, Dun?’

He gave a small nod.

‘Now we come to your old mate, Jimmy Yates. We’ve got him on CCTV hanging round the bus stop down the road at the time you
killed Karen?’

‘I saw him afterwards, when I met up with Barney again. He called out to me but I pretended not to hear him.’

‘He’d followed the news about Evie’s murder and he knew it must have taken place around the time he saw you
in St Marks Road. Did you know he’d seen you coming out of the house?’

‘Not till he got in touch.’

‘And he tried to blackmail you?’

‘He said he’d had a good view from the bus stop and he asked for a hundred quid to keep quiet. He said he’d taken a picture
of me with his mobile.’

‘And you paid up?’

‘I had to.’

Wesley nodded, a little surprised that he’d hit the target so many times. ‘You followed him one night when he went out lamping
and shot him just like you had Barney and Sophie. It was becoming easy now. They say murder does. Jimmy was lying about the
photograph, by the way. But you had to make sure so you broke into his house. Only we had his mobile down at the station.
I bet you were worried when you couldn’t find it. Easy to break-in, was it? Did you remember everything Jimmy taught you back
in the days you were at school together? Were you hoping to get the money back too? Only his mum found it, and I reckon her
need is greater than yours.’

‘Piss off.’ Dunstan’s spirit seemed to be returning.

‘Then we found out who the dead woman was, and we arrested your dad. Bet that came as another shock. When we told him we could
ID his Land Rover parked near Karen’s house from a CCTV picture, he must have guessed the truth so he made up a story about
being there and having a row with her. But that was to protect you, wasn’t it? I don’t think your father was there at all.
But when we arrested him on suspicion you felt you had to do something about it, so you thought of Marcus. You don’t particularly
like him, do you, and you thought he’d make the perfect
scapegoat. You arranged to meet him at the fort for a bit of target practice, and I guess he was going to go the same way
as Barney and Sophie. Were you going to make it look like suicide?’

There was no answer.

‘You got high to give yourself a bit of extra courage and waited for him. Only Jodie misread the situation and told us where
Marcus was going. She thought
he’d
killed Barney and Sophie. Luckily for Marcus, as it happens.’ He paused. ‘Have I got all this right, Dunstan?’

Again he didn’t answer. But Wesley knew the answer was ‘yes’.

The next day, Wesley worked all morning, clearing his paperwork, and as he filed away statements and cleared up loose ends,
the thought of Dunstan Price, who’d looked so unexceptional, just like thousands of other teenagers in schools, colleges and
universities throughout the country, harbouring that terrible, festering secret, disturbed him more than he expected.

It raised uncomfortable questions in his mind. Are we all capable of evil given the right triggers? How can we ever know that
what is going on in somebody else’s head isn’t some perverted version of reality? How can some people wear such an innocent,
amiable mask to hide a stinking corruption within? But he knew these questions were more his brother-in-law’s province than
his. His job was to get to the truth and hand the guilty party over to the courts.

He needed to talk to somebody, to exorcise the demons in his head, so he strolled over to Gerry’s office. But Gerry was due
to attend a meeting with Chief Superintendent Nutter and the CPS, so he seemed rather preoccupied.

Wesley glanced at his watch. It was almost lunchtime and the sunshine was streaming in through the office window. He wanted
to be out there in the open air. He’d earned a break.

He left the station and as he walked past the Memorial Gardens and the boat float to the High Street, he felt comforted by
the normality of the busy scene; proof that life went on. After queuing for a vegetable pasty he strolled to Baynards Quay
where he found a vacant bench and ate, surrounded by seagulls and holiday makers, watching the yachts and pleasure craft gliding
up and down the river on the high tide, and the steam train chugging out of Queenswear station on the far bank; sending cotton
wool clouds of smoke up into the clear blue sky. When he’d finished eating he decided to take the ferry over the river and
he made a call to Neil, asking his friend to meet him at Queenswear church. There was something there he wanted to see.

It was good to feel the cooling river breeze on his face as he leaned on the rail, looking down into the sparkling grey water.
And when the ferry docked, he strolled off first with the rest of the foot passengers, feeling the thrill of freedom, like
a child released from school after a particularly harsh exam.

He climbed the steep road to the old stone church with its squat tower and opened the gate to the churchyard. Once inside,
he began to look around, studying the names on the gravestones, searching for three in particular. The first was easy to locate.
It was a rather grand table tomb on the north side of the church by the wall. There was another similar tomb next to it, contained
in an iron cage. Wesley picked his way through the overgrown headstones to get a
closer look, and when he got there he found that the inscriptions on both tombs were still quite clear.

The first read ‘Here lies the body of Edward Catton of Catton Hall. Died 31st July 1815 aged 64.’

He turned his attention to the caged tomb. The inscription on this one was simple. ‘Henry Catton of Catton Hall. 1787 – 1839.
Deliver us from evil, oh Lord.’

Wesley stood for a while staring at the graves. There was no mention of murder or the events leading up to Edward’s death.
Just that brief, tantalising mention of evil on Henry’s memorial.

It took him a further ten minutes to discover the third grave, but he’d guessed that it might be harder to find. This time
the memorial was a flat slab and the words were worn and difficult to make out.

‘The Lady Pegassa, princess of her tribe, who died far from her home and people. Cruelly done to death. God grant her rest.’
The date of death was given but no age. He supposed the inscription said it all.

There was, of course, no memorial to her killer – the stepbrother who had driven her from home and ultimately brought about
her death. He had lain all those years amongst the Catton family pets, unmourned and unremarked, until his bones were discovered
by Alfred Catton and deposited unceremoniously in a bin bag, to take his place with the remnants of Kevin Orford’s Feast of
Life.

Near to Pegassa’s tomb, Wesley discovered a humbler headstone and he recognised the name at once. ‘Here lies Christopher Wells,
Steward of Catton Hall. Died 3rd August 1815 aged 28. Called suddenly to his Maker.’

He thought for a moment. It was too great a coincidence that the steward, John Tandy’s sworn enemy, should have
died so suddenly after the demise of his master. But he told himself it wasn’t his problem.

‘What’s up?’

Neil’s voice made Wesley jump. He swung round to see his friend watching him, arms folded.

‘Nothing’s up.’

‘Pam said you’ve cleared up the case. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?’

‘I had to charge an eighteen-year-old lad with the murder of his mother and three of his mates, so I’ve not really felt like
it.’

Neil said nothing for a few moments and Wesley guessed he was lost for words.

‘But on a more cheerful note, I’ve solved the mystery of your skeleton in the picnic trench. And if you’re interested in the
story of how it came to be there, I suggest you call at Catton Hall and have a word with Richard Catton’s father.’

‘I always knew those bones were old. That badly healed leg fracture …’

‘Easy to say with hindsight, but we had to be sure.’ Richard Catton’s insistence that his lover, Daniel, had vanished around
that time had always nagged at the back of his mind. But now it looked as if Daniel had just chosen to leave Devon and he
was probably somewhere out there in the world, doing whatever it is that free spirits do.

‘Well now we know. Want to come and see how the dig’s going?’

Wesley forced out a smile. ‘Why not?’

They drove to the fort in Neil’s yellow Mini. It was time he got a new car, Wesley observed, but Neil pleaded poverty, as
usual.

When they reached the fort, Neil led him to a newly dug
trench a couple of hundred yards from where Dunstan Price had made his last pathetic attempt to secure his freedom.

Once Wesley had made admiring noises and asked a few intelligent questions, Neil spoke again. ‘I heard from Kevin Orford this
morning. The exhibition at Tate Modern is at the end of August.’

‘Are you going?’

Neil shook his head. ‘I doubt it. But the powers that be are pleased with his contribution to the Unit’s coffers, so I suppose
I should be grateful to him, even though he was a pretentious wanker.’

They stood for a while in amicable silence, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun on their faces. Wesley gazed out to sea
where a pair of container ships chugged at snail’s pace across the distant, hazy horizon.

‘Are you doing anything tonight? Thought I might pop round seeing as I’m in the area.’

‘Gerry’s organised one of his case clear-up parties. He thinks it’s good for morale. Truth is I’d rather get home, so I’ll
probably slip away early.’ Wesley hesitated. ‘I’m going to London to visit my parents at the end of August. Maybe I’ll go
along to Tate Modern to witness your moment of glory. It’s not every day someone becomes part of an art installation.’

Neil smiled ruefully and shook his head. ‘Now if they offered to show a film of one of my excavations in the British Museum
… I suppose you want a lift back to Queenswear?’

Wesley nodded and turned to go. He still had work to do.

The Jester’s Journal – Volume II

1 August 1815

How easy it is to end a man’s life and release his soul to hell.

I followed the parson to his lair and gained access through an open window. I stalked him to his study and hid in the shadows,
waiting for him to settle to his writing.

I moved silently. And when I struck, his skull cracked beneath the weight of my cudgel like an uncooked egg.

3 August 1815

I had thought my secret safe but there was more work to do. The steward is a young man, and strong, but he was no match for
me when I came upon him in his bedchamber and thrust my knife between his ribs.

For I am death. Death the hunter who stalks his quarry behind the mask of a fool. And there is no escape from my cunning.

How well I will serve my new Squire. What sport we shall have.

The old holiday park had been demolished, leaving a scarred, barren landscape of broken concrete and weeds. But construction
was starting today, the realisation of all Richard’s plans and dreams. He talked of little else these days, and Alfred was
starting to find his single-minded enthusiasm slightly tedious.

He had no liking for his son’s business partner – that vulgar man called Heckerty who ran the paintballing centre. They’d
both been charged with moving the murdered teenagers’ bodies, but the lenient judge had punished them with a suspended sentence.
Alfred was sure it had all been Heckerty’s idea, but he seemed to have the business acumen the Cattons lacked, and money was
money: it would make a pleasant change to have some flowing into Catton Hall after all these years.