‘Did you check them?’
‘Somebody will have done. It’s routine.’
Wesley asked for a copy of all the documents in the file and Kettering disappeared.
‘Once we know who gave her the references, we might make some progress,’ Gerry whispered once they were alone.
Wesley just hoped he was right.
The Steward’s Journal
20 May 1815
It is said that Bonaparte still reigns in Paris. It is less than a year since all Tradmouth celebrated his defeat and exile
to Elba with a great feast of roast beef, plum pudding and ale, and now the man is at large again, a cunning fox who has escaped
his captors.
The Squire’s cousin will arrive on the morrow and I have orders to prepare his usual chamber. I have observed that the Squire’s
manners have become coarser since his cousin’s return to Devonshire, especially when he has taken too much wine, and our so-called
‘jester’ only encourages our master’s baser instincts.
I have been acquainted with John Tandy since childhood and I know only too well that he is a sly, clever creature, although
I fear he was much put upon throughout his early
life and tormented because of his unfortunate deformity. It suits him well to play the role of Silly John but he cannot deceive
me as to his intelligence and true nature.
I hear Henry and Tandy are bent on organising another hunt, but I pray this is not so. The last time the Squire and his cousin
released the hounds and rode after their quarry, I heard that the action had unfortunate consequences, although nobody dares
to speak of it.
However, I must hold my tongue for I depend upon the squire for the roof over my head and the food upon my table. Weak sinner
that I am, I become blind to wrongdoing in order to preserve my station in life.
Paul’s cousin Sophie had always been the adventurous type, but she’d never done anything like this before and that worried
him. Perhaps the boy she’d been with had led her astray. The opposite sex, in Paul’s experience, could have a strange effect
on even the most level-headed teenager. That was how nature worked and how the human race continued.
The disappearance of two young people was a routine matter for Uniform who had given his aunt and uncle the usual spiel about
errant kids turning up with their tails between their legs within forty-eight hours. Paul had heard it all before; he’d even
said it himself to parents worried out of their wits. But when it’s someone close to you, somehow the words seem hollow and
patronising.
He went off duty at four and he knew that the DCI and Inspector Peterson would be over in Morbay attending the post-mortem
of the woman found earlier that day. If Dr
Bowman delivered a verdict of murder, the whole team would begin working flat out and spare time would be a rarity, so he
decided to seize the opportunity to visit his Aunty Carole that afternoon, just to see what was going on.
Over the years Carole and Brian had risen above the rest of the family in wealth and social standing. His mother’s sister
had married a man with an agricultural equipment hire business, which had prospered over the years, and now they lived in
some splendour – or so it seemed to Paul – just outside the village of West Talton near the road to Dukesbridge. The house
was a large barn conversion with galleried landings, an indoor swimming pool, a snooker room and five bedrooms, all surrounded
by an acre of well-tended garden. Sophie and her brother Jack had wanted for nothing and had been sent to what Paul’s mother
described as ‘posh schools’, while Paul had attended the local comprehensive.
Paul arrived at the house and parked his ten-year-old VW Golf on the gravel drive next to his aunt’s new Range Rover. When
Carole opened the door he was struck by how pale she looked, as though the worry had drained all the blood from her normally
rosy cheeks. As she stood aside to let him in, he reached out to her and gave her an awkward embrace. She gave his shoulder
a grateful squeeze before leading him into the massive kitchen with its hand-made oak units and central island.
‘Any news?’ Her anxious eyes searched his face for any tell-tale signs and he felt bad that he didn’t have something good
to tell her.
‘Not yet. Sorry.’ He looked round. ‘Where’s Uncle Brian?’
‘He’s gone to work. He said he wants to keep busy.’
‘How long has Sophie been gone now?’
‘She went out last night to meet Barney – that’s her boyfriend. She promised she’d be back by midnight but …’ She spread her
hands in a gesture of desperation. ‘I’ve tried her mobile but there’s no answer. Jack’s tried texting her and we’ve been in
touch with all her friends but none of them know where she is. She always lets me know if she’s going to be late. That’s why
I’m so worried.’
‘I know. You’ve given Uniform a photograph and details of what she was wearing and all that?’
Carole nodded. ‘Her rucksack’s missing, and I think she’s taken some spare clothes and one of the good towels from the bathroom.’
Paul, eager to provide some comfort, pointed out that the news about the change of clothes was promising. It meant the disappearance
was planned and the pair of star-crossed lovers would probably return when they were ready.
‘Have you spoken to Barney’s parents?’
‘His mum – she’s divorced.’ From the way she said it, Paul sensed that she disapproved of the woman. ‘She said Barney had
taken a change of clothes with him too. She didn’t seem too worried.’
He leaned forward and took his aunt’s hands in his. ‘Look, I’m sure they’ll be back. You’ll keep me up to date, won’t you?’
Carole nodded again. Then she burst into tears. Paul put a tentative arm around her. Eventually she took a deep, shuddering
breath and retrieved a tissue from her pocket. She wiped her tears and blew her nose.
Paul was a police officer, and he felt he should be able to do something to make it right. But at that moment he was as impotent
as anybody else. ‘Would you like me to have a
look in her room, just to see if there’s any clue to where she might have got to?’ At least he could do something practical,
just to make her feel better.
‘It’s at the top of the stairs, first on the left. Her computer’s in there. Maybe you could …’
‘I’ll have a look.’ As he stood up he put a reassuring hand on his aunt’s shoulder. She touched it, acknowledging his sympathy,
and smiled bravely, her eyes still red with tears.
Sophie’s room was considerably bigger than the one Paul had occupied when he was that age. Twice the size, with an en-suite
shower room and a huge flat-screen TV. He’d always regarded his cousin as over-indulged but he hadn’t realised the extent
of the lifestyle difference until now.
It was what Paul thought of as a typically girly room. Posters of handsome film vampires on the walls, and bright beads and
fluffy scarves hanging from hooks and handles. He made for the shocking-pink laptop that was sitting on the desk in the corner
of the room and switched it on. It was a top of the range model – he knew because he’d bought one recently; a considerably
cheaper type in austere black.
When the screen flickered into life, Paul checked for any relevant emails or messages but found nothing of interest. Whatever
arrangements Sophie had made for the weekend would probably have been done by phone or text. Then he checked on the websites
his cousin had been using recently and found that she had mostly been using her computer for playing games, and one game in
particular. It was an Internet-based game called Blood Hunt.
And she’d played it over and over again. Almost to the point of obsession.
*
Colin conducted the post-mortem on the dead woman at Morbay Hospital. The new mortuary suite there was state of the art, or
so he told Wesley and Gerry. But Wesley found himself missing the homely feel of Colin’s office back in Tradmouth.
The body of Tessa Trencham was naked now, her shiny, swollen, putrefying flesh mottled under the glaring lights. Wesley avoided
looking at the corpse because the sight and smell of it made him feel slightly nauseous. Sometimes he found it hard to believe
that he came from a family of doctors. He focused his eyes on the trolley of instruments beside the table, listening carefully
to Colin’s comprehensive commentary on the proceedings. In contrast, Gerry stood closer, watching carefully, asking questions.
‘Because of the condition of the body, it’s hard to tell whether she had intercourse before her death but I’ll take samples
just in case,’ Colin announced.
‘I think my initial diagnosis of manual strangulation was accurate, gentlemen,’ he continued, sounding rather pleased with
himself. ‘It’s difficult to tell, given the state of the flesh, but I think you can just about make out the marks.’ He placed
his gloved hands around the dead woman’s throat. ‘Fingers, you see. Textbook pattern of bruising.’
‘I take it the killer was a man,’ Gerry asked.
‘Probably. Although a strong woman could have done it – someone who attends the gym every day and goes in for weight-training.
The victim was slightly built. And I think she was attractive once,’ he added softly, gazing down at the woman’s face. ‘But
not any more, alas.’
‘Time of death?’ Wesley thought he’d better ask an intelligent question.
‘Now you’re asking.’
‘I know you always say it isn’t an exact science but can you make an educated guess?’
‘What is referred to now as a ball-park estimate would be around a week ago. Some time last Saturday, give or take twenty-four
hours. Sorry I can’t be more precise. Who reported the body, by the way?’
‘An anonymous caller from a mobile. It’s being traced. We’re just waiting for a name.’
‘Have we identified our victim yet?’ Colin asked.
‘The house where she was found was rented to a Tessa Trencham.’
‘And you’re sure it’s her?’
‘She fits the approximate description we have. But we can’t ask anyone to identify her in that state so it’ll have to be dental
records or DNA. The initial search didn’t turn up any photos of her.’
‘That’s odd.’
‘Some people don’t like having their picture taken.’
‘What about friends and family? I take it you’ve checked her mobile?’
‘We would do if we could find it. There’s no sign of a mobile on the premises. Or credit cards. Something might come to light
when we have a more thorough search but …’
‘Good luck then.’ Colin stood poised to make the Y shaped incision into the dead woman’s chest. ‘She must be someone’s wife,
or sister … or daughter. And she’s certainly a mother.’
Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. ‘Really?’
‘No doubt about it. She’s given birth at least once.’
‘How old would you say she was?’ Wesley asked.
Colin stood back and studied the body before replying.
‘Late thirties or well-preserved early forties maybe. She has good muscle tone, kept herself fit.’
‘So she might have belonged to a gym.’ They needed something – anything – that would give them a clue to the mystery that
was Tessa Trencham’s life. ‘And she must have worked somewhere.’
‘True. Someone’s bound to miss her sooner or later. If she’s got a child …’
‘If she had it young, it could be grown up by now,’ Gerry observed. ‘It obviously didn’t live with her.’
‘He or she might live with the father,’ said Wesley. ‘She’s not wearing a wedding ring so she might be single or divorced.
Life’s complicated for a lot of people these days.’
‘Are the references she gave the letting agency being checked out?’ Gerry asked.
Wesley nodded. ‘Yes. A Sylvia Cartland and a Carl Heckerty. I asked Trish to see to it.’
They fell silent as Colin went about his business, removing, examining and weighing the internal organs, keeping up a commentary
into the microphone suspended above the table. Wesley continued to study the room, looking anywhere but on the thing that
had once been a woman, lying with her raw, stinking innards on show.
When the post-mortem was over and Colin’s assistant was sewing up the incisions, the pathologist stood holding the dead woman’s
left hand tenderly, as if he was about to break bad news to her. After a few moments he spoke quietly and Wesley could tell
that something was bothering him. ‘There is something that strikes me as a little odd.’
‘What’s that?’
‘If someone tries to strangle you, it’s normal to put up some resistance, but when I took the usual samples from her
fingernails there doesn’t seem to be anything there. As you see, they’re immaculately manicured, no nails broken, no obvious
traces of the assailant’s skin caught underneath. The only injury on her body seems to be the bruising around the neck.’
‘Maybe she was drunk or drugged.’
‘We’ll have to wait for the toxicology report to find out,’ said Colin with a sigh. ‘Or perhaps he just took her by surprise.’
‘She was in her bedroom so it has to be someone she knew well,’ said Wesley. ‘A boyfriend. Someone she trusted.’
‘In that case he shouldn’t be hard to find,’ said Gerry with confidence.
Wesley followed Colin and Gerry out of the mortuary suite, wishing he could share his boss’s optimism.
‘You do agree that it’s an interesting project?’
Neil Watson looked at the man standing a couple of feet away from him and nodded warily, as if he wasn’t convinced. With his
wild shock of snow-white hair, interesting display of tattoos snaking up his arms, bright yellow Breton smock and red combat
trousers decorated with embroidered chains, Kevin Orford didn’t look as if he had the means to pay the Archaeological Unit
the extremely generous sum of money he was offering. But appearances can deceive, so Neil was reserving judgement … for the
moment.
The field where they stood had recently been vacated by a herd of sheep whose droppings were still scattered on the grass.
A hundred yards away, Neil could see a battered wire fence separating the field from a row of run-down holiday chalets of
1960s vintage, constructed in cedar wood and the kind of stone-cladding that went out of fashion with the
space-hopper. He knew the name of the place because he had stayed there once as a kid: a cheap and cheerful holiday with happy
memories. It was sad to see Catton Hall Holiday Park closed and semi-derelict.