The Cadaver Game by Kate Ellis

his arms. ‘My fellow artists have
     arrived so we can make a start.’
    ‘What about the shiny spades?’
    Orford ignored the question and dashed towards the newcomers, lost in a frenzy of air-kissing and mutual admiration. Neil
     turned to his colleagues. ‘Right, let’s get on with it. Spades, I’m afraid. Our digger’s not artistic enough.’
    Some rolled their eyes but without another word they helped themselves to the well-worn spades that were piled in the back
     of the minibus. As they got down to work Neillooked up occasionally and saw that the artists were watching intently. It was probably best to ignore them, he decided. Orford
     had left them and was in deep and serious discussion with the slick-haired young man, so perhaps their disobedience wouldn’t
     be noticed.
    After a while Neil took a break and leaned on his spade. He could see the chalets at the edge of the holiday park, separated
     from their field by a tall wire fence, now holed, rusty and collapsed in places after years of neglect. It was a shame the
     park had been allowed to get into that state, he thought. The setting couldn’t be bettered: it stood in wooded countryside
     between Bloxham and Queenswear, a short hop over the river to Tradmouth, surrounded by rolling hills and handy for the coastal
     path with its dramatic cliffs and spectacular views out to sea.
    He was about to resume work when he spotted Richard Catton flitting between the chalets furtively, as though he didn’t want
     to be noticed.
    Neil watched as Catton vanished into one of the chalets. When he didn’t appear again Neil carried on digging.
    Rachel had often wondered what it would be like to have a session at a paintball centre. War without the bloodshed, she’d
     heard it called, but the whole thing conjured visions of groups of young men getting over-excited, competing with each other
     to prove their manhood and making a terrible mess into the bargain. Pathetic really.
    The centre stood on the outskirts of Dukesbridge between a petrol station and a garden centre, and the place reminded her
     of a toy Wild West fort her brothers had owned when they were small, all palisades and lookout towers topped with stars and
     stripes flags. The palingswere dotted with paint splashes in bright primary colours, further emphasising the playful status of the premises. After parking
     the car, she made her way to the entrance. The main door stood open and as she walked in she could hear explosions and whoops
     of aggression – or was it pleasure?
    She made straight for a door marked MANAGER PRIVATE and knocked loudly. After a few moments, it was opened by a well-built
     man in his early forties with closely cropped hair. He wore a checked shirt and resembled a cowboy who’d moved on into ranch
     management. When she produced her warrant card he took it from her hand and made a great show of examining it closely, as
     though he suspected she was some sort of impostor.
    Once inside the office he invited her to sit down and her eyes were drawn to a large cupboard in the corner of the cluttered
     office, open to reveal several rows of what looked like firearms. Even though she knew they were paintball weapons, their
     presence still made her uncomfortable.
    ‘So what can I do for you, Detective Sergeant Tracey?’ In spite of his casual manner, he seemed a little on edge and she wondered
     why.
    ‘You provided a reference for a Tessa Trencham.’
    He took a deep breath and as he exhaled slowly, she was surprised to see that he looked rather relieved.
    ‘That’s not a crime, is it?’
    She ignored the remark. ‘You know Ms Trencham well?’
    ‘She used to work for me.’
    ‘Have you heard that a woman was found dead at her address last weekend?’
    ‘I read about some woman being murdered in Morbay, but I didn’t realise it was at Tessa’s address.’ He showed noapparent shock or curiosity, which Rachel thought was a little strange.
    ‘We think the dead woman might be Ms