The Calling Of The Grave dh-4

by Simon Beckett

  I glanced at Monk. The convict's doll-like eyes were watching without expression. The only sound was the crunch of the spade and a gentle tearing of roots as the last piece of turf was lifted free. Once the covering of grass was removed Wainwright began sinking the trench deeper. The peat was wet and fibrous. He was about a foot down when he suddenly stopped.

  'Pass me a trowel.'

  The instruction wasn't aimed at anyone, but I was nearest. You aren't doing anything else. I took Wainwright the trowel, standing at the other side of the narrow trench as he squatted down to scrape peat off whatever he'd found.

  'What is it? 'Terry asked.

  The archaeologist frowned, peering closer. 'I'm not sure. I think it might be…'

  'It's bone,' I said.

  Something smooth and pale was visible in the dark mulch. There wasn't much of it showing, but I'd cut my teeth differentiating between the smoothly ossified texture of bone and stones or tree roots.

  'Human?' Sophie asked.

  'I can't see enough to say yet.'

  'Certainly bone, though,' Wainwright said, his voice betraying his displeasure at my interruption. The scratch of the trowel filled the hollow as he began digging away at the surrounding peat. Everyone's attention was fixed on the archaeologist. Sophie hugged herself anxiously. Terry stood with his shoulders bunched, hands jammed deep in his pockets as though to brace himself, while just behind him Roper gnawed his lip. Only Monk seemed unconcerned. He wasn't even bothering to watch, I saw, big head twisted to look back over the moor behind him.

  Then Wainwright spoke again. 'There's some sort of fabric here. Clothing, perhaps. No, wait, I think it…' He bent closer, obscuring whatever he'd found. Abruptly, the tension seemed to leave him. 'It's fur.'

  'Fur?' Terry hurried forward to see for himself.

  Wainwright was gouging the peat away now with savage strokes. 'Yes, fur! It's a bloody animal.'

  The bone he'd uncovered was revealed as part of a broken pelvis, jutting through a bristly pelt that was coated with peat.

  'What is it, a fox?'

  'A badger.' Wainwright tugged a muddy paw free of the ooze, the dirt-clogged claws curved for digging. He let it drop. 'Congratulations, Miss Keller. You've Winthropped your way to an old badger sett.'

  For once Sophie had no response. She looked as though she wanted to crawl into the hole herself as everyone moved closer for a better look. The badger was badly mangled, broken bones visible through the matted bristles.

  'We had to make sure,' I said, annoyed. 'It could have been a grave for all we knew.'

  Wainwright gave a wintry smile. 'Neither Miss Keller nor you are forensic archaeologists, Dr Hunter. Perhaps in future you'll-'

  I didn't see what happened next, only heard the sudden commotion. Someone cried out behind us and I looked round to see both prison guards and a policeman on the ground.

  Beyond them, Monk was running from the hollow.

  He'd waited for his moment, when everyone's attention was distracted. The convict didn't so much as pause as another officer lunged for him. He charged right through the man, knocking him aside as though he'd been hit by a bull.

  Then there was nothing in front of Monk but open moor.

  'Get after him!' Terry yelled, breaking into a sprint.

  Brute force and surprise had given Monk a few yards' lead but it was never going to be enough. The air rang with curses as heavy boots pounded after him. Then he jinked and changed direction, and suddenly the men who'd been about to catch him found themselves splashing through a grassy bog. Within seconds they were floundering to a halt as the soft mud sucked and dragged at their feet.

  Monk barely slowed. The clumsiness that had led to his handcuffs being removed had vanished. He ran without hesitation, finding solid ground that looked indistinguishable from the bog around it I realized now why he'd been looking back at the moor instead of watching Wainwright.

  He'd been planning his route.

  'Use the dog! Use the bloody dog!' Terry shouted, trying to detour round the mire.

  The handler didn't need any prompting. As soon as he'd released it the German shepherd streaked over the moor towards Monk. Either luck or its lighter weight helped it through the mud, and in seconds it had closed the distance between them. I saw Monk's pale face glance back at it, losing yet more ground as he slowed to shuck out of his coat. What the hell is he doing?

  A moment later I understood: as the dog caught up he spun round, thrusting out a forearm wrapped in the coat. He took a step back under its weight as the animal leapt at him, its jaws clamping on to the thick padding. Bracing himself, he slapped his other hand on to the back of its neck and heaved. There was a shrill yelp that suddenly cut off, then Monk flung the dog's limp body aside and carried on running.

  The stunned silence was broken by a cry as the German shepherd's handler began sprinting towards the dog's unmoving form.

  'Jesus Christ!' Roper breathed. He scrabbled for his radio. 'Get the chopper in the air! Don't ask fucking questions, just do it!'

  Monk was going flat out, hammering across the uneven moorland as easily as if he were in a park. Most of the police were still struggling through the bog, but Terry had managed to bypass the worst of it. And the dog had cost Monk his lead. From the top of the hollow where I'd gone to help the injured men, I felt my breath quicken as I saw that Terry was going to catch him.

  Sophie's hands had gone to her mouth. 'He's going to get killed!'

  She was right. Terry could handle himself against most men, but we'd just seen Monk snap the neck of a police dog.

  But so had Terry. He launched himself at the convict's legs in a rugby tackle, hitting him just below the knees. Monk fell as if he'd been poleaxed, crashing to the ground with Terry's arms still wrapped around his legs. It didn't even seem to wind him. He twisted round and began clubbing wildly at the man clinging to his legs, trying to reach him. Terry ducked his head into his shoulders and held on. Then one of the punches connected, and Terry jerked and let go. Monk kicked himself free and scrambled on to his knees, but that was as far as he got before a mud-spattered policeman rammed into him, bowling him away from where Terry sprawled on the ground. Another launched himself on to them, and then uniforms were swarming over the convict like ants over a wasp.

  'Come on then, bastards!'

  Batons rose and fell as Monk lashed out, knocking his attackers away. But sheer weight of numbers carried him to the ground. He regained his feet once, surging up again before a baton cut his legs from under him. Face down, he struggled to rise as his arms were wrenched behind his back. Before he could free himself he'd been handcuffed and it was over.

  He howled like a wounded animal as the police pinned him down and fastened restraints round his ankles. Then they stood back while he thrashed on the ground, raging and helpless. Some of them had gone to attend to Terry. He was on his hands and knees, still dazed. As we watched he shrugged off the attempts to help him and stood up by himself. We were too far away to hear what he said, but he must have made some quip. A burst of laughter came from the men around him, raucous and slightly hysterical.

  Sophie sagged against me. 'Oh, God.'

  I put my arm around her automatically. Both prison guards and the policeman Monk had knocked down to escape were back on their feet. The older guard had blood smeared down his face from a broken nose but he was able to walk. Pale and shaking, he tilted his head back, staunching the blood with the tissues I'd given him. Of the two guards he'd been the more humane towards Monk. It hadn't done him any good.

  Monk's solicitor had been conspicuously silent, but seemed to feel obliged to speak as we hurried over to Terry and the other officers.

  'You realize this marks a failing of the police force's duty of care to my client,' he panted to Roper, briefcase tucked under his arm as he struggled to keep up. 'He should never have been allowed to escape. I intend to lodge a formal complaint about the whole handling of this exercise.'

  'Please yourself,'
Roper said.

  Dobbs took his indifference as encouragement. 'And as for justifiable force… The way he was subdued was completely excessive, a textbook example of police brutality.'

  Roper turned to him, baring his rat's teeth in a feral grin. 'If you don't shut up I'm going to shove that briefcase up your arse.'

  The solicitor was silent after that.

  The police officers around Monk all bore the scars of their encounter. Smeared in mud from the bog, there wasn't one of them who wasn't bleeding or nursing some injury. Terry himself had a grazed lump the size of an egg on his forehead, but wasn't badly hurt. He seemed pumped up by what had happened, adrenalin giving him a manic edge.

  'Nice one, chief,' Roper said, slapping him on the back. 'How's the head?'

  Terry gingerly touched the bump. 'I'll survive.' He grinned at Sophie. 'Doesn't spoil my good looks, does it?'

  'Anything's an improvement,' she said coolly.

  Wainwright strode up to where Monk lay trussed in the grass and heather. The convict's chest was heaving, and his face and mouth were slick with blood. He'd stopped struggling except for jerking against the restraints from time to time, testing them. The handcuffs were tempered steel, and the strap round his legs wasn't going to break any time soon, but I was still glad I didn't have to take him back to prison.

  Fists planted on his hips, Wainwright glared down at him. 'My God, to think society wastes money keeping animals like this alive!'

  Monk stilled. Blood stained his teeth as he twisted his head to stare up at the archaeologist. There was neither fear nor anger in his eyes, only cold appraisal.

  'Oh, for God's sake leave him alone,' Sophie said. 'You're not impressing anybody.'

  'Neither are you,' Wainwright shot back. 'And after your display back there you'll be lucky to find another police force willing to hire you again.'

  'That's enough,' Terry said, coming over. The energy that had buoyed him moments ago seemed to have gone. 'We're finished here. We'll wait for the helicopter but the rest of you might as well go back.'

  'What about the graves?' Sophie asked. She seemed subdued: Wainwright's jibe had struck home.

  Terry watched as the dog-handler carried the body of the German shepherd towards us, its head dangling loosely. 'What do you think?' he said, turning away.

  Sophie and I began making our way back to the track. She was quiet, but I didn't say anything until I saw her angrily brush the tears from her eyes.

  'Don't take any notice of Wainwright. It wasn't your fault.'

  'Yeah, right.'

  'It could have been a grave. We had to check it out.'

  Something flickered at the edge of my mind as I spoke, but I couldn't quite pull it into view. It didn't seem important: I let it go, concentrating on Sophie.

  She gave a bleak smile. 'I'm sure Simms will see it that way. God, I made a real fool of myself, didn't I? Offering to help Monk remember, so sure I knew what was going on. And he was playing us. He only said he'd show us where the graves were so he could try to escape.'

  'You weren't to know that.'

  She wasn't listening. 'I just don't understand it. How far did he think he was going to get out here? Where did he think he could go?'

  'I don't know.' I felt too dispirited myself for a post-mortem on why things had gone wrong. 'He probably wasn't thinking at all. Just making it up as he went along.'

  'I don't believe that.' Sophie looked troubled. She pushed a strand of hair from her face. 'Nobody does anything without a reason.'

  Chapter 7

  Spring came and went. Summer moved into autumn, then winter. Christmas approached. Alice had another birthday, started ballet classes and caught chicken pox. Kara was promoted and given a small wage rise. To celebrate we spent the money in advance on a new car, a Volvo estate. Something nice and safe for the two of them. I flew to the Balkans to work on a mass grave and came down with flu in the freezing conditions. Life went on.

  And the abortive search for Jerome Monk's missing victims receded further into the past.

  I'd expected there to be more hue and cry over his failed escape attempt, but Simms managed to keep the story out of the press. The operation continued afterwards, but the heart had been taken out of it. Simms brought in technicians with geophysical equipment, hoping that the ground's electrical resistivity and magnetic field might reveal a human body. But they were desperation measures, not designed for rugged peat moorland, and everyone knew it. After a few more days the search was quietly called off.

  Wherever Lindsey and Zoe Bennett were buried, they were going to stay there.

  I wasn't sorry to leave. It hadn't been a good experience, and I'd missed my family. The only thing I regretted was that I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to Sophie. She went before I did, still berating herself over what had happened. I hoped she'd get over it. Incidents like that had a habit of following you around, particularly if the SIO was looking for someone to blame. But Simms had another scapegoat in mind.

  I only spoke to Terry once before I left. It was on my last morning, when I was just loading my bags into the car outside the Trencherman's Arms. I slammed the boot as his garish yellow Mitsubishi pulled in alongside.

  'Getting off?' he said as he climbed out.

  'It's a long drive. You look rough. Everything all right?'

  Terry seemed tired. The grazed bump on his head had started to scab over, making it appear worse than before. He ground the heels of his hands into his already reddened eyes.

  'Peachy.'

  'How did it go with Simms?'

  'Simms?' He looked startled, as though for a second he didn't know what I was talking about. 'He's not about to put me up for a commendation, that's for sure.'

  'He's blaming you?'

  'Of course he is. You don't think he's going to take any flak himself, do you?'

  'But he's SIO. It was his responsibility.'

  'Simms will hang me out to dry if it takes some heat off him. And you think there aren't people here who aren't dying to see the new boy from the Met taken down a peg or two?'

  He was right. I wondered if I should mention how I'd overheard Roper reporting back to Simms. But it was only a suspicion, and Terry had enough to contend with already.

  'Is there anything I can do?'

  He gave a bleak laugh. 'Only if you can wind back the clock.'

  I'd never seen Terry like this. 'It's that bad?'

  He made an unconvincing effort to shrug it off. 'Nah. I didn't get much sleep, that's all. Is Sophie around?'

  'She left last night.'

  'Last night? Why the hell didn't I know about it?'

  'I didn't see her go either. I don't think she wanted to hang around. She feels pretty bad about what happened.'

  'Yeah, she's not the only one.'

  'It wasn't her fault. In her position I'd have probably done the same.'

  Terry looked at me: there was no friendliness in it. Suddenly it felt like I hardly knew him. 'How come you're standing up for her all of a sudden?'

  'I'm only saying-'

  'I know what you're saying. The whole operation's gone pearshaped and my neck's on the block, but you're more concerned with looking out for Sophie bloody Keller. But then I noticed the two of you were getting pretty friendly.'

  'What's that supposed to mean?'

  'It means-' He stopped himself. 'Forget it. Look, I've got to go. Say hello to Kara.'

  He went back to his car, slamming the door and accelerating away so quickly that gravel sprayed over my legs. I stood there for a while, torn between anger and bewilderment.

  But I didn't worry about it for long. There was too much else going on in my own life to dwell on Terry, and the events on Dartmoor were soon put behind me. Alice seemed to be growing up more every time I turned my back, and Kara and I began talking about giving her a brother or sister. Professionally, I was busier than ever. The search might not have been a success, but my own role in it hadn't hurt my profile. I found myself in demand wit
h more police forces, and if I occasionally wondered at my anticipation when the phone rang with news of another mutilated or decomposing body… Well, I told myself that was understandable. This was what I did for a living. I had to stay detached, and who wouldn't be pleased that their career was going well?

  Then came the mass grave in Bosnia. I went as part of an international team charged with exhuming and, where possible, identifying the victims. It was a gruelling, month-long trip, three days of which I spent feverish in bed from flu. I came back half a stone lighter and chastened by our capacity for inhumanity on such an industrial scale. I'd never been so glad to be home, and at first I put Kara's quietness down to giving me space to adjust. It was only when I'd read Alice a bedtime story on my first night back, as we sat with a bottle of wine after dinner, that I realized it was more than that.

  'OK, are you going to tell me what's wrong?' I asked.

  She'd been staring into space for several minutes. It wasn't like her to be so withdrawn, especially when we hadn't seen each other for weeks. 'Hmm? Oh, sorry, I was miles away.'

  'I know. What is it?'

  'Nothing. Really, I'm just a bit preoccupied.' She smiled, trying to brush it off. 'Come on, let's get the dishes cleared away.'

  'Kara…'

  She set down the plates with a sigh. 'Promise me you won't do anything.'

  'Why, what's happened?'

  'Terry Connors called round a few nights ago.'

  I hadn't seen or spoken to him since Dartmoor. 'Terry? What for?'

  'He said he was in London and thought he'd drop round to see you, but… Well, I got the impression he already knew you were away.'

  I felt something cold spread through me. 'Go on.'

  'There was just something… off about him coming round like that. I could smell he'd been drinking, but why didn't he phone first to make sure you were in? I made him a coffee but he made me feel… uncomfortable.'

  'How do you mean, uncomfortable?'

  Kara's face had flushed. 'Do I have to spell it out?'

  I realized I was gripping the edge of the table. I made myself let go. 'What did he do?'

  'He didn't do anything. It was just the way he acted. I told him he should leave but… Well, he asked if I was sure that's what I wanted. He said… he said I didn't know what you got up to while you were away.' She picked up her wine glass, then put it down again without drinking from it. 'Alice woke up then and shouted downstairs asking if you were back. I was actually relieved. It seemed to shake him up, and he left.'