The Calling Of The Grave dh-4

by Simon Beckett

  'Well, looks like the other graves must be somewhere nearby.' Naysmith was squatting by one of the holes. 'Wouldn't be much point him digging like a dog for a bone otherwise.'

  'We searched this entire area last time without finding anything,' Roper said. 'He could have hidden a stash of cash or something. Makes more sense than wanting to dig up bodies that have been safely buried for eight years.'

  He had a point, but Simms was having none of it. 'Monk wouldn't have buried money. That'd involve planning ahead, and he doesn't think like that. No, this was about finding the Bennett girls. Dr Hunter, where was Monk when you first saw him?'

  I scanned the moor. Without the ground mist everything looked different, and there were no convenient landmarks to help me pinpoint where I'd first seen the figure. This was Sophie's speciality, not mine, but in his wisdom Simms had made her stay behind.

  Still, I felt reasonably confident as I pointed. 'Over there. About a hundred yards away.'

  Rain dripped from the rim of his hat as Simms looked dubiously at the unremarkable patch of moor. There wasn't much to see, no tor or hummocks large enough to have concealed anyone as big as Monk.

  'He can't have appeared from nowhere. Where did he come from?'

  'He was just standing there when we saw him. That's all I can tell you.'

  Simms' gloved fingers drummed against his leg, like a restless cat twitching its tail. 'Bring the dog,' he said, and started walking.

  The moor became boggier as we headed further out: patches of viscous black mud pooled with oily water. Several times we had to detour where it was too thick to cross, Roper muttering under his breath as he slithered about in his city shoes. Twice the dog seemed to catch an elusive trace of scent, but both times its handler shook his head after it lost it again.

  It was only as we neared the spot where I'd seen Monk that I realized we were retracing our steps from years before. This was where he'd claimed the other graves were, before Sophie's discovery of the badger sett had diverted us. I considered mentioning it, but Simms was sceptical enough already. Don't push your luck.

  I stopped and looked around, trying to gauge how far we'd come.

  'Well?' Simms prompted.

  'Around here somewhere, but it's hard to say where exactly.' I was uncomfortably aware that everyone was watching me. 'Over there, I think.'

  The patch of moor looked no different from any other. Just grass and heather, shivering slightly from the beating of the rain. There was no sign that anyone had ever been here.

  'You said he came after you. Which way did he go?' Simms asked.

  I tried to visualize it, but it wasn't easy from this new perspective 'To start with he followed us towards the track, but then he headed across the moor for the road to cut us off.'

  Naysmith motioned to the dog-handler. 'See if you can find anything.'

  The handler began casting round with his dog in an attempt to pick up Monk's trail. But they floundered straight away, the German shepherd's paws sinking into black mud. The dog thrashed and whined as its handler hauled it out, only for it to become stuck again moments later.

  'It's too wet,' he called, heaving it back on to firmer ground. 'It's like a quagmire round here.'

  'Keep trying,' Simms told him.

  The handler's face made it clear what he thought of that. The dog's paws plunged deep into the soft mud, bogging it down. It had to be pulled free several more times, until both dog and handler were filthy and out of breath. Finally, it seemed to catch a scent on a stretch of firmer ground. Its ears pricked up in interest as it began to follow it, only to suddenly whine and back away.

  'Now what?' Simms demanded as the dog sneezed and pawed its nose.

  'Ammonia,' the handler said, sniffing with distaste. The pungent chemical smell was bad enough for humans; to a dog's sensitive nose it would be actively painful. He patted the German shepherd, giving Simms a reproachful look. 'The rain's washed some of it away but someone was expecting us. We're done here.'

  Simms seemed about to insist but Naysmith intervened. 'It's going to be dark soon. We can bring more dogs out tomorrow, organize a proper search. There's not much more we can do tonight.'

  He stared levelly back as the ACC glared at him. Simms' hand tapped impatiently at his side before he gave a grudging nod.

  'All right. But first thing tomorrow-'

  'Over here.'

  The shout came from Lucas. While the dog had been struggling through the mud, the search advisor had wandered off by himself. He stood on a low hummock, looking down at something on its far side. Simms' Wellingtons slapped against his legs as he went over, leaving the rest of us to follow.

  The ground dropped away behind the hummock, so that it was lower than it first appeared. The concealed side was camouflaged with scrubby gorse, except for where rocks broke through the vegetation on the slope like the scalp of a bald man.

  Caught in the angle where several rocks leaned against each other was a sheer black hole less than a metre across.

  'Christ, is that a cave?' Naysmith asked.

  Lucas was studying his map. 'There aren't any caves on this part of the moor. They're all in the limestone further out, like the ones at Buckfastleigh. It's all granite round here.' He folded up the map. 'No, it's an adit.'

  'A what?' Simms demanded.

  'An old mine entrance. This used to be tin-mining country until about a hundred years ago. Small-scale stuff, mainly. Most of the tunnels were filled in or sealed off, but not all of them. Some are still there.'

  I thought about the grassed-over waterwheel and mine workings near the turn-off for Black Tor. It was just another part of the moor's landscape. I'd driven past it any number of times without really noticing it.

  Or given a thought to what might lie below the surface.

  Naysmith bent over the opening. 'Looks deep. Anyone got a torch?' There were mutterings and exchanged glances. 'Oh, for Christ's sake, somebody must have brought one!'

  'I've got this.' A CID officer sheepishly offered a small penlight.

  Naysmith shook his head in disgust as he took it. He shone it into the opening and peered inside. His voice sounded hollow.

  'Can't see much. Goes back a long way.'

  'Get the dog over here,' Simms said.

  The handler was tight-lipped as he brought the German shepherd forward. Its coat was black with mud and steam curled from its lolling tongue, but it had recovered from the ammonia. When it neared the opening its ears abruptly snapped up. It snuffled intently at the rocks, then lurched towards the open hole. Its paws scrabbled as the handler hauled it back.

  'OK, good boy.' He fussed and patted it as he looked up at Simms. 'No two ways about it. Either he came out of here or he went down. Or both.'

  There was a silence as that sank in. It was Roper who spoke first. 'Well, now we know why Monk wanted to come out here eight years ago. And why he's so hard to find.' The DI's prominent teeth were bared in a grin that was almost a snarl. 'The bastard's gone to ground.'

  Chapter 20

  The lights were on in Sophie’s house when I pulled up in the lane. I switched off the car engine and sat in the darkness, enjoying the few moments of peace. The rain had all but stopped while I'd been driving, but puddles still gathered on the roads, sluicing up a steady spray from the tyres.

  I put my head back against the seat rest, taking a moment to savour the quiet before I went inside. I'd had no choice but to come back. For one thing my bag was still here: after hearing about the murder I hadn't taken it when we'd rushed off to Sharkham Point. But I wanted to check on Sophie anyway: I hadn't had a chance to speak to her since we'd split up at Wainwright's.

  A lot had happened since then.

  Lucas had told me more about the mines as we'd walked back to the cars. Naysmith had stationed two police officers at the adit in case Monk resurfaced there, although that wasn't likely. The remains of old tin mines could be found across Dartmoor. Not all the tunnels had survived, and those that had weren't a
lways safe even for cavers to go down. The more accessible entrances were sealed behind locked gates and steel bars, but adits like the one we'd found still existed on the moor, overgrown and all but invisible unless you knew what to look for.

  Monk obviously did.

  'We knew about the mines, but they weren't considered a serious option,' Lucas told me. 'Monk was a loner who spent a lot of time on the moor, but as far as we knew he didn't have any caving experience. And believe me those mines are scary places. You don't want to go down them unless you know what you're doing.'

  'So they weren't checked at all?'

  'Only enough to rule them out. The bigger ones were searched after the girls went missing, in case Monk had dumped the bodies in them. But we didn't go very far down, and after that we just had dogs sniff around the main entrances. We didn't find anything, so that was that. 'The search advisor puffed out his cheeks. 'If Monk's been using them Christ knows where he is. Some of those mines are a couple of hundred years old, and I'd bet not all the old adits will be shown on maps. Monk could go down one hole and surface God knows where.'

  That was an unsettling thought. 'Are there any mines near Padbury?'

  'Padbury?'

  'That's where Sophie lives.'

  'Let's take a look, shall we?' Lucas unfolded his map, stubby finger tracing a path as he consulted it. 'Nothing nearby. The closest would be Cutter's Wheal Mine, about three miles away, but that's sealed off.'

  I was glad of that much, at least. Locking the car, I pushed open the creaking gate and walked up the path to the house. After the rain the air was earthy and fresh, scented with wet grass. The light from the windows made the nearby kiln seem darker by comparison. I paused outside the front door, took a deep breath and then knocked.

  Nothing happened for a while, but just when I was about to try again I heard the bolts being shot inside. The door opened on its newly fitted chain and Sophie looked out at me from the gap. She didn't say anything. The door closed in my face, then there was a rattle as the chain was unfastened and it was opened again.

  Without a word, she went back down the hallway. I heard the sound of vegetables being chopped as I closed and bolted the door. Doesn't look good. I pulled off my muddy boots and hung up my coat, then followed her into the kitchen.

  She had her back to me, thick hair screening her face. The knife thumped on to the chopping board.

  'Roper said someone would bring you home,' I said.

  Sophie answered without turning round. 'They did. About two hours ago.'

  'How did it go? Your statement.'

  'As you'd expect.'

  The line of her back was stiff and uncompromising. She scraped the sliced carrots into a pan and began cutting potatoes.

  I took a deep breath. 'Look, I'm sorry. I told Simms about your letters to Monk. I didn't have any choice.'

  'I know.'

  She said it indifferently; I'd been steeling myself for more than that. 'I wasn't sure how you'd feel.'

  'I told them myself. I'm not a complete idiot, I know I couldn't keep it a secret. I even printed them copies from the computer.'

  'So you're OK about it?'

  'Why shouldn't I be? It isn't against the law to write to someone. Even Monk.'

  She didn't turn to look at me. The knife sliced up and down, a staccato rapping on the board.

  'So what's wrong?'

  'What's wrong?' She slammed down the knife. 'They took me away like a – a criminal! No one would tell me anything! I didn't even know you'd gone until some hatchet-faced policewoman said she was bringing me home. I felt useless!'

  'I'm sorry.'

  She sighed and shook her head. 'Oh, I know it isn't your fault. First there was the shock of Wainwright being murdered, and then… then I had the door closed in my face. It's the first time it's really been brought home to me that I'm not a BIA any more, I'm just a civilian. I hated being left out! But I shouldn't take it out on you.'

  'Don't worry about it. It's been a rough day for everyone.'

  'That's no excuse.' She put her hand on my arm, and suddenly there was a tension between us. It broke when Sophie lowered her hand, turning quickly back to the worktop. 'So what happened after I'd gone?'

  I told her about Wainwright, and the adit we'd found. 'The police are sending down a cave team, but Lucas doesn't think Monk will still be there. Once we'd seen him yesterday he'd have realized we'd find the mine.' That one, at least. From what Lucas said there were plenty of others.

  'So that was why he said he'd take us to the graves. He just wanted to get close to the mine so he could escape.' She sounded bitter. 'God, I really made a fool of myself, didn't I?'

  'You weren't to know. And there's something else.'

  I told her about Terry.

  'He's suspended?' Sophie looked stunned 'I'd no idea.'

  'There's no reason you should have. By the sound of things he's in denial himself. He's got a drinking problem and his career's on the skids. Simms wants us to let Roper know if we hear from him again, but after what happened to Wainwright I don't think he'd dare.'

  'You don't think…'

  'What?'

  'Nothing. It doesn't matter.'

  But I guessed what she'd been about to say. 'You're wondering if Terry had anything to do with Wainwright?'

  'I know it's stupid, but with everything else he's done…' She looked scared.

  'I can't see it. Terry might have gone off the rails, but there'd be no reason for him to do something like that. Simms might not want to admit it, but I don't think there's any doubt it was Monk.'

  Are you sure? I couldn't pretend to know what Terry was capable of any more. But the brutal nature of Wainwright's death, even down to the sputum left contemptuously on the floor, had all the convict's hallmarks.

  Which brought me to another problem.

  I took a deep breath. 'I think you should reconsider staying somewhere else until this has blown over.'

  Sophie's mouth set stubbornly. 'We've already been through this.'

  'That was before Wainwright was killed.'

  'We don't know for sure that was Monk, and even if it was, why would he want to hurt me? I didn't do anything to him.'

  You didn't have to. You're an attractive woman. For a behavioural specialist, she could be obtuse when it suited her.

  'All Wainwright did was insult him eight years ago, but he's still dead,' I said, trying hard not to lose my patience. 'We don't know what's driving Monk. Perhaps Terry's right and he's going after anyone from the original search team. But even if he's not you still brought yourself to his attention by writing to him. It isn't worth the risk.'

  She was still scared, I could see that. But her chin had come up in the now familiar gesture of defiance.

  'It's my decision.'

  'Sophie-'

  'I told the police the same thing this afternoon. I can look after myself. No one's asking you to stay.'

  God, but she could be infuriating. I was almost tempted. My bag was packed, and I was under no illusions as to my chances if Monk did turn up. But I knew I wasn't going to leave her there alone. Not because she was attractive, or even because I was very aware of the spark between us. No, my reason was simpler than that.

  We have to be able to live with ourselves.

  I sighed. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

  She gave me a tired smile. 'Thank you.'

  'Just promise me you'll at least think about it.'

  'I promise,' she said, and I was forced to settle for that.

  Dinner was a vegetable curry, thrown together from what little was left in Sophie's pantry and fridge. The meal was a subdued affair. I was acutely conscious of how isolated we were out there, and despite her bravado I think Sophie was too. The past few days had taken their toll. She insisted the headache she'd mentioned was just tension, but she looked exhausted. When I told her I'd clear up while she went to bed she didn't put up much of a fight.

  'If you're sure… Help yourself to whatever you like.
There's brandy and whisky in the sitting room.'

  I was tired myself, but I knew if I went to bed I'd only lie awake, listening to every creak and bump in the old house. After Sophie had gone upstairs I washed and dried the dishes, then went to hunt down a drink. The whisky was a generic blend, but the brandy turned out to be a fifteen-year-old Armagnac that had hardly been touched.

  I poured myself a healthy measure, threw another log into the stove and sank back on to the sofa. I considered turning on the TV for the news, but I doubted there'd be anything about the investigation I didn't already know.

  Instead I just sat in the quiet, staring at the flames and listening to their muted crackle. Even without her, Sophie's presence filled the room. Her ceramics stood on the low table, with a couple of larger vases on the floor, and the stripped-pine furniture and rugs had the same unfussy style as she had herself. I could smell a faint trace of her scent on the cushions. I sipped the Armagnac, puzzling again over her stubbornness…

  The ringing of the phone woke me. I bolted upright, hastily setting the glass aside. The extension was on a chest of drawers.

  I snatched it up before it could ring again, glancing at my watch. Half past two.

  No one called at that time for anything good.

  'Hello?' There was no answer. Please yourself, I thought irritably, about to hang up. Then I heard a sound down the line. Adenoidal and laboured, the wheeze of someone breathing.

  Suddenly I knew it was Monk on the other end.

  The hairs on my forearms prickled as they stood up. I found my voice.

  'What do you want?'

  Nothing. The breathing continued. The moment stretched on, then there was a soft click as the connection was broken.

  I realized I'd been holding my own breath. I lowered the handset. The house was silent: I'd answered the phone before it could wake Sophie. I hurried into the kitchen, searching through drawers for a pen and paper before playing back the caller's number and scribbling it down.

  From the code it looked like a local landline. I stared at the piece of paper, slowly sliding down from the rush of adrenalin. Dazed, I called Roper and left a message on his voicemail. I'd no proof it was Monk, and an anonymous phone call was hardly going to impress him.