The Calling Of The Grave dh-4

by Simon Beckett

  'What, even after this?'

  'He admitted going to her house but she was already in hospital by then,' I told him. 'I thought an animal had got in when I took her home, because he was using soil from a fox den to mask his scent. It was hard to miss. If he'd been there before, when I found her in the bathroom, I'd have noticed.'

  'Fox piss? Crafty bastard. 'Terry sounded almost admiring. 'There's lots of rumours flying around. Talk that he was having a relationship with Angela Carson. That he might not have meant to kill her.'

  I rubbed my eyes. 'It's possible.'

  'You're not serious?'

  I didn't feel like talking but I couldn't blame Terry for wanting to know. And there didn't seem any reason not to tell him. 'Before I left the hospital I spoke to a neurologist. He told me about a condition called frontal lobe syndrome. It happens sometimes when the front of the brain is damaged.'

  'So?'

  'That dent Monk has in his skull?' I tapped my own forehead. 'It was caused by a bad forceps delivery. Monk's mother died giving birth and I think his frontal lobe was damaged at the same time. That can cause violent and unpredictable behaviour and difficulty remembering things. Very occasionally it causes what are known as gelastic seizures, where people laugh or scream, and lash out at things that aren't there. It's a type of epilepsy, but because it tends to happen during sleep it's often undiagnosed. Usually it's put down to night terrors. Or someone "kicking off", like the prison guards said Monk did.'

  Terry shrugged. 'Big deal, so he's got this frontal lobe thing. That doesn't excuse what he's done.'

  'Not all of it, no. But it's starting to look as though he didn't rape and murder Angela Carson. They were in a relationship, and he killed her during a seizure after they'd had sex- If she'd tried to restrain him it would only have made things worse, and with someone as strong as Monk it wouldn't have made much difference if it was intentional or not.'

  Terry gave an incredulous laugh. 'Oh, come on Even you can't expect anyone's going to believe that!'

  I wasn't surprised Terry was sceptical. Even now I wasn't sure how much of what Monk had told me could be believed. He was still a violent, dangerous man, and the memory of the car crash and the nightmare journey through the cave would haunt me for a long time.

  But the picture wasn't as simple as everyone had assumed. And neither were Monk's actions. Simms might argue that the convict had his own motives for letting us go, but I remembered how he'd squeezed himself into the fissure to help me with Sophie, when he could have left us both to die down there.

  That wasn't the act of a conscienceless killer.

  'I think we looked at Monk and saw what we wanted to see,' I said. 'Everyone thought he was a monster because he raped a deaf girl and beat her to death. Take that out of the equation and it changes everything. Like whether he really murdered Tina Williams and the Bennett twins.'

  'He confessed, for Christ's sake!'

  'He was punishing himself.' I remembered the deadness – and pain – in Monk's eyes. Whatever revulsion society felt towards him, it was nothing compared to what he felt for himself. 'He'd killed Angela Carson during one seizure; for all he knew he might have killed the others as well. But I really don't think he cared by then.'

  Terry snorted. 'If you believe that, then Monk wasn't the only one who got a knock on the head.'

  I was too tired to argue. 'It doesn't matter what I believe. It's a physiological condition, not a mental illness. That's why the psychiatrists who examined him didn't pick up on it. But it'll be different now they'll know what to look for.'

  'You're serious, aren't you?' Terry gnawed his lip. 'So if he claims he didn't kill the other girls, who did?'

  I shrugged, fighting a wave of fatigue. 'Have you ever heard of a DI called Jones?'

  Terry braked as the car in front slowed. 'What's this prick doing?' he muttered. 'Jones? Don't think so. Why?'

  That was something else I'd had time to think about. If Monk – and Walker – were telling the truth, then the policeman who'd planted the dead girls' belongings at the caravan was an obvious suspect. Except that, according to Naysmith, Jones didn't exist.

  But I'd said enough. 'It doesn't matter. Just something Monk said.'

  Terry glanced at me. 'You look done in. We'll be another half-hour yet. Why don't you get your head down?'

  I was already putting my head back and closing my eyes. Jumbled images flashed through my mind: the cave, the car crash, the way the shadows had filled the indentation in Monk's skull. I saw the mangled body of Tina Williams, clogged with oozing mud, and heard Wainwright's booming laugh. I felt the scrape of a spade cutting through wet peat, and then the car went over a bump and I woke up.

  'Back with us?' Terry asked.

  I rubbed my eyes. 'Sorry.'

  'No worries. We're just about there.'

  I looked out of the window and saw we were almost in Padbury. The day had turned while I'd slept, the light thickening to dusk. It felt like I'd spent all my time lately in darkness. After this I promised myself a holiday. A proper one this time, somewhere hot and sunny. Then I remembered Sophie lying in hospital, and any thoughts of going away vanished.

  Terry pulled up at the bottom of the garden, behind where my car was parked. He stared up at the house, leaving the engine running. 'Well, here we are. Do you want me to stick around?'

  'No, I don't plan on staying.' I paused, my hand on the door handle. 'What about you? What are you going to do now?'

  A shadow crossed his face. 'Good question. Take my lumps from Simms and then… I'll see. Try to get my act together, I suppose.'

  'Good luck.'

  'Thanks.' He looked through the windscreen. 'So. Are we OK, then. Me and you?'

  It occurred to me that I probably wouldn't see Terry again after this. Although I wasn't exactly sorry, it meant another chapter of my life was ending. There was no need for it to be on a bad note.

  You have to bury the past sooner or later.

  I nodded. He held out his hand. I only hesitated a moment before I shook it. 'Look after yourself, David. I hope Sophie's all right.'

  There was nothing more to say. I climbed awkwardly out of the car and watched as Terry pulled away, his car's tail lights disappearing down the lane. The wind was getting up, and the sound of the engine was quickly lost, leaving only the rustle and sway of the trees.

  I massaged my back. Everything ached, and my muscles had stiffened up on the journey. Rousing myself, I started up the path. The house was in darkness. The curtains were drawn, as we'd left them when we rushed out, giving it a closed, untenanted look. I was only going to collect my bag and then leave. I didn't much feel like driving anywhere, but I wasn't comfortable with the idea of staying here on my own. Even though Sophie wouldn't mind, it wouldn't have felt right.

  I got as far as the front door before I realized I didn't have a key. I tried it anyway, but it was locked: either Miller or Cross would have seen to that the night before. I slumped against the door, feeling totally defeated. Then I remembered the spare Sophie kept hidden in the kiln. She'd had a new lock fitted but I hoped she'd have replaced the hidden key as well. Please let it be there.

  The dilapidated brick tower loomed ahead of me as I crossed the overgrown path, its scaffolding standing out against the darkening sky like a gallows. The unlocked door creaked as I pushed it open and felt for the light switch. Nothing happened. I flicked it a few times, but the bulb must have blown. Great. There was a torch in my glove compartment, but of course the car keys were inside the house: I'd left them there in the rush the night before.

  Pushing back the door as far as it would go, I went into the kiln. In the dying light it was like stepping into a tomb. The loose brick where Sophie had hidden the spare key was near the scaffolded central chimney. The brick dust and smell of damp plaster tickled the back of my throat as I walked across. There was another scent mingled with them, sharp and familiar, but I'd only just noticed it when something crunched under my boots. As my eyes
adjusted I saw that the floor was littered with broken pottery. My sluggish brain was still trying to process that when I recognized the out-of-place smell.

  Aftershave.

  I stopped dead, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I turned round. The dim twilight from the doorway didn't reach far into the kiln. The shadows were impenetrable. I stared at where they seemed to coalesce. There was a rustle of movement.

  'Is that you, Dr Hunter?' Roper said.

  Chapter 30

  Roper peered into the gloom, trying to make me out. In the kiln's dark interior he couldn't see me any better than I could him.

  'Glad you're none the worse after last night,' he said. 'Lucky escape you had, by all accounts.'

  My heart was still thumping as I tried to unscramble my thoughts. 'What are you doing here?'

  I heard rather than saw him shrug. 'Oh, I just came to check on things. Miss Keller really should have a lock fitted. Unless she wants people to be able to walk in here, of course.'

  The notion seemed to amuse him.

  'I didn't see your car,' I said.

  'I left it in a lay-by further up the road. Thought the walk would do me good.'

  And prevent anyone from seeing he was here. I was starting to think more clearly now. Starting to think that Darren Walker could have been telling the truth about the police officer at Monk's caravan. DI Jones might not exist, but that didn't prove anything.

  Whoever he was, he'd hardly have given his real name.

  I tried to sound unconcerned, gauging my chances of getting past Roper to the door. 'Did Simms send you?' 'The ACC's got enough on his plate as it is at the moment. No, this was just to satisfy my curiosity, you might say.' There was a click and the lamp on the workbench came on. It had been knocked on its side; Roper stood it upright, tutting as he looked round. 'Somebody made a mess, didn't they?'

  The light revealed a scene of devastation. Sophie's bowls and dishes had been swept from the shelves to break on the floor. Even the heavy electric kiln had been pushed on to its side, its door hanging open.

  'Looks to me like someone was searching for something, wouldn't you say?' Roper was smiling but his eyes were sharp and appraising. 'Mind telling me what you're doing here yourself, Dr Hunter?'

  'I've come to collect my car.'

  'Funny place for a garage.'

  'My bag's in the house. Sophie keeps a spare key in here.'

  'Does she, indeed?' He scanned the kiln. 'Good at hiding things, Miss Keller. But then a former BIA like her should be. Comes from knowing where to find them, I expect.'

  I lost patience. There was no point playing games. 'Did you find what you were looking for?'

  'Me?' Roper seemed genuinely shocked. 'I think we're getting our wires crossed, Dr Hunter. I didn't do this.'

  He sounded offended. I wasn't entirely convinced, but I felt my suspicions begin to recede. 'Then who did?'

  'Well, now, that's the question, isn't it?' Roper considered the wreckage, absently scratching his stomach. 'How well do you know Miss Keller?'

  'Why?'

  'Because I'm trying to decide if you're involved in this.'

  There was a sudden edge to his voice, and my last doubts about him disappeared. I'd never really taken Roper seriously before. He'd always seemed like an appendage of Simms, promoted for loyalty rather than ability. Looking at him now I began to wonder if there was more to him than that.

  Perhaps Sophie wasn't the only one good at hiding things.

  'Until this I hadn't seen her in eight years,' I said carefully.

  'You sleeping with her?'

  I bit back the urge to tell him to mind his own business. 'No.'

  He gave a grunt of satisfaction. 'Tell me, Dr Hunter, doesn't the timing of all this strike you as a bit odd? Terry Connors crops up out of the blue to warn you you're at risk from Monk. Asking if you've heard from any of the old search team. Then Miss Keller – or Miss Trask as she's started calling herself – calls you asking for help. She turns up unconscious and her house is trashed. Except that the burglar didn't bother to take anything.'

  'She said some money and jewellery were missing.'

  He waved that away. 'You don't believe that any more than I do. And I'm not convinced by her "amnesia" either. Someone breaks into her house and knocks her out, and she can't remember anything about it? Please.'

  'That can happen.'

  'I'm sure it can, but she didn't seem too worried about it. So why did she lie? Who was she protecting? Herself or somebody else?'

  I opened my mouth to object, but he was only saying what I'd thought myself. I just hadn't wanted to accept it. 'What's your point?'

  'My point is I don't believe in coincidences.' He prodded a piece of clay with his foot. 'If you've something valuable you want to hide there's two ways to go about it. One is to put it somewhere really safe, where no one will ever be able to find it. The trouble is if you can think of it, chances are somebody else will as well. The other way is to put it somewhere no one will ever think to look. Somewhere so obvious they won't even realize it is a hiding place. Preferably where you can see it every day.'

  I stared at the workbench where Sophie had built up the mound of clay scraps. Just a bad habit. I remembered how she'd come in here as soon as we'd got back from hospital, claiming she was looking for the spare key. How she'd run her hand across it, as though to reassure herself. Right out in the open but too big to move.

  No wonder she hadn't wanted to go to a safe house.

  'I think she was hiding something in a ball of dried clay,' I said. Sophie hadn't even bothered to put a lock on the kiln door, practically announcing that there was nothing of value inside.

  Roper smiled. 'I'm less interested in where it was hidden than in what it was. All this started when Jerome Monk escaped, so there has to be a connection. And whatever was here, it was important enough for Miss Keller to risk facing him rather than leave it untended.'

  And important enough for someone to knock her unconscious and leave her for dead while they searched the house. My mind was whirring now, the last cobwebs of fatigue dropping away.

  'Terry Connors tried to persuade me to take Sophie away yesterday afternoon,' I said. 'That's why he wanted to see me.'

  'Did he now? Then perhaps Monk did him a favour. Got her out of the way long enough for him to find what he was looking for.' Roper considered the debris littering the floor, a smile playing round his mouth. 'For someone who's suspended he seems to be taking an unhealthy interest in this case. I think it's time we had a serious talk with DS Connors.'

  A cold feeling was forming in the pit of my stomach. I'd been too tired to wonder why Terry was waiting for me outside the hospital. I'd put his questions down to curiosity, but that wasn't what struck me now. He'd claimed he didn't know where Sophie lived, yet I hadn't told him how to get here.

  He'd already known the way.

  'I've just seen him,' I said. 'He gave me a lift.'

  Roper's smile vanished. 'Connors was here?'

  'He dropped me off and then went.'

  'Shit!' Roper reached in his pocket for his phone. 'We need to go. I should-'

  But before he could finish a shadow stepped through the doorway behind him. There was a sickening thunk of metal on bone as something swung against the back of his head, and Roper pitched face first on to the ground.

  Breathing heavily, Terry stood over him with a short length of scaffold gripped in his hands. His mouth stretched into a snarl as he looked down.

  'Bastard had that coming for a long time.'

  It had happened so quickly there was no time to react. I stood there, stunned by Terry's appearance as much as by the sudden violence. There was a wildness about him, a look of fevered desperation. His once-neat hair had been snagged by branches, and his shoes and trouser bottoms were splashed with mud. Panting, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he lifted his gaze to me.

  'Jesus, David. Why couldn't you just have got your things and left?'

 
; My mind was starting to function again. I hadn't heard a car engine: Terry must have parked and doubled back across the fields. Perhaps when he saw Roper's car in the lay-by. The policeman lay where he'd fallen. Dark blood glistened on his head, nearly black in the lamplight. I couldn't see if he was breathing or not.

  Terry raised the pole threateningly as I started towards them. 'Don't try it!'

  I stopped, keeping out of reach. 'Put the pole down. Just think what you're doing.'

  'You don't think I have? Christ, you think I want this?' A spasm of anguish crossed his face. He lashed out and kicked a piece of clay. It ricocheted off the scaffolding that propped up the curving wall of the kiln and skittered off into darkness. 'You want to blame somebody, blame Keller! This is her fault!'

  I thought about what Roper had said. About the ball of clay, now in fragments on the floor. 'What was she hiding that was so important?'

  At first it seemed he wasn't going to answer. He shook his head, but his grip on the scaffolding pole seemed to loosen.

  'Zoe Bennett's diary.'

  It took me a moment, but then I began to understand. Zoe, the extrovert of the two Bennett twins, who, unlike her sister, preferred partying to studying. And Terry, a womanizer still smarting after being forced to transfer from the Met in disgrace. What better way to salve his ego than with a pretty, vivacious seventeen-year-old with aspirations to be a model?

  'Your name was in it,' I said.

  His shoulders slumped. The scaffolding pole had sunk lower, almost forgotten.

  'I'd been seeing her for a couple of months. The photos don't do her justice; she was a real looker. Trouble was she knew it. She'd got it all worked out: how she was going to go to London, sign up with a big model agency. She was impressed because I'd been with the Met, could tell her stories about Soho and all the rest.'

  He grinned at the recollection, but it quickly faded. His mouth twisted.

  'Then I saw her with someone else. Some cocky young bastard in his twenties, flash car. You know the sort. We had a row. Things got out of hand. I hit her and she went mental. Screaming at me, saying she'd see to it I got sacked, that she'd say I raped her. We were in my car and I was scared people would hear. I just wanted to shut her up, so I got hold of her throat, and… and it was just so fucking quick. One minute she was struggling, and the next…'