Sophie took a deep breath before plunging on. 'Where Monk's taking us, it doesn't make any sense. Tina Williams' grave was exactly where I'd have expected it to be—'
'Easy to say, now we know where it is,' Wainwright sniffed.
She ignored him, concentrating on Terry. 'It wasn't far from the track, which meant it was relatively easy to get to. And it followed the contours of the land: anyone leaving the track around there would naturally find themselves at that point. It made sense for it to be where we found it.'
'So?'
'So Monk won't specify where the other graves are. He's just leading us further out into the moor, which means he'd have to have carried the bodies all this way across moorland, in the dark. I don't care how strong he is, why would he do that? And he says he can't recall any landmarks to guide him back to where they were buried.'
Terry frowned. 'What's your point?'
'I'd expect him to remember something at least. When people hide something they use landmarks to align themselves, whether they realize it or not. But where Monk's heading just seems random. Either he's forgotten or he's deliberately leading us in the wrong direction.'
'Or you could just be wrong, 'Wainwright said. He turned to Terry with a supercilious smile. 'I'm familiar with the Winthrop techniques that Miss Keller refers to. I've used them myself on occasion, but it's mainly common sense. I find them overrated.'
'Then you're not doing it right,' Sophie shot back. 'I went back to the track to find the most likely spots where anyone carrying a body could have left it. Where the going is nice and easy, not too steep or permanently boggy. I've found a few of them over the past few days, but this time I tried a little further out.'
She levelled a finger back towards the track, some distance from where we'd left it to go to Tina Williams' grave.
'There's a spot back there where the moor slopes gently away from the track. It's a natural point for anyone struggling with the weight of a body to access the moor. The way the ground runs funnels you to that big patch of gorse. It's easier to go around the bottom side of it than the top, and then you find yourself in a gulley that brings you right here. To a concealed hollow, where there just happens to be a grave-sized mound of earth.'
She folded her arms, defying Terry to find a hole in her argument. His cheek muscles jumped as he looked back at the mound.
'This is a nonsense,' Wainwright blustered, no longer bothering to hide his animosity. 'It's wishful thinking, not science!'
'No, just common sense like you said,' Sophie retorted. 'I prefer it to pig-headedness.'
Wainwright drew himself up to respond but I beat him to it. 'There's no point standing round here arguing. Let's get the cadaver dog to check it out. If it finds something then we'll need to open it up. If it doesn't, we've only wasted a few minutes.'
Sophie flashed me a smile while Wainwright looked more constipated than ever. I couldn't resist twisting the knife a little further.
'Unless you're absolutely certain there's nothing here?' I asked, trying not to enjoy his discomfort too much. 'You're the expert.'
'I suppose it wouldn't hurt to make sure . . .' he conceded, as though it had been his idea.
Terry stared down at the mound, then sighed and strode up to the top of the hollow. 'Get over here!' he shouted at Roper and the rest, then turned to Sophie. 'I want a word.'
The two of them moved out of earshot. I couldn't hear what was being said, but it seemed heated. Meanwhile Wainwright prowled around the mound, testing it with his feet.
'Definitely softer,' he muttered. He was wearing a thick leather work belt, the sort used by builders to hold tools. He took a thin metal rod from it and began opening it out. It was a lightweight probe, a metre-long extendable tube with a point at one end.
'What are you doing?' I asked.
He was frowning in concentration as he unfolded short handles, so the instrument resembled a slender spade without a head. 'I'm going to probe, of course.'
Disturbed soil was usually less compacted than the surrounding ground, and often another indication of a grave. But that wasn't what I meant.
'If there's anything buried in there you're going to damage it.'
'We need air holes for the dog anyway.'
That was true enough. Even though cadaver dogs could sniff out decay through several feet of soil, the holes would help them detect the gases produced by decomposition. But there were less invasive ways of making them.
'I don't think—'
'Thank you, Dr Hunter, but if I want advice I'll ask for it.'
Gripping the probe by its stubby handles, Wainwright jabbed it forcefully into the mound. Knowing he wasn't going to listen, I clenched my jaw shut as he wrenched it free and rammed it back in. Probing was a basic archaeological technique, but it had its drawbacks in a forensic situation. While it was possible to distinguish between damage to bone inflicted before death and that caused by a pointed metal probe afterwards, it was an unwelcome complication. Wainwright knew that as well as I did.
But then it would be my problem, not his.
Sophie and Terry broke off their discussion as Roper and the others reached us. Neither of them looked happy. Terry went straight to Monk and his solicitor, standing on the edge of the hollow so they could see the mound.
'This ring any bells?'
Monk stared down at it, hands hanging loosely at his sides. His mouth still seemed twisted in a mocking smile, but I thought there was a wariness in his eyes now.
'No.'
'So this isn't one of the graves?'
'I told you, they're over there.'
'You seem pretty sure all of a sudden. Not long ago you said you couldn't remember.'
'I told you, they're over there!'
The bearded guard clapped a hand on Monk's shoulder. 'Don't raise your voice, laughing boy, we can hear you.' 'Fuck off, Monaghan!'
'You want the cuffs back on?'
Monk seemed to swell, but Sophie spoke before he could do anything else. 'Excuse me, Jerome?'
She smiled as the big head snapped round. This time Terry made no attempt to interrupt, and I guessed her involvement was what at least part of their discussion had been about.
'Nobody's doubting you. But I just want you to think about something. You must have dug the graves out here at night, is that right?'
It was a safe bet: few killers risked burying the bodies of their victims in broad daylight. But Monk's solicitor wasn't having any of it.
'You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. I've already made it clear—'
'Shut up.'
Monk didn't so much as glance at him. His button eyes seemed muddied as they fixed on Sophie. After a few seconds he jerked his head in a nod.
'It's always night.'
I wasn't sure what that meant. Judging by Sophie's slight pause neither did she, but she covered it well.
'Things get confused in the dark. It's easy to make mistakes, especially when you try to remember later. Is it possible you could have dug at least one of the graves here? Or even both of them?'
Monk's eyes went from Sophie to the mound. He rubbed a hand over his bald scalp. 'Might be . . .'
For an instant he seemed confused. Then Terry spoke and whatever I thought I'd seen was gone.
'I don't have time for this. Which is it, yes or no?'
Suddenly the heat and madness were back in the convict's eyes. The curved smile looked manic as he faced Terry.
'No.'
'Wait, Jerome, are you—' Sophie began, but she'd had her chance.
'Right, that's it. Let's get back over there,' Terry said, starting to leave the hollow.
'But the body dog's here now,' she protested. 'At least give it a chance.'
Terry paused, indecision on his face. I think he might have overruled her if it hadn't been for Wainwright. The archaeologist had carried on probing the mound while the scene played out.
'Almost done,' he said, thrusting the probe into the soil again. 'The
ground here feels less resistant, although since it's peat I doubt—'
There was an audible crunch as the probe hit something. Wainwright stopped dead. He composed his features into a thoughtful expression, avoiding looking at me.
'Well, there seems to be something here.'
Terry went over. 'A stone?'
'No, I don't think so.' Wainwright beckoned to the dog-handler, quickly asserting control. 'Start with the hole I've just made.'
The dog-handler, a young policewoman with red hair and wind- chapped pale skin, took the springer spaniel towards the mound.
'No! We're in the wrong place!' Monk shouted, his huge fists balled.
'Tell your "client" if I hear one more peep out of him he's back in handcuffs, 'Terry snapped at Dobbs.
The solicitor looked reluctant, but the threat worked. Monk's mouth twitched as he cast a look behind him at the open moor and unclenched his fists.
'No handcuffs,' he mumbled.
The spaniel was almost falling over itself in its eagerness as it snuffled across the mound. There were only a few cadaver dogs in the country, and I'd heard nothing but good things about them. Still, I had my doubts now. Peat inhibited decomposition, sometimes virtually halted it. No matter how sensitive a dog's nose, it couldn't smell something that wasn't there.
But the spaniel's ears pricked up almost immediately. Whining with excitement, it began scrabbling at Wainwright's last probe hole. The handler quickly pulled it away.
'Clever girl!' Fussing the dog, she looked at Terry. 'No two ways about it. There's something there.'
A sense of anticipation ran through the hollow. Terry seemed nervous, but given the pressure he was under I didn't blame him. His career could be changed by what we found here.
'What do you want to do, chief?' Roper asked. The solemnity of the moment had wiped the nervous grin from his face.
Terry seemed to snap back to himself. 'Let's take a look.'
Wainwright clapped his hands together, his earlier scepticism evidently forgotten. 'Right, let's see what we've got, shall we?'
A CSI brought a holdall containing mattocks, spades and digging tools into the hollow, dumping it on the grass with a clank. Wainwright unzipped it and took out a spade.
'I'll help,' I said, but I was wasting my time.
'Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary. I'll let you know if I need any assistance.'
He made 'assistance' sound like a snub. The archaeologist had become suddenly proprietorial now that it looked as though we'd found something. If this was a grave I could guess who'd take credit for it.
There was nothing for the rest of us to do but watch as Wainwright used a spade to cut the outline of a narrow rectangle across the mound. Sinking an exploratory trench was a much more effective way of opening up a potential grave than excavating the whole thing at once. It would give us a better idea of what we were dealing with, allowing us to see which way the body was aligned and how deeply it was buried before the real digging started.
Wainwright made it look easy, though I knew from experience it was anything but. The spade's blade chopped into the earth with brisk efficiency, levering out neat slabs of turf.
'Signs of disturbance to the peat,' he grunted. 'There's been something going on here.'
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.
The Calling of the Grave Page 7
