'He told me you'd been suspended.'
'Did he say why?'
'No, but Roper did.'
That provoked a sour smile. 'Yeah, I bet. Two-faced little bastard.'
'He said you'd assaulted a policewoman.'
'I didn't assault her, it was only a bit of fun. All right, I might have had a few beers, but she didn't mind. Not until people started telling her that I'd abused her rights. Her rights. Christ.'
But I wasn't interested in Terry's excuses. 'You let me think you were part of the investigation. Sophie too, even after she'd been attacked. Why?'
He reached for his glass before remembering it was empty. He kept hold of it, as though he felt more comfortable with it in his hand. 'It's hard to explain.'
'Try.'
He frowned into his glass. 'I've made a mess of everything. My marriage, my family, my career. The works. All the opportunities I used to have . . . it's all gone. The last time I did anything I was proud of was when I tackled Jerome Monk out on the moor. You remember that?'
His mouth quirked into a grin at the memory. It didn't last long.
'When he escaped . . . well, it brought a lot of things back. Suspended or not, I'm still a police officer. I couldn't just sit at home listening to the news reports. And I know how Simms' mind works. He made his name from putting Monk away, and he won't want anything to tarnish that. He's going to have his own agenda.'
'You're saying he doesn't want to see Monk caught?' I didn't like Simms, but I couldn't believe that even of him.
'No, just that his first priority's going to be covering his own back. Especially now Wainwright's been murdered. That's going to open a whole can of worms, and you can bet he's going to do his best to keep a tight lid on it. He might dress it up as not wanting a media frenzy to interfere with an investigation, or whatever, but that's just PR bollocks.'
It was near enough to what Simms had said to me himself to strike a chord. Terry gave a lopsided grin.
'Had this conversation with him already, have you? Then you know I'm right. Wainwright and Simms were friends, as far as bastards like him can have any. And it's going to look pretty bad if an ACC can't even protect his old cronies. Especially if people start asking why Monk went after Wainwright in the first place.'
'Perhaps he remembers how Wainwright treated him.' To think society wastes money keeping animals like this alive. 'You said yourself he might have grudges against anybody involved in the search. Or were you making that up as well?'
'No, but there's got to be more to it than that. Monk's a rapist, and he's been locked up for the last eight years. You seriously think he doesn't have more important things on his mind than offing a senile old archaeologist who hurt his feelings?'
'Then why did he kill him?'
'To get back at Simms.' Terry leaned forward, growing intent. 'Think about it. Simms didn't just put Monk behind bars, he made it a personal crusade. Well, now the boot's on the other foot, except Monk knows he'd never get anywhere near him, not with all the protection Simms will have. So he's trying to humiliate him instead, going after easy targets like Wainwright to stir up as much shit as possible before he's caught. He knows he's never going to be released again, not after killing that other inmate earlier this year, so what's he got to lose?'
There was a perverse logic to it, I supposed. I'd wondered myself if Monk could have killed Wainwright because of some warped vendetta. But something didn't quite ring true.
'Why are you telling me this? What can I do about it?'
'For a start you can get Sophie away from her house. I've not been there, but I'd guess it's pretty isolated.' That's an understatement, I thought, as he went on. 'Now Monk's killed Wainwright the gloves will be coming off. One way or another this'll be over in the next few days, but more people are going to get hurt before it's done. Take her somewhere safe until Monk's behind bars again. Or dead.'
'I've tried. I don't know if it's because she doesn't want to leave her home or her work, or if she's just being stubborn.'
'Her work?' Terry looked startled, as though that hadn't occurred to him. 'Yeah, of course. Her bloody pots.'
'Simms sent Roper to persuade her to go to a police safe house, but she wouldn't listen. I asked for police protection at her house, but it doesn't look like it's going to happen.'
He seemed distracted, but then his mouth curled in contempt. 'Simms must be running scared to even offer a safe house. He's a politician, he's worried how things look. If he starts putting people under close protection it'll be as good as admitting what Monk's doing. He'd be leaving himself wide open to accusations that he should have done something before Wainwright was killed. As far as Simms is concerned this isn't a manhunt any more, it's damage limitation. All he can do now is spin the murder as a one-off and hope Monk's stopped before he kills anyone else.'
It sounded plausible, but then Terry was good at that. 'Why didn't you tell me any of this to start with? Why all the pretence?'
'What, you think I was going to turn up on your doorstep and admit I'd been knocked back to detective sergeant? It was hard enough coming to see you as it was. But I'd got an idea how this might play out and I wanted to warn you. I thought I owed you that much.' Terry looked down at his empty glass. 'I've made enough mistakes. I didn't want to make another.'
He looked across at me, almost daring me to doubt him. But I'd known him too long to be taken in so easily.
'If you're so concerned about catching Monk, why didn't you tell
Naysmith or Roper that we'd seen him on the moor? This could have been over by now.'
'That was a bad call, I admit. I thought you must be exaggerating. I suppose I might have had a bit too much to drink, as well.' He sighed. 'God knows, I've been regretting it ever since.'
I shook my head. 'Nice try, Terry.'
'What do you mean?'
'You're not doing this out of concern for Sophie's welfare. I don't know what you want, but Simms isn't the only one with an agenda, is he?'
He tried to laugh it off. 'Christ, you're a suspicious sod, aren't you? Come on, give me a break. Everybody deserves a second chance. Even me.'
No, they don't. Not unless they've earned it. I didn't say anything, just looked at him. His expression didn't exactly alter, but somehow the angles of his face hardened. He gave a tight smile.
'So that's how it is, eh? I thought you might have got rid of that chip on your shoulder by now. Looks like I was wrong.'
I wasn't going to waste my time arguing. I'd come here hoping for answers, but I obviously wasn't going to get any. I pushed my chair back and headed for the door, but Terry hadn't finished.
'Give my regards to Sophie!' he called after me. 'And don't fall for that vulnerable routine. She used that on me as well!'
It was cold and raining outside but I barely noticed. Starting the engine, I drove away from the village without giving any thought to where I was going. When I came to a narrow road I took it. A little way along was an overgrown gateway to a field where a few Dartmoor ponies grazed in the rain. I pulled over and stopped.
Sophie and Terry?
They'd never even liked each other. On the search operation they'd barely spoken, and when they had it was a struggle for them to be civil.
And why was that, do you think? Because there was nothing between them?
I felt as though the world had subtly shifted. It was no good telling myself that Terry was lying. There had been a sneering triumph in his voice, as though he'd been waiting for his moment. Sophie's past was nothing to do with me. I'd no right to judge her, and even less to feel jealous. But this was different. We were in the middle of a murder investigation, and it wasn't just anybody.
It was Terry Connors.
One of the ponies had come to the gate beside the car, potbellied and muddied. It leaned its head through the bars, staring at me with dark-eyed curiosity. There was a white blaze on its forehead, slightly off-centre. I felt a vague recognition, until I realized it was in roughly the same place as t
he dent in Monk's skull.
Stop brooding. There are more important things to think about. I switched the engine on and drove away. I hadn't been paying attention to where I was going, and I had to drive until I saw a signpost before I realized where I was. I'd been heading away from Padbury, and had to backtrack through Oldwich to pick up the right road.
I drove past the pub without looking to see if Terry's car was still there.
The mist began to close in again as I left the high moor behind. Soon it had thickened to a blank fog, hazing my vision like cataracts and forcing me to slow down. By the time I reached Sophie's house twilight was gathering, the windows glowing like lighthouses through the gloom.
There was another car parked behind Sophie's in the lane.
Leaving the groceries I'd bought in the car boot, I hurried up the path and tried the front door. It was locked. I banged on it and waited, straining for any sound from inside. I heard the bolts being shot back, and then the door was opened.
'There's a car in the lane—' I stopped. The chain was on but it was a man's face that stared at me through the gap.
'That'd be mine. Can I help you?' he said.
Before I could answer Sophie's voice came from behind him. 'It's all right, Nick, let him in.'
The man looked past me, scanning the path and garden before closing the door and slipping off the chain. He opened it and stood back, a fit-looking man in his early thirties, wearing jeans and a faded sweatshirt. He didn't take his eyes off the path as I went in. As soon as I was inside he closed and bolted the door again.
Sophie was in the hallway, smiling. A pretty blonde woman stood next to her; short, but with the compact muscularity of a gymnast. There was a poised watchfulness about her, and as the man finished locking up I saw her hand move away from her hip.
There was a gun holstered there.
'David, meet Steph Cross and Nick Miller.' Sophie's smile broadened. 'They're my bodyguards.'
* * *
Chapter 23
If I hadn't been told that Miller and Cross were police I'd never have guessed. Both were specialist firearms officers, trained in close protection work, but there was nothing about their appearance or attitude to suggest it. In their casual clothes they might have been teachers or medics.
Except for the guns, of course.
'What made Roper change his mind?' I asked. We were in the kitchen, sitting round the table while Sophie unpacked the groceries I'd fetched from the car and began preparing dinner.
'Roper?' Miller was crunching a strip of raw pepper.
'DI Roper. He's on the ACC's staff.'
'Bit too high and mighty for us, then,' Miller said. 'Our orders came from Naysmith, but I can't tell you any more than that. We were told to pack our bags for a trip to the country, so here we are. Ours not to reason why, and all that.'
He was the more outgoing of the two, laid back and with a ready grin. His short hair was prematurely grey, although somehow it didn't age him. Cross was a few years younger, probably still in her twenties. Although she was quieter than her partner, there was an air of unruffled competence about her that was reassuring.
At least Naysmith was taking Sophie's safety seriously.
'How long will you be staying?' she asked them, scraping chopped onion into a pan. I hadn't realized how tense she'd been until now. The pair's arrival seemed to have lifted a weight from her, so that she seemed almost drunk with relief.
'Long enough,' Miller said, peering at the bolognese sauce Sophie was preparing. 'Don't worry, we won't get under your feet. Just keep us fed and watered and you won't even know we're here. Although you might want to sauté the onions a bit longer before you add the meat.'
Sophie put down the spoon, mock-indignant. 'Do you want to do this?'
'Naw, cooking's not part of my job description. But I'm a quarter Italian, I know these things. I'd go easy with the salt, as well.'
Sophie appealed to Cross. 'Is he always like this?'
The blonde policewoman gave the impression of smiling even though her mouth didn't actually move. Her cornflower-blue eyes were serene and watchful. 'You learn not to take any notice.'
Miller looked hurt. 'I'm just saying, that's all.'
It was almost possible to forget why the pair were there, which was probably the idea. It was easier to guard someone if they were relaxed rather than jumping at shadows.
And Sophie had certainly relaxed. Her objection to staying in a safe house didn't extend to other types of protection. I was glad about that, but the meeting with Terry still preyed on my mind. I'd called Roper to let him know, and been relieved to go straight to his voicemail. I'd left a short message without going into details. If he wanted to know more he could call me back.
But I still hadn't had a chance to talk to Sophie about it. Miller and Cross must have picked up on the atmosphere, because after a while they made an excuse and left us alone. Sophie was on such a high that even then she didn't notice.
'They're really nice, aren't they? Not at all like the armed police I used to know,' she said, stirring the simmering pasta sauce. The kitchen smelled of tomato and garlic. 'They turned up about an hour or so after you'd left. I don't often get customers stopping by, so I thought they'd got lost at first, or they were trying to sell something. Then they flashed their ID and said Naysmith had sent them. Did you know he was going to?'
'No.'
Sophie broke off to look at me. 'I thought you'd be pleased. Is something wrong?'
'I saw Terry Connors this afternoon.'
She went very still, then turned back to the saucepan. 'What stone did he crawl from under?'
'He said he wanted to explain.'
'Oh?'
'I didn't know there'd been anything between you.'
She had her back to me, her face hidden. The only sound was the spoon rattling against the pan. 'There's no reason why you should.'
'Don't you think you should have mentioned it?'
'It isn't something I like to talk about. It was a mistake. A long time ago.'
I said nothing. Sophie put the spoon down and turned to face me.
'Look, it doesn't have anything to do with what's going on now.'
'Are you sure about that?'
'It's in the past, all right?' she flared. 'It's none of your business anyway. I don't have to tell you everything!'
She was right, she didn't. But she was wrong about its being none of my business. It had become that when she'd asked for my help. And whatever game Terry was playing affected us both. The sauce popped and bubbled in the pan.
'You need to stir that,' I said, and went upstairs.
My bag was back in my room. I threw the rest of my things into it. The last thing I felt like was a long drive back to London. But
Sophie was safe with Miller and Cross there. There was no longer any reason for me to stay, and I'd had enough of feeling used.
I'd finished packing when I heard a noise from the doorway. Sophie was watching me.
'What are you doing?'
I zipped the bag shut. 'It's time I left.'
'Now?' She looked surprised.
'You've got two armed guards. You'll be fine.'
'David . . .' She closed her eyes, fingers rubbing her temple. 'God, I can't believe Terry Connors can still cause trouble after all this time! All right, I know I should have said something, OK? I'm sorry. I was going to, just. . . not yet. It isn't something I'm proud of. I was going through a bad patch and ... it sort of happened. It didn't go on for long, not much more than a fling, really. He told me he was separated, that he was waiting for his divorce to come through. As soon as I realized he was lying I ended it. And that's it.' She was watching me nervously, her expression sincere.
'Had you been seeing him recently?' I asked.
'No, I swear.' She came over, but stopped just in front of me. 'Stay tonight. If you still feel the same way tomorrow, then I promise I won't try to stop you. But don't leave like this. Please?'
; I hesitated, then put down my bag. Sophie hugged me, her body tight against mine. 'I'm not always a very good person,' she said, her voice muffled.
For once I didn't want to believe her.
Dinner was surprisingly relaxed. That was largely down to Miller. He kept up a flowing banter, so that the meal seemed more like a social occasion than guard duty. Cross said little, smiling at her partner's jokes but content to leave the conversational running to him. Sophie had opened a bottle of wine to go with the lasagne she'd cooked - largely ignoring the suggestions from Miller - although only she and I drank any. The police officers declined without making a big deal of it, and I noticed that neither of them ate much either. They were there to do a job, and full stomachs slowed reflexes.
The Calling of the Grave Page 22
