I'd only taken a few more steps when the blue light suddenly winked out.
I felt a stab of panic as blackness engulfed me again. But the display had only gone on to stand-by: it lit up again when I pressed a key. Weak with relief, I carried on. The sound of the underground stream grew louder, moistening the air with a damp chill. I was forced to bend almost double as the roof became even lower, but I didn't have much further to go.
I was almost there when my phone rang.
The piercing beep was shockingly loud. For an instant I felt a surge of hope, before I realized no one could call down here. What I'd heard wasn't the ringtone.
It was the low-battery warning.
I'd been meaning to charge the phone for days. The last time was before I came to Dartmoor, but with reception so patchy I'd hardly used it. It hadn't seemed important.
It did now.
Oh, Christ. I stared at the flashing battery icon. As though to prove a point, the screen went out again. My fingers trembled as I pressed a key. The phone lit up but beeped again almost immediately. There was no way of knowing how much longer the battery would last, and using the display would drain it faster than ever.
I took a final, agonized look towards the drop-off. It was only a few yards away, but there was no guarantee I'd be able to retrieve the torch. Or that it would still work if I did. There was no longer any question of going on. I needed to get out and fetch help while I still could. Once I was back in the mine the shaft ran straight to the surface. I'd be able to follow it out even if the phone died. But if it failed before then . . .
Don't think about that.
I tried to steady my breathing, resisting the urge to rush blindly back towards the hole. I went as fast as I could, but my back was aching from being stooped over and my progress still seemed agonizingly slow. The phone's display went out twice more as I crabbed back up the slope. Each time I froze, hardly daring to breathe as I pressed a key to bring the screen back to life.
I was perhaps halfway across when the screen went dead for the fifth time. I quickly thumbed a key. Nothing happened. I pressed another. And another. The screen stayed dead. The darkness seemed to thicken as I jabbed the keypad in desperation, praying for just a few more seconds of light.
But it didn't come. The blackness seemed to press against my eyes. I lowered the phone.
I wasn't going anywhere.
* * *
Chapter 26
It was cold down there. I started to shiver soon after the phone gave out. The air was damp and frigid, and once I'd stopped moving the cavern's chill soon cut through my clothes. I'd settled down on to the rock surface, first squatting on my haunches then sitting down when my muscles became cramped. Cold or not, I dared not go any further when I couldn't see anything. I'd been lost once at night on a Scottish island. I'd thought that was as bad as it could get.
This was worse.
My first instinct was to try to feel my way to the hole I'd crawled through. I knew the opening had to be tantalizingly close. Negotiating the rockfall in the dark wouldn't be easy, but once I was back in the mine my chances of making it to the surface would be much better.
If I'd been able to fix the hole's position in my mind I might have tried. But I'd be groping my way blindly, unable to see any falls or projections of rock. Even if I didn't crack my head open, it would be all too easy to become disorientated. And if I found an opening I'd have no way knowing if it was the right one: I could end up crawling deeper into the cave system without realizing it.
No, like it or not, my only option was to stay where I was. The police would find the broken gate and my wallet, and then it was only a matter of time before the mine was searched. If I could find the opening that led here then surely they would as well.
And if they don't?
Sooner or later if no one came I knew I would have to make a decision. But I wasn't ready to think about that yet. I tried my phone again, hoping some residual charge would light the screen for a few seconds. It didn't. Now I'd time to think, coming down here seemed unbelievably stupid. Even if I'd caught up with Sophie and Monk, what would I have done? Fought him off? The idea was laughable. It hadn't occurred to me to bring Cross's gun, and if I had I wouldn't have known how to use it. No, I should have stayed with the car, done what I could for her and Miller until back-up arrived. Instead I was trapped underground in a cavern no one might even know existed, while Monk and Sophie . . .
I couldn't bear to even think about that.
I put my head on my knees, wrapping my arms round them to hug what little heat I could to myself. The cold ached into my bones, but I hardly cared. There was no way of even knowing how long I'd been down there. I couldn't see my watch face, and in the dark I'd lost all track of time.
Huddled and shivering, I strained to hear anything that might indicate help was on its way. Once I thought I did: the echo of a far- off clatter drifted through the cavern. I shouted into the blackness until I was hoarse and my throat hurt. But when I stopped to listen the only sound was the fluid ripple of unseen water.
Feeling as useless as I'd ever been in my life, I closed my eyes and tried to rest.
At some point I must have dozed. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but I was aching and exhausted. Without being aware of it, I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
And then, suddenly, I was awake. For a few seconds I had no idea where I was. Panicking, I narrowly avoided banging my head on the low rock as I started to lurch to my feet. I lowered myself back down on to the cold rock as the bleakness of the situation sank in. My legs had cramped. I stretched out first one, then the other, massaging the muscles to ease them.
That was when I heard the noise.
It sounded like the far-off skitter of a falling rock. I froze, listening. After a moment it came again, and this time it didn't stop. It grew louder, the unmistakable echoing scrape of someone's approach.
'In here!' I yelled. 'I'm in here!'
The cramp was forgotten as I stared into the darkness, relief and adrenalin making my heart thump. It seemed to take a long time before a light appeared in the blackness.
Thank God. 'Over here!'
The light began to move in my direction, the dancing yellow beam of a torch. It was only as it grew larger that I realized it was coming from the wrong direction. Whoever this was they were approaching from the far side of the cavern, not the opening from the mine. And there was only a single light instead of the massed torches of a rescue party.
The shout died in my throat. A sick resignation spread through me as the torch came closer. Beyond the glare I could make out a bulky figure and the pale dome of a bald head, stooped and hunched beneath the bellying rock. It stopped a few feet away. I smelled something rank and animal.
Monk lowered the torch. The filthy combat jacket looked too small across the massive shoulders and arms. The button eyes regarded me as his chest rose and fell, each breath accompanied by a low wheeze.
'Get up.'
The cave system was an underground maze, but Monk seemed to know exactly where he was going. He squeezed through narrow crevices, crawled along water-dripping passages that bent and wormed their way through the rock. He didn't hesitate, slithering through gaps I would never have dared risk by myself. But despite his size he never once got caught or stuck. On the surface he might be a freak; here, in the subterranean tunnels, he seemed in his element.
After that single, terse instruction he hadn't spoken again. Ignoring my frantic questions about Sophie, he'd simply turned and headed back the way he had come, as though he didn't care if I followed or not. Bewildered, I stayed where I was. It was only as the shadows flowed back into the cavern, rushing to fill the vacuum left by the receding torch, that I forced myself to move.
Monk never so much as glanced round, though he must have heard me. I felt utterly lost. None of this made sense, not the fact that he'd come back nor why — or where - he was leading me. The thought of going deeper into the caves appalled me, yet
what else could I do? He could have killed me already if that was all he wanted.
And I had to find Sophie.
The passage we were in abruptly opened into a space large enough to stand. Monk started across without pausing. I took the opportunity to catch up.
'Where is she?' I panted.
He didn't answer. He was obviously feeling the exertion, each breath a thick, wet rattle, but he didn't slow. When I grabbed hold of his arm it felt like a piece of teak under the oily cloth.
'What have you done with her? Is she hurt?'
He jerked his arm free. He didn't seem to put any effort into it, but I was yanked off my feet. I sprawled on my hands and knees on the rock, hard enough to skin them.
'Shut the fuck up.'
His voice was a hoarse rumble. He turned to carry on, but doubled up as a coughing fit seized him. He leaned against the rock face, huge shoulders shaking from the violence of the spasm. It sounded as though his lungs were full of fluid as he spat a gob of phlegm on to the floor. Breathing heavily, he passed a hand across his mouth before continuing on as though nothing had happened.
After a moment I went after him. But I was thinking now about the ragged breathing I'd heard over the phone, and the sputum the police had found at Wainwright's house. Everyone had assumed that was a gesture of contempt, but I was no longer so sure.
Monk was ill.
Not that it made him any less dangerous, or slowed him down. I had to push myself to keep up, knowing that if I didn't I'd be left stranded. All I could do was fix my eyes on Monk's broad back, silhouetted by the torch beam, and trust that there was some purpose to this.
I'd been trailing behind him, sloshing ankle-deep through water that ran down the sides of a narrow, upward-sloping passage, when the light suddenly went out. I stopped dead, fighting panic, wondering if all this had been a sadistic trick to abandon me down here.
Then I heard a muted noise coming from nearby, and at the same time made out a faint glow coming from one side of the passage. I edged towards it and found myself at a cleft in the rock. The scrape and grunt of Monk's laboured progress came from inside, and I could just make out the flickering beam of his torch.
The cleft climbed at a steep angle. I had to haul myself up, clambering after the receding light. I went as fast as I could, but it still grew dimmer. The rough grain of the rock scraped against my coat, pressing in closer. Soon I couldn't make out any light at all, or even hear him. I tried to swallow the fear and bile that rose in my throat. Stay calm. Just keep going.
Then the passage kinked in a sharp dog-leg, and I saw a glow up ahead. Following it, I found myself in a small, natural chamber in the rock. I halted, dazzled after the darkness by the dim light from a lantern on the floor. The air was fetid and sour, a mineral dankness fighting with an animal reek. A hissing gas heater threw out a warmth that seemed stifling after the cold of the caves. As my eyes adjusted I took in a jumble of bags, bottles and cans scattered on the floor. Monk was crouched on a rumpled blanket, looking at me with that not-quite-smile and dead eyes.
Huddled as far away from him as she could get was Sophie.
'Oh, God, D-David ...!'
She flung her arms around me as I knelt by her. I stroked her hair as she buried her face in my shoulder, feeling her body trembling through her coat.
'Shh, it's OK.'
It was far from that, but the relief I felt at seeing her swamped everything else. Her face was pale and streaked with tears, the bruise still livid. There was something else about her, something that wasn't right, but I was too overwhelmed by finding her to follow up the half-formed thought. She bent her head to wipe her eyes and it went from my mind.
'Are you all right? Has he hurt you?' I asked.
'No, he didn't ... I - I'm fine.'
She didn't look or sound it, but I felt my relief edge up another notch. Whatever Monk had in mind, Sophie had fared better than his other victims.
So far.
He was still on the blanket, watching us, with his big hands dangling from his knees, scabbed and bruised. The low yellow light from the lantern made the indentation in his forehead into a shadowed pit. Squatting there, he could have been a throwback to a more primitive age, a pale, hairless ape hunched in its cave.
But he seemed even more ill than I'd thought. The massive shoulders were slumped with exhaustion, and the skin was drawn tight across the heavy bones of his face, tinged with a sickly, jaundiced cast. His mouth hung open as he breathed, a sibilant wheeze sounding with every rise and fall of his chest. He obviously had a serious respiratory infection, maybe even pneumonia, and living in these conditions wouldn't have helped. Monk looked like a man at the end of his physical limits.
Except that Monk wasn't a normal man. And ill or not, the dark eyes watching us were bright and unblinking.
I made myself look back: it was like staring down an attack dog. 'You don't need two hostages. Let her go.'
'I don't want a hostage,' he said, his voice sounding raw. His mouth twitched in a sneer. 'Think I don't remember you from before? Not so fucking smart now, are you?'
No, not so smart at all. 'So why've you brought us here?'
'I brought her. You just followed.'
'Then why did you come to find me?'
Monk turned his head to hawk into the corner of the chamber, then sank back against the rock. His breathing had steadied, but still sounded like air escaping from a broken bellows.
'Ask her.'
I turned to Sophie. I could feel her trembling against me. 'I . . .We heard you shouting. Sound carries down here. When it went quiet, I thought ... I thought. . .' She gave me a desperate look. Again I felt a sudden disquiet that had nothing to do with Monk, but her next words drowned it out. 'I told him ... I - I said you'd be able to help.'
'I don't understand.'
Sophie glanced nervously across at him. 'He ... he says he can't—'
'No, he doesn't say, I don't fucking say, I can't His shout reverberated in the small chamber. 'I try but I can't!’ There's nothing there! It didn't matter before, but it does now!'
Monk ran his scabbed hands over his skull, rasping them on the stubble that had started to grow there. His mouth worked, as though the next words were being torn from him.
'I want to know what I did.'
Time didn't seem to exist in the cramped chamber. I'd broken my watch at some point, shattering the face so that the glass had turned crystalline. Beneath it the hands were motionless, frozen at between two and three o'clock. Not that it made much difference down here. The light from the lantern gave the small chamber an otherworldly quality, intensified by the soporific warmth from the hissing gas heater. The fumes wouldn't help Monk's breathing, but there was enough air current down here to stop the build-up from becoming toxic.
I sat on a wadded-up plastic sheet, my back against the rock, with Sophie curled against me. Monk had subsided after his outburst. He seemed exhausted, slumped forward with his head hung between his raised knees, hands wrapped protectively around it. The posture made him look oddly vulnerable. He hadn't moved in a while, and the steady whistle of his breathing made me think he was asleep. But I still watched him carefully as I lowered my head to Sophie's.
'What did he mean?' I whispered.
'I — I don't know . . .'
I pitched my voice low, not taking my eyes from Monk. 'He must have said something. Why does he want help? Help for what?'
'I don't know! I - I feel so sick, and the fight's too bright.'
I shifted so my body shielded her from the lantern. 'Sophie, this is important. You need to tell me.'
She massaged her temples, glancing fearfully across at Monk. 'He ... he says he can't remember killing those girls. Not just burying them, any of it! He wants ... he thinks I can help, because I said I could help him find the graves, even if he'd forgotten where they were. But I didn't mean I could help him get his memory back! Oh, God, this can't be happening!'
I could feel her shaking. I hu
gged her to me. 'Go on.'
Sophie wiped her eyes. 'That's why he was digging round Tina Williams' grave. He thought ... he thought if he found the graves, saw the bodies again, it'd make him remember. That's why he came after us when he saw us out there, he knew it had to be me. But I — I can't do anything like that, that's not what I meant!'
'Shh. I know.' I stroked her back, warily watching Monk. 'What did he mean when he said it didn't matter before, but it does now?'
'I - I don't know. But I told him ... I said you could help. When I heard you shouting, it was the only thing I could think of. God, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault!'
The Calling of the Grave Page 25
