'How much?'
'Enough.'
It explained how Monk had fooled the doctors. As well as sending his blood pressure sky high, a cocaine overdose could trigger tachycardia, making his heartbeat dangerously fast and irregular. The symptoms could easily be mistaken for the onset of a heart attack, and prove just as fatal. Judging from Monk's condition I guessed he'd suffered cardiovascular damage at the very least, perhaps even heart failure. Throw in a respiratory infection and it was a miracle he wasn't dead. No wonder we'd escaped from him out at Black Tor.
He'd been too sick to catch us.
'You could have killed yourself,' I said.
His mouth curled. 'So what?'
'I don't understand. You waited eight years, why escape now?'
His mouth twitched in what at first I mistook for a smile. Then I saw the look in his eyes and realized it was anything but.
'Because the bastards stitched me up.'
I'd been on the verge of believing him until then. Even, God help me, pitying him. Monk was capable of a lot of things but acting wasn't one of them. But while I'd have sworn the bizarre seizure I'd witnessed was genuine, this was pure paranoia. I must have let my thoughts show.
'You think I'm a psycho, don't you?'
'No, I—'
'Don't fucking lie!'
He was glaring at me, big head jutting forward. Careful. 'Why do you think you were set up?'
He glared at me for a moment longer, then examined his scabbed fists. Blood still dripped from the one he'd hit against the rock, but it didn't seem to bother him.
'I got word that this new cunt was saying he'd seen someone poking around under my caravan before it was raided. They pulled a warrant card on him and said it was police business. Told him to fuck off, that if he told anyone he'd get banged up on paedo charges and thrown to the nutjobs. Said he'd be doing himself a favour if he kept his mouth shut. So he did. Never told anyone until he got sent to Belmarsh and wanted to big himself up to the hardmen.' Monk turned his head and spat. 'Like I wasn't going to find out.'
This wasn't the paranoid rant I'd been expecting. It had been the discovery of Zoe Bennett's lipstick and hairbrush under his caravan that had confirmed Monk's guilt. He would have known that, of course, but even so . . .
'This prisoner . . .' I said.
'Walker. Darren Walker.'
'Did he tell you the policeman's name?'
'He said it was some bastard called Jones. A DI.'
The name meant nothing to me, but there was no reason it should. 'He could have been lying.'
'He wasn't. Not after what I did to him.' Monk's face was pitiless. His lips twitched back in a snarl. 'Should've said something sooner.'
Terry had told me about Monk beating another inmate to death when he'd broken the news of his escape. Put two wardens in hospital when they tried to pull him off. Surprised you didn't hear about it. I tried to swallow: my mouth was so dry it took me several attempts. I pointed at a pack of unopened water nearby.
'Can I have a drink?'
He hitched a slabbed shoulder in a shrug. I opened one of the bottles, conscious of my hands shaking. But the water eased my parched throat, and the fact he'd allowed it was something in itself.
I drank half, saving the rest for when Sophie woke. 'How does Wainwright fit into this?' I asked, capping the bottle again. 'Why did you kill him?'
I half expected Monk to say he couldn't remember that either. He dredged something up from his lungs and hawked on the floor before he answered.
'I didn't kill him.'
'His wife identified you, and your DNA was all over the house.'
'I didn't say I wasn't there, I said I didn't kill him. He fell downstairs. I never touched him.'
It was possible, I supposed. Wainwright's body had been lying near the foot of the stairs: he could have broken his neck falling down them. Finding Monk in your home would have been terrifying for anyone, let alone someone with dementia.
'Why did you go to their house anyway? You can't have thought Wainwright had anything to do with setting you up.'
Monk had clasped both hands on his head as he looked at Sophie. She stirred in her sleep, frowning as though she could feel his eyes on her. 'Didn't know what else to do when I couldn't find her. I thought he might know where she was. Or know something. I tried digging holes on the moor like I saw him do, see if that'd make me remember. Didn't expect you and her to turn up, though.'
He gave a death's-head grin.
'Weren't expecting me either, were you? You were so scared I could practically smell you. If I wasn't knackered from digging them fucking holes I'd have caught you.'
So instead, frustrated, that night he'd sought out the only other person he could think of. Someone who was easy to find, with his name in the phone book.
'Wainwright was ill. He couldn't have helped.'
Monk's head snapped up. 'I didn't know that, did I? You think I'm sorry he's dead? Stuck-up bastard treated me like scum, I've not forgotten that! I'd have broken the fucker's neck anyway!'
'I don't—' I began, but it was as if a switch had been flicked.
' The bastards stitched me up! Eight years I thought I was too cracked to remember what I did! Eight fucking years!'
'If you didn't kill the other girls—'
'I don't give a fuck about them! But if I was set up then I could have been for the rest of it. For Ange!’ The dark eyes were fevered and manic. His head jerked, an unconscious twitch of his jaw. 'The fuckers could've tricked me, made me think I killed her as
well! You get it? I might not have done it, and I need to fucking remember!'
Any hope I'd had of reasoning with him died then. Monk wasn't interested in retrieving any lost memories, only in absolving himself of guilt over Angela Carson. But that wasn't going to happen. Whatever the fate of the other victims, whether he'd intended it or not, he'd killed her himself.
And nothing Sophie said could alter that.
'Look, whatever you did, if it happened during a blackout then you're not fully responsible,' I said. 'There are types of sleep disorders that—'
'Shut the fuck up!' He surged to his feet, fists clenched. 'Wake her up!'
'No, wait—'
He moved so fast I didn't see it coming. It was little more than a backhand cuff, but it snapped my head to one side as if I'd been hit with a plank. I fell on to the debris littering the floor as Monk grabbed hold of Sophie.
'Come on! Wake up!'
Sophie moaned feebly, her body still limp. I lunged at him, grabbing hold of his arm as he drew it back to slap her. He thrust me away and I slammed into the rock.
But Monk made no further attempt to hit Sophie. He was staring at his fist as if he'd only just become aware of it. It was the one he'd struck against the rock, and as he looked at the blood on it the rage left him as quickly as it had arrived.
He lowered his arm as Sophie stirred.
'David . . .'
'I'm here.' There was blood in my mouth, and my jaw and teeth throbbed as I went to her. This time Monk didn't try to stop me.
Sophie rubbed her head, brow creased in pain. 'I don't feel so good,' she said, her voice slurred, and then she vomited.
I supported her until the spasm had passed. She gave something between a groan and a sob, shielding her eyes from the lantern light. 'My head ... it really hurts.'
'Look at me, Sophie.'
'Hurts . . .'
'I know, but just look at me.'
I smoothed the hair back from her face. She squinted, blinking as she opened her eyes. Shock ran through me. While her left pupil was normal, the right was dilated and huge. Oh, God.
'What's wrong with her?' Monk demanded. He sounded suspicious, as though this were some sort of trick.
I took a deep breath as Sophie tried to huddle away from the light. Keep calm. Don't lose it now. 'I think it's a haematoma.'
'A what?'
'A haemorrhage. She's bleeding inside her skull. We need to get h
er to a hospital.'
'You think I'm fucking stupid?' Monk said, and seized hold of her arm.
'Don't touch her!' I snapped, shoving him away.
At least, I tried to: it was like pushing a side of meat. But he stopped, his eyes unblinking as they stared at me. There was the same stillness about him that I'd witnessed earlier, a sense of poised violence barely held in check.
'There's blood collecting inside her head,' I said, my voice unsteady. 'It could be from the car crash or before. But if the pressure isn't released . . .' She'll die. 'I have to get her out of here. Please.'
Monk's mouth twisted in frustration, his wheezing breaths growing even more ragged. 'You're a doctor. Can't you do something?'
'No, she needs surgery.'
'Fuck!' He slapped his hand against the wall. In the small chamber it echoed like a pistol shot. 'Fuck!'
I ignored him. Sophie had slumped against me. 'Sophie? Come on, you have to stay awake.'
If she lapsed into unconsciousness down here I'd never be able to get her out. She stirred feebly. 'Don't want to . . .'
'Come on, I need you to sit up straight. We're getting out of here.'
Monk's hand thrust against my chest. 'No! She said she'd help me!'
'Does she look like she can help anybody?'
'She's staying here!'
'Then she's going to die!' I was shaking, but from anger now. 'All she's done is try to help you. Do you want more blood on your hands?'
'Shut UP!'
I saw his fist coming but I had no chance of avoiding it. I flinched as it whipped by my face, his coat sleeve skimming my cheek as he punched the rock by my head.
I didn't move. The only sound was Monk's ragged wheezing. His breath stank in my face. Chest heaving, he dropped his arm and stepped back. Blood dripped from his hand. He'd struck the rock full on this time: it had to be broken.
But if it hurt he gave no sign. He looked at the swollen knuckles as though they didn't belong to him, then down at Sophie. For all his size, there was something pathetic about him. Beaten.
'She couldn't have helped anyway, could she?' he asked. 'It wouldn't have made any difference.'
I tried to think of a safe answer, then gave up. 'No.'
Monk lowered his head. When he raised it again the gargoyle face was unreadable.
'Let's get her out.'
I used one of the bottles of smelling salts to rouse Sophie. She moaned in protest, trying to move her head away. The ammonia was a temporary measure at best, but it wouldn't make her any worse. And I needed her as aware as possible.
We didn't have much time.
There was always a risk of haematoma after a head trauma. Some developed very quickly, others could take weeks, slowly swelling blood blisters inside the skull that put pressure on the brain. Sophie's must have been building up for days. Either it had been too small to be detected by the hospital scans or she'd discharged herself before anyone had picked it up.
Either way I should have realized. The signs had been staring me in the face, and I'd missed them. I'd put her slurred speech down to alcohol and fatigue, dismissed her headache as a hangover.
Now she could die because of me.
Sophie barely knew where she was. She could walk, but not without support. By the time Monk had helped me manhandle her from the chamber it was obvious we wouldn't be able to go back the way we had come, with its narrow tunnels and crawlways.
'Is there another way out?' I asked as she slumped against me.
In the torchlight Monk looked terrifying, but I was more frightened for Sophie now than of him. His breathing sounded worse than ever. 'There is, but. . .'
'What?'
'Doesn't matter,' he said, and set off down the passage.
The world shrank down to the rough rock above me and on either side, and Monk's broad shoulders in front. I'd brought the torch from the floor of the chamber. The beam was weak but at least it threw back the darkness enough to see where we were going. If I fell now I'd drag Sophie down with me.
I had my arm around her, taking as much of her weight as I could. She was weeping with pain, her voice weak and slurred as she begged me to let her lie down and sleep. When she started to flag too much I held the smelling salts under her nose, trying not to think what would happen if she collapsed down here. Or that both our lives depended on a killer we'd no reason to trust.
Away from the airless warmth of the chamber it was freezing. My teeth chattered from the cold, and Sophie was shivering beneath my arm. Water streamed along the uneven floor of the passage. I thought about the stories I'd heard of cavers drowning in flooded tunnels. There had been a lot of rain over the last few weeks, but I told myself that Monk knew what he was doing.
The walls of the passage opened out into a vaulted cavern, where a fine, cold haze filled the air with a mineral tang. In the confined space the sound of falling water was deafening. The light from the torch showed it pouring down the rock walls, shattering into cascades before tumbling into the turmoil of a pool. Nearly all of the cavern was flooded, but Monk picked his way along a bank of shale that skirted its edge. At the far side the rock was split by a narrow vertical fissure, just above the water level. My heart sank when he stopped by it.
'Through there.'
He had to raise his voice to be heard above the water. Supporting Sophie, I shone the torch into the fissure. If anything it narrowed even more the further in it went.
'Where does it go?'
'Comes out in a passage that goes to the surface.' I could hear the wet tear of Monk's breathing even over the splash of the water. In the low torchlight the misshapen bones of his face made him look like a walking corpse.
'Are you sure?'
'You wanted another way out. That's it.'
With that he turned and started back along the shale bank, sloshing through the edge of the water. 'You're not just going to leave us?' I yelled after him.
There was no response. The torch beam bobbed as he made his way back across the flooded cavern. The level had risen while we'd been standing there.
'David . . . wha's. . .'
Sophie was leaning heavily against me. I swallowed the fear that had risen in my throat. 'It's OK. Not much further.'
I'd no idea if that was true or not. But we'd no choice. Shining the torch ahead of us, I hugged her to me and edged sideways into the narrow gap. It disappeared into darkness above our heads, but there wasn't much more than eighteen inches clearance between the rock faces. I fought down a wave of claustrophobia as they seemed to squeeze tighter with each shuffling step.
My breath steamed in the weak light from the torch. Its pale beam showed where the fissure twisted out of sight further along. After a few yards I looked back but the flooded cavern was already lost from view. Not that we could have gone back now anyway. There was no room to turn round, and I couldn't back up with Sophie tucked under my arm. I was almost dragging her now, struggling to support her as I took one crablike step after another.
How much further? I told myself it couldn't be far. The fissure was growing narrower, the sides pressing in closer the deeper we went. I could feel it, solid and unyielding against my chest, restricting my breathing. Don't think about it. Just keep moving. But even that was becoming more difficult. The irregular rock underfoot threatened to trip me and the gap continued to narrow. There wasn't enough room for us both to get through, not while I was holding Sophie.
I willed myself to stay calm. 'Sophie, I've got to free my arm. I need you to stand by yourself for a few seconds.'
My voice echoed oddly, flattened by the rock. She didn't respond.
'Sophie? Come on, wake up!'
But Sophie didn't move. Now I'd stopped she was a dead weight against me, and it was growing harder to hold her upright. If not for the walls of the fissure holding her in place I doubt I could have. I groped one-handed for the bottle of smelling salts in my pocket, desperate not to drop either them or the torch. I opened the bottle with my teeth, my ey
es watering from the reek of ammonia even though I held my breath, then struggled to reach around to hold it under Sophie's nose. Come on. Please.
There was no reaction. I tried for a little longer, then gave up. OK, don't panic. Think .The only option was for me to squeeze through the narrow section first and somehow pull her through after me. But if I let go of her and she collapsed . . .
There's no room for her to fall, and you can't stay here. Just do it! My arm was growing numb. I began trying to ease it from beneath her shoulders. You can do it. Nice and easy. My coat sleeve rasped on the rough rock but Sophie's weight pinned me in place. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't prise myself loose. I twisted round to get more leverage and felt the rock faces clamp around my upper body like a vice. For a second I couldn't move, then I wrenched myself back to my original position, skinning my knuckles in the process.
The Calling of the Grave Page 27
