The Calling of the Grave (24 page)

    'We
need to run,' I told her.

    She
shook her head, pushing me away. 'Can't ... I can't. . .'

    'Yes,
you can,' I said, tightening my arm under her shoulders and almost dragging her
down the track.

    My
legs felt like water as we lurched towards the car. The figure was no more than
thirty or forty yards away, off to one side and slightly below us as he slogged
over the rugged moor. But he'd begun to slow now himself. The pale head turned
towards us as we stumbled the last few yards. He'd stopped, barely a stone's
throw away. I could feel his eyes on us as I fumbled for my key fob and
unlocked the car. Sophie collapsed inside while I ran round to the driver's
side, conscious of the shadowy figure watching from the knee-deep mist.

    
He'd
beaten us. Why did he give up?
I'd no idea and didn't care. Slamming the
door, I turned on the engine and stamped on the accelerator. As the car roared
away I looked in the rear-view mirror.

    Both
the road and moor behind us were empty.

    I
didn't slow for two or three miles. Only when I was certain no one was
following did I began to relax. Reaction was setting in, leaving me wrung out
and clammy as I let the car's speed ease back to normal.

    'Are
we safe?' Sophie asked. She was still breathing heavily. The bruise looked
worse than ever against the pallor of her face.

    'I
think so.'

    She
closed her eyes. 'I'm going to be sick.'

    I pulled
over. Sophie stumbled out of the car almost before we'd stopped. Leaving the
engine running I waited nearby, keeping one eye on the surrounding moor.
Despite my assurances I'd be happier when we were far away from this place. The
dusk was thickening and the rustle of wind through the heather only emphasized
the loneliness. We could have been the only living things out there.

    But
we weren't. As I waited for Sophie, I checked my phone and saw with relief that
there was enough signal to make a call. I dialled Terry's number, willing him
to pick up. It seemed to ring for a long time, but just when I thought it was
going to go to voicemail he answered.

    'This
better be good.' He sounded slurred, as though he were either very tired or
drunk. But I couldn't see even Terry drinking in the middle of an investigation
like this.

    'We're
at Black Tor. We've—'

    'Who's
"we"?'

    'Sophie
Keller. She discharged herself from hospital yesterday and—'

    'Keller?
What are you doing there with her?'

    'Does
it
matter
? Monk's here!'

    That
seemed to get through. 'Go on.'

    I
kept it brief, conscious of the fading light. 'So you didn't actually see him
up close?' Terry said, when I'd finished.

    'Look,
it was Monk! I didn't see another car, so he can't have got far.'

    I
heard a rasp of bristles as Terry rubbed his hand across his face. 'OK, leave
it with me.'

    'Do
you need us to hang around?'

    'I
think we'll cope.' His tone was heavy with sarcasm. 'If I want you I'll know
where to find you.'

    The
line went dead. Feeling the familiar irritation, I put the phone away and went
over to Sophie. She gave me a wan smile. 'Sorry. False alarm.'

    'How're
you feeling?'

    'My
head's throbbing a little, but it isn't too bad. Did you call the police?'

    'I've
just spoken to Terry Connors. He's getting things moving.'

    Her
mouth tightened at the mention of Terry, but for once she didn't criticize him.
'Do we have to wait here?'

    'He
says there's no need.'

    I'd
been expecting that we'd have to stay until the police got there, but I wasn't
about to argue. I looked out at the moor. The light was dropping quickly, and a
haze of mist blurred the edges of the little we could still see. Sophie
shivered, and I knew what she was thinking.

    Monk
was still out there.

    I put
my arm around her. 'Come on, I'll take you home.'

    The
mist had thickened to a full-blown fog by the time we reached Padbury. I was
forced to slow to a crawl, my headlights almost useless against the white
gauze. I didn't even realize that we'd reached the village until the shadowy
outline of the old church loomed up out of the fog.

    I
pulled into the lane at the bottom of Sophie's garden and switched off the
engine. In the ticking silence as it cooled we might have been at the bottom of
the sea. I found myself glancing around uneasily as we went up the path,
straining to hear. The fog wrapped round us, making everything more than a few
feet away all but invisible.

    'You should
get security lights,' I said, as the conical shadow of the kiln took form on
one side, towering over the spectral branches of the orchard.

    'I
don't need them out here,' Sophie said, reaching in her bag for the house keys.
She faltered as she realized the irony of what she'd just said. 'Not usually,
anyway.'

    But
the front door was still intact, the new lock fitted by the joiner reassuringly
solid. When Sophie opened it and flicked on the hall light, the house looked
exactly as we'd left it that morning.

    I
hadn't realized till then how tense I'd been.

    From
the deep sigh she gave as she shot home the new bolts on the door, it seemed
that Sophie felt the same way.

    'How
are you holding up?' I asked as she tiredly pulled off her coat.

    'I've
had better days.' Her smile was unconvincing. 'Look, about what happened
earlier with Cath Bennett . . . I'm sorry, I didn't think it through.'

    After
what had happened that no longer seemed important. 'Forget it. Anyway, you were
right. Monk wouldn't have dug those holes without a good reason. There must be
at least one other grave round there. The police'll have to search the whole
area again.'

    She
looked as though that hadn't occurred to her. 'You think so?'

    'I
don't see that they've any choice. Monk's as good as told us where to look.
That's what you wanted, isn't it?'

    'Yes,
of course.' She sounded doubtful. 'God, I really need a drink.'

    So
did I, but not yet. 'I think it might be a good idea to stay somewhere else
tonight.'

    Sophie
was sitting on the stairs, unfastening her muddy boots. She stopped to look up
at me, her face closed. 'No.'

    'You
could book into a hotel—'

    'I'm
not going anywhere.'

    'You've
already been attacked here once, and we still don't know who by. If it was
Monk—'

    'If
it was Monk I'd be dead. You know it as well as I do. If you want to run away
you can, but I'm not going to!'

    
I
stared in surprise.
Where did that come from?

    Sophie
sighed. 'I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. It's just . . . I - I'm scared and
confused, and this is my
home.
If I leave now I'll never feel safe here
again. Can't you understand that?'

    I
could. That didn't mean I agreed, but there was no point arguing.

    
'
OK'

    'Thank
you.' She came over and gave me a hug. I held her for a moment, feeling the
warm pressure of her body before she stepped back. 'I can be a cow sometimes,
but I appreciate everything you're doing. And I wouldn't blame you if you decided
to go anyway.'

    The
opening was there if I wanted to take it. I could walk away now, go back to
London and let Sophie and the police handle it from here.

    But
that wasn't going to happen. Whatever was going on, it had its roots in what
happened eight years ago. I'd been involved then, and I still was.

    I
gave Sophie a smile. 'You mentioned something about a drink.'

    We
shared the cooking that night. Dinner was grilled lamb chops from the freezer
with minted potatoes and frozen peas. Not haute cuisine, perhaps, but it was
simple and satisfying. Sophie produced a bottle of wine, and gave it me to open
while she defrosted the chops.

    'Padbury
doesn't have much of a wine merchant's,' she apologized, pouring two glasses.

    'It'll
be fine,' I said. And it was. The alcohol took the edge off any remaining
awkwardness, and I didn't argue when Sophie suggested leaving the dishes till
morning. Taking what was left of the wine with us, we went into the sitting
room. I put more logs in the stove and built up the fire using kindling and old
newspaper from the wicker basket.
You're getting good at this.

    Soon
bright flames were dancing behind the smoky glass panel, driving the chill from
the room. Sophie and I sat at either end of the sofa. We didn't talk, but the
silence was comfortable. I took another drink of wine and stole a look at her.
She was drowsing, legs curled up on the sofa, head fallen back to expose the
slender line of her throat. Her face was peaceful and relaxed, the firelight
softening the bruising so it could almost have been shadow. The intervening
years had been good to her, I decided. She wasn't conventionally beautiful, but
the strong features would still turn heads. They would still look good in
another eight years' time. Or eighteen.

    She
was breathing with the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep, the almost empty wine
glass still held loosely in her fingers. It had fallen slightly to rest lightly
between her breasts. I was loath to disturb her but it was starting to slip,
each breath dislodging it a little more.

    'Sophie
. . .' I said gently. There was no response. 'Sophie?'

    She
came awake gradually, eyes staring at me blankly before blinking as awareness
returned. 'Sorry,' she apologized, sitting up. 'Please tell me I've not been
drooling.'

    'Only
a little.'

    She
smiled and swatted at me. 'Pig.'

    'Why
don't you go to bed?'

    'Not
much of a host, am I?' she said, but she didn't argue. She stood up and put her
hand on my shoulder as she swayed unsteadily. 'Whoa . . .'

    'Take
it easy,' I said, getting up to support her. 'Are you OK?'

    'Just
tired, I think. Must have stood up too quickly.'

    She
was still holding on to me. I had my hands on her waist, standing close enough
to feel the warmth coming from her. Neither of us moved. Sophie's eyes were big
and dark as she leaned into me. A smile curved her face.

    'Well.
. .' she said, and something hit the window with a
bang.

    We
jumped apart. I rushed to the heavy curtains and yanked them open, half
expecting to see Monk's nightmare face glaring back at me. But the window was
unbroken and empty. All I could see beyond it was an amorphous sheet of white
fog.

    'What
was it?' Sophie asked, standing close behind me.

    'Probably
nothing.'

    It was
an inane thing to say, especially when my own heart was pounding.
Monk can't
have followed us back here. Can he?
But he didn't have to follow us. Not
when Sophie's address had been on her letters.

    'Stay
here,' I told her.

    'You're
not going
outside?'

    'Only
to take a look. 'The alternative was cowering inside all night, wondering what
had hit the window. If it was nothing then we could relax. If it was Monk . . .

    Then
it wouldn't make any difference.

    I
took the heavy iron poker from beside the glowing stove and went into the hall.
Sophie hurried into the kitchen and returned with a lantern-style torch.

    'Lock
the door behind me,' I said, taking it from her.