The Calling of the Grave (31 page)

    There
was an old tin mine nearby.

    The
cave team who had gone down had reported that, like the larger mine at Black
Tor, it was flooded and impassable after the recent rains. Even so, it still
had to be checked out.

    'Wouldn't
surprise me if the bugger made the call from there deliberately, knowing we'd
waste time. He conned us into taking him out on the moor looking for graves, so
he's not as stupid as he looks,' Roper said. 'There's only so many mines he can
go down, though, and now we know what he's up to he's on a hiding to nothing.
It's only a matter of time before he's caught. The question is what sort of
damage he can do before then.'

    Which
was the real reason for his visit. After what had happened to Wainwright,
Monk's attempt to contact Sophie was being taken seriously. So seriously that
Simms had arranged for her to stay at a police safe house. Or perhaps
'instructed' was more accurate.

    The
conversation had gone downhill from there.

    'We
don't suggest this sort of thing for fun,' Roper persisted. 'It's for your own
good.'

    'I'll
decide what's for my own good, thanks. I'm not going to some grubby safe house
because of some . . . some stupid phone call you don't even know for sure was
from
Monk. This is my
home
!
'

    'That
didn't stop someone from waltzing in and knocking you unconscious a few days
ago.' Roper raised his eyebrows in mock enquiry. 'Don't suppose you've
remembered anything about that yet, have you?'

    Sophie's
hand made an involuntary movement towards the bruise on her face. She lowered
it. 'Don't you think I'd have told you if I had? Anyway, that was nothing to do
with Monk. The police said it was just a burglary.'

    'Yes,
so I gather. Except I don't think you've reported anything stolen, have you?'

    Sophie
opened her mouth, then closed it. 'There was some cash I'd left lying around
and a few pieces of cheap jewellery. It didn't seem worth bothering with.'

    That
was news to me: she hadn't said anything was missing. Roper regarded her for a
moment.

    'Look,
love—'

    'I'm
not your "love". And I'm not leaving. You can't expect me to just
drop everything, I've got a business to run!'

    'You
should have thought about that before you chose a murderer as a pen pal,' Roper
snapped. 'To someone like Monk that's as good as an invitation.'

    Sophie
folded her arms. 'I'm not going.'

    Roper
sighed, looking at me as though to say,
Well?
'He's right,' I told her.
'It doesn't have to be a safe house. Like I said, we could go to a hotel for a
few days. Or you could stay at your sister's—'

    That
was a mistake. 'Oh, no! No way.'

    'It
would only be for—'

    'No.
I'd rather face Monk.' She turned to Roper. 'Sorry you've had a wasted trip.
Now if you don't mind I've got work to do.'

    She
banged out. Roper stared after her. 'Well, that's that.'

    'Isn't
there something else you can do?' I asked.

    He
pulled at his lip unhappily. 'I suppose I can see about having a panic button
installed. Not that it'll do much good, the time it'll take a response team to
arrive.'

    'Can't
you arrange for police protection here?'

    'We're
not a private security service. She's been offered a safe house, but if she
wants to stick her head in the sand that's up to her.' He got to his feet,
shaking his head. 'The ACC isn't going to like this.'

    'He's
going to like it even less if Monk hurts anyone else.'

    Roper
gave me a sharp look. 'I'm sure he'll take that under consideration, Dr
Hunter.'

    I saw
him out, watching as he drove away, then I fetched my coat and went across to
the kiln. I could hear the whirr of the potter's wheel before I opened the
door. Sophie sat behind it, intently shaping a bowl from a piece of wet clay.

    'I'm
not going to change my mind,' she said, without looking up.

    'I
know. I just wanted to see if you were all right.'

    'I'm fine.
'The bowl on the wheel was uneven, but she didn't seem to notice.

    'You
didn't say anything before about money and jewellery being missing.'

    'There
was nothing valuable. It wasn't worth mentioning.'

    I
waited. She kept her attention on the wheel. 'If there's anything you need to
tell me . . .'

    'I
just need to be alone for a while, OK?'

    The
bowl had begun to wobble and lose its shape. It was beyond salvaging, but Sophie
carried on as though it might somehow correct itself. Not knowing what else to
say, I went out. The damp and misty air caught my throat as I headed back to
the house.

    I
couldn't understand why Sophie was being so stubborn. But then I didn't really
know her.
So why are you staying? Just for her?
That was part of it,
although there was another reason as well, one that had been nudging at me ever
since I'd heard about Monk's escape. And perhaps even longer: it had been lying
dormant but this went back eight years, to the abortive search on the moor.

    I
wanted answers.

    I'd
just reached the house when my phone beeped with an incoming message. The
signal was unreliable around here, subject to the vagaries of weather and
geology, but something had obviously got through. I took it out and saw I'd got
a text. It was short and to the point.

    
Trencherman's
Arms, 2pm
.

    It
was from Terry.

    The
mist thinned as I neared the higher ground at Oldwich, but as though to
compensate the drizzle gave way to rain. It was the sort of monotonous downpour
that seemed as though it could go on for ever, making the moor look lifeless
beneath the incessant grey sky.

    The
Trencherman's car park was empty except for one other car. I didn't know if it
was Terry's or not, but the grubby paintwork and litter-strewn interior made me
doubt it. Although the yellow Mitsubishi must have been long gone by now, Terry
had always been as fastidious about his car's appearance as he was about his
own.

    But
when I went into the pub and saw he was the only customer I realized the car
must be his after all. He was sitting at a secluded corner table. His clothes
were crumpled and unwashed, and even from across the room I could see the
untidy stubble on his chin. He stared into his half-empty beer glass, an
expression on his face I'd not seen before. It was one I didn't associate with
Terry.

    He
looked lost.

    Then
he noticed me and it vanished. His shoulders straightened as I went over. He
sat back, regarding me with something more like his old arrogance.

    'I
wasn't sure you'd come.'

    I
almost hadn't. The sensible thing would have been to tell Roper, or to ignore
the message altogether. I'd considered both, but whatever mess Terry had got
himself into was a disciplinary matter rather than a criminal one, and running
to Simms went against the grain.

    Besides,
I wanted to hear what he had to say.

    I
pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. A sour smell of sweat and unmetabolized
alcohol came across the table. 'What did you want to see me about?'

    'Aren't
you having a drink?'

    'I
won't be staying long.'

    I'd
told Sophie I was going to buy food. That was no lie: I'd stopped off at a
local shop on my way here to stock up on groceries. I didn't like leaving her
alone at the house, but after Roper's visit we both needed some time to
ourselves. Still, I didn't plan on being away any longer than I had to.

    'I
think we've had this conversation before.' Terry took a drink himself. 'You
tell anyone where you were going?'

    'No.'

    'How
about Sophie?' His grin was vicious. 'Don't tell me you've not got your feet
under that table. Sympathetic shoulder and all that. Or are you still
pretending to be just good friends?'

    'Why
don't you tell me what you want, Terry?'

    'More
than friends, eh? That didn't take long.' I stood up to go. He held up his
hands. 'All right, all right. Christ, I'm only joking.'

    I sat
down again. 'Either you tell me what's going on or I'm leaving.'

    'OK.'
He drained the rest of his beer and set his glass down. 'I heard about Wainwright.
Monk doesn't mess about, does he?'

    'How
did you know?' There had been no mention of Monk being a suspect on the
lunchtime news, so I guessed Simms was still stalling for time.

    'Same
way I know about him hiding down the mines. I've still got a few friends left
on the force. 'Terry sounded bitter. 'I expect you've spoken to Simms.'

    '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?'