The Calling of the Grave (29 page)

    Or
given a thought to what might lie below the surface.

    Naysmith
bent over the opening. 'Looks deep. Anyone got a torch?' There were mutterings
and exchanged glances. 'Oh, for Christ's sake,
somebody
must have
brought one!'

    'I've
got this.' A CID officer sheepishly offered a small penlight.

    Naysmith
shook his head in disgust as he took it. He shone it into the opening and
peered inside. His voice sounded hollow.

    'Can't
see much. Goes back a long way.'

    'Get the
dog over here,' Simms said.

    The
handler was tight-lipped as he brought the German shepherd forward. Its coat
was black with mud and steam curled from its lolling tongue, but it had
recovered from the ammonia. When it neared the opening its ears abruptly
snapped up. It snuffled intently at the rocks, then lurched towards the open
hole. Its paws scrabbled as the handler hauled it back.

    'OK,
good boy.' He fussed and patted it as he looked up at Simms. 'No two ways about
it. Either he came out of here or he went down. Or both.'

    There
was a silence as that sank in. It was Roper who spoke first. 'Well, now we know
why Monk wanted to come out here eight years ago. And why he's so hard to
find.' The DI's prominent teeth were bared in a grin that was almost a snarl.
'The bastard's gone to ground.'

    The
lights were on in Sophie’s house when I pulled up in the lane. I switched off
the car engine and sat in the darkness, enjoying the few moments of peace. The
rain had all but stopped while I'd been driving, but puddles still gathered on
the roads, sluicing up a steady spray from the tyres.

    I put
my head back against the seat rest, taking a moment to savour the quiet before
I went inside. I'd had no choice but to come back. For one thing my bag was
still here: after hearing about the murder I hadn't taken it when we'd rushed
off to Sharkham Point. But I wanted to check on Sophie anyway: I hadn't had a
chance to speak to her since we'd split up at Wainwright's.

    A lot
had happened since then.

    Lucas
had told me more about the mines as we'd walked back to the cars. Naysmith had
stationed two police officers at the adit in case Monk resurfaced there,
although that wasn't likely. The remains of old tin mines could be found across
Dartmoor. Not all the tunnels had survived, and those that had weren't always safe
even for cavers to go down. The more accessible entrances were sealed behind
locked gates and steel bars, but adits like the one we'd found still existed on
the moor, overgrown and all but invisible unless you knew what to look for.

    Monk obviously
did.

    'We
knew about the mines, but they weren't considered a serious option,' Lucas told
me. 'Monk was a loner who spent a lot of time on the moor, but as far as we
knew he didn't have any caving experience. And believe me those mines are scary
places. You don't want to go down them unless you know what you're doing.'

    'So
they weren't checked at all?'

    'Only
enough to rule them out. The bigger ones were searched after the girls went
missing, in case Monk had dumped the bodies in them. But we didn't go very far
down, and after that we just had dogs sniff around the main entrances. We
didn't find anything, so that was that. 'The search advisor puffed out his
cheeks. 'If Monk's been using them Christ knows where he is. Some of those
mines are a couple of hundred years old, and I'd bet not all the old adits will
be shown on maps. Monk could go down one hole and surface God knows where.'

    That
was an unsettling thought. 'Are there any mines near Padbury?'

    'Padbury?'

    'That's
where Sophie lives.'

    'Let's
take a look, shall we?' Lucas unfolded his map, stubby finger tracing a path as
he consulted it. 'Nothing nearby. The closest would be Cutter's Wheal Mine,
about three miles away, but that's sealed off.'

    I was
glad of that much, at least. Locking the car, I pushed open the creaking gate
and walked up the path to the house. After the rain the air was earthy and
fresh, scented with wet grass. The light from the windows made the nearby kiln
seem darker by comparison. I paused outside the front door, took a deep breath
and then knocked.

    Nothing
happened for a while, but just when I was about to try again I heard the bolts
being shot inside. The door opened on its newly fitted chain and Sophie looked
out at me from the gap. She didn't say anything. The door closed in my face,
then there was a rattle as the chain was unfastened and it was opened again.

    Without
a word, she went back down the hallway. I heard the sound of vegetables being
chopped as I closed and bolted the door.
Doesn't look good.
I pulled off
my muddy boots and hung up my coat, then followed her into the kitchen.

    She
had her back to me, thick hair screening her face. The knife thumped on to the
chopping board.

    'Roper
said someone would bring you home,' I said.

    Sophie
answered without turning round. 'They did. About two hours ago.'

    'How
did it go? Your statement.'

    'As
you'd expect.'

    The
line of her back was stiff and uncompromising. She scraped the sliced carrots into
a pan and began cutting potatoes.

    I
took a deep breath. 'Look, I'm sorry. I told Simms about your letters to Monk.
I didn't have any choice.'

    'I
know.'

    She
said it indifferently; I'd been steeling myself for more than that. 'I wasn't
sure how you'd feel.'

    'I
told them myself. I'm not a complete idiot, I know I couldn't keep it a secret.
I even printed them copies from the computer.'

    'So
you're OK about it?'

    'Why
shouldn't I be? It isn't against the law to write to someone. Even Monk.'

    She
didn't turn to look at me. The knife sliced up and down, a staccato rapping on
the board.

    'So
what's wrong?'

    'What's
wrong?'
She slammed down the knife. 'They took me away like a — a
criminal
! No one would tell me anything! I didn't even know you'd gone
until some hatchet-faced policewoman said she was bringing me home. I felt
useless!'

    'I'm
sorry.'

    She
sighed and shook her head. 'Oh, I know it isn't your fault. First there was the
shock of Wainwright being murdered, and then . . . then I had the door closed
in my face. It's the first time it's really been brought home to me that I'm
not a BIA any more, I'm just a civilian. I
hated
being left out! But I
shouldn't take it out on you.'

    'Don't
worry about it. It's been a rough day for everyone.'

    'That's
no excuse.' She put her hand on my arm, and suddenly there was a tension
between us. It broke when Sophie lowered her hand, turning quickly back to the
worktop. 'So what happened after I'd gone?'

    I
told her about Wainwright, and the adit we'd found. 'The police are sending
down a cave team, but Lucas doesn't think Monk will still be there. Once we'd
seen him yesterday he'd have realized we'd find the mine.'
That one, at
least.
From what Lucas said there were plenty of others.

    'So
that was why he said he'd take us to the graves. He just wanted to get close to
the mine so he could escape.' She sounded bitter. 'God, I really made a fool of
myself, didn't I?'

    'You
weren't to know. And there's something else.'

    I told
her about Terry.

    'He's
suspended
?' Sophie looked stunned 'I'd no idea.'

    'There's
no reason you should have. By the sound of things he's in denial himself. He's
got a drinking problem and his career's on the skids. Simms wants us to let
Roper know if we hear from him again, but after what happened to Wainwright I
don't think he'd dare.'

    'You
don't think . . .'

    'What?'

    'Nothing.
It doesn't matter.'

    But I
guessed what she'd been about to say. 'You're wondering if Terry had anything
to do with Wainwright?'

    'I
know it's stupid, but with everything else he's done . . .' She looked scared.

    'I
can't see it. Terry might have gone off the rails, but there'd be no reason for
him to do something like that. Simms might not want to admit it, but I don't
think there's any doubt it was Monk.'

    
Are
you sure?
I couldn't pretend to know what Terry was capable of any more.
But the brutal nature of Wainwright's death, even down to the sputum left contemptuously
on the floor, had all the convict's hallmarks.

    Which
brought me to another problem.

    I
took a deep breath. 'I think you should reconsider staying somewhere else until
this has blown over.'

    Sophie's
mouth set stubbornly. 'We've already been through this.'

    'That
was before Wainwright was killed.'

    'We
don't know for sure that was Monk, and even if it was, why would he want to
hurt me? I didn't do anything to him.'

    
You
didn't have to. You're an attractive woman.
For a behavioural specialist,
she could be obtuse when it suited her.

    'All
Wainwright did was insult him eight years ago, but he's still dead,' I said,
trying hard not to lose my patience. 'We don't know what's driving Monk. Perhaps
Terry's right and he's going after anyone from the original search team. But
even if he's not you still brought yourself to his attention by writing to him.
It isn't worth the risk.'

    She
was still scared, I could see that. But her chin had come up in the now
familiar gesture of defiance.

    'It's
my decision.'

    'Sophie—'

    'I
told the police the same thing this afternoon. I can look after myself. No
one's asking you to stay.'

    God,
but she could be infuriating. I was almost tempted. My bag was packed, and I
was under no illusions as to my chances if Monk did turn up. But I knew I
wasn't going to leave her there alone. Not because she was attractive, or even
because I was very aware of the spark between us. No, my reason was simpler
than that.

    We
have to be able to live with ourselves.

    I
sighed. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

    She
gave me a tired smile. 'Thank you.'

    'Just
promise me you'll at least think about it.'

    'I
promise,' she said, and I was forced to settle for that.

    Dinner
was a vegetable curry, thrown together from what little was left in Sophie's
pantry and fridge. The meal was a subdued affair. I was acutely conscious of
how isolated we were out there, and despite her bravado I think Sophie was too.
The past few days had taken their toll. She insisted the headache she'd
mentioned was just tension, but she looked exhausted. When I told her I'd clear
up while she went to bed she didn't put up much of a fight.

    'If
you're sure . . . Help yourself to whatever you like. There's brandy and whisky
in the sitting room.'

    I was
tired myself, but I knew if I went to bed I'd only lie awake, listening to
every creak and bump in the old house. After Sophie had gone upstairs I washed
and dried the dishes, then went to hunt down a drink. The whisky was a generic
blend, but the brandy turned out to be a fifteen-year-old Armagnac that had
hardly been touched.

    I
poured myself a healthy measure, threw another log into the stove and sank back
on to the sofa. I considered turning on the TV for the news, but I doubted
there'd be anything about the investigation I didn't already know.

    Instead
I just sat in the quiet, staring at the flames and listening to their muted
crackle. Even without her, Sophie's presence filled the room. Her ceramics
stood on the low table, with a couple of larger vases on the floor, and the
stripped-pine furniture and rugs had the same unfussy style as she had herself.
I could smell a faint trace of her scent on the cushions. I sipped the Armagnac,
puzzling again over her stubbornness. . .