The Calling of the Grave (7 page)

    'Are
you nervous? About meeting Monk, I mean?' Kara had asked the night before.

    'No,
of course not.' I had to admit I was more curious than anything. 'It isn't
every day you get to meet someone like him.'

    'So
long as you don't get too close.'

    'I
don't think there's much danger of that. We're all supposed to keep our
distance. Besides, I'll be the one hiding behind the police.'

    'I
hope so.' Kara didn't laugh. 'How's Terry?'

    'He's
OK, I suppose. Why?'

    
'I called Deborah last night. I haven't spoken to her in ages,
so I thought I'd see how she was. She sounded funny.'

    
'Funny how?'

    'I
don't know. Distracted. Down. She didn't want to talk. I wondered if everything
was OK between them.'

    Terry
wouldn't have told me even if it wasn't. We'd never had that sort of
relationship. 'I haven't had much chance to speak to him. He's under a lot of
pressure, though. Perhaps it's just that.'

    'Perhaps,'
Kara said.

    Whatever
might be going on in Terry's home life, the strain of this operation was
beginning to tell. He had an intense, overwound look about him that spoke of
too little sleep and too much caffeine. It was hardly surprising, since as far
as I could tell Simms was delegating everything to his deputy. Except for press
conferences, which he insisted on doing himself. He'd claimed the glory for
identifying Tina Williams, and it seemed that every time I turned on the news I
saw his wax-like features holding forth in front of flashing cameras and microphones.
There was one quote from him which had been aired repeatedly:

    '
The
man responsible for the deaths of Angela Carson, Tina Williams, and Zoe and
Lindsey Bennett might be behind bars, but this investigation isn't over. I
won't rest until all of Jerome Monk's victims have been found and returned to
their families
.'

    It
was suspiciously similar to what Simms had said in the forensic tent on the
first day I wondered if he'd been trying out potential soundbites even then.
And while his superior courted the cameras and became the public face of the
investigation, Terry was left to carry the brunt of the search operation
himself. He'd been no stranger to high-profile cases while he'd been at the
Met, but nothing like this.

    I
hoped he was up to it.

    He
glanced nervously at his watch yet again as we clattered along the boards.
'Everything OK?' I asked.

    'Why
shouldn't it be? We've got one of the most dangerous men in the country about
to be let loose and I've still no idea why the bastard's suddenly decided to
cooperate. Yeah, everything's fucking great.'

    I
looked at him. He scowled, passing his hand over his face.

    'Sorry.
I just keep going over all the preparations, trying to make sure we've not
overlooked anything.'

    'You
don't think he's serious about showing us where the graves are?'

    'Christ
knows. I'd feel happier if. . . Ah, screw it. We'll soon find out.' He
stiffened as he looked ahead of us. 'Oh, great.'

    Sophie
Keller had emerged from the trailer serving as a mobile canteen, carrying a
polystyrene container of steaming coffee. Bundled up in bulky overalls, the BIA
looked like a young girl dressed in her father's workclothes. The thick hair
was tied back with a no-nonsense band, the drizzle misting it with fine silver
beads. A middle-aged man I didn't recognize was with her, stocky and
pleasant-faced. She'd been nodding at something he said, but a coolness crossed
her features when she saw Terry.

    The
two of them had made little secret of their dislike for each other. Whether it
stemmed from something that had occurred on a previous investigation or was
simply bad chemistry, they were textbook cat and dog. Terry's face hardened
into cold planes as we approached.

    Sophie
ignored him as she gave me a warm smile, resting a hand lightly on my arm. 'Hi,
David. Have you met Jim Lucas?'

    'Jim's
our POLSA,' Terry said, blanking her in return. 'He's been trying to keep some
order in this three-ring circus.'

    The
police search advisor's handshake was just the right side of bone-breaking. His
thick grey hair looked like a wire pan scourer. 'Pleased to meet you, Dr
Hunter. Ready for the big day?'

    'I'll
tell you later.'

    'Wise
man. Still, not every clay someone like Jerome Monk decides to work on the side
of the angels, is it?'

    'If
that's what he's doing,' Sophie said, looking at Terry. 'I'd have a better idea
if I'd been allowed access to him.'

    
Here
we go again,
I thought as Terry's jaw muscles bunched. 'We've already been
through this. You get to accompany the team with Monk, but there's to be no
direct contact. If you don't like it, take it up with Simms.'

    'He
won't return my calls.'

    'I
wonder why.'

    'But
it's ridiculous! I could assess Monk's state of mind, gauge if his change of
heart is genuine, but instead—'

    'The
decision's been made. Monk's not talking to anyone, and for the time being the
priority's getting him to show us the other graves.'

    'You
mean Simms' priority.'

    'I
mean the priority of this investigation, and last time I checked you were a
part of it. You want that to change, then say the word!'

    The
cords on Terry's neck stood out as they glared at each other. Lucas looked as
uncomfortable as I felt. It was a relief when Roper came over. The DCs gaze
flicked between Terry and Sophie, missing nothing.

    'What?'
Terry snapped.

    'Just
had the transport on the line. They'll be here in ten minutes.'

    The
anger drained from Terry. He straightened his shoulders. 'Right.'

    'Hang
on,' Sophie protested. 'What about—'

    But
Terry was already walking away, feet clumping on the duck- boards. Roper
hesitated long enough to give Sophie a toothy smile that exposed a line of pale
gum above his incisors.

    'Never
mind, love. He's got a lot on his mind.'

    She
shot him an angry look as he hurried after Terry. Lucas rubbed the bridge of
his nose, embarrassed.

    'Well,
I need to get on as well.' He hesitated, giving Sophie an uncertain glance.
'Look, it's none of my business, but I wouldn't push too hard. There's a lot
riding on today.'

    'All
the more reason why I should be able to do my job properly.'

    Lucas
looked as though he were about to say something else, then thought better of
it. 'Just watch yourself. Monk's a dangerous bugger. You ask me, you're better
keeping well away.'

    For a
second I thought Sophie was going to snap at the search advisor as well, but
then she gave a reluctant smile. 'I can look after myself.'

    Lucas
kept his thoughts to himself. He gave me a nod. 'Dr Hunter.'

    We
watched him walk away. Sophie blew out an exasperated breath. 'God, sometimes I
hate this job.'

    Sophie
had made no secret of her displeasure at being left out of the decision-making
process. 'You don't mean that,' I said.

    'Don't
bet on it. I just can't understand why Monk's suddenly so keen to
help.
And please don't say it's his guilty conscience.'

    'Perhaps
he's planning an appeal and thinks it might help him get a reduced sentence.'

    'He's
got at least another thirty-five years to serve. I can't see him planning that
far ahead.'

    'You
think he's hoping to escape?' I asked.

    I
wouldn't have dared mention that to Terry, not given the pressure he was already
under to see that didn't happen. The most dangerous part of any prisoner
transfer was the transit, but everyone was well aware of what Jerome Monk was
capable of. Even so, it was hard to see how even he could hope to escape out
here, surrounded by guards and with a helicopter standing by only minutes away.

    Sophie
thrust her hands into her pockets, scowling in frustration. 'I can't see how he
can, but I'd feel happier if he'd at least give us a bloody clue where the
graves are. But no, he insists he'll only come out and
show
us. And
Simms is letting him! He's so fixated on finding the Bennett twins so he can
announce he's got the full set he's letting Monk dictate his own conditions.
That's plain stupid, but I can't get anyone to listen.'

    
Not
for lack of trying.
I had the sense to keep that to myself, though. 'Even
if the other graves are around here we'll be hard pressed to find them without
Monk. I hate to sound like I agree with Simms, but what choice does he have?'

    Sophie
raised her eyes in exasperation. 'He could do what I've been suggesting for the
past two days. I've already mapped out a few of the likeliest sites, but
without more to go on I'm working blind. If he got Monk to just give us some
idea
of where the Bennett twins are buried, even a landmark, I might be
able to find them myself.'

    I
looked at the blasted landscape of dead bracken, heather and rock spread out
before us. It stretched for miles. I didn't say anything, but I must have
looked sceptical. Twin patches of red bloomed on her cheeks.

    'You
don't think I can do it either.'

    
Oh,
hell.
'No, it's just . . .Well, it's a big area.'

    'Have
you ever heard of Winthropping?' I hadn't, but she didn't give me chance to
answer. 'It's a technique the army developed in Northern Ireland to find hidden
arms caches. Anyone looking to make a hide - or bury a body - automatically
follows the contours of the land, or uses reference points like a tree or
distinctive rock to help them get their bearings. Winthropping's a way of reading
a landscape to find the most likely places something would be hidden.'

    'And
it works?' I said without thinking.

    'Amazingly
enough, yes,' she said tartly. 'It isn't foolproof, but it's useful in
situations like this. I don't care how well Monk's supposed to know the moor,
it's still been a year since he killed the Bennett sisters. Their graves will
be overgrown by now and he probably buried them at night anyway. Even if he
wants to, I can't see him being able to remember exactly where they are. Not
without help.'

    As a
rule I liked my science more clear-cut, not verging into crystal-ball
territory. But she made a convincing argument. Still, it was academic now
anyway. We both fell silent as we saw a distant convoy of vehicles creeping
along the road towards us.

    Monk
was here.

    After
the drama of the decoy's arrival, the real thing was almost an anticlimax.
There were no flashing lights or motorcycles, no waiting helicopter. Just an
unmarked van escorted by two police cars. A stillness seemed to fall as they
headed for where Terry was waiting with Roper and a group of uniformed
officers. A dog-handler stood with them, the intent-looking German shepherd
kept on a short leash. The van and cars pulled up well away from the other
vehicles. In the silence after their engines died the sound of the doors
clunking open carried clearly in the damp air. Unlike those with Monk's
'double', none of the police officers were armed: there had to be a realistic
threat of escape to merit that. But they were all big, bulky men, whose hands
immediately went to the batons clipped to their belts as they fanned out around
the rear doors of the van.

    'Very
melodramatic,' Sophie commented.

    I
didn't answer. There was movement in the shadowy recesses of the van. Something
round and pale solidified into a bald head as it emerged into the light. A
crouched figure filled the opening, ignoring the step-board below the doors to
jump down. Then it straightened, and I had my first look at Jerome Monk.

    Even
from where we stood, twenty yards away, there was no mistaking his sheer,
hulking presence. His hands were cuffed awkwardly in front of him, and I
realized with a shock that he was also wearing leg restraints. Neither seemed
to bother him, and the hunched shoulders looked powerful enough to snap the
handcuff chain without effort. His upper body was immense, yet the shaved head
still seemed outsized.