The Calling of the Grave

Chapter 22

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?'

There was a perverse logic to it, I supposed. I'd wondered myself if Monk could have killed Wainwright because of some warped vendetta. But something didn't quite ring true.

'Why are you telling me this? What can I do about it?'

'For a start you can get Sophie away from her house. I've not been there, but I'd guess it's pretty isolated.' That's an understatement, I thought, as he went on. 'Now Monk's killed Wainwright the gloves will be coming off. One way or another this'll be over in the next few days, but more people are going to get hurt before it's done. Take her somewhere safe until Monk's behind bars again. Or dead.'

'I've tried. I don't know if it's because she doesn't want to leave her home or her work, or if she's just being stubborn.'

'Her work?' Terry looked startled, as though that hadn't occurred to him. 'Yeah, of course. Her bloody pots.'

'Simms sent Roper to persuade her to go to a police safe house, but she wouldn't listen. I asked for police protection at her house, but it doesn't look like it's going to happen.'

He seemed distracted, but then his mouth curled in contempt. 'Simms must be running scared to even offer a safe house. He's a politician, he's worried how things look. If he starts putting people under close protection it'll be as good as admitting what Monk's doing. He'd be leaving himself wide open to accusations that he should have done something before Wainwright was killed. As far as Simms is concerned this isn't a manhunt any more, it's damage limitation. All he can do now is spin the murder as a one-off and hope Monk's stopped before he kills anyone else.'

It sounded plausible, but then Terry was good at that. 'Why didn't you tell me any of this to start with? Why all the pretence?'

'What, you think I was going to turn up on your doorstep and admit I'd been knocked back to detective sergeant? It was hard enough coming to see you as it was. But I'd got an idea how this might play out and I wanted to warn you. I thought I owed you that much.' Terry looked down at his empty glass. 'I've made enough mistakes. I didn't want to make another.'

He looked across at me, almost daring me to doubt him. But I'd known him too long to be taken in so easily.

'If you're so concerned about catching Monk, why didn't you tell

Naysmith or Roper that we'd seen him on the moor? This could have been over by now.'

'That was a bad call, I admit. I thought you must be exaggerating. I suppose I might have had a bit too much to drink, as well.' He sighed. 'God knows, I've been regretting it ever since.'

I shook my head. 'Nice try, Terry.'

'What do you mean?'

'You're not doing this out of concern for Sophie's welfare. I don't know what you want, but Simms isn't the only one with an agenda, is he?'

He tried to laugh it off. 'Christ, you're a suspicious sod, aren't you? Come on, give me a break. Everybody deserves a second chance. Even me.'

No, they don't. Not unless they've earned it. I didn't say anything, just looked at him. His expression didn't exactly alter, but somehow the angles of his face hardened. He gave a tight smile.

'So that's how it is, eh? I thought you might have got rid of that chip on your shoulder by now. Looks like I was wrong.'

I wasn't going to waste my time arguing. I'd come here hoping for answers, but I obviously wasn't going to get any. I pushed my chair back and headed for the door, but Terry hadn't finished.

'Give my regards to Sophie!' he called after me. 'And don't fall for that vulnerable routine. She used that on me as well!'

It was cold and raining outside but I barely noticed. Starting the engine, I drove away from the village without giving any thought to where I was going. When I came to a narrow road I took it. A little way along was an overgrown gateway to a field where a few Dartmoor ponies grazed in the rain. I pulled over and stopped.

Sophie and Terry?

They'd never even liked each other. On the search operation they'd barely spoken, and when they had it was a struggle for them to be civil.

And why was that, do you think? Because there was nothing between them?

I felt as though the world had subtly shifted. It was no good telling myself that Terry was lying. There had been a sneering triumph in his voice, as though he'd been waiting for his moment. Sophie's past was nothing to do with me. I'd no right to judge her, and even less to feel jealous. But this was different. We were in the middle of a murder investigation, and it wasn't just anybody.

It was Terry Connors.

One of the ponies had come to the gate beside the car, potbellied and muddied. It leaned its head through the bars, staring at me with dark-eyed curiosity. There was a white blaze on its forehead, slightly off-centre. I felt a vague recognition, until I realized it was in roughly the same place as the dent in Monk's skull.

Stop brooding. There are more important things to think about. I switched the engine on and drove away. I hadn't been paying attention to where I was going, and I had to drive until I saw a signpost before I realized where I was. I'd been heading away from Padbury, and had to backtrack through Oldwich to pick up the right road.

I drove past the pub without looking to see if Terry's car was still there.

The mist began to close in again as I left the high moor behind. Soon it had thickened to a blank fog, hazing my vision like cataracts and forcing me to slow down. By the time I reached Sophie's house twilight was gathering, the windows glowing like lighthouses through the gloom.

There was another car parked behind Sophie's in the lane.

Leaving the groceries I'd bought in the car boot, I hurried up the path and tried the front door. It was locked. I banged on it and waited, straining for any sound from inside. I heard the bolts being shot back, and then the door was opened.

'There's a car in the lane-' I stopped. The chain was on but it was a man's face that stared at me through the gap.

'That'd be mine. Can I help you?' he said.

Before I could answer Sophie's voice came from behind him. 'It's all right, Nick, let him in.'

The man looked past me, scanning the path and garden before closing the door and slipping off the chain. He opened it and stood back, a fit-looking man in his early thirties, wearing jeans and a faded sweatshirt. He didn't take his eyes off the path as I went in. As soon as I was inside he closed and bolted the door again.

Sophie was in the hallway, smiling. A pretty blonde woman stood next to her; short, but with the compact muscularity of a gymnast. There was a poised watchfulness about her, and as the man finished locking up I saw her hand move away from her hip.

There was a gun holstered there.

'David, meet Steph Cross and Nick Miller.' Sophie's smile broadened. 'They're my bodyguards.'