The Calling of the Grave (15 page)

    'No,
I'm just a little surprised, that's all.'

    'I
know, I'm sorry, this is really out of the blue, but. . .' I heard her take a
breath. 'Well, could we meet some time?'

    The
surprises were coming thick and fast today. 'Is this because of Monk?'

    'I'd
rather tell you when I see you. I promise not to take up much of your time.'

    She
tried to disguise it, but I could hear the tension in her voice. 'That's OK.
Are you still in London?'

    There
was another pause. 'No. I'm living in Dartmoor now. A little village called
Padbury.'

    That
surprised me. Sophie had never seemed the rural type, although I remembered
she'd said how much she liked the moor. 'You made it out there, then.'

    'What?
Oh . . . yes, I suppose so.' She sounded distracted. 'Look, I know it's asking
a lot, but if you could spare me a couple of hours I'd really appreciate it.
Please?'

    There
was no mistaking the need in her voice, or the anxiety underlying it. This
sounded a far cry from the confident young woman I remembered.

    'Are
you in some kind of trouble?'

    'No, it's
just . . . Look, I'll tell you everything when I see you.'

    I
told myself not to get involved in a cold case, that digging up the past would
be painful and pointless. But then the case wasn't really cold any more. Now
that Monk had escaped it was very much alive again.

    And
there was that subconscious itch at the back of my mind. Until today everything
about this investigation had lain dormant for the best part of a decade. So why
should it all of a sudden feel like unfinished business?

    'How about
tomorrow?' I heard myself say. It was too late today: I wouldn't arrive there
till evening.

    Her
relief was evident even down the line. 'That'd be great! If you're sure . . .'

    'I'll
be glad of an excuse to get out of London.'
Are you certain that's the only
reason?
I ignored the sardonic voice.

    'Do
you remember the Trencherman's Arms in Oldwich?'

    The
name brought back another blast of memory, not all of it good. 'I remember. Is
the food any better than it was?'

    She
laughed. I'd forgotten what a good laugh she had, unselfconscious and
full-throated. It didn't last long. 'A little. But it's easier than directing
you to where I live. Can you make it in time for lunch?'

    I
said I could. We arranged to meet at one o'clock and exchanged mobile numbers.
'Thanks again, David. I really do appreciate this,' Sophie said before she rang
off.

    She
didn't sound grateful, though. She sounded desperate.

    I
lowered the phone thoughtfully. It had been quite a day for reunions. First
Terry Connors, now Sophie Keller. Whatever she wanted to see me about, I
doubted it was an accident that it coincided with Jerome Monk's escape. And it
had to be something serious for her to get in touch after all this time. The
Sophie I'd known hadn't seemed prone to panicking.

    Still,
eight years was a long time. People changed. I found myself wondering if she'd
altered, if she still looked the same.

    If
she was married.

    
You
can cut that out,
I told myself, but I smiled all the same. Then without
warning I shivered. I looked at the computer monitor, where the gargoyle face
of Monk filled the screen. The black button eyes seemed to be watching as it
smiled its mocking half-smile. I closed the connection and the photograph
winked out.

    But
even after it had gone I still seemed to feel his eyes on me.

    A few
wisps of purple still clung to the heather, but autumn had already leached the
colour from the landscape, cloaking the moor in dead greens and browns. It
stretched as far as the eye could see, bleak and windblasted. The thigh-deep
lakes of bracken were starting to die off, leaving nothing to break the
monotony but house-sized rocks and thickets of impenetrable gorse.

    A
recent case had taken me to a remote Scottish island that if anything had been
even more desolate, but there had still been an impressive sweep and grandeur
to it. To my mind, this part of Dartmoor seemed brooding and oppressive,
although I had to admit I wasn't exactly impartial.

    I
didn't have good memories of this place.

    The
sky had promised rain, but so far none had materialized. Despite the low clouds
the sun kept breaking through, picking out the heather in startling clarity
before being shut off once more. I'd made good time from London, except for a
traffic jam on the M5. It was the first time in years I'd been this far west,
but I found myself recalling parts of the route, recognizing villages I'd forgotten
till then. Then I reached the moor itself, and it was like driving back in
time.

    I
passed signposts for half-remembered places, landmarks that nudged rusty chords
of memory. I drove by the grassed-over ruins of the old tin mine's waterwheel,
where Monk's decoy had lured the press away. It was even more overgrown and
looked smaller than I remembered. I felt the past thicken around me, then the
road curved away and in the far distance I could make out the rocky jumble of
Black Tor.

    I
slowed for a better look. Even though I'd been expecting it, the sight still
brought back the chill mists and
snap
of police tape vibrating in the
wind. Then I'd passed the turn-off. Shaking off the memories, I drove on to
meet Sophie.

    Oldwich
was on the edge of the MOD training area, a sizeable chunk of the national park
that the military had annexed for its firing and combat exercises. Most of it
still granted public access, except on days when training was taking place.

    Today
wasn't one of them. I passed a warning post, but there was no red flag to
indicate the area was off-limits. Oldwich itself was an odd place, apparently
undecided as to whether it was a town or a village. It didn't seem to have
changed much; there were newer houses on its fringes, but its centre was still
as drab and unprepossessing as I recalled. The pebble-dashed cottages had
always put me in mind of a coastal town, facing out to the empty moor as though
to a static green sea.

    A two-carriage
train was unhurriedly pulling away as I drove by, slowly dragging itself across
the moor as if exhausted. The Trencherman's Arms wasn't far from the tiny train
station. The last time I'd been here the pub had looked dilapidated and
depressing; now the roof had been rethatched and the walls were freshly
whitewashed. At least some things had changed for the better.

    The
small car park was round the back. I felt oddly nervous as I pulled in and
turned off the engine. I told myself there was no need, and made my way to the
entrance. The doorway leading into the pub was low, and I had to stoop to avoid
banging my head. Inside was dark, but as my eyes adjusted I saw it wasn't just
the thatched roof that was new. The exposed stone flags were a big improvement
on the sticky carpet I remembered, and the flock wallpaper had been replaced
with cleanly painted plaster.

    A few
tables were taken, mainly by walkers and tourists finishing lunch, but most
were empty. It took only a moment to see that Sophie wasn't there, but then I
was early.
Relax, she's probably on her way.

    A
cheerful, plump woman was behind the bar. I guessed the sullen landlord had
gone the same way as the flock wallpaper and beer- stained carpets. I ordered a
coffee and went to one of the stripped-pine tables by the fireplace. It wasn't
lit, but it was stacked with fresh-cut logs, and the ash in the grate suggested
they weren't only there for decoration.

    I
took a drink of coffee and wondered yet again what Sophie might want. It had to
be connected to Jerome Monk's escape somehow, but for the life of me I couldn't
see how. Or why she'd contacted me. We'd enjoyed each other's company but I
wouldn't have called us friends, and neither of us had made any attempt to keep
in touch.

    So
why would she want to see me again after all this time?

    My
coffee had gone cold. Looking at my watch I saw it was nearly half past one. I
frowned: after the way she'd sounded the day before I wouldn't have expected
her to be late. But I wasn't sure how far she had to travel, so she could
easily have been held up. I picked up the menu and restlessly flicked through
it, glancing at the entrance every few minutes.

    I
gave it another quarter of an hour before calling Sophie's mobile number. At
least there was a signal, which wasn't always certain out here. I listened to
the clicks of connection, then I heard her voice:
Hi, you've reached Sophie.
Please leave a message.

    I
asked her to call me and hung up. Perhaps one of us got the time wrong, I told
myself.

    But
two o'clock came and went with no sign of her. Restlessly, I checked the time
again. Even if she'd been held up, I would have expected to hear something by
now. Unless she was coming by train? I'd assumed she'd be driving but I hadn't
asked. Pushing away my cold coffee, I went to the bar.

    'Can
you tell me when the next train's due in?'

    The
barmaid looked at the clock behind the bar. 'Nothing now for another two
hours.' She gave me a bright smile. 'Late, is she?'

    I
smiled politely and went back to my table. But there seemed little point in
waiting any longer. Grabbing my coat, I went out.

    The
sun had disappeared behind a high blanket of cloud, casting a diffuse,
opalescent light as I walked the hundred yards to the train station. It was too
small to have a ticket office, just two uncovered platforms linked by a short
bridge. Both were empty, but there was a timetable on the noticeboard. The
barmaid was right: there was nothing else due for a couple of hours. The only
other train listed must have been the one I'd seen leaving as I'd arrived.
Sophie obviously hadn't been on that.

    So
where was she?

    A
crow
caw-cawed
as it circled overhead; otherwise there was silence. I
stood on the edge of the platform, staring up the line. The tracks were rusted
but for the very tops, testament to how few trains used them. They ran
straight, curving out of sight just before they reached vanishing point.

    Now
what?

    I'd no
idea. I wasn't even sure what I was doing there. I'd driven over two hundred
miles for a woman I hadn't seen in eight years, and been stood up for my
trouble. But although I tried to convince myself there was a mundane
explanation, I couldn't quite believe it. Sophie had sounded desperate to see
me: if she knew she was going to be late she would have called to let me know.

    Something
was wrong.

    I
went back to my car and took my road atlas from the boot. I had satnav but a
large-scale map would give me a better feel for the geography of the place.
Sophie had said she lived in a village called Padbury, which the map showed was
several miles away. I didn't have her address, but it couldn't be that big. I'd
just have to ask around until I found somebody who knew her.

    Padbury
was signposted well enough, but each marker seemed to direct me further and
further away from civilization. The roads grew increasingly smaller, until I
found myself on a narrow, single-lane track hemmed in by high bramble hedgerows.
Bare except for dead scraps of leaves, they towered above the car like a maze.
In snow or icy conditions the place would be completely cut off. As I shifted
down yet another gear to negotiate a blind corner I wondered what the hell had
brought Sophie out here.

    But
then I'd no reason to talk: I'd made a similar choice once myself.

    Within
another mile or two the hedgerows gave way to thickets of stunted oak. They
seemed to soak up what was left of the daylight, and although it was only
mid-afternoon I had to switch on my headlights. I began to wonder if I could
somehow have missed Padbury after all, and then I rounded a bend and found
myself in it.

    And
out of it again, just as quickly. It was more a hamlet than a village, and I
had to carry on for another half-mile before there was anywhere wide enough to
turn around.

    I was
already starting to have a bad feeling about this. I'd hoped for at least a pub
or post office where I might find someone who knew where Sophie lived, but
other than a few stone cottages there was only a small church, set back from
the road. I pulled up outside but left the engine running. Now I was here it
seemed ridiculous. Even if I could find her house, turning up on her doorstep
unannounced like this was starting to seem more and more like an over reaction.