The Calling of the Grave (28 page)

    We
didn't have much to say to each other after that, but we were almost at Black
Tor. Several cars and a dog van were already waiting by the end of the track
when we arrived, close to where I'd parked the day before. A mix of uniformed police
and CID stood by them, coat collars turned up against the rain. None of them
looked happy and several of them were drawing on cigarettes as if their lives
depended on them.

    But
they were hastily thrown down and trodden on as Simms got out of his car,
shrugging on a thick coat. One of the plain-clothes officers stepped forward to
speak to him.

    'That's
Naysmith, the SIO,' Roper muttered as we went over.

    Naysmith
was a keen-looking man in his early forties, gaunt and raw-boned. He glanced in
my direction but Simms made no attempt to introduce us. I wasn't close enough
to hear what was said, but Naysmith gave a terse nod before moving away. The
group was all business now as it prepared to go out on to the moor. The air was
split by barking as a dog-handler took a German shepherd from a van and clipped
a coiled length of rope to its harness.

    I
hoped it had better luck than the last one.

    Roper
had gone to talk to a small group of plain-clothes officers, so I stood on my
own nearby, feeling like I didn't belong as rain dripped from my coat hood.

    'Been
a while, Dr Hunter.'

    I
looked around at the burly man who'd approached. He wore a reflective
waterproof coat, and I had to peer at the face inside the hood before I
recognized Jim Lucas, the POLSA from the original search. He'd never been slim,
and the intervening years had given the him the ruddy nose and cheeks that
spoke of either outdoor work or high blood pressure.

    But
his handshake was as firm as ever, and his eyes crinkled with the same warmth I
remembered.

    'I
didn't realize you were advising on this,' I said, pleased to see a friendly
face.

    'For
my sins. Have to admit, I'd have been happy not to set eyes on this godforsaken
spot again.' His eyes roved round the moor. 'Bad business about Wainwright.'

    I
nodded. There was nothing to say.

    'The
sooner we get Monk back behind bars the better. I hear you and Sophie Keller
had a run-in with him yesterday.'

    The
memory was already starting to seem unreal. 'I think so. We didn't get a close
look at him.'

    'If
you had you wouldn't be here. Either of you.' He let that sink in for a second,
then smiled. 'How is Sophie these days?'

    'She's
fine.' This wasn't the time to go into details.

    'Jacked
it in to make pots, didn't she? Good for her. I retire myself next year.' He
scowled at the foul weather. 'Can't say I'll be sorry. I'm getting too old for
this game. And the job's changed since I started. All paperwork and bureaucracy
now. Speaking of which . . .'

    He looked
behind me as Simms' clipped voice rang out.

    'When
you're ready, Dr Hunter.'

    The
ACC had put on a pair of brand new Wellingtons. The shin- high rubber boots
looked ridiculous with his tailored overcoat and uniform, but not everyone there
was so lucky. I saw Roper looking disconsolately at his thin-soled shoes as we
set off along the muddy track. The dog-handler, a swarthy man with a shaved
head, walked slightly ahead of the rest of us, feeding out the rope attached to
the harness as the German shepherd snuffled the ground.

    'Will
the rain make any difference?' I asked him.

    He
answered without taking his eyes from the dog. 'Not unless it really pisses it
down. It's the peat that'll be a problem. Soaks up water like a sponge, and if
it gets too boggy it doesn't hold the scent.'

    'It's
pretty boggy where we're going.'

    He
gave me a look as though I'd questioned his dog's ability. 'If there's a scent
to be found, he'll pick it up.'

    The
rest of us waited as the handler and his dog searched the area where Monk had
stood watching while Sophie and I drove away. Or at least as near to it as I
could recall: they found nothing, and eventually Naysmith called them back.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought a few cool glances were sent my
way after that. As we continued along the track I found myself wondering if
perhaps we really had overreacted the day before.

    
God,
please don't let me be wasting everyone's time
.

    The
rain darkened the squat tower of Black Tor in the distance, making the boulders
live up to their name. We cut off the track at about the same point that Sophie
and I had the day before and began trekking across the moor. Lucas had a
compass and map, but either his sense of direction wasn't the equal of Sophie's
or the whole area had become more waterlogged overnight, because it seemed a
lot harder going this time. I stared ahead anxiously, searching for any sign of
the holes. But the moorland seemed untouched, a sea of drab greens and browns
that I began to feel was mocking me.

    Then,
just as had happened the day before, the heather and grass around us was
suddenly pockmarked with muddy craters.

    I
felt irrationally relieved: I'd almost begun to think we wouldn't find them.
Everyone stopped. The only sound was the drip and patter of rain on our coats,
then one of the policemen broke the silence.

    'Bloody
big moles they've got round here.'

    Nobody
laughed. Naysmith motioned the dog-handler forward. The German shepherd strained
on its line, nose pressed to the ground. Almost straight away it began
following something.

    'He's
got a scent,' the dog-handler called, but even as he did the dog changed
direction and began zigzagging aimlessly between the holes. 'It's all over.'

    'I
can see someone's been here. I want to know where he went,' Simms snapped.

    The
handler gave Naysmith an uneasy glance. The SIO nodded. 'Try to find a trail
leading away.'

    As
the dog-handler moved off, Simms went to the nearest hole. 'Dr Hunter, can you
say if anything was buried in any of these?'

    The
holes were all too small to have held a human body, but other than that I
couldn't say. 'No. I doubt it, but you should have a cadaver dog check them
anyway.'

    'Well,
looks like the other graves must be somewhere nearby.' Naysmith was squatting
by one of the holes. 'Wouldn't be much point him digging like a dog for a bone
otherwise.'

    'We
searched this entire area last time without finding anything,' Roper said. 'He
could have hidden a stash of cash or something. Makes more sense than wanting
to dig up bodies that have been safely buried for eight years.'

    He
had a point, but Simms was having none of it. 'Monk wouldn't have buried money.
That'd involve planning ahead, and he doesn't think like that. No, this was
about finding the Bennett girls. Dr Hunter, where was Monk when you first saw
him?'

    I
scanned the moor. Without the ground mist everything looked different, and
there were no convenient landmarks to help me pinpoint where I'd first seen the
figure. This was Sophie's speciality, not mine, but in his wisdom Simms had
made her stay behind.

    Still,
I felt reasonably confident as I pointed. 'Over there. About a hundred yards
away.'

    Rain
dripped from the rim of his hat as Simms looked dubiously at the unremarkable
patch of moor. There wasn't much to see, no tor or hummocks large enough to
have concealed anyone as big as Monk.

    'He
can't have appeared from nowhere. Where did he come from?'

    'He
was just standing there when we saw him. That's all I can tell you.'

    Simms'
gloved fingers drummed against his leg, like a restless cat twitching its tail.
'Bring the dog,' he said, and started walking.

    The
moor became boggier as we headed further out: patches of viscous black mud
pooled with oily water. Several times we had to detour where it was too thick
to cross, Roper muttering under his breath as he slithered about in his city
shoes. Twice the dog seemed to catch an elusive trace of scent, but both times
its handler shook his head after it lost it again.

    It
was only as we neared the spot where I'd seen Monk that I realized we were
retracing our steps from years before. This was where he'd claimed the other
graves were, before Sophie's discovery of the badger sett had diverted us. I
considered mentioning it, but Simms was sceptical enough already.
Don't push
your luck.

    I
stopped and looked around, trying to gauge how far we'd come.

    'Well?'
Simms prompted.

    'Around
here somewhere, but it's hard to say where exactly.' I was uncomfortably aware
that everyone was watching me. 'Over there, I think.'

    The
patch of moor looked no different from any other. Just grass and heather,
shivering slightly from the beating of the rain. There was no sign that anyone
had ever been here.

    'You
said he came after you. Which way did he go?' Simms asked.

    I
tried to visualize it, but it wasn't easy from this new perspective 'To start
with he followed us towards the track, but then he headed across the moor for
the road to cut us off.'

    Naysmith
motioned to the dog-handler. 'See if you can find anything.'

    The
handler began casting round with his dog in an attempt to pick up Monk's trail.
But they floundered straight away, the German shepherd's paws sinking into
black mud. The dog thrashed and whined as its handler hauled it out, only for
it to become stuck again moments later.

    'It's
too wet,' he called, heaving it back on to firmer ground. 'It's like a quagmire
round here.'

    'Keep
trying,' Simms told him.

    The
handler's face made it clear what he thought of that. The dog's paws plunged
deep into the soft mud, bogging it down. It had to be pulled free several more
times, until both dog and handler were filthy and out of breath. Finally, it
seemed to catch a scent on a stretch of firmer ground. Its ears pricked up in
interest as it began to follow it, only to suddenly whine and back away.

    'Now
what?' Simms demanded as the dog sneezed and pawed its nose.

    'Ammonia,'
the handler said, sniffing with distaste. The pungent chemical smell was bad
enough for humans; to a dog's sensitive nose it would be actively painful. He
patted the German shepherd, giving Simms a reproachful look. 'The rain's washed
some of it away but someone was expecting us. We're done here.'

    Simms
seemed about to insist but Naysmith intervened. 'It's going to be dark soon. We
can bring more dogs out tomorrow, organize a proper search. There's not much
more we can do tonight.'

    He
stared levelly back as the ACC glared at him. Simms' hand tapped impatiently at
his side before he gave a grudging nod.

    'All
right. But first thing tomorrow—'

    '
Over
here
.'

    The
shout came from Lucas. While the dog had been struggling through the mud, the search
advisor had wandered off by himself. He stood on a low hummock, looking down at
something on its far side. Simms' Wellingtons slapped against his legs as he
went over, leaving the rest of us to follow.

    The
ground dropped away behind the hummock, so that it was lower than it first
appeared. The concealed side was camouflaged with scrubby gorse, except for
where rocks broke through the vegetation on the slope like the scalp of a bald
man.

    Caught
in the angle where several rocks leaned against each other was a sheer black
hole less than a metre across.

    'Christ,
is that a cave?' Naysmith asked.

    Lucas
was studying his map. 'There aren't any caves on this part of the moor. They're
all in the limestone further out, like the ones at Buckfastleigh. It's all
granite round here.' He folded up the map. 'No, it's an adit.'

    'A
what?' Simms demanded.

    'An
old mine entrance. This used to be tin-mining country until about a hundred
years ago. Small-scale stuff, mainly. Most of the tunnels were filled in or
sealed off, but not all of them. Some are still there.'

    I
thought about the grassed-over waterwheel and mine workings near the turn-off
for Black Tor. It was just another part of the moor's landscape. I'd driven
past it any number of times without really noticing it.