The Calling of the Grave (32 page)

    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.'

    If I
hadn't been told that Miller and Cross were police I'd never have guessed. Both
were specialist firearms officers, trained in close protection work, but there
was nothing about their appearance or attitude to suggest it. In their casual
clothes they might have been teachers or medics.

    Except
for the guns, of course.

    'What
made Roper change his mind?' I asked. We were in the kitchen, sitting round the
table while Sophie unpacked the groceries I'd fetched from the car and began
preparing dinner.

    'Roper?'
Miller was crunching a strip of raw pepper.

    'DI
Roper. He's on the ACC's staff.'

    'Bit
too high and mighty for us, then,' Miller said. 'Our orders came from Naysmith,
but I can't tell you any more than that. We were told to pack our bags for a
trip to the country, so here we are. Ours not to reason why, and all that.'

    He was
the more outgoing of the two, laid back and with a ready grin. His short hair
was prematurely grey, although somehow it didn't age him. Cross was a few years
younger, probably still in her twenties. Although she was quieter than her
partner, there was an air of unruffled competence about her that was
reassuring.

    At
least Naysmith was taking Sophie's safety seriously.

    'How
long will you be staying?' she asked them, scraping chopped onion into a pan. I
hadn't realized how tense she'd been until now. The pair's arrival seemed to
have lifted a weight from her, so that she seemed almost drunk with relief.

    'Long
enough,' Miller said, peering at the bolognese sauce Sophie was preparing.
'Don't worry, we won't get under your feet. Just keep us fed and watered and
you won't even know we're here. Although you might want to sauté the onions a
bit longer before you add the meat.'

    Sophie
put down the spoon, mock-indignant. 'Do you want to do this?'

    'Naw,
cooking's not part of my job description. But I'm a quarter Italian, I know
these things. I'd go easy with the salt, as well.'

    Sophie
appealed to Cross. 'Is he always like this?'

    The
blonde policewoman gave the impression of smiling even though her mouth didn't
actually move. Her cornflower-blue eyes were serene and watchful. 'You learn
not to take any notice.'

    Miller
looked hurt. 'I'm just saying, that's all.'

    It
was almost possible to forget why the pair were there, which was probably the
idea. It was easier to guard someone if they were relaxed rather than jumping
at shadows.

    And
Sophie had certainly relaxed. Her objection to staying in a safe house didn't
extend to other types of protection. I was glad about that, but the meeting with
Terry still preyed on my mind. I'd called Roper to let him know, and been
relieved to go straight to his voicemail. I'd left a short message without
going into details. If he wanted to know more he could call me back.

    But I
still hadn't had a chance to talk to Sophie about it. Miller and Cross must
have picked up on the atmosphere, because after a while they made an excuse and
left us alone. Sophie was on such a high that even then she didn't notice.

    'They're
really nice, aren't they? Not at all like the armed police I used to know,' she
said, stirring the simmering pasta sauce. The kitchen smelled of tomato and
garlic. 'They turned up about an hour or so after you'd left. I don't often get
customers stopping by, so I thought they'd got lost at first, or they were
trying to sell something. Then they flashed their ID and said Naysmith had sent
them. Did you know he was going to?'

    'No.'

    Sophie
broke off to look at me. 'I thought you'd be pleased. Is something wrong?'

    'I
saw Terry Connors this afternoon.'

    She
went very still, then turned back to the saucepan. 'What stone did he crawl
from under?'

    'He
said he wanted to explain.'

    'Oh?'

    'I
didn't know there'd been anything between you.'

    She
had her back to me, her face hidden. The only sound was the spoon rattling
against the pan. 'There's no reason why you should.'

    'Don't
you think you should have mentioned it?'

    'It
isn't something I like to talk about. It was a mistake. A long time ago.'

    I
said nothing. Sophie put the spoon down and turned to face me.

    'Look,
it doesn't have anything to do with what's going on now.'

    'Are
you sure about that?'

    'It's
in the past, all right?' she flared. 'It's none of your business anyway. I
don't have to tell you everything!'

    She
was right, she didn't. But she was wrong about its being none of my business.
It had become that when she'd asked for my help. And whatever game Terry was
playing affected us both. The sauce popped and bubbled in the pan.