The Calling of the Grave (43 page)

    'So?'

    'That
dent Monk has in his skull?' I tapped my own forehead. 'It was caused by a bad
forceps delivery. Monk's mother died giving birth and I think his frontal lobe
was damaged at the same time. That can cause violent and unpredictable
behaviour and difficulty remembering things. Very occasionally it causes what
are known as gelastic seizures, where people laugh or scream, and lash out at
things that aren't there. It's a type of epilepsy, but because it tends to
happen during sleep it's often undiagnosed. Usually it's put down to night
terrors. Or someone "kicking off", like the prison guards said Monk
did.'

    Terry
shrugged. 'Big deal, so he's got this frontal lobe thing. That doesn't excuse
what he's done.'

    'Not all
of it, no. But it's starting to look as though he didn't rape and murder Angela
Carson. They were in a relationship, and he killed her during a seizure after
they'd had sex- If she'd tried to restrain him it would only have made things
worse, and with someone as strong as Monk it wouldn't have made much difference
if it was intentional or not.'

    Terry
gave an incredulous laugh. 'Oh, come
on\
Even you can't expect anyone's
going to believe that!'

    I
wasn't surprised Terry was sceptical. Even now I wasn't sure how much of what
Monk had told me could be believed. He was still a violent, dangerous man, and
the memory of the car crash and the nightmare journey through the cave would
haunt me for a long time.

    But
the picture wasn't as simple as everyone had assumed. And neither were Monk's
actions. Simms might argue that the convict had his own motives for letting us
go, but I remembered how he'd squeezed himself into the fissure to help me with
Sophie, when he could have left us both to die down there.

    That
wasn't the act of a conscienceless killer.

    'I
think we looked at Monk and saw what we wanted to see,' I said. 'Everyone
thought he was a monster because he raped a deaf girl and beat her to death.
Take that out of the equation and it changes everything. Like whether he really
murdered Tina Williams and the Bennett twins.'

    'He
confessed,
for Christ's sake!'

    'He
was punishing himself.' I remembered the deadness — and pain — in Monk's eyes.
Whatever revulsion society felt towards him, it was nothing compared to what he
felt for himself. 'He'd killed Angela Carson during one seizure; for all he
knew he might have killed the others as well. But I really don't think he cared
by then.'

    Terry
snorted. 'If you believe that, then Monk wasn't the only one who got a knock on
the head.'

    I was
too tired to argue. 'It doesn't matter what I believe. It's a physiological
condition, not a mental illness. That's why the psychiatrists who examined him
didn't pick up on it. But it'll be different now they'll know what to look
for.'

    'You're
serious, aren't you?' Terry gnawed his lip. 'So if he claims he didn't kill the
other girls, who did?'

    I
shrugged, fighting a wave of fatigue. 'Have you ever heard of a DI called
Jones?'

    Terry
braked as the car in front slowed. 'What's this prick doing?' he muttered.
'Jones? Don't think so. Why?'

    That
was something else I'd had time to think about. If Monk - and Walker — were
telling the truth, then the policeman who'd planted the dead girls' belongings
at the caravan was an obvious suspect. Except that, according to Naysmith,
Jones didn't exist.

    But
I'd said enough. 'It doesn't matter. Just something Monk said.'

    Terry
glanced at me. 'You look done in. We'll be another half-hour yet. Why don't you
get your head down?'

    I was
already putting my head back and closing my eyes. Jumbled images flashed
through my mind: the cave, the car crash, the way the shadows had filled the
indentation in Monk's skull. I saw the mangled body of Tina Williams, clogged
with oozing mud, and heard Wainwright's booming laugh. I felt the scrape of a
spade cutting through wet peat, and then the car went over a bump and I woke
up.

    'Back
with us?' Terry asked.

    I
rubbed my eyes. 'Sorry.'

    'No worries.
We're just about there.'

    I
looked out of the window and saw we were almost in Padbury. The day had turned
while I'd slept, the light thickening to dusk. It felt like I'd spent all my
time lately in darkness. After this I promised myself a holiday. A proper one
this time, somewhere hot and sunny. Then I remembered Sophie lying in hospital,
and any thoughts of going away vanished.

    Terry
pulled up at the bottom of the garden, behind where my car was parked. He
stared up at the house, leaving the engine running. 'Well, here we are. Do you
want me to stick around?'

    'No,
I don't plan on staying.' I paused, my hand on the door handle. 'What about
you? What are you going to do now?'

    A
shadow crossed his face. 'Good question. Take my lumps from Simms and then . .
. I'll see. Try to get my act together, I suppose.'

    'Good
luck.'

    'Thanks.'
He looked through the windscreen. 'So. Are we OK, then. Me and you?'

    It
occurred to me that I probably wouldn't see Terry again after this. Although I
wasn't exactly sorry, it meant another chapter of my life was ending. There was
no need for it to be on a bad note.

    You
have to bury the past sooner or later.

    I
nodded. He held out his hand. I only hesitated a moment before I shook it.
'Look after yourself, David. I hope Sophie's all right.'

    There
was nothing more to say. I climbed awkwardly out of the car and watched as
Terry pulled away, his car's tail lights disappearing down the lane. The wind was
getting up, and the sound of the engine was quickly lost, leaving only the
rustle and sway of the trees.

    I
massaged my back. Everything ached, and my muscles had stiffened up on the
journey. Rousing myself, I started up the path. The house was in darkness. The
curtains were drawn, as we'd left them when we rushed out, giving it a closed,
untenanted look. I was only going to collect my bag and then leave. I didn't
much feel like driving anywhere, but I wasn't comfortable with the idea of
staying here on my own. Even though Sophie wouldn't mind, it wouldn't have felt
right.

    I got
as far as the front door before I realized I didn't have a key. I tried it
anyway, but it was locked: either Miller or Cross would have seen to that the
night before. I slumped against the door, feeling totally defeated. Then I
remembered the spare Sophie kept hidden in the kiln. She'd had a new lock
fitted but I hoped she'd have replaced the hidden key as well.
Please let it
be there.

    The
dilapidated brick tower loomed ahead of me as I crossed the overgrown path, its
scaffolding standing out against the darkening sky like a gallows. The unlocked
door creaked as I pushed it open and felt for the light switch. Nothing
happened. I flicked it a few times, but the bulb must have blown. Great. There
was a torch in my glove compartment, but of course the car keys were inside the
house: I'd left them there in the rush the night before.

    Pushing
back the door as far as it would go, I went into the kiln. In the dying light
it was like stepping into a tomb. The loose brick where Sophie had hidden the
spare key was near the scaffolded central chimney. The brick dust and smell of
damp plaster tickled the back of my throat as I walked across. There was
another scent mingled with them, sharp and familiar, but I'd only just noticed
it when something crunched under my boots. As my eyes adjusted I saw that the
floor was littered with broken pottery. My sluggish brain was still trying to
process that when I recognized the out-of-place smell.

    Aftershave.

    I
stopped dead, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I turned round. The
dim twilight from the doorway didn't reach far into the kiln. The shadows were
impenetrable. I stared at where they seemed to coalesce. There was a rustle of
movement.

    'Is
that you, Dr Hunter?' Roper said.

    Roper
peered into the gloom, trying to make me out. In the kiln's dark interior he
couldn't see me any better than I could him.

    'Glad
you're none the worse after last night,' he said. 'Lucky escape you had, by all
accounts.'

    My
heart was still thumping as I tried to unscramble my thoughts. 'What are you
doing here?'

    I
heard rather than saw him shrug. 'Oh, I just came to check on things. Miss
Keller really should have a lock fitted. Unless she wants people to be able to
walk in here, of course.'

    The
notion seemed to amuse him.

    'I
didn't see your car,' I said.

    'I
left it in a lay-by further up the road. Thought the walk would do me good.'

    
And
prevent anyone from seeing he was here.
I was starting to think more
clearly now. Starting to think that Darren Walker could have been telling the
truth about the police officer at Monk's caravan. DI Jones might not exist, but
that didn't prove anything.

    Whoever
he was, he'd hardly have given his real name.

    I
tried to sound unconcerned, gauging my chances of getting past Roper to the
door. 'Did Simms send you?' 'The ACC's got enough on his plate as it is at the
moment. No, this was just to satisfy my curiosity, you might say.' There was a
click and the lamp on the workbench came on. It had been knocked on its side;
Roper stood it upright, tutting as he looked round. 'Somebody made a mess,
didn't they?'

    The
light revealed a scene of devastation. Sophie's bowls and dishes had been swept
from the shelves to break on the floor. Even the heavy electric kiln had been
pushed on to its side, its door hanging open.

    'Looks
to me like someone was searching for something, wouldn't you say?' Roper was
smiling but his eyes were sharp and appraising. 'Mind telling me what you're
doing here yourself, Dr Hunter?'

    'I've
come to collect my car.'

    'Funny
place for a garage.'

    'My
bag's in the house. Sophie keeps a spare key in here.'

    'Does
she, indeed?' He scanned the kiln. 'Good at hiding things, Miss Keller. But
then a former BIA like her should be. Comes from knowing where to find them, I
expect.'

    I
lost patience. There was no point playing games. 'Did you find what you were
looking for?'

    'Me?'
Roper seemed genuinely shocked. 'I think we're getting our wires crossed, Dr
Hunter. I didn't do this.'

    He
sounded offended. I wasn't entirely convinced, but I felt my suspicions begin
to recede. 'Then who did?'

    'Well,
now, that's the question, isn't it?' Roper considered the wreckage, absently
scratching his stomach. 'How well do you know Miss Keller?'

    'Why?'

    'Because
I'm trying to decide if you're involved in this.'

    There
was a sudden edge to his voice, and my last doubts about him disappeared. I'd
never really taken Roper seriously before. He'd always seemed like an appendage
of Simms, promoted for loyalty rather than ability. Looking at him now I began
to wonder if there was more to him than that.

    Perhaps
Sophie wasn't the only one good at hiding things.

    'Until
this I hadn't seen her in eight years,' I said carefully.

    'You
sleeping with her?'

    I bit
back the urge to tell him to mind his own business. 'No.'

    He
gave a grunt of satisfaction. 'Tell me, Dr Hunter, doesn't the timing of all
this strike you as a bit odd? Terry Connors crops up out of the blue to warn
you you're at risk from Monk. Asking if you've heard from any of the old search
team. Then Miss Keller - or Miss Trask as she's started calling herself — calls
you asking for help. She turns up unconscious and her house is trashed. Except
that the burglar didn't bother to take anything.'

    'She
said some money and jewellery were missing.'

    He
waved that away. 'You don't believe that any more than I do. And I'm not
convinced by her "amnesia" either. Someone breaks into her house and
knocks her out, and she can't remember anything about it? Please.'