Simon Beckett - The Calling Of The Grave

Both the road and moor behind us were empty.

I didn't slow for two or three miles. Only when I was certain no one was following did I began to relax. Reaction was setting in, leaving me wrung out and clammy as I let the car's speed ease back to normal.

'Are we safe?' Sophie asked. She was still breathing heavily. The bruise looked worse than ever against the pallor of her face.

'I think so.'

She closed her eyes. 'I'm going to be sick.'

I pulled over. Sophie stumbled out of the car almost before we'd stopped. Leaving the engine running I waited nearby, keeping one eye on the surrounding moor. Despite my assurances I'd be happier when we were far away from this place. The dusk was thickening and the rustle of wind through the heather only emphasized the loneliness. We could have been the only living things out there.

But we weren't. As I waited for Sophie, I checked my phone and saw with relief that there was enough signal to make a call. I dialled Terry's number, willing him to pick up. It seemed to ring for a long time, but just when I thought it was going to go to voicemail he answered.

'This better be good.' He sounded slurred, as though he were either very tired or drunk. But I couldn't see even Terry drinking in the middle of an investigation like this.

'We're at Black Tor. We've-'

'Who's "we"?'

'Sophie Keller. She discharged herself from hospital yesterday and-'

'Keller? What are you doing there with her?'

'Does it matter? Monk's here!'

That seemed to get through. 'Go on.'

I kept it brief, conscious of the fading light. 'So you didn't actually see him up close?' Terry said, when I'd finished.

'Look, it was Monk! I didn't see another car, so he can't have got far.'

I heard a rasp of bristles as Terry rubbed his hand across his face. 'OK, leave it with me.'

'Do you need us to hang around?'

'I think we'll cope.' His tone was heavy with sarcasm. 'If I want you I'll know where to find you.'

The line went dead. Feeling the familiar irritation, I put the phone away and went over to Sophie. She gave me a wan smile. 'Sorry. False alarm.'

'How're you feeling?'

'My head's throbbing a little, but it isn't too bad. Did you call the police?'

'I've just spoken to Terry Connors. He's getting things moving.'

Her mouth tightened at the mention of Terry, but for once she didn't criticize him. 'Do we have to wait here?'

'He says there's no need.'

I'd been expecting that we'd have to stay until the police got there, but I wasn't about to argue. I looked out at the moor. The light was dropping quickly, and a haze of mist blurred the edges of the little we could still see. Sophie shivered, and I knew what she was thinking.

Monk was still out there.

I put my arm around her. 'Come on, I'll take you home.'

The mist had thickened to a full-blown fog by the time we reached Padbury. I was forced to slow to a crawl, my headlights almost useless against the white gauze. I didn't even realize that we'd reached the village until the shadowy outline of the old church loomed up out of the fog.

I pulled into the lane at the bottom of Sophie's garden and switched off the engine. In the ticking silence as it cooled we might have been at the bottom of the sea. I found myself glancing around uneasily as we went up the path, straining to hear. The fog wrapped round us, making everything more than a few feet away all but invisible.

'You should get security lights,' I said, as the conical shadow of the kiln took form on one side, towering over the spectral branches of the orchard.

'I don't need them out here,' Sophie said, reaching in her bag for the house keys. She faltered as she realized the irony of what she'd just said. 'Not usually, anyway.'

But the front door was still intact, the new lock fitted by the joiner reassuringly solid. When Sophie opened it and flicked on the hall light, the house looked exactly as we'd left it that morning.

I hadn't realized till then how tense I'd been.

From the deep sigh she gave as she shot home the new bolts on the door, it seemed that Sophie felt the same way.

'How are you holding up?' I asked as she tiredly pulled off her coat.

'I've had better days.' Her smile was unconvincing. 'Look, about what happened earlier with Cath Bennett… I'm sorry, I didn't think it through.'

After what had happened that no longer seemed important. 'Forget it. Anyway, you were right. Monk wouldn't have dug those holes without a good reason. There must be at least one other grave round there. The police'll have to search the whole area again.'

She looked as though that hadn't occurred to her. 'You think so?'

'I don't see that they've any choice. Monk's as good as told us where to look. That's what you wanted, isn't it?'

'Yes, of course.' She sounded doubtful. 'God, I really need a drink.'

So did I, but not yet. 'I think it might be a good idea to stay somewhere else tonight.'

Sophie was sitting on the stairs, unfastening her muddy boots. She stopped to look up at me, her face closed. 'No.'

'You could book into a hotel-'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'You've already been attacked here once, and we still don't know who by. If it was Monk-'

'If it was Monk I'd be dead. You know it as well as I do. If you want to run away you can, but I'm not going to!'

I stared in surprise. Where did that come from?

Sophie sighed. 'I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. It's just

… I – I'm scared and confused, and this is my home. If I leave now I'll never feel safe here again. Can't you understand that?'

I could. That didn't mean I agreed, but there was no point arguing.

'OK'

'Thank you.' She came over and gave me a hug. I held her for a moment, feeling the warm pressure of her body before she stepped back. 'I can be a cow sometimes, but I appreciate everything you're doing. And I wouldn't blame you if you decided to go anyway.'

The opening was there if I wanted to take it. I could walk away now, go back to London and let Sophie and the police handle it from here.

But that wasn't going to happen. Whatever was going on, it had its roots in what happened eight years ago. I'd been involved then, and I still was.

I gave Sophie a smile. 'You mentioned something about a drink.'

We shared the cooking that night. Dinner was grilled lamb chops from the freezer with minted potatoes and frozen peas. Not haute cuisine, perhaps, but it was simple and satisfying. Sophie produced a bottle of wine, and gave it me to open while she defrosted the chops.

'Padbury doesn't have much of a wine merchant's,' she apologized, pouring two glasses.

'It'll be fine,' I said. And it was. The alcohol took the edge off any remaining awkwardness, and I didn't argue when Sophie suggested leaving the dishes till morning. Taking what was left of the wine with us, we went into the sitting room. I put more logs in the stove and built up the fire using kindling and old newspaper from the wicker basket. You're getting good at this.

Soon bright flames were dancing behind the smoky glass panel, driving the chill from the room. Sophie and I sat at either end of the sofa. We didn't talk, but the silence was comfortable. I took another drink of wine and stole a look at her. She was drowsing, legs curled up on the sofa, head fallen back to expose the slender line of her throat. Her face was peaceful and relaxed, the firelight softening the bruising so it could almost have been shadow. The intervening years had been good to her, I decided. She wasn't conventionally beautiful, but the strong features would still turn heads. They would still look good in another eight years' time. Or eighteen.

She was breathing with the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep, the almost empty wine glass still held loosely in her fingers. It had fallen slightly to rest lightly between her breasts. I was loath to disturb her but it was starting to slip, each breath dislodging it a little more.