Simon Beckett - The Calling Of The Grave

'I didn't assault her, it was only a bit of fun. All right, I might have had a few beers, but she didn't mind. Not until people started telling her that I'd abused her rights. Her rights. Christ.'

But I wasn't interested in Terry's excuses. 'You let me think you were part of the investigation. Sophie too, even after she'd been attacked. Why?'

He reached for his glass before remembering it was empty. He kept hold of it, as though he felt more comfortable with it in his hand. 'It's hard to explain.'

'Try.'

He frowned into his glass. 'I've made a mess of everything. My marriage, my family, my career. The works. All the opportunities I used to have… it's all gone. The last time I did anything I was proud of was when I tackled Jerome Monk out on the moor. You remember that?'

His mouth quirked into a grin at the memory. It didn't last long.

'When he escaped… well, it brought a lot of things back. Suspended or not, I'm still a police officer. I couldn't just sit at home listening to the news reports. And I know how Simms' mind works. He made his name from putting Monk away, and he won't want anything to tarnish that. He's going to have his own agenda.'

'You're saying he doesn't want to see Monk caught?' I didn't like Simms, but I couldn't believe that even of him.

'No, just that his first priority's going to be covering his own back. Especially now Wainwright's been murdered. That's going to open a whole can of worms, and you can bet he's going to do his best to keep a tight lid on it. He might dress it up as not wanting a media frenzy to interfere with an investigation, or whatever, but that's just PR bollocks.'

It was near enough to what Simms had said to me himself to strike a chord. Terry gave a lopsided grin.

'Had this conversation with him already, have you? Then you know I'm right. Wainwright and Simms were friends, as far as bastards like him can have any. And it's going to look pretty bad if an ACC can't even protect his old cronies. Especially if people start asking why Monk went after Wainwright in the first place.'

'Perhaps he remembers how Wainwright treated him.' To think society wastes money keeping animals like this alive. 'You said yourself he might have grudges against anybody involved in the search. Or were you making that up as well?'

'No, but there's got to be more to it than that. Monk's a rapist, and he's been locked up for the last eight years. You seriously think he doesn't have more important things on his mind than offing a senile old archaeologist who hurt his feelings?'

'Then why did he kill him?'

'To get back at Simms.' Terry leaned forward, growing intent. 'Think about it. Simms didn't just put Monk behind bars, he made it a personal crusade. Well, now the boot's on the other foot, except Monk knows he'd never get anywhere near him, not with all the protection Simms will have. So he's trying to humiliate him instead, going after easy targets like Wainwright to stir up as much shit as possible before he's caught. He knows he's never going to be released again, not after killing that other inmate earlier this year, so what's he got to lose?'

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.