Simon Beckett - The Calling Of The Grave

'I didn't kill him.'

'His wife identified you, and your DNA was all over the house.'

'I didn't say I wasn't there, I said I didn't kill him. He fell downstairs. I never touched him.'

It was possible, I supposed. Wainwright's body had been lying near the foot of the stairs: he could have broken his neck falling down them. Finding Monk in your home would have been terrifying for anyone, let alone someone with dementia.

'Why did you go to their house anyway? You can't have thought Wainwright had anything to do with setting you up.'

Monk had clasped both hands on his head as he looked at Sophie. She stirred in her sleep, frowning as though she could feel his eyes on her. 'Didn't know what else to do when I couldn't find her. I thought he might know where she was. Or know something. I tried digging holes on the moor like I saw him do, see if that'd make me remember. Didn't expect you and her to turn up, though.'

He gave a death's-head grin.

'Weren't expecting me either, were you? You were so scared I could practically smell you. If I wasn't knackered from digging them fucking holes I'd have caught you.'

So instead, frustrated, that night he'd sought out the only other person he could think of. Someone who was easy to find, with his name in the phone book.

'Wainwright was ill. He couldn't have helped.'

Monk's head snapped up. 'I didn't know that, did I? You think I'm sorry he's dead? Stuck-up bastard treated me like scum, I've not forgotten that! I'd have broken the fucker's neck anyway!'

'I don't-' I began, but it was as if a switch had been flicked.

' The bastards stitched me up! Eight years I thought I was too cracked to remember what I did! Eight fucking years!'

'If you didn't kill the other girls-'

'I don't give a fuck about them! But if I was set up then I could have been for the rest of it. For Ange!’ The dark eyes were fevered and manic. His head jerked, an unconscious twitch of his jaw. 'The fuckers could've tricked me, made me think I killed her as well! You get it? I might not have done it, and I need to fucking remember!'

Any hope I'd had of reasoning with him died then. Monk wasn't interested in retrieving any lost memories, only in absolving himself of guilt over Angela Carson. But that wasn't going to happen. Whatever the fate of the other victims, whether he'd intended it or not, he'd killed her himself.

And nothing Sophie said could alter that.

'Look, whatever you did, if it happened during a blackout then you're not fully responsible,' I said. 'There are types of sleep disorders that-'

'Shut the fuck up!' He surged to his feet, fists clenched. 'Wake her up!'

'No, wait-'

He moved so fast I didn't see it coming. It was little more than a backhand cuff, but it snapped my head to one side as if I'd been hit with a plank. I fell on to the debris littering the floor as Monk grabbed hold of Sophie.

'Come on! Wake up!'

Sophie moaned feebly, her body still limp. I lunged at him, grabbing hold of his arm as he drew it back to slap her. He thrust me away and I slammed into the rock.

But Monk made no further attempt to hit Sophie. He was staring at his fist as if he'd only just become aware of it. It was the one he'd struck against the rock, and as he looked at the blood on it the rage left him as quickly as it had arrived.

He lowered his arm as Sophie stirred.

'David…'

'I'm here.' There was blood in my mouth, and my jaw and teeth throbbed as I went to her. This time Monk didn't try to stop me.

Sophie rubbed her head, brow creased in pain. 'I don't feel so good,' she said, her voice slurred, and then she vomited.

I supported her until the spasm had passed. She gave something between a groan and a sob, shielding her eyes from the lantern light. 'My head… it really hurts.'

'Look at me, Sophie.'

'Hurts…'

'I know, but just look at me.'

I smoothed the hair back from her face. She squinted, blinking as she opened her eyes. Shock ran through me. While her left pupil was normal, the right was dilated and huge. Oh, God.

'What's wrong with her?' Monk demanded. He sounded suspicious, as though this were some sort of trick.

I took a deep breath as Sophie tried to huddle away from the light. Keep calm. Don't lose it now. 'I think it's a haematoma.'

'A what?'

'A haemorrhage. She's bleeding inside her skull. We need to get her to a hospital.'

'You think I'm fucking stupid?' Monk said, and seized hold of her arm.

'Don't touch her!' I snapped, shoving him away.

At least, I tried to: it was like pushing a side of meat. But he stopped, his eyes unblinking as they stared at me. There was the same stillness about him that I'd witnessed earlier, a sense of poised violence barely held in check.

'There's blood collecting inside her head,' I said, my voice unsteady. 'It could be from the car crash or before. But if the pressure isn't released…' She'll die. 'I have to get her out of here. Please.'

Monk's mouth twisted in frustration, his wheezing breaths growing even more ragged. 'You're a doctor. Can't you do something?'

'No, she needs surgery.'

'Fuck!' He slapped his hand against the wall. In the small chamber it echoed like a pistol shot. 'Fuck!'

I ignored him. Sophie had slumped against me. 'Sophie? Come on, you have to stay awake.'

If she lapsed into unconsciousness down here I'd never be able to get her out. She stirred feebly. 'Don't want to…'

'Come on, I need you to sit up straight. We're getting out of here.'

Monk's hand thrust against my chest. 'No! She said she'd help me!'

'Does she look like she can help anybody?'

'She's staying here!'

'Then she's going to die!' I was shaking, but from anger now. 'All she's done is try to help you. Do you want more blood on your hands?'

'Shut UP!'

I saw his fist coming but I had no chance of avoiding it. I flinched as it whipped by my face, his coat sleeve skimming my cheek as he punched the rock by my head.

I didn't move. The only sound was Monk's ragged wheezing. His breath stank in my face. Chest heaving, he dropped his arm and stepped back. Blood dripped from his hand. He'd struck the rock full on this time: it had to be broken.

But if it hurt he gave no sign. He looked at the swollen knuckles as though they didn't belong to him, then down at Sophie. For all his size, there was something pathetic about him. Beaten.

'She couldn't have helped anyway, could she?' he asked. 'It wouldn't have made any difference.'

I tried to think of a safe answer, then gave up. 'No.'

Monk lowered his head. When he raised it again the gargoyle face was unreadable.

'Let's get her out.'

I used one of the bottles of smelling salts to rouse Sophie. She moaned in protest, trying to move her head away. The ammonia was a temporary measure at best, but it wouldn't make her any worse. And I needed her as aware as possible.

We didn't have much time.

There was always a risk of haematoma after a head trauma. Some developed very quickly, others could take weeks, slowly swelling blood blisters inside the skull that put pressure on the brain. Sophie's must have been building up for days. Either it had been too small to be detected by the hospital scans or she'd discharged herself before anyone had picked it up.

Either way I should have realized. The signs had been staring me in the face, and I'd missed them. I'd put her slurred speech down to alcohol and fatigue, dismissed her headache as a hangover.

Now she could die because of me.

Sophie barely knew where she was. She could walk, but not without support. By the time Monk had helped me manhandle her from the chamber it was obvious we wouldn't be able to go back the way we had come, with its narrow tunnels and crawlways.