Simon Beckett - The Calling Of The Grave

And for eight years Terry had been as good as his word. More lives than a bloody cat, Naysmith had said. Always managed to slip off. Small wonder when there was a police detective on his side, making sure any evidence was conveniently lost or mislabelled. Only when Terry had been suspended himself, and DI Jones finally let him down, had Walker broken his silence.

And Monk had beaten him to death for it.

Terry would have guessed why. He must have been frantic when

Monk escaped. Especially when there was still one piece of evidence that could link him to Zoe Williams.

'How did Sophie get the diary?' I asked.

'Nosy bitch went snooping through my things. It was about a year after the search. Debs had kicked me out so I was renting a flat. Me and Sophie had got together again. I always meant to get rid of the diary, but I never did. Stupid really. I'd hidden it, but Sophie always was good at finding things.'

He sounded bitter. Part of me registered that their relationship wasn't the fling Sophie had claimed, but now wasn't the time to dwell on that. I thought I saw Roper's hand moving, but kept my attention on Terry.

'How much did she know?'

'Only that I'd been screwing Zoe, the diary made that much obvious. She was more pissed off because it was while I'd been seeing her than anything. She went ballistic. She wouldn't tell me what she'd done with the diary, only that it was somewhere "safe".' His face turned ugly at the memory. 'It didn't matter so much when Monk was in prison. She couldn't tell anyone without admitting she'd been withholding evidence. But when Monk escaped… That changed everything.'

'That's why you panicked and came to see me. To see if Sophie had told me anything.'

'I didn't panic. I just wanted the fucking diary back! And I know Sophie. If she was going to go running to anyone from back then, I knew it'd be you.'

He's jealous? There was a bubbling groan from the floor. Terry looked down at Roper in surprise, as though he'd forgotten him. The policeman twitched, his eyes fluttering.

'Don't!' I shouted, as Terry hefted the scaffolding pole.

He paused, the pole still raised. I thought there might be something like regret in his face. 'You know I can't let you go now, don't you? You know that.'

I did. And I didn't know what I was expecting. 'What about Sophie?'

'What about her? She can't do anything without the diary.'

'Don't you even care what you've done to her?'

'What I've done to her? Jesus! The blackmailing bitch's made my life hell for years!'

'She was scared. And she's in hospital now because of you!'

He stared at me, Roper momentarily overlooked. 'What are you talking about?'

'Monk didn't cause the haematoma. You did, when you forced your way into her house looking for the diary.'

'Bullshit! I don't believe you!'

'It's a contrecoup injury from where she hit her head on the bathroom floor when she fell. She discharged herself from hospital before they could pick it up. She obviously wanted to come home to see if the diary was still safe. And even then she didn't tell anyone what had happened. She was terrified, but she still protected you!'

'She was protecting herself! She was looking out for herself, the same as she always does!' He levelled the scaffolding pole at me. 'You think you're going to make me feel guilty about her? Forget it, she brought it on herself!'

'And if she dies it'll be just another accident? Like Zoe Bennett?'

The way he stared at me told me I'd gone too far. The only sound was the mournful sigh of the wind outside the kiln. Terry shifted his grip on the pole.

'At least tell me where they're buried,' I said quickly.

'What for? You had your chance eight years ago.' His face seemed to close down, blank of expression. 'Let's get this over with.'

He started towards me, then suddenly staggered. I thought he'd tripped until I saw that Roper had clutched hold of his leg. The lower half of the policeman's face gleamed wet with blood in the lamplight, and his front teeth were snapped off at the gum. But his eyes were bright and full of malice as he tried to drag himself to his feet.

'Fucker!' Terry yelled. He lashed out with the scaffolding pole as I rushed at him. I ducked back, falling against the kiln's central chimney, and felt something grate beneath my shoulder. Wrenching his foot free, Terry kicked at Roper's head as if it were a rugby ball. There was a sound like a dropped watermelon and Roper flopped limply. As Terry came at me again I grabbed the loose brick where Sophie hid her spare key and flung it at him. He tried to block it, but it caught him a glancing blow in the face before clumping to the floor.

'Bastard!' he spat, spraying blood and spittle, and swung the length of scaffolding at my head.

I managed to get an arm up but the metal pole smashed into my chest. My breath exploded as I felt ribs break. Agony burst through me, and as I crashed to the floor Terry stepped up and whipped his foot into my stomach.

I doubled up, unable to breathe. Move! Do something! But my limbs wouldn't obey. Terry stood over me. He was gasping for breath himself, his face slick with sweat. He touched his fingers to his scalp where the brick had struck him and stared at the blood on' them. His features contorted.

'You know what, Hunter? I'm glad you didn't go when you'd got the chance,' he panted, and raised the length of metal over his head.

The kiln door banged shut behind him.

Monk, I thought instinctively. But the doorway was empty. The door flapped loosely in the wind, and as Terry spun round to face it Roper lurched into him.

He was barely able to stand, but he caught Terry off balance. His momentum carried them past me and slammed them into the ancient scaffolding against the kiln's wall. The rickety structure shuddered under their weight, ringing like a giant tuning fork as loose spars clanged to the floor. It swayed drunkenly from the impact, and for a second I thought it would hold. Then, as though in slow motion, the entire scaffold gave a creaking groan and collapsed on top of them like a stack of cards.

I thought I heard a scream, though I couldn't tell who from. I tucked into a tight ball, covering my head as planks and steel poles came crashing down. The air was filled with a clamour like insane bells that seemed to go on and on.

Then silence.

My ears rang as the echoes died away. Slowly, I unwrapped my arms from around my head. The air was thick with dust. The kiln was in darkness: the falling scaffold had knocked out the lamp. I coughed, gasping as pain shot through my broken ribs. The floor was littered with scaffolding and broken timbers. I made my way across them, relying on touch to guide me.

'ROPER? TERRY?'

My shout died away. A brick thumped down in the darkness, jangling the fallen poles like discordant wind chimes. In its wake I heard only the pitter-patter of falling mortar. Sophie had told me the scaffolding had been shoring up the kiln's unstable chimney and outer wall for decades.

Now there was nothing to support it.

There wasn't anything I could do by myself: I needed to get to a phone. I could just make out the light from the door through the murk. I picked an unsteady path across the tangle of scaffolding towards it. The air outside was sweet and clean. A last faint light remained in the sky as I hobbled towards the house, arm pressed to my injured ribs.

I was almost there when I heard a rumble behind me.

I looked back in time to see the kiln collapse. It seemed to sag and then, without fuss, simply toppled in on itself. I stumbled further away, shielding my eyes as a billowing cloud peppered me with grit. Then all was quiet again.

I lowered my arm.

A skein of dust hung like smoke over what was left of the kiln. Half of the brick cone was gone, leaving a jagged ruin against the evening sky. The section of wall with the door was still intact. I limped back to it, covering my mouth and nose with my sleeve as I peered through the doorway. It was partially blocked with bricks that spilled out from inside.