The Calling Of The Grave

'The terms of my client's release clearly stipulate he's here to assist in locating the graves of Zoe and Lindsey Bennett, and nothing more. If you wish to question him about anything else we can return to the prison so you can conduct a formal interview in the proper environment.'

'Yeah, whatever.' Terry didn't try to hide his disgust. 'Time's up, Monk. You've done enough sightseeing. Now tell us where the other graves are, or you can go back to your cell.'

Monk raised his eyes from the pit and stared out across the moor. His restraints chinked as he raised his hands and rubbed them over his skull.

'Over there.'

Everyone looked where he'd indicated. It was even further away from the road and track. Except for occasional smaller outcrops of rock or islands of gorse, there was nothing to see except a featureless plain of heather and grass.

'Whereabouts?' Terry asked.

'I told you. Over there.'

'They're not near where you buried Tina Williams?'

'I never said they were.'

'Then what the hell did you bring us out here for?'

The look in Monk's black eyes was impossible to decipher. 'I wanted to see.'

Terry's jaw muscles bunched. I'd never seen him so edgy, but he couldn't afford to lose his temper now I wished Lucas was there. The older man was a calming presence, and it was becoming obvious that Terry was getting out of his depth.

'How far away?' Terry asked, making a visible effort to restrain himself. 'Fifty yards? A hundred? Half a mile?'

'I'll know when I get there.'

'Can you remember any landmarks nearby?' Sophie asked quickly. Annoyance flickered across Terry's face, but he didn't interrupt. 'A big rock, a clump of gorse, anything like that?'

Monk looked at her. 'Can't remember.'

Wainwright gave a disdainful sniff. 'Hardly the sort of thing one would forget, I'd think.'

Again, the archaeologist's bass rumble carried clearly in the damp air. Monk's head swivelled towards him.

'What can you remember, Jerome? Perhaps if you tried to-' Sophie began, but Terry cut her off.

'All right, let's get this over with. Just show us.'

Sophie looked furious but people were already moving away, a cluster of uniforms surrounding Monk's unmistakable figure.

'This is farcical,' Wainwright grumbled as we trudged after them, boots squelching on the boggy moor. 'I don't believe that creature has any intention of telling us anything. He's making fools of us.'

'It might help if you'd stop antagonizing him,' Sophie said, still angry.

'You can't afford to show weakness to creatures like that. They need to know who's in charge.'

'Really?' Sophie's voice was dangerously sweet. 'I tell you what. You don't tell me my job, and I won't tell you how to dig holes.'

The archaeologist glared at her. 'I'll be sure to pass on your thoughts to DCS Simms,' he said, before walking on ahead.

'Prick,' Sophie said under her breath, though not so softly that he couldn't hear. She glanced at me. 'What?'

'I didn't say anything.'

She smiled wryly. 'You didn't have to.'

I shrugged. 'If you want to fall out with the whole task force, don't let me stop you.'

'Sorry, but it's just so bloody frustrating. What's the point of me being here if they won't let me do my job properly? And as for Terry Connors…' She sighed and shook her head. 'They're handling this all wrong. We shouldn't just be letting Monk lead us around by the nose, not without pushing him for some indication where the graves are. How's he going to find them again if he can't remember any landmarks?'

'You think he's lying?'

'Hard to say. He seems vague one minute and certain the next. He's acting like he knows where he's going now but it's a hell of a long way for anyone to carry a body.' She frowned, staring at where Monk's pale head stood out amongst the dark uniforms up ahead. 'I'm going to have a wander round. I'll catch you up.'

She struck off back towards the track that led to Black Tor. I could understand her doubts, but there was nothing I could do about them. The going became more difficult as we headed further into the moor. The rain-soaked peat sucked at our boots while the heather and long marsh grass snagged our legs. Monk was struggling more than ever, giving lie to the myth of how at home he was out here.

Several times he stumbled and tripped, snarling at the guards as they steadied him.

I noticed that Roper had dropped back and was talking on his radio. He kept his voice down, but as I approached the wind carried snatches of his words over to me.

'… not confident, sir… Yes… yes… Of course, sir. I'll keep you informed.'

He ended the call as he saw me. The 'sir' had sounded ominous, and it didn't take a genius to guess he'd been reporting back to Simms. I wondered if Terry knew.

'Enjoying the walk, Dr Hunter?' The DC grinned, falling in step beside me. 'Turning into quite a marathon, isn't it?'

There was something about the man that grated. He couldn't be blamed for the rat-like teeth, but his grin was just a little too ready and too sycophantic for me to trust.

'The fresh air does me good.'

He bobbed his head, chuckling as though I'd cracked an afterdinner joke. 'A little too much of it for my taste, but there you go. So what do you think of Monk? He's something, isn't he? Face like a bloody Picasso.'

You're no oil painting yourself. 'How did he get the bruises? Was he in a fight?'

'Not exactly.' Roper's grin broadened, but his eyes were shrewd as they stared at Monk's back. 'He kicked off on one last night and had to be "restrained". Almost made us cancel the whole thing. One of his party pieces, apparently, having a tantrum after lights out. That's why the guards call him laughing boy. He seems to find it all very funny if no one else does. Hello, now what's happening?'

There was a commotion up ahead. The German shepherd was being held back by its handler, barking at the group with Monk. At first I couldn't see what was happening for the surrounding uniforms, then two of them moved aside.

Monk had fallen. The big man was down in the muddy grass, struggling to get up. Police officers and the prison guards swarmed round him, unsure whether to haul him to his feet or not.

'… get the fuck off me!' He was clumsily trying to lever himself up in his handcuffs as his solicitor confronted Terry.

'Now are you satisfied? This is completely unacceptable!'

'He's not hurt,' Terry said, but he sounded sullen and defensive.

'I hope not, because if he is I'm holding you responsible. There is absolutely no reason for my client to remain handcuffed out here. He doesn't pose any escape risk, and in this terrain it's positively dangerous.'

'I'm not taking them off.'

'In that case you can take us back to the van, because we're done here.'

'Oh, for-'

'I will not have my client injured because of police intransigence. Either the restraints come off or he stops cooperating with the search.'

Monk was still lying in a heap, breath steaming as he glared up at them. 'You want to try walking with these on?' he demanded, holding out his cuffed hands.

Terry took a step towards him, and for a second I actually thought he would launch a kick at his face. Then he stopped, his entire body clenched and rigid.

'You want me to call the SIO?' Roper asked.

If I hadn't heard him reporting back to Simms I might have believed he was trying to help. His suggestion decided Terry.

'No.' Tight-lipped, he gave a nod to a police officer. 'Take them off.'

The officer stepped forward and unlocked the handcuffs. Monk's expression never changed as he climbed to his feet, clothes soaking wet and smeared with mud. He flexed his wrists, the big hands opening and closing like clamps.