The Calling Of The Grave

'If there's anything buried in there you're going to damage it.'

'We need air holes for the dog anyway.'

That was true enough. Even though cadaver dogs could sniff out decay through several feet of soil, the holes would help them detect the gases produced by decomposition. But there were less invasive ways of making them.

'I don't think-'

'Thank you, Dr Hunter, but if I want advice I'll ask for it.'

Gripping the probe by its stubby handles, Wainwright jabbed it forcefully into the mound. Knowing he wasn't going to listen, I clenched my jaw shut as he wrenched it free and rammed it back in. Probing was a basic archaeological technique, but it had its drawbacks in a forensic situation. While it was possible to distinguish between damage to bone inflicted before death and that caused by a pointed metal probe afterwards, it was an unwelcome complication. Wainwright knew that as well as I did.

But then it would be my problem, not his.

Sophie and Terry broke off their discussion as Roper and the others reached us. Neither of them looked happy. Terry went straight to Monk and his solicitor, standing on the edge of the hollow so they could see the mound.

'This ring any bells?'

Monk stared down at it, hands hanging loosely at his sides. His mouth still seemed twisted in a mocking smile, but I thought there was a wariness in his eyes now.

'No.'

'So this isn't one of the graves?'

'I told you, they're over there.'

'You seem pretty sure all of a sudden. Not long ago you said you couldn't remember.'

'I told you, they're over there!'

The bearded guard clapped a hand on Monk's shoulder. 'Don't raise your voice, laughing boy, we can hear you.' 'Fuck off, Monaghan!'

'You want the cuffs back on?'

Monk seemed to swell, but Sophie spoke before he could do anything else. 'Excuse me, Jerome?'

She smiled as the big head snapped round. This time Terry made no attempt to interrupt, and I guessed her involvement was what at least part of their discussion had been about.

'Nobody's doubting you. But I just want you to think about something. You must have dug the graves out here at night, is that right?'

It was a safe bet: few killers risked burying the bodies of their victims in broad daylight. But Monk's solicitor wasn't having any of it.

'You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. I've already made it clear-'

'Shut up.'

Monk didn't so much as glance at him. His button eyes seemed muddied as they fixed on Sophie. After a few seconds he jerked his head in a nod.

'It's always night.'

I wasn't sure what that meant. Judging by Sophie's slight pause neither did she, but she covered it well.

'Things get confused in the dark. It's easy to make mistakes, especially when you try to remember later. Is it possible you could have dug at least one of the graves here? Or even both of them?'

Monk's eyes went from Sophie to the mound. He rubbed a hand over his bald scalp. 'Might be…'

For an instant he seemed confused. Then Terry spoke and whatever I thought I'd seen was gone.

'I don't have time for this. Which is it, yes or no?'

Suddenly the heat and madness were back in the convict's eyes. The curved smile looked manic as he faced Terry.

'No.'

'Wait, Jerome, are you-' Sophie began, but she'd had her chance.

'Right, that's it. Let's get back over there,' Terry said, starting to leave the hollow.

'But the body dog's here now,' she protested. 'At least give it a chance.'

Terry paused, indecision on his face. I think he might have overruled her if it hadn't been for Wainwright. The archaeologist had carried on probing the mound while the scene played out.

'Almost done,' he said, thrusting the probe into the soil again. 'The ground here feels less resistant, although since it's peat I doubt-'

There was an audible crunch as the probe hit something. Wainwright stopped dead. He composed his features into a thoughtful expression, avoiding looking at me.

'Well, there seems to be something here.'

Terry went over. 'A stone?'

'No, I don't think so.' Wainwright beckoned to the dog-handler, quickly asserting control. 'Start with the hole I've just made.'

The dog-handler, a young policewoman with red hair and windchapped pale skin, took the springer spaniel towards the mound.

'No! We're in the wrong place!' Monk shouted, his huge fists balled.

'Tell your "client" if I hear one more peep out of him he's back in handcuffs, 'Terry snapped at Dobbs.

The solicitor looked reluctant, but the threat worked. Monk's mouth twitched as he cast a look behind him at the open moor and unclenched his fists.

'No handcuffs,' he mumbled.

The spaniel was almost falling over itself in its eagerness as it snuffled across the mound. There were only a few cadaver dogs in the country, and I'd heard nothing but good things about them. Still, I had my doubts now. Peat inhibited decomposition, sometimes virtually halted it. No matter how sensitive a dog's nose, it couldn't smell something that wasn't there.

But the spaniel's ears pricked up almost immediately. Whining with excitement, it began scrabbling at Wainwright's last probe hole. The handler quickly pulled it away.

'Clever girl!' Fussing the dog, she looked at Terry. 'No two ways about it. There's something there.'

A sense of anticipation ran through the hollow. Terry seemed nervous, but given the pressure he was under I didn't blame him. His career could be changed by what we found here.

'What do you want to do, chief?' Roper asked. The solemnity of the moment had wiped the nervous grin from his face.

Terry seemed to snap back to himself. 'Let's take a look.'

Wainwright clapped his hands together, his earlier scepticism evidently forgotten. 'Right, let's see what we've got, shall we?'

A CSI brought a holdall containing mattocks, spades and digging tools into the hollow, dumping it on the grass with a clank. Wainwright unzipped it and took out a spade.

'I'll help,' I said, but I was wasting my time.

'Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary. I'll let you know if I need any assistance.'

He made 'assistance' sound like a snub. The archaeologist had become suddenly proprietorial now that it looked as though we'd found something. If this was a grave I could guess who'd take credit for it.

There was nothing for the rest of us to do but watch as Wainwright used a spade to cut the outline of a narrow rectangle across the mound. Sinking an exploratory trench was a much more effective way of opening up a potential grave than excavating the whole thing at once. It would give us a better idea of what we were dealing with, allowing us to see which way the body was aligned and how deeply it was buried before the real digging started.

Wainwright made it look easy, though I knew from experience it was anything but. The spade's blade chopped into the earth with brisk efficiency, levering out neat slabs of turf.

'Signs of disturbance to the peat,' he grunted. 'There's been something going on here.'

I glanced at Monk. The convict's doll-like eyes were watching without expression. The only sound was the crunch of the spade and a gentle tearing of roots as the last piece of turf was lifted free. Once the covering of grass was removed Wainwright began sinking the trench deeper. The peat was wet and fibrous. He was about a foot down when he suddenly stopped.

'Pass me a trowel.'

The instruction wasn't aimed at anyone, but I was nearest. You aren't doing anything else. I took Wainwright the trowel, standing at the other side of the narrow trench as he squatted down to scrape peat off whatever he'd found.

'What is it? 'Terry asked.

The archaeologist frowned, peering closer. 'I'm not sure. I think it might be…'

'It's bone,' I said.