Something smooth and pale was visible in the dark mulch. There wasn't much of it showing, but I'd cut my teeth differentiating between the smoothly ossified texture of bone and stones or tree roots.
'Human?' Sophie asked.
'I can't see enough to say yet.'
'Certainly bone, though,' Wainwright said, his voice betraying his displeasure at my interruption. The scratch of the trowel filled the hollow as he began digging away at the surrounding peat. Everyone's attention was fixed on the archaeologist. Sophie hugged herself anxiously. Terry stood with his shoulders bunched, hands jammed deep in his pockets as though to brace himself, while just behind him Roper gnawed his lip. Only Monk seemed unconcerned. He wasn't even bothering to watch, I saw, big head twisted to look back over the moor behind him.
Then Wainwright spoke again. 'There's some sort of fabric here. Clothing, perhaps. No, wait, I think it…' He bent closer, obscuring whatever he'd found. Abruptly, the tension seemed to leave him. 'It's fur.'
'Fur?' Terry hurried forward to see for himself.
Wainwright was gouging the peat away now with savage strokes. 'Yes, fur! It's a bloody animal.'
The bone he'd uncovered was revealed as part of a broken pelvis, jutting through a bristly pelt that was coated with peat.
'What is it, a fox?'
'A badger.' Wainwright tugged a muddy paw free of the ooze, the dirt-clogged claws curved for digging. He let it drop. 'Congratulations, Miss Keller. You've Winthropped your way to an old badger sett.'
For once Sophie had no response. She looked as though she wanted to crawl into the hole herself as everyone moved closer for a better look. The badger was badly mangled, broken bones visible through the matted bristles.
'We had to make sure,' I said, annoyed. 'It could have been a grave for all we knew.'
Wainwright gave a wintry smile. 'Neither Miss Keller nor you are forensic archaeologists, Dr Hunter. Perhaps in future you'll-'
I didn't see what happened next, only heard the sudden commotion. Someone cried out behind us and I looked round to see both prison guards and a policeman on the ground.
Beyond them, Monk was running from the hollow.
He'd waited for his moment, when everyone's attention was distracted. The convict didn't so much as pause as another officer lunged for him. He charged right through the man, knocking him aside as though he'd been hit by a bull.
Then there was nothing in front of Monk but open moor.
'Get after him!' Terry yelled, breaking into a sprint.
Brute force and surprise had given Monk a few yards' lead but it was never going to be enough. The air rang with curses as heavy boots pounded after him. Then he jinked and changed direction, and suddenly the men who'd been about to catch him found themselves splashing through a grassy bog. Within seconds they were floundering to a halt as the soft mud sucked and dragged at their feet.
Monk barely slowed. The clumsiness that had led to his handcuffs being removed had vanished. He ran without hesitation, finding solid ground that looked indistinguishable from the bog around it I realized now why he'd been looking back at the moor instead of watching Wainwright.
He'd been planning his route.
'Use the dog! Use the bloody dog!' Terry shouted, trying to detour round the mire.
The handler didn't need any prompting. As soon as he'd released it the German shepherd streaked over the moor towards Monk. Either luck or its lighter weight helped it through the mud, and in seconds it had closed the distance between them. I saw Monk's pale face glance back at it, losing yet more ground as he slowed to shuck out of his coat. What the hell is he doing?
A moment later I understood: as the dog caught up he spun round, thrusting out a forearm wrapped in the coat. He took a step back under its weight as the animal leapt at him, its jaws clamping on to the thick padding. Bracing himself, he slapped his other hand on to the back of its neck and heaved. There was a shrill yelp that suddenly cut off, then Monk flung the dog's limp body aside and carried on running.
The stunned silence was broken by a cry as the German shepherd's handler began sprinting towards the dog's unmoving form.
'Jesus Christ!' Roper breathed. He scrabbled for his radio. 'Get the chopper in the air! Don't ask fucking questions, just do it!'
Monk was going flat out, hammering across the uneven moorland as easily as if he were in a park. Most of the police were still struggling through the bog, but Terry had managed to bypass the worst of it. And the dog had cost Monk his lead. From the top of the hollow where I'd gone to help the injured men, I felt my breath quicken as I saw that Terry was going to catch him.
Sophie's hands had gone to her mouth. 'He's going to get killed!'
She was right. Terry could handle himself against most men, but we'd just seen Monk snap the neck of a police dog.
But so had Terry. He launched himself at the convict's legs in a rugby tackle, hitting him just below the knees. Monk fell as if he'd been poleaxed, crashing to the ground with Terry's arms still wrapped around his legs. It didn't even seem to wind him. He twisted round and began clubbing wildly at the man clinging to his legs, trying to reach him. Terry ducked his head into his shoulders and held on. Then one of the punches connected, and Terry jerked and let go. Monk kicked himself free and scrambled on to his knees, but that was as far as he got before a mud-spattered policeman rammed into him, bowling him away from where Terry sprawled on the ground. Another launched himself on to them, and then uniforms were swarming over the convict like ants over a wasp.
'Come on then, bastards!'
Batons rose and fell as Monk lashed out, knocking his attackers away. But sheer weight of numbers carried him to the ground. He regained his feet once, surging up again before a baton cut his legs from under him. Face down, he struggled to rise as his arms were wrenched behind his back. Before he could free himself he'd been handcuffed and it was over.
He howled like a wounded animal as the police pinned him down and fastened restraints round his ankles. Then they stood back while he thrashed on the ground, raging and helpless. Some of them had gone to attend to Terry. He was on his hands and knees, still dazed. As we watched he shrugged off the attempts to help him and stood up by himself. We were too far away to hear what he said, but he must have made some quip. A burst of laughter came from the men around him, raucous and slightly hysterical.
Sophie sagged against me. 'Oh, God.'
I put my arm around her automatically. Both prison guards and the policeman Monk had knocked down to escape were back on their feet. The older guard had blood smeared down his face from a broken nose but he was able to walk. Pale and shaking, he tilted his head back, staunching the blood with the tissues I'd given him. Of the two guards he'd been the more humane towards Monk. It hadn't done him any good.
Monk's solicitor had been conspicuously silent, but seemed to feel obliged to speak as we hurried over to Terry and the other officers.
'You realize this marks a failing of the police force's duty of care to my client,' he panted to Roper, briefcase tucked under his arm as he struggled to keep up. 'He should never have been allowed to escape. I intend to lodge a formal complaint about the whole handling of this exercise.'
'Please yourself,' Roper said.
Dobbs took his indifference as encouragement. 'And as for justifiable force… The way he was subdued was completely excessive, a textbook example of police brutality.'
Roper turned to him, baring his rat's teeth in a feral grin. 'If you don't shut up I'm going to shove that briefcase up your arse.'
The solicitor was silent after that.
The police officers around Monk all bore the scars of their encounter. Smeared in mud from the bog, there wasn't one of them who wasn't bleeding or nursing some injury. Terry himself had a grazed lump the size of an egg on his forehead, but wasn't badly hurt. He seemed pumped up by what had happened, adrenalin giving him a manic edge.