The Calling Of The Grave

Then we were passing a signpost for Sharkham Point. Not far ahead of it we could see a fairground strobing of blue lights on the road.

Sophie's hand went to her throat. 'Oh, God. Is that Wainwright's house?'

A heaviness settled in my stomach. 'Yes.'

A cordon of police tape stretched across the road, fluttering in the wind. Beyond it police cars and trailers were parked on either side of the gates, along with a few press and TV vans. An ambulance was on the driveway outside the house, but the absence of flashing lights or sirens testified that there was no longer any urgency.

I parked a little way before the cordon. 'What should we do?' Sophie asked. Her usual confidence seemed to have abandoned her.

'We've come this far. No point going back now,' I said, and climbed out of the car.

There was a stiff wind blowing from cliffs overlooking the sea. It carried a faint hint of saline, tainted by exhaust fumes. I could hear the chug of a generator from somewhere nearby. A policeman in a bright yellow reflective jacket moved to block us as we approached.

'The road's closed.'

'I know. My name's David Hunter. Is DI Connors here?' I asked.

He regarded us for a few seconds, then spoke into his radio. 'Got a David Hunter here, asking for…'

'DI Terry Connors,' I said as he looked at me for confirmation.

He repeated it and waited. The pause seemed to go on a long time, then there was a crackling voice. He lowered the radio.

'Sorry.'

Sophie spoke up before I could say anything. 'Does that mean he isn't here or he won't see us?'

The policeman regarded her stonily. 'It means you're going to have to leave.'

'Who's dead? Is it Professor Wainwright or his wife?'

'Are you relatives?'

'No, but-'

'Then you can read about it in the papers. Now, last time: go back to your car.'

'Come on, Sophie,' I said, taking hold of her arm. I knew the police well enough to know we weren't going to get anywhere like this.

She pulled free, facing up to the PC. 'I'm not going anywhere until I know what's happened.'

I'm not sure how it would have gone, but at that moment there was a flurry of activity from the house. A group of police officers came down the driveway. At their head was a man whose smart uniform and peaked cap marked him as police hierarchy. The uniform was new, and the hair and moustache were more grey. But the chipped ice of the eyes was the same, and the bland, unlined features hardly seemed to have aged.

Simms didn't so much, as glance in our direction as he strode towards an unmarked black BMW, but someone else did. One of his entourage was staring at us: middle-aged, overweight and balding. It was only when I saw the prominent teeth that I realized it was Roper.

He hurried over and spoke to his superior. Simms stopped, his pale eyes turning to us. Now for it, I thought as they came over, Roper trailing behind like a pet dog.

The PC who'd stopped us stood rigidly to attention. 'Sir, I was just-'

Simms paid him no attention. His eyes touched on Sophie without interest or recognition before pinning me again. There had always been an aura of arrogance about him, but it was more pronounced now. His insignia identified him as an Assistant Chief Constable, a rank few CID officers ever made. I wasn't surprised. If ever a man had been born to wear a uniform, it was Simms.

Roper also seemed to have prospered. The crumpled suits had been replaced with well-tailored clothes and the nicotine-stained teeth had been artificially whitened. He'd put on weight, too, at least from the waist up. While the DC's upper body had the paunchy, well- fed look of a man who took his food and drink seriously, his low-slung trousers still flapped loosely around skittle-thin legs.

Neither of them seemed pleased to see us. Simms had a pair of black leather gloves clenched in one hand, tapping them impatiently against his thigh.

'Dr Hunter, isn't it?' he said. 'May I ask what you're doing here?'

Sophie didn't give me a chance to answer. 'What happened? Who's been killed?'

Simms regarded her for a beat, then pointedly turned to me again. 'I asked what you were doing here.'

'We heard about the murder and wanted to find out if Professor Wainwright and his wife were involved.'

'And that concerned you how, exactly?'

ACC or not, his attitude was beginning to rankle. 'Because I thought Jerome Monk might have killed them.'

Roper glanced uneasily at Simms. The ACC's expression didn't change but his eyes were glacial.

'Let him through,' he told the PC.

I hid my surprise and ducked under the tape. Sophie moved to do the same.

'Just Dr Hunter,' Simms said.

The PC stepped in front of her. 'Oh, come on!' Sophie protested.

'Dr Hunter's a police consultant.' Simms gaze lingered dispassionately on her bruised cheek. 'As far as I'm aware you no longer are.'

Sophie drew herself up to argue. 'I'll see you back at the car,' I said quickly, knowing Simms wouldn't change his mind. She shot me a furious look, then snatched the keys off me and strode back down the road.

Simms was already heading towards the house, polished black shoes crunching on the gravel driveway. Roper fell into step beside me. The wind plucked at his thinning hair. He still used too much aftershave, but like everything else about him it was more expensive now.

'Turning into quite a reunion, isn't it?' His grin was almost a nervous tick. He motioned with his head back at Sophie. 'Not happy, is she? What happened to her face?'

I was surprised he didn't know. But then I'd no idea if he and Terry still worked together. 'Someone broke into her house and attacked her.'

'She needs better locks. When was this?'

'Four days ago.'

The grin left his face as he made the connection: four days made it right after Monk's escape. 'Did they get who did it?'

I'd all but forgotten Terry's warning – or threat – that I might be a suspect myself. It wasn't a comfortable thought. 'Not yet. She can't remember much about what happened.'

'Was she raped?'

'No.'

'Anything stolen?'

'No.'

Roper gave a huff of amusement. 'Bloody lucky, eh?'

I changed the subject. 'When did Simms make ACC?'

'Must be… oh, four or five years ago now. Around the same time I made DI.'

He gave me a little sideways look as he said it. Roper? A detective inspector? I wouldn't have thought he'd have made detective sergeant. Hitching his wagon to Simms' star obviously hadn't done his career any harm.

'Congratulations,' I said. 'Who's SIO here?'

'Steve Naysmith. He's a bit of a highflier, only made Detective Chief Super last year.' Roper's tone made it clear he didn't approve. I took that as a point in Naysmith s favour. 'But the ACC's taking a very personal interest. The SIO's got to run everything by him.'

Naysmith must love that. But then Simms had known Wainwright well. He wasn't about to sit this one out.

Especially if Monk was the main suspect.

Simms had stopped by the entrance to the house, where a trestle table had been set up with boxes of protective gear.

'I wasn't anticipating having to do this again,' he said irritably, tearing open a sealed packet of overalls. 'I don't have long to spare. I have a press conference soon.'

Some things don't change. I didn't know why Simms was doing this, but I doubted it was just for my benefit. As he struggled into the overalls I thought he looked even less comfortable in them now than he had eight years ago, and suddenly I realized why. The smooth features were so bland that it was only his clothes that gave them character. The white, all-in-one suits robbed him of that, making him look peculiarly unfinished.

'Need me for anything else, sir?' Roper asked.