The Calling Of The Grave

'All right. But first thing tomorrow-'

'Over here.'

The shout came from Lucas. While the dog had been struggling through the mud, the search advisor had wandered off by himself. He stood on a low hummock, looking down at something on its far side. Simms' Wellingtons slapped against his legs as he went over, leaving the rest of us to follow.

The ground dropped away behind the hummock, so that it was lower than it first appeared. The concealed side was camouflaged with scrubby gorse, except for where rocks broke through the vegetation on the slope like the scalp of a bald man.

Caught in the angle where several rocks leaned against each other was a sheer black hole less than a metre across.

'Christ, is that a cave?' Naysmith asked.

Lucas was studying his map. 'There aren't any caves on this part of the moor. They're all in the limestone further out, like the ones at Buckfastleigh. It's all granite round here.' He folded up the map. 'No, it's an adit.'

'A what?' Simms demanded.

'An old mine entrance. This used to be tin-mining country until about a hundred years ago. Small-scale stuff, mainly. Most of the tunnels were filled in or sealed off, but not all of them. Some are still there.'

I thought about the grassed-over waterwheel and mine workings near the turn-off for Black Tor. It was just another part of the moor's landscape. I'd driven past it any number of times without really noticing it.

Or given a thought to what might lie below the surface.

Naysmith bent over the opening. 'Looks deep. Anyone got a torch?' There were mutterings and exchanged glances. 'Oh, for Christ's sake, somebody must have brought one!'

'I've got this.' A CID officer sheepishly offered a small penlight.

Naysmith shook his head in disgust as he took it. He shone it into the opening and peered inside. His voice sounded hollow.

'Can't see much. Goes back a long way.'

'Get the dog over here,' Simms said.

The handler was tight-lipped as he brought the German shepherd forward. Its coat was black with mud and steam curled from its lolling tongue, but it had recovered from the ammonia. When it neared the opening its ears abruptly snapped up. It snuffled intently at the rocks, then lurched towards the open hole. Its paws scrabbled as the handler hauled it back.

'OK, good boy.' He fussed and patted it as he looked up at Simms. 'No two ways about it. Either he came out of here or he went down. Or both.'

There was a silence as that sank in. It was Roper who spoke first. 'Well, now we know why Monk wanted to come out here eight years ago. And why he's so hard to find.' The DI's prominent teeth were bared in a grin that was almost a snarl. 'The bastard's gone to ground.'

Chapter 20

The lights were on in Sophie’s house when I pulled up in the lane. I switched off the car engine and sat in the darkness, enjoying the few moments of peace. The rain had all but stopped while I'd been driving, but puddles still gathered on the roads, sluicing up a steady spray from the tyres.

I put my head back against the seat rest, taking a moment to savour the quiet before I went inside. I'd had no choice but to come back. For one thing my bag was still here: after hearing about the murder I hadn't taken it when we'd rushed off to Sharkham Point. But I wanted to check on Sophie anyway: I hadn't had a chance to speak to her since we'd split up at Wainwright's.

A lot had happened since then.

Lucas had told me more about the mines as we'd walked back to the cars. Naysmith had stationed two police officers at the adit in case Monk resurfaced there, although that wasn't likely. The remains of old tin mines could be found across Dartmoor. Not all the tunnels had survived, and those that had weren't always safe even for cavers to go down. The more accessible entrances were sealed behind locked gates and steel bars, but adits like the one we'd found still existed on the moor, overgrown and all but invisible unless you knew what to look for.

Monk obviously did.

'We knew about the mines, but they weren't considered a serious option,' Lucas told me. 'Monk was a loner who spent a lot of time on the moor, but as far as we knew he didn't have any caving experience. And believe me those mines are scary places. You don't want to go down them unless you know what you're doing.'

'So they weren't checked at all?'

'Only enough to rule them out. The bigger ones were searched after the girls went missing, in case Monk had dumped the bodies in them. But we didn't go very far down, and after that we just had dogs sniff around the main entrances. We didn't find anything, so that was that. 'The search advisor puffed out his cheeks. 'If Monk's been using them Christ knows where he is. Some of those mines are a couple of hundred years old, and I'd bet not all the old adits will be shown on maps. Monk could go down one hole and surface God knows where.'

That was an unsettling thought. 'Are there any mines near Padbury?'

'Padbury?'

'That's where Sophie lives.'

'Let's take a look, shall we?' Lucas unfolded his map, stubby finger tracing a path as he consulted it. 'Nothing nearby. The closest would be Cutter's Wheal Mine, about three miles away, but that's sealed off.'

I was glad of that much, at least. Locking the car, I pushed open the creaking gate and walked up the path to the house. After the rain the air was earthy and fresh, scented with wet grass. The light from the windows made the nearby kiln seem darker by comparison. I paused outside the front door, took a deep breath and then knocked.

Nothing happened for a while, but just when I was about to try again I heard the bolts being shot inside. The door opened on its newly fitted chain and Sophie looked out at me from the gap. She didn't say anything. The door closed in my face, then there was a rattle as the chain was unfastened and it was opened again.

Without a word, she went back down the hallway. I heard the sound of vegetables being chopped as I closed and bolted the door. Doesn't look good. I pulled off my muddy boots and hung up my coat, then followed her into the kitchen.

She had her back to me, thick hair screening her face. The knife thumped on to the chopping board.

'Roper said someone would bring you home,' I said.

Sophie answered without turning round. 'They did. About two hours ago.'

'How did it go? Your statement.'

'As you'd expect.'

The line of her back was stiff and uncompromising. She scraped the sliced carrots into a pan and began cutting potatoes.

I took a deep breath. 'Look, I'm sorry. I told Simms about your letters to Monk. I didn't have any choice.'

'I know.'

She said it indifferently; I'd been steeling myself for more than that. 'I wasn't sure how you'd feel.'

'I told them myself. I'm not a complete idiot, I know I couldn't keep it a secret. I even printed them copies from the computer.'

'So you're OK about it?'

'Why shouldn't I be? It isn't against the law to write to someone. Even Monk.'

She didn't turn to look at me. The knife sliced up and down, a staccato rapping on the board.

'So what's wrong?'

'What's wrong?' She slammed down the knife. 'They took me away like a – a criminal! No one would tell me anything! I didn't even know you'd gone until some hatchet-faced policewoman said she was bringing me home. I felt useless!'

'I'm sorry.'

She sighed and shook her head. 'Oh, I know it isn't your fault. First there was the shock of Wainwright being murdered, and then… then I had the door closed in my face. It's the first time it's really been brought home to me that I'm not a BIA any more, I'm just a civilian. I hated being left out! But I shouldn't take it out on you.'

'Don't worry about it. It's been a rough day for everyone.'

'That's no excuse.' She put her hand on my arm, and suddenly there was a tension between us. It broke when Sophie lowered her hand, turning quickly back to the worktop. 'So what happened after I'd gone?'