The Calling Of The Grave

But then he probably never expected her body to be found.

I'd been able to add little to what we already knew. Tina Williams had suffered horrific blunt trauma injuries. Most of her ribs and the clavicle had simple fractures caused by a swift downward force, as did the metacarpals and phalanges of both hands. Although her face had LeFort fractures, formed when force from an impact dissipates along certain buttressing areas of the cranium, the rear of her skull was intact. That suggested she'd been lying face up on soft ground when the injuries had been inflicted.

Yet she seemed to have made no attempt to defend herself. Typically, when the forearm is raised to block a blow, it's the ulna that takes the brunt of the force, causing a wedge-shaped break called a 'parry fracture'. Here the ulnae and radii in both forearms had a combination of simple and more complex, comminuted fractures. That pointed to one of two scenarios. Either Tina Williams was already dead or unconscious during the attack, or she'd been trussed and helpless while Monk broke most of the bones in her body.

I hoped for her sake it was the former.

It was hard to say what had caused the injuries, but I thought I could guess. While Monk was powerful enough to have inflicted many of them with his bare hands, the frontal bone of Tina Williams' skull – her forehead – bore a distinctive curved fracture. It was too big to have been caused by a hammer, which would in any case more than likely have punched straight through. It looked to me like something that might have been caused by a shoe or boot heel.

She'd been stamped on.

I'd worked on any number of violent deaths, but the image conjured up by that was especially disturbing. And now I was about to come face to face with the man who was responsible.

The sound of the helicopter rotors had all but disappeared as Terry and I went back to the small township of police trailers, cars and vans that had now sprung into life around the moorland track. The constant traffic was churning the moor into a quagmire. Duckboards had been set down as temporary walkways, but black mud oozed up through their slats, making them treacherously slippery.

I hadn't expected to be here more than a few days, but the convict's surprise offer to show us where Zoe and Lindsey Bennett were buried had changed all that. While Wainwright would remain in charge of any excavation, Terry had told me Simms wanted me on hand when – if – any more bodies were found.

'Are you nervous? About meeting Monk, I mean?' Kara had asked the night before.

'No, of course not.' I had to admit I was more curious than anything. 'It isn't every day you get to meet someone like him.'

'So long as you don't get too close.'

'I don't think there's much danger of that. We're all supposed to keep our distance. Besides, I'll be the one hiding behind the police.'

'I hope so.' Kara didn't laugh. 'How's Terry?'

'He's OK, I suppose. Why?'

'I called Deborah last night. I haven't spoken to her in ages, so I thought I'd see how she was. She sounded funny.'

'Funny how?'

'I don't know. Distracted. Down. She didn't want to talk. I wondered if everything was OK between them.'

Terry wouldn't have told me even if it wasn't. We'd never had that sort of relationship. 'I haven't had much chance to speak to him. He's under a lot of pressure, though. Perhaps it's just that.'

'Perhaps,' Kara said.

Whatever might be going on in Terry's home life, the strain of this operation was beginning to tell. He had an intense, overwound look about him that spoke of too little sleep and too much caffeine. It was hardly surprising, since as far as I could tell Simms was delegating everything to his deputy. Except for press conferences, which he insisted on doing himself. He'd claimed the glory for identifying Tina Williams, and it seemed that every time I turned on the news I saw his wax-like features holding forth in front of flashing cameras and microphones. There was one quote from him which had been aired repeatedly:

'The man responsible for the deaths of Angela Carson, Tina Williams, and Zoe and Lindsey Bennett might be behind bars, but this investigation isn't over. I won't rest until all of Jerome Monk's victims have been found and returned to their families.'

It was suspiciously similar to what Simms had said in the forensic tent on the first day I wondered if he'd been trying out potential soundbites even then. And while his superior courted the cameras and became the public face of the investigation, Terry was left to carry the brunt of the search operation himself. He'd been no stranger to high-profile cases while he'd been at the Met, but nothing like this.

I hoped he was up to it.

He glanced nervously at his watch yet again as we clattered along the boards. 'Everything OK?' I asked.

'Why shouldn't it be? We've got one of the most dangerous men in the country about to be let loose and I've still no idea why the bastard's suddenly decided to cooperate. Yeah, everything's fucking great.'

I looked at him. He scowled, passing his hand over his face.

'Sorry. I just keep going over all the preparations, trying to make sure we've not overlooked anything.'

'You don't think he's serious about showing us where the graves are?'

'Christ knows. I'd feel happier if… Ah, screw it. We'll soon find out.' He stiffened as he looked ahead of us. 'Oh, great.'

Sophie Keller had emerged from the trailer serving as a mobile canteen, carrying a polystyrene container of steaming coffee. Bundled up in bulky overalls, the BIA looked like a young girl dressed in her father's workclothes. The thick hair was tied back with a no-nonsense band, the drizzle misting it with fine silver beads. A middle-aged man I didn't recognize was with her, stocky and pleasant-faced. She'd been nodding at something he said, but a coolness crossed her features when she saw Terry.

The two of them had made little secret of their dislike for each other. Whether it stemmed from something that had occurred on a previous investigation or was simply bad chemistry, they were textbook cat and dog. Terry's face hardened into cold planes as we approached.

Sophie ignored him as she gave me a warm smile, resting a hand lightly on my arm. 'Hi, David. Have you met Jim Lucas?'

'Jim's our POLSA,' Terry said, blanking her in return. 'He's been trying to keep some order in this three-ring circus.'

The police search advisor's handshake was just the right side of bone-breaking. His thick grey hair looked like a wire pan scourer. 'Pleased to meet you, Dr Hunter. Ready for the big day?'

'I'll tell you later.'

'Wise man. Still, not every clay someone like Jerome Monk decides to work on the side of the angels, is it?'

'If that's what he's doing,' Sophie said, looking at Terry. 'I'd have a better idea if I'd been allowed access to him.'

Here we go again, I thought as Terry's jaw muscles bunched. 'We've already been through this. You get to accompany the team with Monk, but there's to be no direct contact. If you don't like it, take it up with Simms.'

'He won't return my calls.'

'I wonder why.'

'But it's ridiculous! I could assess Monk's state of mind, gauge if his change of heart is genuine, but instead-'

'The decision's been made. Monk's not talking to anyone, and for the time being the priority's getting him to show us the other graves.'

'You mean Simms' priority.'

'I mean the priority of this investigation, and last time I checked you were a part of it. You want that to change, then say the word!'

The cords on Terry's neck stood out as they glared at each other. Lucas looked as uncomfortable as I felt. It was a relief when Roper came over. The DCs gaze flicked between Terry and Sophie, missing nothing.

'What?' Terry snapped.

'Just had the transport on the line. They'll be here in ten minutes.'