The Calling of the Grave
anything.
        'You've
been to interview him? Why wasn't I told?'
        'Take
it up with Simms,' he shot back.
        Sophie
was furious. 'I still can't believe you questioned him without consulting me
first! Why bring a BIA in and then not use them? That's just stupid
        I
tried not to wince. Tact obviously wasn't her strong point. Terry's face
darkened.
        'I'm sure
the SIO'll love to hear how stupid he's been.'
        'You
said you'd got news?' I said, trying to head off the row.
        Terry
gave Sophie a final glare before turning to me. 'Monk claims he can't remember
who he buried where, but he's agreed to cooperate.'
        'Cooperate
how?'
        Terry
hesitated, as though he didn't entirely believe it himself. 'He's going to take
us to the other graves.'
    ----
        

Chapter 4
        
        The
prison van bumped along the narrow road. Police cars and motorbikes flanked it
front and back, blue lights flashing. The procession made its way past the
grassed-over ruins of an old waterwheel, one of the remnants of the tin mines
Wainwright had told me about, and pulled up near where a helicopter stood on a
patch of clear moor, its rotors turning idly. The doors of the police cars
opened and armed officers climbed out, the snub shapes of their guns gleaming
dully in the early morning drizzle. Now the front doors of the prison van
opened as well. Two guards climbed out and went to the rear. The clusters of
uniforms there obscured what they were doing, but a moment later the doors
swung open.
        A man
stepped out of the back. The police and prison guards quickly formed a tight
cordon around him, screening him from clear view. But the big, shaved head was
clearly visible, standing out like a white football in the centre of the
encircling figures. He was bustled across the moorland to the waiting
helicopter, hunched over as the two guards hurried him beneath the whirling
rotor blades. He climbed into the cabin clumsily, as though unused to the
exercise. As he pulled himself up he slipped, going down on one knee. Hands
reached out from inside the helicopter, grabbing his arm to steady him. For a
second he could be fully seen, shapeless and doughy inside the prison-issue
jacket.
        Then
he was inside. One of the guards followed him aboard and the door slammed shut.
The rotors picked up speed as the other guard retreated back towards the prison
van, clutching his hat to his head as the downdraught from the blades rippled
the grass. The helicopter lifted from the ground, tilting slightly as it
turned, and then it was angling away across the moor, shrinking until it was
little more than a black speck against the grey sky.
        Terry
lowered the binoculars as the sound of its rotors diminished. 'Well, what did
you think?'
        I shrugged,
hands stuck deep into the pockets of my coat. My breath steamed in the fine
drizzle. 'Fine, apart from when he slipped. Where did you find him?'
        'The
double? He's some slaphead PC from HQ. Nothing like Monk when you see him up
close, but he's the best we could do.' Terry gnawed at his lip. 'The guns were
my idea.'
        'I
wondered about that.'
        He
gave me a look. 'What's that supposed to mean?'
        'It
seems a lot of trouble to go to, that's all.'
        'That's
the price of a free press. This way they get something to photograph and we can
get on with the job without the bastards getting in the way.'
        I
couldn't blame him for sounding disgruntled. Even though it was supposedly a
secret, word had inevitably leaked out about Monk's involvement in the search.
Keeping the press off open moorland would have been impossible, so the decoy
would distract their attention while the real business was under way. Finding a
grave out here would be hard enough without journalists trampling all over the
moor.
        'Looks
like something's happening,' Terry said, staring through the binoculars.
        About
a mile away

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