The Calling Of The Grave dh-4

by Simon Beckett

  My vision was starred as though I'd stood up too quickly, even though I hadn't moved. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

  'You were knee deep in a grave in eastern Europe. What good would that have done? Besides, nothing actually happened.'

  'Jesus! He just came here and…'

  'David, calm down.'

  'Calm down?' I pushed my seat back, unable to keep still any longer. 'What he said about me… It isn't true.'

  Kara stood up and came over. She touched my face. 'I know that. Terry just thinks everyone's like him.'

  'How do you mean?'

  'You must know what he's like. The affairs?'

  'Affairs?' I repeated stupidly.

  She gave me a quizzical smile. 'Seriously? You didn't realize? I don't know why Deborah's stayed with him as long as she has. She told me she gave up hoping he'd be faithful years ago; now she just wants him to be discreet. I got the impression that's why Terry had to transfer out of London. He was having an affair with someone he worked with, and it turned messy.'

  That was news to me. But it explained the tension the last time the four of us had gone out. Even I hadn't been able to miss that.

  'Why didn't you say anything before?' I asked, putting my arms around her.

  'Because it was none of our business, and I didn't want to make things awkward. Not when you had to work with him.'

  Not any more. Kara leaned back to look at my face.

  'Promise me you won't do anything stupid.'

  'Like what?'

  'Like anything. Just let it go. Please? He's not worth wasting time on.' She slid her hands around my lower back. 'And I really don't want to spend any more of your first night back talking about Terry Connors.'

  Neither did I. So we didn't.

  But I couldn't forget about it altogether. Terry had gone to my home intending to seduce my wife. If that wasn't bad enough, he'd tried to make her believe I'd been unfaithful to her. Just thinking about it made me light-headed with anger, but I told myself not to do anything for a few days, to give myself a chance to cool down.

  I lasted until the following afternoon.

  I was easing myself back into work after the Balkans trip and had arranged to finish early anyway. The plan was for me to collect Alice from school, but my fury at Terry had been festering overnight. I stewed over it for a few hours before phoning Kara at the hospital.

  'Sorry about this, but can you pick Alice up later?'

  'I suppose so. Why, has something come up?'

  I was already regretting calling her. Kara's hours were part time and flexible, and she often switched to help out colleagues. But this was our daughter, and I'd only just got back from a trip. I should be focusing on what was important, not charging off to confront someone like Terry Connors.

  'Look, it doesn't matter. Forget it.'

  'No, it's OK. I was only staying for a staff meeting anyway, so I'm glad of the excuse. 'A wariness entered her voice. 'Why, what's happened?'

  'Nothing. Let's keep things-'

  I was about to say 'as they were', but there was a commotion in the background down the line. I heard raised voices and the banging of heavy doors.

  'Sorry, I'm needed,' she said in a rush. 'I'll collect Alice, you can explain why later. Bye.'

  She broke the connection before I could say anything. I lowered the phone, feeling shallow. I made up my mind to call her back later and say I'd pick up Alice after all. I left it half an hour but when I tried her line it was engaged. And already I was starting to think about Terry again, letting a head of anger build up against him. There didn't seem much point in bothering Kara when she was obviously busy, and by now she'd probably made arrangements anyway.

  Instead I phoned Terry.

  I wasn't even sure he'd answer if he saw the call was from me. But he did. His voice sounded as cocksure and breezy as ever. 'David! How're you doing?'

  'I want to see you.'

  His hesitation was only slight. 'Look, I'd love to meet up, but things are a bit hectic right now. I'll give you a call when-'

  'Would you rather I wait for you at your house?'

  I'd no intention of involving his family, but I wasn't going to let him brush me off. This time the pause was longer.

  'Something you want to say?'

  There was, but I wanted to do it in person. 'I can be in Exeter in a few hours. Name a place.'

  'I can save you the trip. I'm still in London. I'll even buy you a pint.' His tone was condescending. 'It'll be just like old times.'

  I willed myself not to lose my temper as I went to meet him. He'd suggested a pub in Soho, and when I walked in I saw why. It was obviously a police watering hole: most of the clientele had the indefinable swagger of off-duty officers. The place was decorated for Christmas, the same faded streamers and baubles they'd obviously been dusting off for years. Terry was at the bar, laughing with a group of men. He excused himself when I went in. The usual smile was on his face, but his eyes were watchful.

  'Want a drink?'

  'No thanks.'

  'Please yourself.' Glass in hand, he propped himself comfortably against a table. 'So. Where's the fire?'

  'Stay away from Kara.'

  'What are you talking about?'

  'You know what I'm talking about. I don't want you at my home again.'

  He was still smiling, but a flush spread up from his neck. 'Whoa, hang on a minute. I don't know what she's said but I didn't know you were away-'

  'Yes, you did. The mass grave was all over the news; it didn't take a genius to work out I'd be over there. That's why you didn't phone first, because then you wouldn't have an excuse to go round.'

  'Look-'

  'You even tried to make her think I'd been seeing somebody else. Why the hell would you do that?'

  I thought something that could have been either guilt or regret showed in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

  He hitched a shoulder in a shrug. 'Why not?'

  'And that's it?'

  'What do you want me to say? Kara's a good-looker. You should be flattered.'

  His grin was mocking. Easy. Don't let him bait you. This was comfortable territory for him. If I lost control he could wipe the floor with me and still have a pub full of friendly witnesses to vouch that I'd started it. I didn't know what I'd done to him, but I no longer cared. And realizing that I also realized something else.

  'Things not going so well, Terry?'

  His eyes narrowed. 'What are you talking about?'

  'That's why you're here, isn't it?' I nodded around the pub. 'Recapturing the glory days. Your reputation must have taken a knock after what happened with Monk.'

  The smile had gone. His expression was ugly. 'I'm doing fine. Just having a few days off.'

  But his eyes gave the lie to that. There had always been something reckless about Terry; that was part of his charm. Now I saw there was something self-destructive as well. He relied on luck and momentum to carry him through: both had let him down and he was lashing out in frustration.

  I just happened to be a convenient target.

  There was no point in staying any longer. Kara had been right: confronting him had accomplished nothing. As I walked out, I heard him saying something to the group at the bar. Their raucous laughter followed me through the door, then it had swung shut behind me and I was back in the street.

  I went straight home. It was too late for me to collect Alice, and I half expected them to be home before me. They weren't, so I began preparing dinner. I was already regretting going to see Terry, berating myself for making Kara do the school run. I resolved to make it up to them both. I'd take them somewhere that weekend, perhaps the zoo for Alice, and then find a babysitter so Kara and I could go out by ourselves in the evening.

  I was so busy planning it that it was a while before I realized how late they were. I called Kara's mobile but there was no answer. Her voicemail didn't cut in, which was unusual. But I didn't have time to worry about it before the do
orbell rang.

  'If this is somebody cold-calling…' I muttered, drying my hands as I went to answer it.

  But it wasn't. Two police officers stood outside. They'd come to tell me that a businessman drunk from an expense-account lunch had lost control of his BMW and hit Kara and Alice's car. It had shunted it in front of a container lorry that had crushed the new Volvo's frame like balsa. My wife and daughter had died at the scene.

  And as quickly as that my old life ended.

  THE PRESENT

  Chapter 8

  I'd just come out of the shower when the doorbell rang. I swore and grabbed my bathrobe. Still towelling my hair, I glanced at the kitchen clock as I hurried into the hall, wondering who would be calling at nine o'clock on a Sunday morning.

  I paused to look through the peephole I'd had installed in the front door. I was expecting to see a pair of polite young men with evangelical eyes and ill-fitting suits, hoping to sell me the dream of everlasting life. But I could only see one man through the distorted bubble of glass. He had turned to gaze at the street, so all I could see of him was his broad shoulders and short dark hair. It was thinning at the crown, exposing a palm-sized patch of scalp that he'd unsuccessfully tried to hide with a comb-over.

  I unlocked the door. I'd been advised by the police to fit a security chain after I'd been attacked the previous year, but I'd never got round to it. Even though the person responsible still hadn't been caught, the peephole seemed paranoid enough.

  I'd take my chances.

  The pewter sky cast a cold light when I opened the door. The lime trees lining the road outside my flat had shed most of their leaves, covering the street with a whispering mat of yellow. Although the October morning was cold and damp the visitor wore a suit without any sort of coat. He turned and gave a thin smile, eyes taking in my bathrobe.

  'Hello, David. Not disturbing you, am I?'

  What struck me afterwards was how ordinary it felt. It was as though we'd only seen each other a few weeks ago, not the eight years it had been.

  Terry Connors hadn't changed. Older, yes; the hairline was higher than it used to be, and the skin of his face held a tired pallor that spoke of long hours spent in cars and offices. There were lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before. But while the good looks were more weathered, the square jawline a little heavier than I recalled, they were still intact. So was the cockiness that was part and parcel of them. He still looked down on the world in a literal and figurative sense: even though he was on the lower step, the muddy eyes were on a level with mine. I saw them flick over me, no doubt taking in changes just as mine were doing. I wondered how different I must look myself after all this time.

  It was only then that the shock of seeing him hit home.

  I had no idea what to say. He glanced back down the street as if it led to the past that lay behind us. I noticed that his left earlobe was missing, as though neatly snipped off with a pair of scissors, and wondered how that had happened. But then I bore scars of my own since the last time I'd seen him.

  'Sorry for turning up unannounced, but I didn't think you should hear it on the news.' He turned back to me, his policeman's eyes unblinking and unapologetic. 'Jerome Monk's escaped.'

  It was a name I hadn't heard in years. I was silent for a moment as it caught up with me, bringing back echoes of the bleak Dartmoor landscape and the odour of peat. Then I stepped back and held open the door.

  'You'd better come in.'

  Terry waited in the sitting room while I went to get dressed. I didn't rush. I stood in the bedroom, my breathing fast and shallow. My fists were clenched into tight balls. Calm down. Hear what he has to say. I pulled my clothes on automatically, fumbling at the buttons. When I realized I was delaying facing him I went back out.

  He was standing by the bookshelf with his back to me, head canted at an angle so he could read the spines. He spoke without turning round.

  'Nice place you've got here. Live by yourself?'

  'Yes.'

  He pulled a book from the shelf and read the title. 'Death's Acre. Not much for light reading, are you?'

  'I don't get much time.' I clamped down on my irritation. Terry always had a knack of getting under my skin. It was part of what had made him such a good policeman. 'Can I get you a tea or coffee?'

  'I'll have a coffee so long as it's not decaf. Black, two sugars.' He replaced the book and followed me to the kitchen, standing in the doorway as I filled the percolator. 'You don't seem very concerned about Monk.'

  'Should I be?'

  'Don't you want to know what happened?'

  'It can wait till I've made the coffee.' I could feel his gaze on me as I put the percolator on the heat. 'How's Deborah?'

  'Thriving since the divorce.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'Don't be. She wasn't. And at least the kids were old enough to decide who they wanted to live with.' The smile crinkled his eyes without warming them. 'I get to see them every other weekend.'

  There wasn't much I could say. 'Are you still in Exeter?'

  'Yeah, still at HQ.'

  'Detective Superintendent yet?'

  'No. Still a DI.' He said it as though daring me to comment.

  'The coffee'll be a few minutes,' I told him. 'We might as well sit down.'

  The kitchen was big enough to double as a dining room. It was more comfortable in the sitting room, but I didn't want Terry in there. It was strange enough having him here as it was.

  He took a seat opposite me. I'd forgotten what a big man he was. He'd obviously kept himself fit, although the signs of encroaching middle age were still there.

  The bald spot must kill him.

  The silence built between us. I knew what was coming next.

  'Lot of water under the bridge.' He was looking at me with an undecipherable expression. 'I always meant to get in touch. After what happened to Kara and Alice.'

  I just nodded. I'd been waiting for the inevitable condolences, in the same way you tense yourself against a blow. Even after all these years the words seemed wrong, as though my wife and daughter's death contravened a fundamental law of the universe.

  I hoped he'd leave it at that, duty done. But he wasn't finished.

  'I was going to write or something, but you know how it is. Then later I heard you'd moved, packed in forensics to be a GP in some Norfolk backwater. So there didn't seem much point any more.'

  There wouldn't have been. Back then I hadn't wanted to see anyone from my old life. Especially Terry.

  'Glad you're back in the traces now, anyway,' he went on, when I didn't say anything. 'I hear on the grapevine that you've been doing some good work. Back at the university forensic department, aren't you?'

  'For the time being.' I didn't want to talk about it. Not to him. 'When did Monk escape?'

  'Last night. It'll be on the lunchtime news. Bloody press is going to have a field day.' His expression matched the sourness in his voice. Terry had never liked journalists, and that much clearly hadn't changed.

  'What happened?'

  'He had a heart attack.' He gave a humourless grin. 'Wouldn't think a bastard like that had one, would you? But he managed to convince the doctors at Belmarsh to transfer him to a civilian hospital. Halfway there he broke his restraints, beat the shit out of the guards and ambulance driver and disappeared.'

  'So it was staged?'

  Terry shrugged. 'Nobody knows yet. He had all the symptoms. Blood pressure sky high, erratic heartbeat, the works. So either he faked them somehow, or it was real and he escaped anyway.'

  Ordinarily, I'd have said both were impossible. A high-security prison like Belmarsh would have a well-equipped hospital wing, with blood pressure and ECG monitors. Any prisoner displaying cardiac symptoms bad enough to be considered an emergency wouldn't be in any condition to escape: the attempt alone would probably kill them. But this wasn't an ordinary person we were talking about.

  This was Jerome Monk.

  The percolator had started to bubble
. Glad of something to do, I got up and poured the steaming coffee into two mugs. 'I thought Monk was at Dartmoor, not Belmarsh.'

  'He was, until the bleeding hearts decided Dartmoor was too "inhumane" and downgraded it from a Category A to C a few years ago. After that he was shuffled round to a couple of other maximumsecurity prisons before Belmarsh drew the short straw. Hasn't mellowed him, by all accounts. He beat another inmate to death a few months back, and put two wardens in hospital when they tried to pull him off.' He raised his eyebrows at me. 'Surprised you didn't hear about it.'

  It might have been an innocent comment, but I doubted it. I'd been in the US earlier that year, and before that I'd been recovering from a knife attack and hadn't been paying much attention to the news. It was impossible to tell if Terry knew about that, but something told me he did. It was like him to probe for a response, just for the sake of it.

  Keeping my face neutral, I spooned sugar into one of the mugs and handed it to him. 'Why are you telling me all this?'

  Terry took the coffee from me without thanks. 'Just a precaution. We're warning everyone Monk might have a grudge against.'

  'And you think that applies to me? I doubt he even remembers who I am.'

  'Let's hope you're right. But I wouldn't like to predict what Monk's going to do now he's escaped. You know as well as I do what he's capable of.'

  There was no denying that. I'd examined one of his victims myself, seen first hand the savage damage Monk had inflicted on a teenage girl. Even so, I still couldn't see that I was in any danger.

  'We're talking about something that happened eight years ago,' I said. 'It isn't as if I had anything to do with Monk's conviction, only the search operation afterwards. You can't seriously think he'll care about that?'

  'You were still part of the police team, and Monk's not one to discriminate. Or forgive. And you were there at the end, when everything went pear-shaped. You can't have forgotten that!