The Calling Of The Grave dh-4

by Simon Beckett

  I couldn't bear to even think about that.

  I put my head on my knees, wrapping my arms round them to hug what little heat I could to myself. The cold ached into my bones, but I hardly cared. There was no way of even knowing how long I'd been down there. I couldn't see my watch face, and in the dark I'd lost all track of time.

  Huddled and shivering, I strained to hear anything that might indicate help was on its way. Once I thought I did: the echo of a faroff clatter drifted through the cavern. I shouted into the blackness until I was hoarse and my throat hurt. But when I stopped to listen the only sound was the fluid ripple of unseen water.

  Feeling as useless as I'd ever been in my life, I closed my eyes and tried to rest.

  At some point I must have dozed. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but I was aching and exhausted. Without being aware of it, I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  And then, suddenly, I was awake. For a few seconds I had no idea where I was. Panicking, I narrowly avoided banging my head on the low rock as I started to lurch to my feet. I lowered myself back down on to the cold rock as the bleakness of the situation sank in. My legs had cramped. I stretched out first one, then the other, massaging the muscles to ease them.

  That was when I heard the noise.

  It sounded like the far-off skitter of a falling rock. I froze, listening. After a moment it came again, and this time it didn't stop. It grew louder, the unmistakable echoing scrape of someone's approach.

  'In here!' I yelled. 'I'm in here!'

  The cramp was forgotten as I stared into the darkness, relief and adrenalin making my heart thump. It seemed to take a long time before a light appeared in the blackness.

  Thank God. 'Over here!'

  The light began to move in my direction, the dancing yellow beam of a torch. It was only as it grew larger that I realized it was coming from the wrong direction. Whoever this was they were approaching from the far side of the cavern, not the opening from the mine. And there was only a single light instead of the massed torches of a rescue party.

  The shout died in my throat. A sick resignation spread through me as the torch came closer. Beyond the glare I could make out a bulky figure and the pale dome of a bald head, stooped and hunched beneath the bellying rock. It stopped a few feet away. I smelled something rank and animal.

  Monk lowered the torch. The filthy combat jacket looked too small across the massive shoulders and arms. The button eyes regarded me as his chest rose and fell, each breath accompanied by a low wheeze.

  'Get up.'

  The cave system was an underground maze, but Monk seemed to know exactly where he was going. He squeezed through narrow crevices, crawled along water-dripping passages that bent and wormed their way through the rock. He didn't hesitate, slithering through gaps I would never have dared risk by myself. But despite his size he never once got caught or stuck. On the surface he might be a freak; here, in the subterranean tunnels, he seemed in his element.

  After that single, terse instruction he hadn't spoken again. Ignoring my frantic questions about Sophie, he'd simply turned and headed back the way he had come, as though he didn't care if I followed or not. Bewildered, I stayed where I was. It was only as the shadows flowed back into the cavern, rushing to fill the vacuum left by the receding torch, that I forced myself to move.

  Monk never so much as glanced round, though he must have heard me. I felt utterly lost. None of this made sense, not the fact that he'd come back nor why – or where – he was leading me. The thought of going deeper into the caves appalled me, yet what else could I do? He could have killed me already if that was all he wanted.

  And I had to find Sophie.

  The passage we were in abruptly opened into a space large enough to stand. Monk started across without pausing. I took the opportunity to catch up.

  'Where is she?' I panted.

  He didn't answer. He was obviously feeling the exertion, each breath a thick, wet rattle, but he didn't slow. When I grabbed hold of his arm it felt like a piece of teak under the oily cloth.

  'What have you done with her? Is she hurt?'

  He jerked his arm free. He didn't seem to put any effort into it, but I was yanked off my feet. I sprawled on my hands and knees on the rock, hard enough to skin them.

  'Shut the fuck up.'

  His voice was a hoarse rumble. He turned to carry on, but doubled up as a coughing fit seized him. He leaned against the rock face, huge shoulders shaking from the violence of the spasm. It sounded as though his lungs were full of fluid as he spat a gob of phlegm on to the floor. Breathing heavily, he passed a hand across his mouth before continuing on as though nothing had happened.

  After a moment I went after him. But I was thinking now about the ragged breathing I'd heard over the phone, and the sputum the police had found at Wainwright's house. Everyone had assumed that was a gesture of contempt, but I was no longer so sure.

  Monk was ill.

  Not that it made him any less dangerous, or slowed him down. I had to push myself to keep up, knowing that if I didn't I'd be left stranded. All I could do was fix my eyes on Monk's broad back, silhouetted by the torch beam, and trust that there was some purpose to this.

  I'd been trailing behind him, sloshing ankle-deep through water that ran down the sides of a narrow, upward-sloping passage, when the light suddenly went out. I stopped dead, fighting panic, wondering if all this had been a sadistic trick to abandon me down here.

  Then I heard a muted noise coming from nearby, and at the same time made out a faint glow coming from one side of the passage. I edged towards it and found myself at a cleft in the rock. The scrape and grunt of Monk's laboured progress came from inside, and I could just make out the flickering beam of his torch.

  The cleft climbed at a steep angle. I had to haul myself up, clambering after the receding light. I went as fast as I could, but it still grew dimmer. The rough grain of the rock scraped against my coat, pressing in closer. Soon I couldn't make out any light at all, or even hear him. I tried to swallow the fear and bile that rose in my throat. Stay calm. Just keep going.

  Then the passage kinked in a sharp dog-leg, and I saw a glow up ahead. Following it, I found myself in a small, natural chamber in the rock. I halted, dazzled after the darkness by the dim light from a lantern on the floor. The air was fetid and sour, a mineral dankness fighting with an animal reek. A hissing gas heater threw out a warmth that seemed stifling after the cold of the caves. As my eyes adjusted I took in a jumble of bags, bottles and cans scattered on the floor. Monk was crouched on a rumpled blanket, looking at me with that not-quite-smile and dead eyes.

  Huddled as far away from him as she could get was Sophie.

  'Oh, God, D-David…!'

  She flung her arms around me as I knelt by her. I stroked her hair as she buried her face in my shoulder, feeling her body trembling through her coat.

  'Shh, it's OK.'

  It was far from that, but the relief I felt at seeing her swamped everything else. Her face was pale and streaked with tears, the bruise still livid. There was something else about her, something that wasn't right, but I was too overwhelmed by finding her to follow up the half-formed thought. She bent her head to wipe her eyes and it went from my mind.

  'Are you all right? Has he hurt you?' I asked.

  'No, he didn't… I – I'm fine.'

  She didn't look or sound it, but I felt my relief edge up another notch. Whatever Monk had in mind, Sophie had fared better than his other victims.

  So far.

  He was still on the blanket, watching us, with his big hands dangling from his knees, scabbed and bruised. The low yellow light from the lantern made the indentation in his forehead into a shadowed pit. Squatting there, he could have been a throwback to a more primitive age, a pale, hairless ape hunched in its cave.

  But he seemed even more ill than I'd thought. The massive shoulders were slumped with exhaustion, and the skin was drawn tight across the heavy bones of his face, tinged with a sickly, j
aundiced cast. His mouth hung open as he breathed, a sibilant wheeze sounding with every rise and fall of his chest. He obviously had a serious respiratory infection, maybe even pneumonia, and living in these conditions wouldn't have helped. Monk looked like a man at the end of his physical limits.

  Except that Monk wasn't a normal man. And ill or not, the dark eyes watching us were bright and unblinking.

  I made myself look back: it was like staring down an attack dog. 'You don't need two hostages. Let her go.'

  'I don't want a hostage,' he said, his voice sounding raw. His mouth twitched in a sneer. 'Think I don't remember you from before? Not so fucking smart now, are you?'

  No, not so smart at all. 'So why've you brought us here?'

  'I brought her. You just followed.'

  'Then why did you come to find me?'

  Monk turned his head to hawk into the corner of the chamber, then sank back against the rock. His breathing had steadied, but still sounded like air escaping from a broken bellows.

  'Ask her.'

  I turned to Sophie. I could feel her trembling against me. 'I

  … We heard you shouting. Sound carries down here. When it went quiet, I thought… I thought…' She gave me a desperate look. Again I felt a sudden disquiet that had nothing to do with Monk, but her next words drowned it out. 'I told him… I – I said you'd be able to help.'

  'I don't understand.'

  Sophie glanced nervously across at him. 'He… he says he can't-'

  'No, he doesn't say, I don't fucking say, I can't His shout reverberated in the small chamber. 'I try but I can't!’ There's nothing there! It didn't matter before, but it does now!'

  Monk ran his scabbed hands over his skull, rasping them on the stubble that had started to grow there. His mouth worked, as though the next words were being torn from him.

  'I want to know what I did.'

  Time didn't seem to exist in the cramped chamber. I'd broken my watch at some point, shattering the face so that the glass had turned crystalline. Beneath it the hands were motionless, frozen at between two and three o'clock. Not that it made much difference down here. The light from the lantern gave the small chamber an otherworldly quality, intensified by the soporific warmth from the hissing gas heater. The fumes wouldn't help Monk's breathing, but there was enough air current down here to stop the build-up from becoming toxic.

  I sat on a wadded-up plastic sheet, my back against the rock, with Sophie curled against me. Monk had subsided after his outburst. He seemed exhausted, slumped forward with his head hung between his raised knees, hands wrapped protectively around it. The posture made him look oddly vulnerable. He hadn't moved in a while, and the steady whistle of his breathing made me think he was asleep. But I still watched him carefully as I lowered my head to Sophie's.

  'What did he mean?' I whispered.

  'I – I don't know…'

  I pitched my voice low, not taking my eyes from Monk. 'He must have said something. Why does he want help? Help for what?'

  'I don't know! I – I feel so sick, and the fight's too bright.'

  I shifted so my body shielded her from the lantern. 'Sophie, this is important. You need to tell me.'

  She massaged her temples, glancing fearfully across at Monk. 'He… he says he can't remember killing those girls. Not just burying them, any of it! He wants… he thinks I can help, because I said I could help him find the graves, even if he'd forgotten where they were. But I didn't mean I could help him get his memory back! Oh, God, this can't be happening!'

  I could feel her shaking. I hugged her to me. 'Go on.'

  Sophie wiped her eyes. 'That's why he was digging round Tina Williams' grave. He thought… he thought if he found the graves, saw the bodies again, it'd make him remember. That's why he came after us when he saw us out there, he knew it had to be me. But I – I can't do anything like that, that's not what I meant!'

  'Shh. I know.' I stroked her back, warily watching Monk. 'What did he mean when he said it didn't matter before, but it does now?'

  'I – I don't know. But I told him… I said you could help. When I heard you shouting, it was the only thing I could think of. God, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault!'

  I held her as she cried herself into an exhausted sleep. I was shattered myself, bone-weary and aching, but I had to stay awake. I stared across at Monk's unmoving form, desperately trying to think what to do. Everyone had always assumed he'd been lying when he'd said he couldn't remember where the Bennett sisters were buried. Now… I didn't know.

  Not that it made any difference. Even if Monk really was suffering from some sort of amnesia there was nothing Sophie could do about it. She'd been a BIA, not a psychiatrist. She was no more able to help him recover his memories than I was. Sooner or later he was going to realize that, and when he did…

  I had to get her out of here.

  Monk still hadn't moved, and if the deep, wheezing rhythm of his breathing was anything to go by, his sleep was deeper than ever. But I doubted it was deep enough for us to slip out without disturbing him. So what, then? Club him while he's asleep? Even assuming I could do something so cold-blooded – and that he didn't wake and tear me apart – I'd no idea how to get back to the surface.

  I looked around the chamber, hoping to see something that might help. The floor was piled with empty water bottles and food wrappers, discarded gas canisters and batteries. Some of them were years old, probably dating to the last time Monk had hidden out here. Near me was a tattered phone directory and a more recent pile of boxes, ripped open to spill cough linctus, foil packets of antibiotics and small brown bottles I recognized as smelling salts, clearly raided from some chemist's. The smelling salts puzzled me, until I made the connection with the police dog that had tried to track him a few days earlier.

  Smelling salts contained ammonia.

  The only other thing nearby was a plastic bag filled with foul- smelling earth. The musky odour was somehow familiar, but I couldn't place it. Still watching Monk, I tried to see what else was hidden among the debris. I gently moved a box aside and stiffened when I saw what lay behind it.

  The black cylinder of a torch.

  It was just out of reach. For all I knew it could be broken, and even if it wasn't we'd still have to get past Monk before we could use it. But at least it offered a small hope, and right now I needed every little I could get. Careful not to disturb Sophie, I leaned towards the torch, stretching as far as I could. My fingers were only inches away from it when I felt a change in the chamber. The hairs on my arms prickled, as though the air had suddenly become charged. I looked up.

  Monk was staring at me.

  Except he wasn't, not quite. His eyes were fixed on a spot just off to one side. I moistened my mouth, trying to think of something to say. Before I could he jerked his head spastically to his right, mouth curling in a one-sided sneer.

  Then he began to laugh.

  It was an eerie, phlegm-filled chuckle. It grew louder, rising in pitch until his shoulders were shaking with the force of it. I flinched as he suddenly lashed out with a scabbed fist, smacking it sideways into the rough wall beside him. If it hurt he gave no sign. Still laughing, he thumped his fist into the rock again. And again.

  Sophie stirred and gave a restless moan. Without taking my eyes off Monk I put my hand on her shoulder, willing her to keep still. She subsided, too exhausted to fully wake as Monk's manic laughter began to die down. At any moment I expected those dead eyes to turn to us, but it was as though we weren't even there.

  The last bubble of laughter escaped from his chest, and his breathing slowed back into the raw wheeze of before. He sat quiescent, blood dripping from the hand he'd been slamming into the wall, mouth hanging slack as though he were drugged.

  Christ! I'd no idea what had just happened. I knew Monk was unstable, but this… this was something else. It had seemed involuntary, as though he hadn't even been aware of it himself. Or even really conscious. From nowhere, something Roper had said all those years
ago suddenly came back to me: He kicked off on one last night… One of his party pieces, apparently, having a tantrum after lights out. That's why the guards call him laughing boy.

  Monk was starting to stir, blinking slowly as though he were waking up. Another coughing fit racked him. When it passed he cleared his throat and spat on to the floor. It seemed to exhaust him. He rubbed a hand over his face, the same one he'd punched the wall with. He frowned when he saw the blood on it, then realized I was watching.

  'The fuck you looking at?'

  I quickly looked away. Trying to sound unconcerned, I picked up one of the foil packs of antibiotics that lay on the floor nearby. 'These won't do your chest infection any good.'

  'How would you know?'

  'I used to be a doctor.'

  'Fuck off.'

  I dropped the tablets back into the mess. 'OK, don't believe me. But they're for bladder infections, not respiratory tract.'

  Monk's dark eyes glittered. He looked down at where Sophie's head lay on my lap.

  'What this?' I asked quickly, nudging the soil-filled bag with my foot. It was the first thing that came to mind.

  He seemed to debate whether to answer, but at least it shifted his attention from Sophie. 'Fox piss.'

  'Fox…?'

  He raised a booted foot. 'For the dogs.'

  That explained some of his stink, at least. Foxes used their pungent urine to mark their territory: Monk must have been smearing himself with soil from a den, hoping to mask his own scent. Once again I felt there was something I should remember, but I was too distracted to worry about it.

  'Does it fool them?' I knew it wouldn't, but I wasn't about to tell him that.

  'Not the dogs. The handler.'

  I'd underestimated him. Police dogs would be able to track him regardless of what he used. But if an inexperienced handler caught the distinctive smell of a fox they might think the dog was on the wrong trail.

  'What is this place?' I asked. 'I didn't think there were any caves round here.'

  'Nobody does.'