The Calling of the Grave by Simon Beckett Read Free Book Online Page A

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