Free The Calling of the Grave by Simon Beckett Page A

left it
to go to Tina Williams' grave.
        'There's
a spot back there where the moor slopes gently away from the track. It's a
natural point for anyone struggling with the weight of a body to access the
moor. The way the ground runs funnels you to that big patch of gorse. It's
easier to go around the bottom side of it than the top, and then you find
yourself in a gulley that brings you right here. To a concealed hollow, where
there just happens to be a grave-sized mound of earth.'
        She
folded her arms, defying Terry to find a hole in her argument. His cheek
muscles jumped as he looked back at the mound.
        'This
is a nonsense,' Wainwright blustered, no longer bothering to hide his
animosity. 'It's wishful thinking, not science!'
        'No,
just common sense like you said,' Sophie retorted. 'I prefer it to
pig-headedness.'
        Wainwright
drew himself up to respond but I beat him to it. 'There's no point standing
round here arguing. Let's get the cadaver dog to check it out. If it finds
something then we'll need to open it up. If it doesn't, we've only wasted a few
minutes.'
        Sophie
flashed me a smile while Wainwright looked more constipated than ever. I
couldn't resist twisting the knife a little further.
        'Unless
you're absolutely certain there's nothing here?' I asked, trying not to enjoy
his discomfort too much. 'You're the expert.'
        'I
suppose it wouldn't hurt to make sure . . .' he conceded, as though it had been
his idea.
        Terry
stared down at the mound, then sighed and strode up to the top of the hollow.
'Get over here!' he shouted at Roper and the rest, then turned to Sophie. 'I
want a word.'
        The
two of them moved out of earshot. I couldn't hear what was being said, but it
seemed heated. Meanwhile Wainwright prowled around the mound, testing it with
his feet.
        'Definitely
softer,' he muttered. He was wearing a thick leather work belt, the sort used
by builders to hold tools. He took a thin metal rod from it and began opening
it out. It was a lightweight probe, a metre-long extendable tube with a point
at one end.
        'What
are you doing?' I asked.
        He
was frowning in concentration as he unfolded short handles, so the instrument
resembled a slender spade without a head. 'I'm going to probe, of course.'
        Disturbed
soil was usually less compacted than the surrounding ground, and often another
indication of a grave. But that wasn't what I meant.
        'If
there's anything buried in there you're going to damage it.'
        'We
need air holes for the dog anyway.'
        That
was true enough. Even though cadaver dogs could sniff out decay through several
feet of soil, the holes would help them detect the gases produced by
decomposition. But there were less invasive ways of making them.
        'I
don't think—'
        'Thank
you, Dr Hunter, but if I want advice I'll ask for it.'
        Gripping
the probe by its stubby handles, Wainwright jabbed it forcefully into the
mound. Knowing he wasn't going to listen, I clenched my jaw shut as he wrenched
it free and rammed it back in. Probing was a basic archaeological technique,
but it had its drawbacks in a forensic situation. While it was possible to
distinguish between damage to bone inflicted before death and that caused by a pointed
metal probe afterwards, it was an unwelcome complication. Wainwright knew that
as well as I did.
        But
then it would be my problem, not his.
        Sophie
and Terry broke off their discussion as Roper and the others reached us.
Neither of them looked happy. Terry went straight to Monk and his solicitor,
standing on the edge of the hollow so they could see the mound.
        'This
ring any bells?'
        Monk
stared down at it, hands hanging loosely at his sides. His mouth still seemed
twisted in a mocking smile, but I thought there was a wariness in his eyes now.
        'No.'
        'So
this isn't one of the