The Calling of the Grave

    One.
Two. Eight.

    The numbers
of decay. That's the ratio by which all organisms, large and small, decompose.
In air, in water, in soil. Provided it's the same climate, a submerged body
will take twice, as long to break down as one left on the surface. Underground
it will take eight times as long.
One, two, eight.
It's a simple
formula, and an inescapable truth.

    The
deeper something is buried, the longer it survives.

    Bury
a body, and you deprive it of the carrion-feeding insects that thrive on dead
flesh. The microorganisms that would normally digest the soft tissues can't
function without air, and the cooling insulation of dark earth further
restricts the onset of decay. Biochemical reactions that would normally break
down the cells themselves are slowed by the lower temperature. A process that
would, under other circumstances, take days or weeks can last for months.
Years, even.

    Sometimes
longer.

    Starved
of light, air and warmth, it's possible for a dead body to be preserved almost
indefinitely. Cocooned in its cold burrow, it exists in near stasis,
indifferent to the passing of seasons above.

    But
cause and effect applies here, as anywhere else. Just as, in nature, nothing is
ever truly destroyed, so nothing is ever completely concealed. No matter how
deeply buried, the dead can still make their presence known.
One. Two.
Eight.

    Nothing
stays hidden for ever.

    'What
name is it?'

    The
policewoman's face was cold, in every sense. Her cheeks were chapped and ruddy,
and her bulky yellow jacket was beaded with moisture from the mist that had
descended like an earth-bound cloud. She regarded me with what seemed barely
restrained dislike, as though holding me responsible for the foul weather, and
the fact that she was standing out on the moor in it.

    'Dr
David Hunter. Detective Chief Superintendent Simms is expecting me.'

    With
a show of reluctance she considered her clipboard, then raised her radio. 'Got
someone here to see the SIO. A Mr David Hunter.'

    'It's
Doctor,' I corrected her.

    The
look she gave me made it clear she didn't care. There was a squawk of static
from the radio and a voice said something unintelligible. Whatever it was
didn't improve her mood. With a last sour look she stepped aside and motioned
me past.

    'Straight
ahead to where the other vehicles are parked,' she said, gracelessly.

    'And
thank you,' I muttered, driving on.

    Beyond
the windscreen the world was draped with curtains of mist. It was patchy and
unpredictable, lifting one moment to reveal the drab, wet moorland before
wrapping white gauze around the car again the next. A little further along a
makeshift police car park had been set up on a relatively flat patch of moor. A
policeman waved me on to it, and the Citroen bumped and lurched over the uneven
ground as I eased it into a clear space.

    I
switched off the engine and stretched. It had been a long drive, and I hadn't
taken a break. Anticipation and curiosity had overcome any inclination to stop
en route. Simms hadn't given me many details when he'd called, only that a
grave had been found on Dartmoor and he wanted me to be there while the body
was recovered. It had sounded routine, the sort of case I could be called out
on several times a year. But for the past twelve months the words 'murder' and
'Dartmoor' had been synonymous with only one man.

    Jerome
Monk.

    Monk
was a serial killer and rapist who had confessed to murdering four young women
that we knew about. Three of them were little more than girls, and their bodies
had never been found. If this grave was one of theirs, then there was a good
chance the others were also nearby. It would be one of the biggest recovery and
identification operations of the past decade.

    And I
definitely wanted to be a part of it.

    'Everyone's
always thought that's where he got rid of his victims,' I'd said to my wife, Kara,
in the kitchen that morning as I'd rushed to get ready. We'd been living in the
detached Victorian villa in south-west London for over a year, but I still
needed her to tell me where things were. 'Dartmoor's a big place but there
can't be so many bodies buried out there.'

    'Dav
id
,'
Kara said, looking pointedly at where Alice was eating breakfast. I winced and
mouthed
sorry.
Normally I knew better than to mention the grisly details
of my work in front of our five-year- old daughter, but my enthusiasm had got
the better of me.

    'What
are victims?' Alice piped up, frowning in concentration as she lifted a
dripping spoonful of raspberry yoghurt. That was her food fad of the moment,
having recently decided she was too grown up for cereal.

    'It's
just Daddy's work,' I told her, hoping she'd let it drop. There was plenty of
time for her to learn about the darker aspects of life when she was older.

    'Why
are they buried? Are they dead?'

    'Come
on, sweetheart, finish your breakfast,' Kara told her. 'Daddy's got to go soon
and we don't want to be late for school.'

    'When
are you coming back?' Alice asked me.

    'Soon.
I'll be home before you know it.' I bent down and lifted her up. Her small body
felt warm and ridiculously light, yet it never failed to amaze me how solid she
was compared to the baby she'd been it seemed only minutes before.
Do they
always grow up so fast?
'Are you going to be a good girl while I'm away'

    'I'm
always a good girl,' she said, indignant. She still had the spoon in her hand,
and a glob of yoghurt dropped off and landed on the notes I'd left on the
table.

    'Whoops,'
Kara said, tearing off a piece of kitchen towel and wiping it up. 'That's going
to stain. Hope it's not important.'

    Alice
looked stricken. 'Sorry, Daddy.'

    'No
harm done.' I gave her a kiss and set her down before gathering up the notes.
The top sheet had a sticky mark from the yoghurt. I tucked them into a folder
and turned to Kara. 'I'd better go.'

    She
followed me into the hall, where I'd left my bag. I put my arms around her. Her
hair smelled of vanilla.

    'I'll
call you later. I should have a better idea then how long I'll be away.
Hopefully only a couple of nights.'

    'Drive
carefully,' she said.