Buried Slaughter (7 page)

Mr. Davidson let out a large sigh as he stared at the table. “I accepted this job cash-in-hand. I didn’t want to‌—‌believe me. But this guy, he was making crazy requests. He only first contacted us two weeks ago and wanted the dig done this last week. He was quite adamant. I told him, ‘Nope, nope, we don’t work that way.’ But he just kept on offering more and more and…‌well. Business is business. If only I’d have known. If only I’d have known.”

Curiosity intensified deep inside Brian as he made a note of what he’d been told. “So you actually met Harold Harvey? You physically took the money from him?”

“Yes…‌No. One of my workers, Wayne. I had him do it because I was running a little late.”

“And where is Wayne now?”

Mr. Davidson held up the newspaper in front of him. “His head is in that ditch.”

Brian tutted and sank back into the chair. The only potential link to the mystery Harold Harvey was lying dead, a victim of the massacre. This guy could be anywhere. Anyone.

“I just wish fucking Brabiner’s Archeological Group hadn’t come on the scene. We were doing just fine until they started trying to eat their way into our business.”

“Wait. Brabiner’s Archeological Group? Is this a rival business?”

Mr. Davidson raised his eyebrows and puffed out his lips. “You could say that. Only set up a few months ago and doing all they can to take our staff and jobs. Based up in Longridge. Obviously, we’re still the business leaders for the Preston area, but they are a dirty bunch of bastards. We wouldn’t have taken this Pendle Hill job if we didn’t have those lot looking for an excuse to get one up on us.”

Brian hurriedly jotted down the name of the rival archeological group. An idea was building in his mind. Usually, a case was like a scattered jigsaw puzzle. This case was missing a bunch of pieces, but right now, he felt like he’d found a few.

“You don’t think they could be involved, do you?” Mr. Davidson asked. “I mean, I know they’re a dodgy group, but…‌but I don’t think they’d‌—‌”

“We can’t make any assumptions yet, Mr. Davidson. But right now, with no live members of your staff having come into contact with Mr. Harold Harvey, it’s all I have to go on.” He slammed his notepad shut and slipped it into his top pocket, catching sight of his watch. 10:34 a.m. He had to hurry. He could still make it to Brabiner’s Archeological Group in time if he got out of here quickly. He was one step ahead of the investigation. One step ahead of everybody.

“Off already?” Mr. Davidson frowned as Brian made for the doorway.

“I’ll be in touch,” Brian said. “If…‌if some of my colleagues come by later, please just repeat everything to them that you told me.”

“Wait‌—‌more police?”

Brian pushed open the door. “Yeah. Cross-departmental investigation thing. They…‌Don’t even mention me. They won’t even know me. Apologies for the inconvenience.” He smiled at Mr. Davidson, then disappeared out of the room before he had a chance to say anything else.

After the sour-faced reception lady released him from the locked door, he jogged back up the disabled ramp and into the car park. He checked his watch. 10:40. Shit. He had to get to the other side of town, conduct some kind of interview, then get back to Hannah. Not to mention leaking the information to David Wallson before the police had a chance to find it. Shit. What was he doing? This wasn’t him.

As he turned the corner, he saw the red Fiesta in the same spot that it had been before. He still had time. He could still make this.

“Brian! Fancy seeing you here.”

Brian’s stomach sank as he reached his car. Every muscle in his body seemed to freeze as he turned around in the direction of the recognisably smug voice. His heart pulsated right through to his head.

Stephen Molfer emerged from a police car at the other side of the car park. His black coat was zipped up right to his neck. He had that smile on his face. The smile he always had. Punchable git.

“Glad to see you’re keeping busy during your suspension,” Stephen said. “But what on earth would you be doing around an industrial estate?”

Brian shrugged. “Just…‌just collecting a parcel.” He pointed at the distant City Link depot, which Stephen Molfer raised his bushy eyebrows at.

“And did you get your parcel?” Stephen asked, staring at Brian’s empty hands.

Brian gulped. Fuck. Stupid excuse.

“I’m just messing with you,” Stephen said. He laughed and punched Brian on his shoulder. “I mean, it’s just coincidence that you’re here, right? Nothing to do with you, say, throwing yourself into that ditch on Pendle Hill, is it?”

Brian couldn’t speak. He wasn’t sure whether Stephen was fucking with him or being entirely sincere.

“Anyway,” Stephen said, kicking a stone and heading in the direction of Davidson Archeological Contractors. “We did get in touch earlier about the length of your suspension. We tried and tried your mobile, but…‌um…‌Well, we left the details with your girlfriend. Have a nice few weeks, Brian.”

Brian stood completely still next to the red Fiesta as Stephen disappeared into the distance, whistling at the top of his lungs.

Hannah knew about his suspension.

If that trench on the top of Pendle Hill were right beside him now, he’d throw himself into it and bury his own fucking body.

Chapter Seven

Hannah was waiting at the window to greet Brian when he returned to their semi-detached suburban house.

She only ever waited at the window when she was gearing herself up to bollock him.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he approached the front door, away from the red Fiesta, away from all hope of heading to Brabiner’s Archeological Group this afternoon. Away from all hope of ever carrying out his mission for David Wallson. Away from the detective life again.

“Hello, honey,” Brian called as he entered the door. She didn’t call back to him. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to play this. In his mind, he wanted to walk right up to her and apologise for failing to tell her about his suspension. But he wanted her to understand his motives. He wanted her to understand that he simply didn’t want to worry her.

He popped his head around the door of the living room. Hannah was sat on her own. She stared up at the television, which wasn’t even switched on. Her jaw was tensed. Another telltale sign that she was royally pissed off.

“Han, let me explain.”

“Explain what?” Hannah asked. Her head spun around and her eyes glared at him. They were bloodshot. Red underneath. “Explain why you were suspended from your job? Explain why you didn’t tell me? Explain where the hell you’ve been today if you haven’t been at work?”

Brian gulped. He knew what Hannah was getting at; what she was implying. “I know what you think, and you’re wrong. Just let me‌—‌”

“The day after our fucking anniversary,” Hannah said. She stomped to her feet and looked out of the window, her back to Brian. “How could you?”

“Hannah,” Brian said. He approached her and reached a hand out to rest on her shoulder, but thought better of it. “If you know why I was…‌why I was suspended. If you know that, then you’ll know where I was today.”

It was a few moments before Hannah turned around. When she did, she barely made eye contact with Brian. “I saw it. The police rang and they told me, and then I saw it on the Internet anyway. Storming into a crime scene. And then turning up with that journalist yesterday. I’m a freelance writer, for fuck’s sake. Don’t think I didn’t recognise that slimeball’s car. What’s going on, Brian? What’s going on?”

Brian gulped. The thoughts of David Wallson’s offer spun around his head. “I wanted to tell you. I swear I wanted to tell you. But I…‌It’s complicated. I can’t go into it.”

“Oh, you will,” Hannah said. “If you want me to trust you, you’ll explain it all to me, right here, right now.”

This was it. He’d have to open up. There was no escape, not if he wanted to keep Hannah on side. Brian took a shaky breath in. The words were waiting at the bottom of his throat, dying to escape. “I…‌I got an offer. From that journalist. I got an offer to go see the Pendle Hill crime scene while I was at work. I didn’t think much at it at first, but…‌yeah. The detective in me.”

“The detective in you that you swore was finished. That almost ruined your life once.”

“I can’t run away from what I am, Hannah. But anyway, one thing led to another. I…‌I went into that pit because I could see that something was off. The bones, Han. The bones were much older than the heads. They were too discoloured. Worn away slightly. Which led me to believe that the bones were what Davidson Archeological Contractors were looking for after all. Anyway, one thing led to another and the journalist‌—‌David Wallson‌—‌he ended up making me an offer.”

Hannah narrowed her watery eyes. She didn’t speak. She just waited. Waited for Brian to continue.

“He had…‌he had evidence. Evidence that…‌” The following words were more of a struggle to get out. “Evidence that Robert Luther killed Nicola Watson. Evidence that‌—‌that Cassy didn’t die pointlessly. Evidence that I was right. All along, I was right. And I agreed. Because of that information, I agreed to speak to Darren Anderson, the witness in the Pendle Hill case. And that led me to Davidson’s today. I found something, Han. There’s a guy called Harold Harvey. A guy that begged this group to do a dig for them. And I swear he’s got something to do with a rival firm in town. I swear there’s something not right about them.”

Hannah still wasn’t speaking, but her stare was faltering. She blinked rapidly, as if she was considering Brian’s words; weighing them up inside her head.

“I just wanted to be a detective again, Hannah. That’s all it was. But I know I can’t be now. I know I can’t be.”

Hannah raised her head. She half-smiled at Brian, like she was relatively satisfied with his response. “Thank you for being honest with me,” she said, breaking her self-imposed silence.

Then, she lowered her head and walked past Brian, out of the room, into the kitchen/dining area.

For a few moments, Brian just stood completely still in the lounge and stared out of the window. It was getting dark outside. The Halloween lights of the house down the road were flickering in, sporadically filling their lounge with an amber glow.

Brian let the tension seep out of his body and pulled the curtains together.

He walked out of the room and into the kitchen/dining area.

“In case you were wondering,” Hannah said, as she leaned over the worktop preparing to pierce the film of a ready-made meal. “You’ve got a two week suspension. Consider yourself very lucky.”

She rammed the knife into the lid of the ready meal and sent a loud popping noise through the kitchen.

Brian and Hannah didn’t talk about any of the last two days’ events for the rest of the evening. But even so, there was an aura of discomfort around the house. A sense that always prevailed in the aftermath of an altercation or disagreement, like the radiation left over after a nuclear explosion. It would take time to clear. It might never truly clear. But the explosion was done with. The hardest times were through with.

Staring up at the white ceiling of his bedroom, Brian considered the day’s events. At least the police hadn’t pursued him for questioning Mr. Davidson. That could have caused problems. Knowing the department as well as he did, he figured they’d have been in touch by now if Mr. Davidson had given anything too big away about Brian’s line of questioning.

Then again, anything was possible with Stephen-fucking-Molfer on the investigation.

“What’s on your mind, honey?”

Hannah’s voice made Brian jump out of his fixated trance. He turned to look at her. She leaned back against the wooden headrest of the bed, Stephen King’s
The Shining
in hand, reading in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. She had a reassuring smile on her face. A smile of acknowledgement and understanding.

“It’s just…‌” Brian rubbed the top of his head. “Just the case. Just thinking about how weird it all is. About how close I got. Because I swear there’s something wrong with this Brabiner’s Archeology place, from what I’ve been told. I just hope the police‌—‌”

“They’ll do their job,” Hannah interrupted. She snapped her book shut. “But you’ve got to do yours. You’ve got to remember who you are now. You’ve got to keep on being the better man than the man you were. Your son‌—‌you see him tomorrow. You’ve got to be that good father.”

Brian gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to admit it, but Hannah was right. He had been a miserable dick when he was a detective. The self-harming and the eventual descent into alcoholism proved that. But he had something now. His career might not be quite as glamorous, but he had a lovely girlfriend. He had a son whom he saw every week. He had something to live for.

Brian leaned over and kissed Hannah on her cheek. She moved away, but eventually let him just about brush her skin with his lips. “I’m sorry for not being honest.” He grabbed Hannah’s hand. Rubbed his fingertips along her palms. “It’s just our lives now. I promise to God it’s our great lives. It’s my son. It’s my silly little PCSO job. That’s what I want now. I swear.”

Hannah looked Brian in the eyes. “And no more of this fake detective crap?”

Brian smiled. “No. No more. Sick of all that nonsense, anyway. I’ll leave it to the other miserable gits to get to the bottom of.”

Hannah smiled back at Brian. She leaned in to kiss him, then pulled away and turned onto her side. “Good.”

She reached for the lamp and flicked it off. The room descended into darkness.

“I love you, Bri.”

Brian closed his eyes. The weight of the case‌—‌the case that wasn’t even his in the bloody first place‌—‌lifted from his body and drifted up through the ceiling. “I love you too. I love you too.”

No more detective bullshit.

Just a nice two-week holiday.

John Brabiner never enjoyed working late, but it was just a necessary part of his job since he’d set up the archeology company.

He checked his watch as he approached the dig site at Longridge Fell. The rain poured down on the grassy area. In the distance, tall trees loomed over them.

“Okay, boys. Got to think about wrapping up for the day soon.”