Buried Slaughter (24 page)

Stephen scowled. “It’s still Detective Sergeant Molfer to you.”

Brian and DS Carter walked down to the cafeteria. There was a strong smell of coffee in the air, which when mixed with the distant disinfectant tang wasn’t all that appealing.

DS Carter sat with one slender leg crossed over the other. She gripped her white coffee cup, with no regard for how hot it was. She flicked through a video games magazine, completely focused and in a zone of her own.

“Carter, what is your first name? I swear I’ve always called you Carter. Or DS. Never occurred to me to‌—‌”

“It’s Carter,” she said, her eyes not budging from the magazine. “That’s good enough for the workplace.”

Brian raised his eyebrows then stood up, pushing his chair aside. “Well, ‘Carter’, I’d better get back. See you round, perhaps.”

He walked away from the table a little disappointed that he hadn’t been able to strike up even the smallest of friendships with DS Carter. She seemed alright. She reminded him of someone he once knew. Someone he was very close friends with.

“Wait.”

Brian turned around. DS Carter had closed her magazine, and was staring in his direction through brown-framed reading glasses. “It’s Samantha. Sorry. I sometimes…‌I forget who I work with and who I don’t. And I don’t like my personal and my private life colliding. Bit of a homebird, that’s all.”

Brian smiled.”Well I’ll see you around, Samantha. Pleasure working with you. Good luck with the tying up of the case. You’re a good officer. You and Stephen.”

“As are you,” she said. “You’d be an asset, you know. Remember that.”

He walked away from the cafeteria and out into the cool November air outside the hospital. He could hear sirens as rain speckled down on his face.

Time to go home. Time to go back to reality.

He might’ve been an asset to the police, but his personal life was the only thing he cared about in the world right now.

Chapter Twenty Six

The sun was just about setting when he returned to their house on Brooklands Drive. It cast a nice hue over the street; or an ambience, or whatever the hell the posh gits called it. The branches of the trees, now void of leaves, gently swayed in the breeze, casting a series of large shadows over the street. It looked rather nice. Wouldn’t have minded digging out his old camera from his teen years and taking a few snaps.

He approached the front door of his house. One of the neighbours was sitting inside watching the Jeremy Kyle show. They didn’t manage to take their eyes off it to acknowledge Brian. Wasters. When the highlight of your day was the Jeremy pissing Kyle show, you knew you had problems.

Brian opened the door to his semidetached house and took a deep breath as he stepped inside. All the lights were on. The place looked lived in, for a change. It felt like forever since he’d been back here even though it was only earlier that day.

“Honey, I’m home,” Brian called, as he slammed the door behind him. The door to the kitchen was shut, as was the door to the lounge. Strange. Hannah had a thing about leaving doors open. A strange fascination, or OCD, if that was the right term. He’d been in touch with her all day. They’d agreed to organise some engagement drinks for tomorrow, but Brian wasn’t sure. Still, Hannah seemed in better spirits, despite receiving that screwed-up mail this morning. Brian took his heavy black coat off and rested it on the wooden stair bannister.

“Han? You okay?”

The kitchen door opened. Brian stopped in his tracks.

Hannah was wearing nothing but her black bra and panties. Her olive-skinned legs were smooth and shaven, and her hair was curled, shiny and vibrant. She had that twinkle in her brown eyes, as she tilted her head to one side and shook her hair. “Thought I’d surprise you,” she said. “But I had to shut the doors because it’s fucking freezing in here.”

Brian couldn’t help but laugh. He walked up to Hannah and wrapped his arms around her, his fingers rubbing against the bare skin of her back. “Bloody hell, you
are
cold.”

“And you stink,” she said, sniffing at his chest. “In fact, I refuse to sleep with you until you sort yourself out.”

Brian turned his bottom lip in a playful manner. “Long day,” he said.

“Chasing a man through Longridge. Storming into a house of an armed drunken psychopath with a bunch of against-duty officers. Quite the first day back from suspension for a Community Support Officer, right?”

Brian shrugged. He moved his hands lower down her back so that his fingers were just resting against the edge of her frilled black panties. “Well, we do what we’ve got to do.”

Hannah kneed him slightly as his hand descended even further, and he edged back.

“I’m guessing you’ll probably be kicked off altogether after today’s show, right?”

Brian smirked at the ridiculousness of it all. “Perhaps so. It depends what mood DI Marlow and his superiors are in. I’m hoping that they find decisive evidence that Darren Anderson is the killer, really. It’s looking that way, but…‌Well. There’s other things to focus on right now.” He moved in towards her again, his cock scraping against the edge of his jeans.

Hannah lifted her hand. “Like having a shower,” she said. She winked at him. “Go on. Have that shower, then we can get on with tonight’s plan of action. And if you don’t fall asleep right afterwards, we can have a little chat about the engagement drinks we’re going to have for family and friends tomorrow, right?”

“Really tomorrow?” Brian said, perhaps a little too confrontational in tone. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, it’s just…‌Well, are you okay with that?”

“I’ve been in touch with a few people today. Friends. Family. Most of them seem fine with it. Besides, it’s about time we had something to smile about.”

Brian stared into Hannah’s eyes. Looked for any trace of sadness or grief. “And you are really okay? Like…‌really?”

Hannah smiled. “I’m not fixed, if that’s what you’re asking. I won’t ever be, I don’t think. But the world moves on. I’m lucky. I’ve got you. And we’re about to start a whole new chapter. That’s worth being happy about. It really is.”

A warm, fuzzy sensation spread across Brian’s chest. He loved this woman. He really did. He moved in to kiss her, but once again, she lifted her arm and pulled a stern expression.

“Erm, shower first,” she said, pointing her thumb up the stairs. “Then you get to find out how much of a naughty man you’ve been for going against duty today, and how disappointed I am with you…‌” She winked again, and slid her tongue against her teeth.

Brian turned around straight away and rushed upstairs to the shower.

He could barely run.

David Wallson sat in front of his widescreen LCD television with his feet on the white leather sofa. It’d been a tough week. After all had gone quiet on the Pendle Hill and Longridge Fell killings, he was back in the firing line at work. The editor‌—‌Sam Stones‌—‌was being a complete unreasonable prick with him. Demanding articles last-minute, forcing him to cover mundane, inane stories. He couldn’t help but shake the feeling that his superiors were tiring of him.

He took a swig of his Budweiser and let the floaty feeling ease its way down the back of his spine. Probably about time they grew tired of him, really. He wasn’t their golden boy anymore.

He placed the beer on the wooden floor and stood up, nothing on the television catching his interest. He walked across the fluffy rug, which always drove Eve mad when fluffy bits ended up all over the house. At least with her away on business, he had a chance to vacuum before she got back. He stopped by the window and took a look outside. Quiet, as usual. Rainy, as usual. He quite liked living in an upstairs flat just south of the centre of the city. Eve desperately wanted to move for the sake of their kid, who hadn’t even been born yet. David wasn’t too sure. He liked it here. He had everything he wanted here. Everything he’d ever want.

He also didn’t want to worry Eve about the current instability of his job. They’d be much better staying here, financially. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet.

He closed the wooden blind and headed across the lounge area again and picked up his Apple MacBook Pro from the side of the kitchen counter. He plonked himself down at the kitchen table and put on his reading glasses. Fuck. Reading glasses. Maybe he was getting old after all.

He clicked through website after website. Word was getting out that the “Harold Harvey II” killer might have been apprehended, but no further details were being released at this time. He’d tried contacting Brian McDone a couple of times throughout the day, but the last he’d heard of him was when he’d rang to ask him to look into the possibility that the twelfth witch back in the 17
^th
Century might have escaped. It was a long shot‌—‌if it was recorded that there were twelve victims, there would be, surely? But regardless, he’d been in touch with Cody Ballenthine earlier, who could hopefully shed some light on the situation.

Not that he’d get a story out of it anyway. The police had clearly made their minds up on a new suspect, according to whispers from the inside.

And David Wallson wasn’t hearing anything of it, not after his “interfering bullshittery” of recent weeks.

He opened up his email account. Junk mail from a student jobs company who still insisted on contacting him even though he’d graduated nearly a decade ago. Advert after advert for Viagra. Fuck, he might need some someday soon. He needed something to cheer himself up, anyway.

To his surprise, he spotted an email from Cody Ballenthine. It was received at 3:07p.m.‌—‌earlier that day. Shit. He only sent the email to Cody late morning. Probably just an acknowledgement of receipt. A note to say thanks, and he’d look into it.

As he opened it up, he was met with a wall of text.

He grabbed his beer and took a sip. He hated reading on this small-as-fuck MacBook screen. But hey‌—‌£1,000 of Apple quality, right?

As he read through the email, his hands went clammier and clammier. He had to reread sentences to get his head around it at times. He slid his beer to the opposite side of the table to check that he hadn’t misread anything, or interpreted anything in the wrong way.

He let out a little gasp when he reached the final line.

And then he went back and read it all again.

By the time he’d read the email, line by line, for a fourth time, sweat was dripping down his forehead. He leaned back in his chair. Everything he’d read danced around his head, and yet he couldn’t piece it into place.

A part of him wanted to run straight to the Lancashire News HQ and write a story up, but he knew it was pointless. He knew it’d seem nothing but a conspiracy theory. Besides, it was late. Wind battered against the windows, rattling them against the frames. He wasn’t feeling up to a trip outside just now, especially after what he’d just read.

He grabbed his mobile phone with his shaking hand and scrolled to Brian, whom he still had in as “Motherfucker McDone” after their earlier years of resentment. He hit the name with his thumb, almost catching somebody else’s, and pulled the phone to his ear. McDone needed to hear this. If he didn’t David might just have to go on down to his house and tell him first-hand.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang, and still, Brian didn’t answer.

“Fuck,” David muttered, pressing his name and trying again. Where the fuck was he? Was he ignoring him or something? He’d regret it. He really would regret it. He couldn’t afford to ignore him, not if what Cody Ballenthine was saying was true. Not if he really was…‌

“You have entered a zero signal area, please hang up and try again.”

“Fuck!” David shouted. He smacked his phone against the table and rubbed his sweaty face. He took a massive gulp, lowered the lid of his MacBook, and made a dash for the door. He had to tell Brian. He didn’t really want to have to go outside, but Brian needed to know what he knew.

Somebody
needed to know what he knew.

He grabbed his black leather coat and slipped into it. The television was still on, which would drive Eve mad if she arrived back from her business trip early, but Eve wasn’t the priority right now.

He had something that could save his career.

Something that could save a life.

He opened his front door, still looking around the living room of his first-floor flat to check he hadn’t done anything stupid like leave the gas on, and he wandered out into the dimly lit corridor.

As he stepped forward, still in the process of turning around, he felt a force in front of him. It felt as if he’d walked into a wall. Like a video game, where a force field appeared when you got too close to the edge of a map.

But there were no such things as force fields in real life.

And force fields didn’t breathe hot, tangy breath onto your neck.

He turned around. His heart raced even faster. His entire body tensed. This couldn’t have something to do with the email Cody Ballenthine had sent, could it? What he’d told him was potentially dangerous‌—‌ but David was safe in his first-floor home. A corridor to himself, never, ever disturbed by anybody. He was safe.

Wasn’t he?

In front of him there was a man. He had a blue cap on his head, a black hoodie with the hood up over the cap. He was wearing black everything‌—‌black waterproof trousers, black shoes that looked like they were covered in a shiny plastic film.

Black gloves. Rubber gloves.

“I…‌I need to get past,” David said. He tried to step to the left of the guy, but the man held his arm out, blocking his path. At first, David thought that perhaps he was just a weirdo, but now he knew the truth; he couldn’t help but feel he’d been dropped into a very dangerous position.

He had an idea why this man was here.

And who he was.

“I know who you are,” David said, his entire body shaking. He felt a damp patch growing in his jeans, and even though his brain acknowledged that he was pissing himself, he couldn’t stop. “I…‌I know what you’ve‌—‌what you’ve done. What you’re planning to do. I know now. It makes sense. But you can’t. It’s all in the past. It’s all…‌It’s all history. Why are you so‌—‌”