All That Is Buried

by Robert Scragg

  ‘Excuse me just one second,’ he said, sliding it out and seeing Styles’s name blinking at him. Nick would have to wait. Disrupting the flow of a sensitive debrief like this could mean facts were missed, misremembered, even embellished. He rejected the call and fixed his attention on Ally again.

  ‘And what did you do when you realised you couldn’t see her any more?’

  His phone buzzed again: same caller. Porter felt his hackles rising. Styles should know if he didn’t take the call there would be a damn good reason. Seemed lately that his partner’s judgement was just a fraction off on the little things. Understandable to a degree, baby on the way and all, but little mistakes could easily add up, make life difficult, cases harder to solve.

  ‘I really am sorry about this. Let me get rid of the call,’ he said, pressing to answer.

  ‘DS Styles, I really can’t talk right now. I’m interviewing the parents.’ Formal title in place of a Christian name intended to send a message.

  ‘I know, boss, and I’m sorry to be a pain, but it’s about the girl. We’ve found something.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Anger leached from Porter, heat draining from his cheeks. He tried to keep his tone neutral, not wanting to give anything away to Libby’s parents.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, offering a silent prayer that his partner had misspoken, that it was a someone, not a something.

  ‘It’s her mobile phone, boss. Smashed up pretty bad as well.’

  ‘Where?’ he asked, instantly regretting his choice of word, seeing Ally Hallforth’s eyes widen. He mouthed the words Not Libby, saw a fresh wave of disappointment crash over her.

  ‘Hundred yards or so from the edge of the fairground. Screen’s all cracked, but it still powers up so we should be able to check through it fairly quickly.’

  ‘OK, good. You out there now, or did someone reach you at home?’

  ‘On my way to the scene now,’ Styles said, puzzled tone to his voice. ‘I was at the midwife’s appointment with Emma. Remember, I told you about it last week.’

  Porter had a flashback to a conversation over a coffee. He had mentioned it alright; Porter had just forgotten, preoccupied with a hundred other thoughts.

  ‘Yeah, of course I do. I’ll see you back at the station when I finish speaking with the parents.’

  He ended the call, feeling bad for doubting Styles, but didn’t have time to dwell as both parents peppered him with questions, volume rising to be heard above each other. He held up both hands.

  ‘That was a detective sergeant on my team. We’ve not found Libby yet, but we have found her phone.’

  ‘Her phone?’ Ally said. ‘Where?’

  ‘Not far from the fairground.’

  ‘So, she did wander off then,’ Simon said. ‘Wandered off and lost her bloody prized possession that cost me a fortune. That’s what all this is about. She’s either still out there in the bloody long grass looking for it, or hiding cos she knows she’ll get a bollocking for losing it.’

  ‘What if someone took her?’ Ally sniffed. ‘Took her and got rid of it so the police can’t use it to find them?’

  ‘I know you’ve got questions,’ he said, addressing both of them, ‘and I want to get you answers, believe me I do. But trust me when I say that second-guessing things like this isn’t going to help.’

  ‘And neither is sitting here chatting like we’ve got all the time in the world,’ snapped Simon, grabbing a photo frame from a shelf. ‘You know what she looks like, you know where she was. Us telling you what a great kid she is won’t help you find her any quicker.’

  Porter felt his hackles rising. He’d dealt with his fair share of anger being thrown his way. Criminals, relatives, witnesses; he crossed paths with people at their worst or most vulnerable, liable to lash out at the nearest target. There was something about Simon Hallforth, however, that suggested that Porter could walk in here any day of the week and get the same reception. Quick to anger, to lash out. What kind of husband and father was he behind closed doors?

  Porter decided to change tack. He didn’t have time for this angry little man routine. Not with a seven-year-old girl missing.

  ‘You know what, you’re right, but first, may I?’ he said, gesturing to the picture with his phone.

  Simon took a second to realise what he intended to do, but handed it over, and Porter took a picture. All three wore beaming smiles, sitting on a beach somewhere. Had to be fairly recent from the ages Ally had given. Happier times.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, handing it back, watching as Simon practically thumped it onto the shelf. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head out there now and help look for her.’

  He stood, walked over to where Simon Hallforth leant against the wall and held out a hand. Simon left him hanging for a second longer than necessary, and when he did grip Porter’s hand, he went for the testosterone option. Porter squeezed back just as hard, then added a few extra ounces of pressure for good measure. Still on the right side of the professional line, just. Hallforth was first to release, scowling as he turned away, sucking in another lungful of whatever rubbish was in his e-cigarette.

  ‘I’ll leave you with DC Kelly. She’ll be able to arrange a time for you to finish giving your statement down at the station.’

  Ally Hallforth nodded and smiled, rising to see Porter out, but Porter was more interested by her husband’s reaction. The mention of a station visit creased his forehead. Not something he was keen to do, presumably. Had he been inside one before, for the wrong reasons, maybe? Easy enough to find out. He’d already shown he had a temper. Maybe he had form for losing it as well. Five minutes in an interview room would be enough to see for himself. Definitely hiding something, that one.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Styles was leaning against his car when Porter pulled up. He peeled himself away, straightening up as Porter approached, like a Transformer unfolding, to reach his full height. At six-four, Styles had a clear five inches on him but often seemed to slouch to minimise it, as if he was self-conscious.

  ‘Sorry about before,’ Porter said as they shook hands. ‘Just wound up a bit too tight, what with it being a young ’un.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s fine, guv, I should have reminded you yesterday,’ said Styles, waving away the apology. They’d worked together for around four years now, and he’d always had Porter’s back. There had been one misunderstanding a few months back, when Porter had thought Styles was feeding information back to Superintendent Roger Milburn, Porter’s boss, undermining him. There had been tension there, sure, but he’d been wrong, and had admitted as much to Styles. Water under the bridge.

  ‘What do we know, then?’ Porter asked, scanning the car park and surrounding area, taking in the unmanned stalls and silent rides. A group of people, a couple of dozen maybe, milled around just beyond the line of police tape. ‘And who are the spectators?’

  ‘They’re the people who own this lot,’ Styles said. ‘All ecstatic at losing the afternoon’s takings, as you can see. I’ve tried pointing out there’s more serious things going on than whether some bloke from Chigwell can buy two and a half minutes of peace for a fiver so his kids can spin round in a giant teacup, but I must be losing my touch.’

  Porter looked at the crowd again. A small sea of scowling faces, pacing, muttering, racing their way through a day’s worth of cigarettes.

  ‘Tough. They can get back over here when we’re finished.’

  When that might be was unclear. With so many vehicles, stalls, no CCTV and no clear picture of exactly how Libby Hallforth had disappeared, the scene would take a fair chunk of time to process. Two roads penned in the long green triangle of grass where the fair had set up shop. Behind him, a few hundred metres of open ground. Over the far side of the fair, the Kings Oak Hotel. All in all, a tiny patch carved out of over three hundred square kilometres of woodland.

  ‘What have we got in motion so far?’

  Styles rattled through what he knew. Crime scene mana
ger logging everyone in and out. Names of staff and customers, over a hundred combined already. Number plates from the car park. Twenty officers making a start on searching nearby woodland. The only CCTV was at the hotel. No one there had seen her, but they’d asked for copies all the same.

  ‘Does anyone remember seeing her? Her mum mentioned she was keen on some horse racing game at one of the stalls.’

  Styles nodded. ‘Spoke to that guy myself. He remembers a girl who matched her description. Said she stuck in his mind cos she reminded him of his granddaughter. Didn’t see anyone with her, though, or anyone that looked out of place hanging round. He also remembered her because she was on her own the whole time she was at his stall.’

  That sparked something at the back of Porter’s brain. ‘Ally Hallforth told me she’d been with her there, and then walked off to get a coffee.’

  Styles shrugged. ‘The guy must see hundreds of people a day. If she wasn’t playing, he probably wouldn’t pay as much attention.’

  ‘No, it’s not just that,’ Porter said, shaking his head. ‘She said she’d been standing next to her, told her she was going for a drink, then left. He would have seen them talking.’

  Ally Hallforth had lied to him. Her little girl missing, and she’d lied within five minutes of him walking through her door. What could be more important than telling the truth with so much at stake? The same thought he’d had in the Hallforths’ living room swam to the surface. Even families are capable of doing awful things to those they love.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Porter sent a pair of constables over to the hotel to speak to staff and guests. They’d already searched the place before Porter arrived in case she’d wandered over and decided to explore any of the rooms. Apart from her phone, though, there was no sign she’d even been at the fair. What he’d give for this to have happened in a street full of CCTV, or for her to have kept hold of the phone so they could put a trace on it and go straight to her. He and Styles took the opportunity to speak with a few more of the fairground staff, but with the exception of the man Styles had already interviewed, none of them remembered seeing anyone matching her description, although Porter worried that some of the answers were a little too quick for his liking. Too keen to move them along to the next person. He could have sworn there were a couple of dozen people here before, maybe a few more, but now he counted only nineteen. No matter; they’d have names from the list taken earlier.

  Follow-up conversations with the Hallforths needed to happen, and fast. Libby had last been seen by the stall owner a little after one this afternoon. Ally had called up to report her missing around two hours later. Porter checked his watch. Almost 8 p.m., and the sun had long since sunk behind the treetops; the sky behind them was a dark, inky black. Seven hours missing, give or take, already. If Libby was out there, lost in the woods, she’d be scared witless by now.

  Please let it be something stupid. An argument with her mum or dad, and she’s hiding somewhere to teach them a lesson.

  ‘Are you OK to stay here and coordinate the search?’ Porter asked Styles. ‘I need to go and speak to the parents again, clear up the part of the mum’s story at the stall.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m good to stick around,’ Styles replied.

  ‘There was something off with the dad as well. Really weird vibe going on between him and his wife. He was an angry, mouthy one. Seemed more pissed off that Libby was causing hassle than actually worried about her. The glances they were giving each other, though, it’s like they were trying to tell each other things they didn’t want to say out loud with me in the room.’

  ‘Could be a run-of-the-mill domestic, guv?’ Styles asked. ‘Her giving him evils for saying the wrong things, and that pisses him off cos she’s making him look bad to us, so he gets angrier.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe, maybe not. There’s a brother as well,’ said Porter, snapping his fingers. ‘Moved out and lives on his own, but they didn’t say if he’d been out with them today. Can you pick that up first thing tomorrow? Track him down and have a chat?’

  ‘Yep, no worries,’ Style replied. ‘Oh, before I forget, Emma asked me to invite you and Evie around for dinner this weekend if you’ve got no plans.’

  It seemed surreal to be discussing something as casual as dinner plans in the middle of working a potentially delicate case like this, but Porter was used to Styles having no filters most of the time. It didn’t mean he was any less concerned about Libby Hallforth. He just had a habit of spitting out thoughts as they popped into his mind.

  ‘Don’t think we’re doing anything. I’ll check with Evie and let you know tomorrow if that’s OK?’

  Saying her name triggered his own memory. Shit, he’d said he would call and let her know if it was worth her staying over at his tonight, or whether he’d not be back till late. He was still feeling his way around the idea of being in a relationship again, and with a job like this, there were always plenty of distractions to push all thoughts of home life from your mind.

  Styles’s phone buzzed. ‘Lorna, that’s a new record. I’m guessing I owe you a week’s worth of coffees for this one?’

  Lorna Shields worked in the lab that processed most of the evidence gathered on their cases. The rule of thumb was the faster the evidence came back, the more it cost you. Porter was sure she had a soft spot for his DS. He seemed to be able to get her to overlook that at times, to undercharge and overdeliver. She was in her early sixties, and he was happily married, so not that kind of soft spot. She had told him that he looked like Denzel Washington, if Denzel had been stretched on a rack for a week, and that he was lucky she wasn’t thirty years younger.

  Porter watched Styles’s face as he listened. Saw his expression darken, fresh furrows appearing across his forehead. He waited until Styles ended the call.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘She’s been taking a look at Libby’s phone.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And there’s more than just cracks on her screen. Says there’s some photos on there we need to see.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Porter called DC Moira Kelly on the drive back to the station, and she promised to bring the Hallforths along to the station to take their full formal statements. He smiled at the thought of Simon Hallforth walking into a small boxy interview room. If the look on his face earlier was anything to go by, it’d be like sticking a claustrophobe in a suitcase.

  The rest of his drive was more sombre, though. Lorna hadn’t elaborated on what the pictures showed, apart from to say they’d been taken in the half hour leading up to Libby’s disappearance. Could be the best insight they’d get into where she’d been, what she’d seen. How did the phone get cracked in the first place? he wondered. Maybe wherever she was, she had a story ready about some bigger kids stealing it. Maybe it had been forcibly taken away from her.

  He shook the thought away. This was the kind of hopeful tangent Ally Hallforth would explore. He needed to stick to the facts, and the simple truth was they were already well past the golden hour: that crucial sixty-minute window that starts when an offence is committed, before evidence gets trampled, witnesses wander off or a suspect vanishes. The longer that clock ticks, the harder a case will be to solve. Not that he would admit as much to the Hallforths, but once it went past twenty-four hours with children, especially as young as Libby, forty-eight tops, the chances of a happy ending dropped like a stone.

  He did a double take as he walked into the office. Simmons sat there at his desk, sipping from a cardboard cup, holding a matching one out to him as he approached. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into the customary tight ponytail. His sister, Kat, had said on more than one occasion that she had something of a young Audrey Hepburn about her.

  ‘Figured you could use a coffee before you speak to the parents,’ she said.

  ‘How did you …’

  ‘Know you were on your way in?’ she finished his sentence for him. ‘I’m a detective, sir. It’s what we do,’ she finished with a wink. �
��Guessed you’d be on a late one, so thought I might as well catch up on some admin myself. That, and Styles texted me about dinner at theirs, and mentioned you were heading back in. Must have figured you’d forget.’

  There weren’t many others in at this time of day, but Porter did a quick check of those closest, looking for a reaction, anything to show they might have heard about the dinner plans.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, leaning forwards, talking in a stage whisper. ‘We’re not office gossip just yet.’

  ‘Hmm? No, no, it’s not that I … well, you know what it’s like. It’s just easier if we keep this to ourselves for now.’

  She leant back, held her palms up, smiling. ‘It’s all good. I get it, and that’s fine with me.’ The cheeky glint came back in her eyes as she leant in again. ‘It’s actually more fun that way. You know, illicit.’

  He felt his cheeks burn, hating that he was so easily embarrassed, but didn’t try and hide his own grin. ‘I might be a while in there,’ he said, gesturing towards the interview room.

  ‘That’s fine.’ She shrugged. ‘Not like I have anywhere better to be.’

  He toasted her with the coffee cup. ‘Better get started then. Thanks for the cuppa.’

  Wandering over to the door to interview room five, he felt a lightness to his step that hadn’t been there when he’d trudged up the steps at the entrance. He liked that about her. The effect she could have, even just in small doses. He’d had that with Holly. Hadn’t thought he’d find it again. He still wasn’t sure what they had, or where it might go, but for now at least it felt right.

  Ally Hallforth visibly jumped as he opened the door and strode in. Just her and DC Kelly. Simon Hallforth was in another room down the hall, as per Porter’s instructions. Better to hear both sides without the background static of a domestic. That, and both of them had set him on edge a little. Different reasons for each, but he’d learnt to trust his gut. Still needed to tread carefully, though. Even if they were coming across as obstructive or evasive, it wouldn’t do to have a complaint land on Superintendent Roger Milburn’s desk. He’d become Porter’s boss after a case that exposed corruption in the team, and had taken some convincing that Porter’s methods were the right side of the line. They seemed to have reached an unsteady truce, for now at least.