‘Got a bonus prize for you as well, though,’ she said. ‘I know they were recovered in a particular order, boy, girl, boy, girl. Doesn’t stop there though. All the boys were aged around six, and the girls around eight, so you’ve got four matching pairs. Make of that what you will.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Simmons knocked for a third time, deciding she’d give it a ten count then give up. Shuffling from behind the door, a sign that patience had paid off. A few seconds’ delay, time taken to check through the peephole who was disturbing her. Finally, the door opened. Ally Hallforth looked older than on the footage Simmons had seen, but she supposed losing a child would do that to you. The woman before her looked hunched as they took their seats in the living room, posture eroded by months of constant pressure and speculation.
‘Detective Porter sends his apologies,’ she said. ‘With what we found at the park, things are a little crazy right now, but he wanted me to reassure you that just because Libby wasn’t amongst those we found, we’re not losing sight of her due to the new investigation.’
Ally gave a thin-lipped smile. One that spoke of a dozen other reassurances over the months, none of which had brought her daughter back, but thankful for what little belief it let her hang on to.
‘He asked me to follow up on a few things with you, see if we can’t shake something new loose. I was going over interviews from back when she disappeared, and one of my colleagues had spoken to your son, Marcus. I understand he and your husband didn’t get on too well?’
‘Ex-husband,’ she said, wrinkling up her nose as if she’d caught a whiff of something bad. ‘Least he will be soon.’
‘Ex-husband, sorry.’
‘They were as bad as each other sometimes. Almost like they got their kicks out of winding each other up.’
‘Marcus mentioned a number of occasions where things had gotten physical,’ Simons said, leaving it hanging open rather than ask an outright question.
‘Simon doesn’t do well with anyone standing up to him,’ she said, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. ‘It was just easier to let him have his way, you know? Made for an easier life. That and I hated it when he kicked off in front of the kids. Marcus, though, he’s just as stubborn as his dad.’
She paused there, sniffing loudly. Not a pleasant trip down memory lane by any means. Simmons fought the urge to prompt her. Old wounds needed to be probed carefully.
‘It’s not easy to talk about. Never have really, but if he’s already told you, there’s no point saying otherwise. He’s many things, my boy, but he’s not a liar. It’s true, Simon wasn’t shy about dishing out a slap or two.’
‘Just to Marcus?’
Ally looked up, a fierce look in her eyes, cornered. Only for a beat, though, shoulders slumping again. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Why did I stay with him? Where the bloody hell was I supposed to go? And he wasn’t all bad. Not at first anyway, not until …’
‘Until what?’
‘He never hurt me, not really. Was more of a slap across the cheek, usually after a night out with his mates from work. One time he gave Marcus a bloody nose, when he was twelve, maybe thirteen.’
‘What about Chloe, Libby?’
She shook her head. ‘Grabbed a hold of them a few times when they were having a tantrum, a bit too rough, you know, but no worse than that.’
‘Most kids who run away, Ally, they do it to escape stuff at home or school. I get that you might not have wanted to say at the time. You were scared of what he’d do, how he might react, but we need you to think back. Was there anything around then, an argument, Simon getting drunk, anything that might have made her think running away was the best option?’
‘He was a shit to me the day we lost her, but that was after we couldn’t find her. Nothing she would have seen. Is that what you’re saying now, then, that you think she ran away instead of someone taking her?’
‘We’re not putting all of our eggs in one basket, Ally, but yeah, we need to go back over all the possibilities.’ Time to gently steer the conversation. ‘You mentioned about him going out a lot with work mates. Remind me what he does for a living.’
There it was, so fast, easy to miss if she wasn’t looking for it. Ally’s eyes darting around the room, looking for a way out. One hand rubbing the other, thumb grinding into her palm. Not a question she was comfortable answering. Time for some subtle pressure.
‘Ally, if there was anything Simon was into, anyone suspicious he was hanging around with, we need to know. Maybe Libby disappeared, but if she didn’t, if she was taken, we need to know who else might have had access to her.’
Ally Hallforth’s face spoke of an internal struggle. No denying she had something she wanted to share. She was at a crossroads alright, mouth twitching, tongue wetting her lower lip.
‘I know what it’s like to be scared,’ Simmons said finally. ‘I was hurt not too long ago, at work. Could have died, apparently. I nearly didn’t come back to work.’ She felt a prickle in her eyes as she shared. ‘Wasn’t anyone I knew who did it, but you’re not the same afterwards. There’s that little voice that tells you to keep your head down, out of harm’s way.’
She paused, making eye contact with Ally, willing her to open up.
‘I’m not saying I know what it’s like to have that feeling at home as well as work, but you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You might have put up with it for years, but look at you now. He’s not here, and you’re standing on your own two feet. All I’m interested in is finding your daughter, Ally.’
Ally sniffed, ran a hand under her nose. Took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, then deflated like she had a slow puncture.
‘He was a mechanic. I mean he still is, but that’s not all.’
Bingo.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Simon Hallforth hadn’t moved far. His first floor flat on Reynolds Court was less than half a mile from the place he once shared with Ally. A boxy block, four storeys, and five across. A row of seven padlocked doors lined the back lane. Wheelie-bin storage, maybe? Styles trudged up the concrete staircase and almost toppled backwards when he got to the top, hands up to avoid bumping into the figure that appeared.
Simon Hallforth scowled, but his face dropped when he recognised Styles, whatever curse he’d been about to spit out dying on his lips.
‘Mr Hallforth, DS Styles. Have you got a minute?’
‘I remember you, and no, I’m on my way out.’
‘It’ll only take a few minutes, sir.’
‘Like I said, I’m busy.’ A smug smile reinforcing that he had better places to be, people to see.
‘Surely not too busy to talk about your missing daughter, though,’ said Styles, enjoying the twist to Hallforth’s mouth as it hit home. ‘Maybe we could pop back inside for a chat?’
‘Here’s fine,’ said Hallforth, clinging onto what little control he had over the situation.
Style shrugged. No skin off his nose. ‘I know my boss spoke to you yesterday about the sighting.’
‘Yeah, fat lot of good that bloody reconstruction has done you.’
‘You’, not ‘us’. Wordplay, sure, but interesting to note.
‘We’re going back over everything, and some new information has come to light. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather pop back inside?’
‘I said I’m fine here, didn’t I?’ he said, but Styles saw Hallforth’s eyes narrow, trying to work out what was heading his way.
‘Have it your way. We’re looking at anyone who might have come into contact with Libby, or had access to her. Anyone who might have a reason to take her.’
‘And? You did that already. Didn’t get you anywhere, though.’
‘That was before we received information that you had ties to a local gang.’
It was as if Styles had slapped him across the face. His mouth worked soundlessly, eyes wide in surprise. A few seconds of paralysis, before he snapped back into action.
‘The
fuck I am. What you talking about? Whoever said that is full of shit.’
‘You’re denying it, then?’ said Styles, opting to prod him a little more. Men like Hallforth struggled to wind it in once they’d lost the plot. Often ended up running their mouths off when they didn’t mean to.
‘Dunno what you’re on about, Officer,’ he said, puffing his chest out. ‘I’m a mechanic, not a bloody gangster.’
‘We know the gang deal drugs in this area. I’m not here to arrest you over that, but if there’s a chance that anything you’re mixed up in might have spilt over into Libby’s world, we need to know. If it helped us get her back, you’d likely get a free pass anyway.’
Not likely, of course, but Hallforth had to believe there was an upside to him talking.
‘Where the hell have you got this rubbish from anyway?’
‘Not at liberty to say just yet, sir, but you’re missing the point. If there’s anyone from that part of your life who you might have pissed off, anyone who would want to teach you a lesson, we—’
‘It’s her, isn’t it?’ Hallforth said, narrowing his eyes. ‘That bitch up the road. It’s not enough she thinks she’s too good for me now, she’s got to try and get me banged up as well.’
‘This isn’t about you, sir,’ Styles reiterated, patience wearing thin.
‘You don’t deny it, then?’
‘What? Oh, you mean who told us that—’
‘Don’t bother,’ Hallforth said. ‘You’d done it right off the bat I might have believed you, but I know it’s her.’
‘Is that because nobody else knows about your extra-curricular?’ said Styles.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, before Hallforth stepped to one side, moving past Styles, who reached out a hand, grabbing his arm.
‘Get your hands off me,’ he said, pulling the arm back.
Styles held up his hands, backing away a step. ‘I’d think about cooperating if I were you, Mr Hallforth. You might need us onside if Mr Nuhić starts asking why a police car was parked outside your flat.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve not told you anything!’ Hallforth was practically shouting now, face flushed with colour.
Styles smiled. ‘You’ve told me more than you think.’
‘You’re off your rocker, mate.’
‘Really? Funny, you didn’t bat an eyelid when I mentioned your boss’s name, let alone ask me who I was talking about.’
Another strike. Hallforth was lost for words again, but the delay, even just for a second, was all the confirmation Styles needed. Hallforth stared him out for another few seconds, then disappeared down the staircase. Part two of Styles’s plan was to follow Hallforth now, see if he ran straight to anyone else in Nuhić’s crew, maybe even Dean. If he spilt to Alfie Dean that the police were looking for links to his daughter, Simmons would find out. In theory that would mean it was less likely there was any internal squabbling, if he was willing to confide in his own. The flip side of that, of course, was that Libby could be a casualty of the struggle for power between the rival gangs jostling for top spot now Alexander Locke was long gone.
That would put Hallforth between the proverbial rock and a bat-shit Slovenian sociopath. Don’t help the authorities, and risk never seeing your child again. Go to the police for help, and risk disappearing yourself. Maybe the rest of your family too.
Styles waited a five count, then trotted downstairs after him. Hallforth’s silver Ford Mondeo spun its wheels as it barrelled out onto Cobbold Road. Styles quickened his pace, gunning the engine and just rounding the corner in time to see Hallforth disappear left onto Harrow Road. Definitely a man in a hurry. Suggested he was panicking, acting on instinct.
It wasn’t until he skewed right onto Montague Road, rear wheels drifting a few feet, that Styles realised what was about to happen. Up ahead, the Mondeo screeched to a halt outside John Walsh Tower. He wasn’t running off to one of Nuhić’s men. He was going after his ex-wife.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Eve Simmons checked her watch. Almost ten-thirty. The family liaison officer should be here any minute. Ally Hallforth had barely moved in the past half-hour. Legs folded up under her, scrolling mindlessly through Facebook.
She could have sworn she remembered Porter mentioning that he’d already arranged for an FLO. God knows Ally still needed one. Not around the clock, but she’d been getting calls from the press after the false sighting. A few had even chanced their arm and doorstepped her. She tried again to put herself in Ally’s shoes. It was one thing to watch others go through this kind of trauma, another entirely to live it. It had been hard enough when she’d been hospitalised, not knowing if she had the strength to make it back to any kind of normality. She’d felt helpless, but this was a whole different level. At least she’d been able to influence her own recovery. All that Ally could do was sit there and hope they did their jobs well enough. Wait for a phone call or a knock at the door, with no guarantee as to what kind of news it’d bring.
She’d fobbed Maartens off with a fictitious doctor’s appointment. But that wouldn’t buy her much longer. Another ten minutes tops, and she’d have to leave Ally Hallforth to wait in alone. The banging on the door made her jump, looking across to Ally, seeing the fear in her eyes.
‘Open up, you bitch. I know what you did.’
Not the FLO, then. ‘Your ex-husband?’ she asked Ally in a low voice. Ally nodded, her whole body a bundle of nervous energy.
‘Don’t worry,’ Simmons said. ‘I’ll take care of it.’
She strode down the short corridor and called through without opening the door.
‘Mr Hallforth, this is DS Simmons, Met Police. Ally’s not up to visitors right now, so can I suggest you head off until you’ve calmed down a bit.’
‘I don’t care who you are. Open this bloody door. She doesn’t get to slag me off then hide behind you.’
‘I’ve got another officer on the way, sir. Threats aren’t going to help you here.’
‘Then I’ll wait till they get here. You’ll have to open the door then.’
Simmons’s mind flashed to her baton, safely tucked away in the glovebox downstairs. It wouldn’t exactly be reasonable force at this stage, more’s the pity. Her pulse hammered; the first time she’d been in any real confrontation since she came back to work, and here she was cowering behind a door. Sod him. A scrawny little shit like that wasn’t going to intimidate her. He was nothing like the gorilla of a man who’d smashed her head off a wall. Before she thought too hard about it, she wrenched the door open.
He’d been inches away, peering pointlessly through the glass peephole, and jerked back as she stepped into the frame.
‘Sir, you need to leave now, please.’
‘Or what?’ he said, taking a half-step back, spreading his arms in a what you gonna do gesture.
‘Just go, Simon.’ A timid voice came from behind her. She turned, saw Ally’s face peering around the corner. ‘Please, just go.’
The sight of her was like a starter’s pistol. He lurched forwards, catching Simmons off guard, dipping his shoulder as he collided. The impact ripped her hand from its grip on the frame, spinning her around against the wall. She hit it with an oofff as the wind was knocked out of her, but recovered quickly and followed Hallforth along the corridor.
Ally stood behind a large armchair, feinting one way as he went the other. He made a feint of his own, lunging the other way as she scooted off to one side, grabbing a handful of hair, dragging her towards him. All his attention was focused on his ex-wife, so he didn’t realise Simmons was there until her foot connected with his knee.
His grip loosened, and he flopped into the chair like a puppet with strings cut, with a surprisingly high-pitched whine.
‘You bitch, you’ve broke my kneecap,’ he snarled, flecks of saliva bubbling down his chin.
‘Simon Hallforth, I’m arresting you for assaulting a police officer,’ she said, breathing hard, more from the adrenalin
e rush than exertion, as she rattled through his rights. ‘Stay down, or the other one will be next.’
The look he gave her could have curdled milk, but he clutched at the damaged knee, no attempt to stand. Footsteps hammered along the corridor and set her heart hammering again. Had he brought one of Nuhić’s men with him? She readied herself, sliding a step over to the corner of the wall, one eye on Hallforth to make sure he didn’t try anything, both fists held high, ready to block or strike.
She acted on instinct as the figure barrelled around the corner, catching Styles a glancing blow on the shoulder.
‘Woah, easy there, killer,’ he said, backing away.
She breathed out hard, laughing in spite of the tension, maybe because of it. ‘Too late, mate,’ she said, nodding towards Simon Hallforth. ‘You want a job doing properly, you send in a woman.’
Styles gave Hallforth a once up and down, nodding his approval. ‘Looks like you’ve all worked your differences out nicely.’
‘Don’t suppose you saw the FLO on your way up, did you? I called one in an hour ago.’
Styles’s face dropped. ‘Shit.’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Simmons, puzzled.
‘I was meant to sort one yesterday. If they’d been here you’d have had backup from the off. Porter’s going to kill me.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Simon Hallforth had a face like a smacked backside as Porter walked into the interview room. He looked down at the heavy strapping around the damaged knee, gave a half-smile, appreciating Evie’s work.
‘You’ll not be laughing when I sue your stupid mate that did this,’ he spat out.
All That Is Buried Page 11
