All That Is Buried

by Robert Scragg

  Porter nodded his approval. ‘Our timeline is somewhere between twelve months and five years. I want records for former employees going back that far as well. Anyone who’s ever planted a flower or cut a blade of grass. Kaja, Gus, I’ll leave that with you.’

  ‘No worries, boss.’

  Porter paused for a beat, rethinking his decision to keep Nuhić a secret. When had he become so mistrusting? That was for the likes of Milburn, to limit information, to manage in silos. Not his style. He decided to bring them up to speed, and ratted through what had come to light.

  ‘I’ll be following up the Nuhić angle with DS Simmons. In the meantime, Simon Hallforth isn’t going anywhere. Nick, now we know his true colours, I want his life turned inside out, all his known associates checked out. Anyone that could bear him a grudge, and for those of you that have spoken to the man, that could be quite a lengthy list.’

  Styles nodded. ‘I’ll have another chat with Marcus Hallforth as well,’ he said. ‘Might be that he saw people coming and going from the flat. He could help narrow it down.’

  ‘That’s a good shout,’ Porter said, checking his watch. ‘Right, that’s it for today. Get yourselves away, and let’s have a good run at this tomorrow. Any questions?’

  A full complement of shaking heads. It was almost 6 p.m. on a Friday; nobody needed telling twice. They disappeared faster than bargains in the Boxing Day sales, leaving just him and Styles.

  ‘Sorry about snapping earlier,’ Porter said. ‘You know, about Evie and the FLO. Just that with what happened last year …’

  ‘Honestly it’s fine, boss, I’d have been the same,’ he said.

  Porter doubted that. Styles was one of the most laid-back people he knew, but he left it there, happy that waters had been smoothed. A quick time check showed him he had an hour before he was expected at St Cuthbert’s School hall. He and Evie had been invited by his nephews, Tom and James, to their school play. They seemed more excited by Evie coming than anyone else due to attend, including their uncle Jake, and even their own mum. Was it really that much of a novelty that he actually had a girlfriend now? What with that tonight, then dinner with Styles and Emma tomorrow, he was almost starting to feel comfortable being someone’s other half again. Almost.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Tom and James barrelled towards her, although she couldn’t tell which was which yet. Literally carbon copies of one another, they’d already cottoned on to the fact, aged only six, that being able to pose as each other was one of the best games that twins could play.

  One clinging to each leg, she turned and shrugged at Porter, as if to say he had some stiff competition. Words tumbled out from both, overlapping into a stream that she had to really concentrate on to follow.

  ‘Did you see …’

  ‘What did you think of …’

  ‘Did you like …’

  Porter’s sister, Kat, stood off to one side, smiling, shaking her head, revelling in Porter’s apparent awkwardness at actually being out in public without wondering if they’d be spotted by anyone they knew. He definitely had a tough outer shell, but she couldn’t blame him after what happened to his wife. Losing a spouse young was bad enough. Worse still that it was a hit-and-run, an unsolved one at that.

  She’d taken an instant liking to Kat Porter. Felt like that had been mutual. They’d even met for coffee a few times without Jake there. Kat and her mother were iterations of the same person, in looks and personality. Jake’s mum and dad, Harriet and Richard Porter, had welcomed her with open arms too, but Evie sensed a wariness with Harriet. Nothing bad, or disapproving. More along the lines of a mother watching out for her child, worried in case he got hurt.

  The twins buzzed around her legs for another minute, before peeling away, running along the corridor to repeat the process with Porter’s parents. With them out of earshot, Kat asked Jake about the coverage she’d seen in the news.

  ‘I know you can’t tell all the gory details, but where do you even begin working out what kind of sick bastard could do that kind of thing to a child?’ she said, watching her own two pogo up and down against their grandfather’s legs. ‘The mother of that other girl as well, Libby, wasn’t it? I don’t know how I’d cope if anything happened to my two.’

  She and Porter said nothing, both giving her matching raised eyebrows that said, We hear you.

  ‘Sorry, not exactly family-friendly chat, is it?’ Kat said. ‘I’ll shut up now. Well, maybe not shut up, but pick something nicer to waffle on about.’ She rested a hand on Evie’s shoulder, gesturing down the corridor with the other. ‘You do realise they’ve got you up there with Uncle Jake and Batman, right?’

  Simmons looked at her, then to Porter, feeling the faintest hint of a blush. ‘They’re adorable. If I ever have kids, I’d want them just like that.’ She saw a twinkle in Kat’s eyes, realising she’d just given her a perfect in to ask about something she and Jake hadn’t even talked about in any way shape or form.

  ‘How many do you want?’ Kat asked, diving in headfirst. Simmons saw Jake trying to pretend he hadn’t heard, and failing miserably. She tried to fob Kat off, make a joke of it, save the conversation for another day, a more private setting.

  ‘Ah, we’ll see. I struggle just looking after myself these days, without having anyone else depending on me. Besides, it’s hard enough to climb the ladder at work without taking a year off, you know.’

  ‘You’d be surprised how quickly you adapt,’ Kat said, ‘especially when you get a bonus one you hadn’t planned for.’

  Simmons looked to the twins again, still on the move, no off switches. She had nothing but respect for Kat. She did want kids, but the thought of two at the same time was a little terrifying. She turned to face Kat again, sending her what she hoped was a strong can we please change the subject look. It seemed to do the trick, and right on cue the twins charged back towards them, begging to be allowed to go back to Grandma and Grandad’s for ice cream.

  ‘Way too late, my little terrors,’ Kat said.

  It took them another full minute to be persuaded to let Simmons and Porter head off. She meant what she said, they were adorable, but as she climbed into the car, she noticed he’d not said much since that last exchange.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure it’s still you and Batman fighting it out for the top spot.’

  He smiled, but didn’t say anything as they pulled out of the car park.

  ‘Everything OK?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, glancing over, smiling again, but a tired one. ‘Just been a long day, that’s all.’

  ‘We still on with Nick and Emma tomorrow?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Monosyllabic, even by male standards. ‘Don’t blame him for Simon Hallforth being a dick,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t his fault.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I know you were annoyed at Styles for forgetting to arrange an FLO for Mrs Hallforth, but there’s no guarantee they’d have even been there the whole day. Don’t get me wrong,’ she said, reaching over and squeezing his leg, ‘it’s nice to have someone who worries about me, but it’s not like we work in Tesco. Things like this are bound to happen sometimes.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but doesn’t mean we can’t try and keep the risks to a minimum.’

  ‘And I do. It’s not like I go out looking for fights,’ she said, raising her fists like a boxer, dragging some humour into it. ‘But you can’t wrap me up in cotton wool, not when we do what we do.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he said, suddenly sounding exasperated. ‘It’s just that I almost lost you once already. Shit like that just seems to happen to people around me, and …’

  She knew exactly where he was coming from. Not just her. Holly. Her words came out sounding harsher than she intended.

  ‘I’m not her, though, Jake. I’m not Holly,’ she snapped, snatching her hand back from his leg.

  She couldn’t have stunned him silent better if she’d slapped him across the face. Glancing
across, she saw his grip on the wheel tighten. The leg she’d been squeezing jiggled ever so slightly, as he bit down on whatever he wanted to say next. The silence lasted a full thirty seconds, until she caved.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap like that.’

  ‘No, it’s me being stupid,’ he said, and she could tell he meant it. The car slowed as they pulled up at a red light, and he looked over at her. ‘I can still picture you all wired up in hospital. Wasn’t that long ago. It was hard enough losing one person I care about. Can’t help but get a little worked up about that kind of thing happening again, you know.’

  He reached over, put his hand over hers. ‘Can’t help being an irritating, overprotective, grumpy old git, but if you can put up with that, the rest isn’t so bad.’

  The lights cycled through amber and green, and they set off again, falling into easier conversation, and by the time they got back to her place, the dial was as good as reset. She was a firm believer in clearing the air, and far better this had been done tonight than hang over into dinner with Styles tomorrow evening. She was really looking forward to that. Styles was impossible not to like, one of those people who could put anyone at ease, and Emma sounded lovely too.

  Guaranteed there’d be some shop talk, even with one non-copper at the table, but she was looking forward to a slice of normality, to just be one half of a couple instead of part of a task force. To talk about normal things instead of who was selling what drugs on which turf. Everyday things like … She closed her eyes, groaning inside as she had a flash-forward of what tomorrow’s dinner conversation might go like. Emma Styles was expecting any time now. She could see the look on Porter’s face already, reddening cheeks, shifting in his seat. The thought made her smile. What the hell, bring it on.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The dreams are always a variation on a theme. Marie and Ben in the back seat, not a care in the world except who gets to go next with I spy. They’re strapped in behind, he’s driving, and she’s there in the passenger seat beside him. The destination varies. This time they’re off to the beach. Gabbling from the back seat, extracting promises of ice cream, chips and some of that bright blue bubblegum-flavour fizzy pop, enough sugar to give an elephant diabetes.

  Up ahead, a bend in the road. One he’s sure they passed a few miles back. He looks in the rear-view mirror, seeing the children impossibly far away, as if he’s looking the wrong way through binoculars. His wife in the seat beside him, however, is the polar opposite, close up and HDTV clear. The trio of freckles on her cheek. Every pore in her face, as if he’s examining her through a microscope.

  No traffic on the road. Can’t remember the last time they passed another car. Trees and hedges either side whip past, smudges of greens and browns. His foot floats above the accelerator, barely touching but it’s enough to propel the car forward like a missile. He takes the corner, impossibly smooth for the speed they’re travelling, but he’s the only one who notices.

  Nearly there. Not long. Straight road ahead now, stretching to a point on the horizon. He feels himself relax; tension seeps from his shoulders as he sinks into his seat. The steady hum of the engine as he doesn’t so much drive, but flow over the tarmac. It’s the change in sound he notices first. Makes him glance back at the kids again, voices filtering through from the back, crackling, like a bad phone line. Their features start to shift, rippling, never constant. He knows it’s them. Recognises their voices, so why can’t he see their faces?

  He turns to ask his wife, words booming in his head, but he isn’t sure he actually speaks them out loud. Her mouth opens, forming around words, but no sound comes out. He stares, studies her, tries to second-guess what she’s telling him. Behind him, the children’s faces are now nothing more than smooth ovals of skin. No eyes, nose or mouth, but somehow, impossibly, still talking, laughing.

  I spy with my little eye.

  His wife grabs his arm, eyebrows arched in alarm, imploring him, but to what end he has no idea. Ruby red lips framing a black oval. He looks down, sees her nails digging crescents into his flesh, but there’s no pain. She tugs at his arm, pulling towards her, making the wheel jerk. The car swerves, flirting with the grass verge. A stale odour fills his nostrils, familiar but foreign, having no place in the car.

  He wrestles with the wheel, righting them, but she grabs at him again. Before he can react, arms swarm from behind, two, no, four of them, thin and childlike but with surprising strength, pinning him to his seat. The faceless figures in the mirror are still strapped in, so if not them, then who?

  His wife reaches over, silently screaming inches from his face, eyes and mouth wide in an oval trio of alarm, a real-life Munch’s The Scream. He strains to break free, but instead can only watch as the wheel is yanked a full one-eighty. From the blur of trees, one emerges, snapping into focus, filling the windscreen as if he’s static and it’s the tree that rushes towards them.

  His eyes snap open, and he’s back in his bedroom, chest heaving as if he’s been running. It takes a few seconds until he can move, synapses firing, kicking back in, telling him he’s alive. Reality comes crashing back in. Victoria Park. The children, taken from him. They’re not there any more, no idea where they’ll be now, but he needs to be close to them, and that’s as good a place to start as any.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Marcus Hallforth had traded up, no doubt about that. Not exactly a palace, but no shopping trolleys in sight, or carpet of broken glass to greet him, as Nick Styles walked up the short path to the house. A step up from Fred Wigg Tower, and a healthy distance from his dad. That had to have been a big selling point.

  Styles had tried to catch him last thing yesterday on the way home, but had to make do with leaving a voicemail. This morning was the only time he was free over the next few days, so Styles dragged himself out of bed, Saturday morning lie-in sacrificed for the greater good. Couldn’t hurt to clock up a few extra brownie points with Porter as well, after his recent cock-up.

  It had been a blessing in disguise that Marcus couldn’t meet last night, as it happened. It gave Styles time to get his brain in gear, spot some dots that hadn’t been joined yet. Ones that led to some interesting questions for Marcus. Might be that Marcus would regret not being available last night.

  Marcus opened the door before Styles could even knock, jacket on and phone in hand, on his way out by the looks of it.

  ‘Morning, Marcus. You wouldn’t have been trying to head out and leave me hanging, would you?’

  Marcus Hallforth looked offended by the very suggestion, but Styles wasn’t convinced. ‘Thought we’d said half past,’ he said with a casual shrug. ‘Got to get something for breakfast. Can we walk and talk, cos I gotta work after this?’

  Styles debated insisting they went inside, but had a feeling that he’d probably get more time on the walk than he would inside.

  ‘Just heading to Maccy D’s along the road,’ said Marcus, gesturing along the street. ‘What was it you wanted to see me about, anyway?’

  ‘Have you spoken to your mum?’

  Marcus kept his eyes on the pavement as he walked, hands deep into the pockets of an oversized jacket that looked way too warm for the weather.

  ‘Yeah, she called me yesterday.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us about your dad, Marcus? When I spoke to you months ago, you told me then about his temper. Why keep the rest a secret?’ he asked, the assumption being that Marcus had known, of course. He might not have, but Simon Hallforth didn’t strike Styles as the world’s greatest criminal. More like the kind who’d strut around, pretending to be the big man.

  ‘Didn’t want to get Mum in trouble,’ he said. ‘It’s his fault she got into that shit in the first place, no reason she should get dragged through the mud as well.’

  ‘There’s a chance that your sister’s disappearance could have something to do with your dad’s activities, Marcus. We could have done with that info months ago, so I need to know.’ Styles put out a hand,
stopping Marcus with a light touch to the arm, fixing him with a hard stare. ‘Is there anything else you’re not telling us? Anything you might be holding back, no matter what the reason?’

  Marcus took a step back, looking Styles up and down. ‘What you trying to say?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Styles, hands sliding into pockets. ‘Just thought if you’d kept that to yourself, even with good intentions, that it was worth checking again.’

  ‘Nah, that was it. Like I said, bad enough she had to put up with him, but she’s all Chloe’s got now, and she’s doing much better. Cleaned herself up, for now anyway. If he gets sent down, she might even stay that way.’ It didn’t sound like he believed his own words.

  ‘Here’s hoping,’ Styles said, and genuinely meant it. ‘She’s done the hard part.’ He pulled a notebook from his pocket, flicking through until he found what he was looking for. ‘When we first spoke, you said you’d been at home with your girlfriend, Susie, wasn’t it? Susie Lim?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Marcus, sounding wary, clearly wondering where Styles was going with this, as they rounded the corner, Marcus picking up pace like he had somewhere to be.

  ‘I spoke to Susie back then. That’s pretty much what she said too.’

  They were level with McDonald’s now, and crossed the road in silence.

  ‘You coming in, or waiting here?’ Marcus asked.

  ‘I’m good here,’ said Styles, leaning against the wall, seeing the glance Marcus gave back over his shoulder. Wondering if it was nerves, or just instinct.

  Marcus came out five minutes later, carrying a bulging brown paper bag in one hand, drink clutched in the other.

  ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude or nothing, but once I have this’ – he held up the bag – ‘I’ve got to work. Was there anything else you needed?’

  ‘You and Susie still together?’ Styles asked.

  Marcus scowled. ‘Why all the questions about Susie?’