Buried Slaughter (3 page)

The doors to the station slammed shut behind Brian as he walked across the room to the front desk. His heart was racing. His cheeks were sweating.

“You okay, Bri?” Jill, the desk assistant, asked. She was like a mother figure to the officers in here; a classic northern lass, always smiling, always open to listen to problems. She wore glasses around her neck on brown beads. In fact, Brian wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her wearing them as glasses properly. Strange idea of fashion.

Brian forced a smile and cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. He took a few deep breaths. He needed to chill. He couldn’t let shits like Wallson get to him. “What’ve you got for me today?”

“Let me see,” Jill said, taking as much time as ever to go through his documents. “Looks like you’re on Moor Park today. Just checking those kids aren’t hanging around, terrorising the neighbours. You know the drill. Brian?”

Brian stared back at the journalists at the entrance door.

“You sure you’re okay?”

He snapped out of his trance and smiled at Jill again. “Yes. Sorry. Just…‌just tired.” Grabbing the documents and stuffing them under his arm, he made a break for the cafeteria. “Now to pick up my lazy colleague.”

He walked away from the front desk and went to the cafeteria.

David Wallson stared in at him, through the window, smile on face.

“And so I told her, ‘It’s just not going to work out between us,’ y’know? I just…‌I don’t like dating smokers. Simple as that.”

Brian grunted every few seconds as Scott opened up about his latest failed pursuit of love. The pair of them walked down the main road beside Moor Park, keeping their eyes on the seemingly derelict grass for any sort of misbehaviour. Autumn leaves brushed along the floor in the breeze, as drivers in cars pointed at the pair of PCSOs in their stupid, emasculating uniforms.

“It’s not that I didn’t like her,” Scott said. He had these ethical debates with Brian on pretty much a weekly basis now, but really, it was as if he was just airing his thoughts for his own benefit. Brian only needed to grunt every few seconds; make himself known. That was enough for Scott. His bloody soundboard.

“I don’t know,” Scott continued, as the pair of them turned onto the pathway of the park and headed towards the play area, where homeless people often drank near and scared the kids. “Maybe I’m just one of those people who is destined not to meet anybody. Maybe Carly was the only one for me. And now she’s moved on.”

“I used to think the same,” Brian said, relieved to finally be able to offer some legitimate advice. “I wondered whether there was another way after…‌after Vanessa.”

“What did happen with you two? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Brian did mind Scott asking. He didn’t like to delve into that part of his past too much. But he had to tell the story every now and then. He just dressed up the facts a little. Played up to a few clichés‌—‌that did the trick. “I was a miserable drinker. We separated. And then…‌and then all the bad stuff happened at work.”

“The Nicola Watson case?”

“Yes. Yes. That case. Anyway, we…‌we tried again afterwards. But it was clear too much damage had been done. So I just focused on my boy. Focused on being a good father. And I stopped looking for love. Lo and behold, that’s when Hannah came along a few months later, and now, I couldn’t be happier.”

“Well, you hardly stopped looking for love, signing up to those dating websites.”

Brian raised his eyebrows. “Touché.”

Scott was silent for a few moments. They passed the play area, which was as empty as the rest of the park. The shadow of Preston North End Football Club’s stadium lingered over, once pure-white paint turned a dirty shade of grey. “Don’t you ever wish you could…‌you could go back to how it was?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Scott said. He raised his arms and gestured around. “This, it must be fuckin’ banal for a former DS. It’s fucking banal for me, and I’ve never been higher on the ladder. Do you never wish you could go back to…‌I dunno. Detective work? I mean, this case with the bodies at Pendle Hill. Something like that not just set something ticking inside of you?”

Brian looked at his feet. He checked his watch‌—‌nine a.m. He’d been hoping Scott wouldn’t bring the Pendle Hill case up, but it was the talk of Preston, after all. “No,” he lied. “I…‌My family is more important now. I’m not good when I’m on a big case.”

Scott whistled. “Not what I heard. I heard you’re a fuckin’ dogged officer. Never let a lead tire. And you brought that Michael Walters nonce to justice in the end, eh? Even when the other officers wanted to back down, you brought him to justice.”

Brian tried to block the images of the past from his mind. Michael Walters and the horrible things he had done in the name of BetterLives. But the real culprit, Robert Luther. The real murderer of Nicola Watson, just without any evidence left against him. That’s what really forced him to step down from his higher role. He couldn’t be an intrinsic part of an institution that covered up for the highest bidder.

“I mean, hey, I’m just saying. Not trying to push you away or anything. Just sometimes wonder what goes through your head is…‌Ah, fuck. Dirty Dan’s here again.”

Scott jogged ahead of Brian, towards the old man in a grey coat sat on a park bench.

He had nothing on underneath his long, grey coat. His goose-pimpled erect cock was on display for any poor passer-by to see.

Usually, it amused Brian, seeing Dirty Dan like this. He was harmless enough. But today, his mind was elsewhere. He looked at his watch again. Five past nine. Fifty-five minutes until David Wallson headed to Pendle Hill with his spare media pass. The only window of opportunity he’d have to take a look at a crime scene that just wouldn’t stop niggling at him.

“You coming, Bri?” Scott asked.

Brian took a deep breath in. “Hey, I…‌Something’s come up. Do you mind signing for me and dealing with this? I shouldn’t be too long.”

Scott hesitated for a few moments then smiled. “Got it. Go do what you’ve gotta do.” He spun around and continued towards Dirty Dan, as a fountain of semen spouted out of Dan’s purple bellend.

Brian didn’t feel totally in control of his actions. He felt like somebody else was controlling him, pushing the buttons and directing his every move. He lifted his phone out of his pocket. Scrolled down to “Dickhead Dave”. Held his thumb over it for a few seconds.

No. He was being mad. What possible benefit would he gain from going to a crime scene like that? It would only make him restless. It would only make him want to solve it himself.

But there was nothing wrong with taking a look. He’d always found Pendle Hill an interesting location. There was nothing wrong with showing an interest in a big news story. Like a hobby, or something like that.

He looked on as Scott attempted to cover a hysterical Dirty Dan up, and lifted his phone to his ear.

The dialling tone rang just twice before David Wallson’s recognisable voice answered.

“If it isn’t Mr. McDone. Had a think about my offer?”

Brian tensed his jaw. He couldn’t actually believe he was doing this. “On one condition. That you pick me up from Moor Park, and you don’t write a fucking word about me in your rag of a paper.”

David laughed. “McDone, McDone. Why ever would I want to write a word about you?”

Brian hit the red button. Two seconds chatting to Wallson and already he wanted to throttle him.

He took one final look back at Scott and Dirty Dan. They were both sat down engaged in conversation now.

And then he walked down the path, towards the road, towards his rendezvous point.

There was nothing wrong with taking a look at Pendle Hill.

Just a little look.

Chapter Three

David Wallson was there to pick Brian up ten minutes later.

Brian barely uttered a word as he sat in the passenger seat of David’s jet black Honda Jazz. Disused coffee cups were tossed around the vehicle. Light hairs, which looked like dog hairs, coated the back seat, which was also host to a rather large-looking torch. Smelly, tangy cheese crisps were going stale in every corner of the car, crumbs scattered everywhere.

“Glad you decided to come along,” David said, as he indicated off the A6 to head towards Whittingham, venturing into the countryside.

Brian shook his head.

“You don’t seem too chatty. I swear you used to be chattier than this.”

“It’s because I’m a little curious as to why you’d let me come along. Why you’d want me to come along.”

David laughed. He held the steering wheel with one hand and reached to his side for one of the seemingly disused Starbucks cups. He took a sip from it, then gasped. “Brian,” he said, dabbing his lips with his sleeve. “You underestimate my respect for you.”

Brian scoffed. “Respect? There’s a few words I’d use of your attitudes towards the police, and respect is definitely not one of them.”

David turned to the left down the winding country road. Pendle Hill was visible in the distance, looming overhead like a spectre on the horizon. “The police? Perhaps. But you’re a civvie now. I like the PCSOs. Really, I do.”

“What is it you want, David? Really. What is it?”

David closed his mouth and smiled. This shit didn’t have to answer. He knew he was the one in control. He had Brian in his car after all, goddammit. “Let’s just go take a look at this crime scene. See if we can get a few nice body shots. And then we’ll talk about ‘wants’. Right now, I’m just glad to finally have you in my company. So we can put the past behind us. A new beginning. Right?”

Brian stared at David’s hand as he held it out. Dirt was wedged between his fingernails. There was a greasy sheen covering them. “Let’s just get there and get out of there as soon as possible. I’ve got a job to do.”

“But evidently, you deemed this little venture more important.”

Brian considered replying, but David was right, really. Something had drawn him away from his inane PCSO job. Something had dragged him away from Dirty Dan and his ejaculating cock on that park bench, and towards the highest-profile murder case in the country right now.

And it wasn’t just passing curiosity. As much as he wanted to believe it was, deep down, he knew that wasn’t the case.

David’s Honda turned another corner and ascended the bottom of Pendle Hill. The views got more and more magnificent the higher they got. If you squinted enough, you could really believe that it wasn’t the shithole of Preston you were looking at in the distance. It was like a cloudy L.A., lines of cow pats where the Hollywood sign would be.

As they got higher, barely speaking, Brian noticed a bunch of cars up ahead. A line of yellow tape surrounded an area which had a digger to the left. Behind the area, which was in the open, the deep, thick forest stared back at them. The witches’ forest, or so the myth went. Brian had spent plenty of time in Pendle Hill woods as a kid and a cop to know that the only threatening thing in there was the local village nudist.

The car stopped beside the yellow tape. A line of journalists, all snap-happy with their cameras, were being told to move back by a police officer that Brian didn’t recognise. Could be from Burnley. Pendle Hill was slap bang in the middle of three towns, so no doubt the individual stations were battling to solve the case themselves. A joint Lancashire effort. A recipe for disaster.

“Righto,” David said, handing Brian a pass. “Slap that around your neck. Should do the trick.”

Brian frowned at the lanyard, with
LANCASHIRE NEWS VISITOR
written on it. “If you think this is going to get you in, you’re wrong, you know?”

David opened his car door. He tucked his black trousers into his high-top trainers. “Things have changed since you stepped down. I don’t think we’ll have much of a problem at all. Coming?”

Brian thought back to Scott and wondered how he was getting on. “I can stay for an hour. No more.”

David winked. “That’s the spirit.” He climbed out of his car and shut the door.

Brian held his breath and followed.

To Brian’s surprise, they didn’t have much of a struggle getting through security and onto the scene of the crime. It left him a little reeling, especially as it technically went against everything ethical within the police department, but they were inside the yellow tape, and that was the main thing.

Brian stared into the trench. His heart pounded. He’d heard about the “horrific scenes of mutilation” on the news last night, but nothing could’ve prepared him for what he saw.

“Archeological dig site. Somebody shows up completely out of the blue yesterday morning and…‌and well, does this. Only one of ‘um survives. He’s traumatised.” DI Marlow stared down into the trench. He was a well-built man with a grey beard, about Brian’s age, perhaps a little older. Brian hadn’t really minded Marlow the few times he’d come into contact with him. He’d only moved to Preston towards the end of Brian’s stint there, which was a shame because he seemed like a good old-fashioned detective. He chewed on a piece of gum, his jaw clicking with every bite. He didn’t seem particularly fazed by what he saw.

Brian took a few moments to take it all in again. Feet, shin bones, thigh bones, arms, all in a circle at the bottom of the dig site.

And in the centre, piled on top of one another, seven heads.

“And you…‌you have no idea what…‌why…‌?” David Wallson’s hand shook as he held his camera. He hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to get a shot yet.

DI Marlow sighed. “Forensics from Burnley are identifying the heads and bones. Nothing else showing up though. The killer was very professional. Not even a trace of the missing torsos or murder weapon. Or all the muscle and flesh off the bones. Whoever did this cleaned up very well. But anyway, we’re gonna have a chat with our one witness, Darren Anderson, when he’s calmed down again. The man’s completely rattled. Doesn’t want any media coverage or owt. Whoever did this…‌fuck. Sick fuck.”

Brian squinted at the bones and the severed heads. All of the eyes were open wide, as if they’d been forced that way. Blood had trickled down their detached necks and onto the faces of those below, so that it looked like the victims were crying blood. Loose leaves drifted from the forest in the distance, falling into the trench and scraping over the bones.