Buried Slaughter by Ryan Casey

stories?”
    Damon slapped down the Blackburn Telegraph onto the table. On the front, in a small image in the bottom right corner, Brian saw himself being dragged away from the scene of the massacre. He wanted to fall into a hole in the ground. Fuck‌—‌he’d happily disappear into one of those trenches until his embarrassment receded.
    “I don’t care who you are,” Darren added, opening the back door and holding his hand to gesture Brian to leave. “You seem to be actively pursuing this case. That counts for something.”
    Brian stumbled to his feet and headed to the door. His head was lowered, like a kid caught nicking sweets from the treats cupboard. “I apologise. I was a detective. I’m technically still‌—‌”
    “Just stop, and leave. Pretend this never happened.”
    A small amount of weight lifted from Brian’s shoulders. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it.”
    He stepped out of the door and back into the cold of outdoors. The name, Harold Harvey, spun around his head. An unidentifiable person hiring an archeological contractor to find an unidentified treasure. Then the group were massacred. Something wasn’t right about all this. Something was desperately wrong, in fact.
    “Wait a second,” Brian said. He shouldn’t have pursued Darren anymore than he already had, but he couldn’t just let this lie. “How did you know what it was you were supposed to be searching for?”
    Darren had already partly closed the door, but stopped when Brian spoke. He considered the question for a few moments, glancing around the garden. “We were just told we’d know it when we found it. That’s it.”
    He closed the door and disappeared out of sight, into his kitchen.
    Brian headed down the path to the car. He’d been at Darren’s for roughly half an hour, which meant that he had three hours or so before Hannah would start expecting him home for lunch. He sat in his car. Held the name up in front of him. Harold Harvey.
    “Who are you?” Brian asked, speaking to himself more than anyone.
    He shoved the notepad in his pocket, lifted out his phone, and Googled “Davidson Archeological Contractors” for information on their offices. When he’d memorised the address, he opened up his contacts and hit David Wallson’s name, which was still down as “Dickhead Dave”.
    The dialling tone rang three times before David’s raspy voice answered.
    “Brian! Pleasure to hear from you. Did you enjoy your anniversary card? Have a think about my proposal?”
    “I more than thought about it. I’ve just spoken to Darren Anderson. And I’ve got a few hours to go speak to Davidson Archeological Contractors before the police beat me to it, so I’m heading there right now. Darren tells me a crook named Harold Harvey hired them, but apparently the police have no positive ID.”
    David didn’t respond for a few seconds, but from knowing him long enough, Brian could sense him smiling away, grinning with that slimy face. “Knew that detective was inside still, Brian. Just knew it. Because I knew you’d come good, I’ll make sure we pull those pictures of you being dragged away from the scene.”
    “Too late. The wankers at the Blackburn Telegraph beat you to it.”
    “Ah well. It’ll make a nice side-heading. Few extra quid for me. I’ll look into this Harold Harvey dude for you. Now you get back to that detective work of yours.”
    “Right on it,” Brian said, cancelling the call before David had a chance to get another word in. He stared at the digital clock on his dashboard. 09:17. The police would be speaking to Davidson Archeological Contractors some time this afternoon. Brian had to make sure he got there first. And in the meantime, he had to make sure he got back to Hannah before she got suspicious, or before work called home with his suspension details.
    Fuck. That wasn’t even worth thinking about.
    He revved up the engine and sped down the road, away from the fallen leaves of the trees, away from