Buried Slaughter by Ryan Casey Page B

concrete underneath. Four lone computers sat at the far right-hand side of the room.
    And in the middle of the room, at the opposite side of a round table, a chubby moustached man sat.
    “Detective,” he said, holding out his hand in the direction of the chair opposite.
    Brian nodded his head and sat in the seat. “You must be Mr. Davidson?”
    “Who else?” he said.
    Brian cleared his throat. His voice didn’t sound as confident or convincing as it used to, not to himself anyway. That could easily be a trick of the mind, but he didn’t want to take any chances, not after Darren Anderson had so easily sussed him earlier. “I don’t want to ask many questions. I have colleagues who will be seeing to the technicalities. But I would like to get straight to the point and‌—‌”
    “Can I interest you in a cup of tea?” Mr. Davidson asked. He chewed at his bushy moustache as it curled over his lips.
    “That’s okay,” Brian said, scribbling on his notepad with a temperamental pen.
    “It’s a great shame what happened,” Mr. Davidson said. “If I wasn’t a man of God, I might just have given up on life right now. All my team dead, and in such a brutal and depraved way. I just can’t understand it.”
    Brian stared at his notepad. Stared at the name in front of him. Harold Harvey. “I…‌I understand it can’t be easy. But I’d just like to know‌—‌”
    “Almost didn’t even take this contract, you know?”
    Brian was about to interrupt but he realised Mr. Davidson was leading him to his preferred discussion point himself. “Tell me about the contract offer.”
    Mr. Davidson sighed. “Well, usually, the way we work is somebody contacts us and books us for a job well in advance. We go through all sorts of paperwork and legalities, and usually there’s no problem.”
    “What’s so different about the Pendle Hill contract? About…‌about Harold Harvey?”
    Mr. Davidson’s eyes shifted from side to side. He leaned forward and scratched at his dandruff-filled greying hair. “I mean, I would’ve admitted this to…‌to the police eventually. But I didn’t see the importance at the time. I couldn’t have predicted…‌”
    “Just tell me, Mr. Davidson. I…‌We only want to help.”
    Mr. Davidson let out a large sigh as he stared at the table. “I accepted this job cash-in-hand. I didn’t want to‌—‌believe me. But this guy, he was making crazy requests. He only first contacted us two weeks ago and wanted the dig done this last week. He was quite adamant. I told him, ‘Nope, nope, we don’t work that way.’ But he just kept on offering more and more and…‌well. Business is business. If only I’d have known. If only I’d have known.”
    Curiosity intensified deep inside Brian as he made a note of what he’d been told. “So you actually met Harold Harvey? You physically took the money from him?”
    “Yes…‌No. One of my workers, Wayne. I had him do it because I was running a little late.”
    “And where is Wayne now?”
    Mr. Davidson held up the newspaper in front of him. “His head is in that ditch.”
    Brian tutted and sank back into the chair. The only potential link to the mystery Harold Harvey was lying dead, a victim of the massacre. This guy could be anywhere. Anyone.
    “I just wish fucking Brabiner’s Archeological Group hadn’t come on the scene. We were doing just fine until they started trying to eat their way into our business.”
    “Wait. Brabiner’s Archeological Group? Is this a rival business?”
    Mr. Davidson raised his eyebrows and puffed out his lips. “You could say that. Only set up a few months ago and doing all they can to take our staff and jobs. Based up in Longridge. Obviously, we’re still the business leaders for the Preston area, but they are a dirty bunch of bastards. We wouldn’t have taken this Pendle Hill job if we didn’t have those lot looking for an excuse to get one up on us.”
    Brian hurriedly jotted down the name of the