‘Mr Locke’s boys, James Bolton and Oliver Davies. They’d popped by a few times before to see Mr Barclay. They start showing up, not long before all that shit kicked off with that Bembenek fella, as it happens. Just seems like they turned up and bad things started to happen.’

‘What can you tell us about Mr Bembenek?’

Brookes shrugged. ‘Just what they said in the papers. Never knew the fella myself.’

‘What about Mr Locke’s men you mentioned, Bolton and Davies?’

‘Never had much to do with them myself, but you hear things.’

‘Like what?’ prompted Porter.

‘Like they weren’t the kind of lads you want to get on the wrong side of. Mr Bolton comes around from time to time. He’s in charge of site security.’

‘Do you know anyone who’s gotten on their bad side?’ asked Styles.

‘Nah, like I say, I hear things, but it’s all “a mate of mine knows a guy who” type thing. Bolton was meant to be handy with his fists back in the day. Probably still is now, for all I know.’

They carried on the verbal dance for a few more minutes, but Brookes had nothing more specific to tell them. They walked to the door, promising him that his name wouldn’t be mentioned in any conversations they had with anybody at Atlas. They shook hands and stepped out across the threshold.

‘I hope you find her,’ said Brookes. ‘Terrible thing, what happened to her dad. That’s enough for any young girl to handle, let alone getting into any bother herself.’

Porter nodded. ‘I hope so too, Mr Brookes. Thanks for your help.’

Alec Brookes retreated into his comfortable oasis of clutter. Porter and Styles trotted back down the stairs in silence. Brookes hadn’t given them anything solid, but a few of his comments had made Porter more than a little curious. Had Barclay gotten on the wrong side of Locke or his men, as Brookes had put it? Had he already been suicidal or was there something about the confrontation with Locke that had taken him to the edge and beyond? Most of all he longed to have been a fly on the wall over thirty years ago, and to know what had put the fear of God into Barclay that day. There were two men still alive who could answer that question, of course, but he didn’t expect Locke or Bolton would give up the information any time soon.

CHAPTER NINE

By the time they got back to the station, Styles had an email from St Agnes’ with an attachment that had contact details for the ten members of Natasha Barclay’s class that were active in the alumni network. They split the list down the middle and started calling.