A DI Meg Dalton thriller

‘Okay, you’d better tell me from the beginning.’

‘It’s all so polarised now, like everything. I wanted to have an intelligent discussion. We set the website up – The Great Meat Debate – and put videos and posts on it. Discussions about the ethics of meat, and about how we’d designed the abattoir. Gary does stupid strength challenges with vegans. Lifting vans and ripping up books or whatever. I mean, that wasn’t part of the intelligent debate, but people love that kind of thing. As for Violet … well, Violet’s just Violet, and she brought us most of our visitors.’

‘You’ve had threats?’

‘Yes. I never expected that to happen. It’s not like we’re doing anything bad, but we attracted a load of attention. You know what it’s like – sometimes the more ethical meat producers come in for more vitriol. As if it’s almost worse to be nice to the animals before you kill them. People can’t seem to handle that. Like that farmer who let kids meet the turkeys at Christmas. It’s irrational, but there it is. We get a lot of haters. Especially a group called the Animal Vigilantes. Do you know them?’

I nodded. They’d been on our radar for a while. They wore clothing printed with a design that made it look like their skin had been removed and you could see their insides. They looked like meat. And their violence levels had been escalating.

‘Daniel can tell you more,’ Anna said. ‘He was really worried about it, and he tried to look into the Animal Vigilantes and who was behind them. Maybe he was right to be worried. He said they were getting more aggressive. And he thought they might follow through on their threats.’

‘What kind of threats did they make?’

She swallowed. ‘They said they were going to slit Violet’s throat.’

I left Anna Finchley and made my way through the grey corridor back into the scorching heat outside. This was not our usual kind of missing teenager. For some, going AWOL was practically a weekly occurrence and the police a free taxi service. Violet wasn’t one of those. Besides, someone had threatened to slit her throat.

A man was walking down the verge of the lane, heading away from the abattoir. He was bashing at the undergrowth with a long stick, the effort showing in the sweat soaking his shirt under the armpits and down his back. I called to him, and he jumped and spun round. It was Gary. Anna’s brother who’d found the watch earlier.

I pointed at his stick. ‘You can leave that now. We’re doing a search. It’s best you don’t do it.’

Civilian searches were appalling evidence-manglers. I mentally noted where Gary had been hacking at the undergrowth, just in case he’d been deliberately destroying evidence. He’d already manhandled Violet’s watch.

‘Whatever,’ he said.

‘Can I ask where you were last night?’

‘In bed at home.’

‘Can anyone verify that?’

‘My wife can.’ Gary smacked his stick against the ground again, contrary to my instructions. His attitude made me suspicious. For people who had never been in trouble, your typical questioned-by-the-cops look was a mixture of terror and the eagerness of the schoolkid at the front of the class with their hand up. Gary didn’t have that look. This one was hanging around the bike-sheds and claiming the cigarettes belonged to his mate.

I looked at his stick and he let it drop to the ground.

‘I don’t know why Anna’s giving you this I’m so worried bullshit,’ he said. ‘She bloody hates Violet.’

‘Anna hates Violet?’

‘Yeah. She thinks Violet’s a pain in the arse. Always moaning about the way things are done.’

‘What kinds of things?’

‘Everything. Violet knows best. The way we clean, the way we process the meat, even the way we kill the pigs.’

‘Does that cause conflict?’

‘You could say. Not my problem though. I’m just the minion, aren’t I? Anna’s the boss.’

So was that the tension? Gary didn’t like his sister being his boss? I had to admit, it was an unusual set-up, practically guaranteed to offend any fragile male egos involved.

‘Anna employs you?’

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again. ‘Yes.’

I softened my stance and gave him a conspiratorial smile. ‘It’s never easy working with family.’

‘No. And stuck in this shithole.’

I wanted to know why he would stay at the abattoir, working for his sister, if he hated it so much, but I sensed it wasn’t the time to get the truth out of him. Thankfully, when it came to criticising Anna, he was happy to spill all.

‘Do you think Anna might harm Violet?’ I asked.

Gary laughed. ‘God, no. Anna wouldn’t have the balls to do that. She’s not what you think, you know. She makes out she’s this tough country girl, so at home running the abattoir and hanging out with proper farmers, but you know what she wants? To live in the city, surrounded by poncy art galleries and theatres, where she’d never have to smell pig shit again in her life. But will she admit it? Will she, bollocks! Anyway, that’s not your concern. It’s the animal rights lunatics who’ve hurt Violet. I just think Anna should drop the Oscar-winning performance of being all upset about it.’

That was quite a speech to blurt out spontaneously. I didn’t comment – it’s best to let people carry on when they’re mid-rant. But he didn’t say any more.

‘Tell me about the animal rights lunatics,’ I said.

‘You know they’ve threatened to kill Violet?’

‘Who threatened to kill her?’

‘Idiots online. Posting sicko stuff about her. But they’ve had a go at all of us. Come to think of it, maybe that’s what Anna’s upset about.’ He let out a sharp laugh. ‘She’s not worried about Violet – she thinks it’s her next.’

‘What exactly have these people said?’

‘Called us murderers. Said they’d come and slit our throats. Messed-up shit.’

That did sound messed up, even by internet standards. ‘Did you take it seriously?’

‘It’s hard not to, when psychos are threatening to kill you. Daniel’s totally freaked out by it, but then he’s a right pansy at the best of times. That’s probably why he’s gone home. When he saw Violet was gone, he must have realised they meant business. You know he’s a junkie? Claims it’s for his back, but it doesn’t do him any favours.’

Gary’s phone pinged and he fished it out of his pocket. Pressed a few keys. ‘Yeah. Look at this.’ He showed me the phone. ‘If it’s not them, how do they even know to post this?’

I looked at the screen. It was the Great Meat Debate website that Anna had told me about. Gary had scrolled down to the bottom of the comments on the home page. One was posted under the name ‘Animal Vigilantes’. It said, Violet got what she deserved.

3

‘Media are going to go mental for this,’ Jai said, as we drove up the lane away from the abattoir. The reservoir sat low in the valley, sparkling turquoise and white in the sunshine, contrasting with the darkly jutting rocks which loomed above us on the gritstone edge.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘The best thing that’s happened to the meat industry since the invention of the burger, and she goes missing from an abattoir.’

We were on our way to see Daniel Twigg. To find out what he’d seen that morning and what he knew about the threats from the Animal Vigilantes. To find out why he was so scared.

‘Do you think the Animal Vigilantes have done something to her?’ Jai said. ‘They’re quite full-on.’

‘It’s possible. I’ve asked the techies to trace who posted the throat-slit comments, and the one that said Violet got what she deserved. Do we know what happened to the waste products from last night?’

‘Bit weird, that. The company who’d sent the invoice said their contract was cancelled a few weeks ago. But Anna Finchley claims she didn’t know and has no idea who replaced them. She reckons someone must have changed contractors without telling her. She’s checking with them urgently.’

‘You mean we don’t know who took the waste this morning, or where it’s gone?’

‘Er, no. Not yet. We’re on it.’

I didn’t want to go there in my mind. For now, the girl was missing, not dead. Missing, not murdered and thrown into a vat with pigs’ intestines and snouts and trotters.

There was nothing about Violet on our system. No previous disappearances, no suggestion she’d self-harm, no criminal record, no domestic violence complaints. She was a blank slate. Blank slates were tough. They gave you no clues.

We’d pulled out all the stops to look for her. Her car had been seized and taken off on the back of a truck. We’d arranged dogs and a drone, a unit to her parents’ place in Sheffield in case she was holed up there, house-to-house in the village, checks for any cameras, people bagging up all her things from her landlady’s house. The local mountain rescue would be brought in if she was missing much longer.

Above us I could see the black speck of the drone hovering like a mutant insect, while in the distance smoke was still rising from the wildfire. Together they induced a sense of end-of-the-world doom. Plagues and fires and all that good stuff. But I was lacking my usual big-case emotions – a mix of excitement and terror akin to what Eddie the Eagle must have felt standing at the top of the ninety-metre ski jump. So far all I felt was the crushing weight of responsibility and a dose of low-level depression.

‘Why come to Gritton and work in an abattoir?’ I said. ‘A beautiful young woman, who must be well-off, yet she’s cleaning up pigs’ guts in a backwater village.’

‘It is weird.’

‘Anna Finchley said she thought Violet had come to Gritton for another reason and the job was an excuse. We need to know that reason.’

‘Did you talk to the brother?’ Jai asked. ‘Gary, was it?’

‘Yeah. And that’s another odd set-up. I got the impression he can’t stand this place and he and his sister hate each other. It’s all simmering under the surface.’

‘It’d be more than simmering if I had to work with my sister.’

‘Ha, I’m sure.’

I wished I could have had the chance to simmer about my sister.

‘Sorry,’ Jai said. ‘That was insensitive.’

‘It’s fine. She died twenty-five years ago. You don’t need to be sensitive. In fact, I’d worry about you if you started being sensitive.’

A mile later, we came to a sign: Welcome to Gritton. Please drive carefully.

I pulled around a steep bend and looked at the road ahead. A flush of adrenaline hit my stomach and I slammed on the brakes.

‘Bloody hell,’ Jai said. ‘What’s that?’

In front of us, the road seemed to have collapsed into a spectacular sinkhole, but as I looked more closely, I could see it was in fact an image painted onto the road. ‘Wow,’ I said, allowing the car to crawl towards the crater and fighting the urge to shut my eyes as we drove over it. ‘That slowed me down.’

‘It’s good to see that you shut your eyes when things get tricky,’ Jai said.

‘I just squinted a little! But you wouldn’t want to drive here if you had a weak heart. I suppose it must be to slow people down, but it’s a bit brutal.’

Once we’d passed the fake sinkhole, the lane rose steeply beside a row of stone houses with freshly painted windows in Farrow & Ball colours. On the other side was a park, tree-fringed and pristine, a children’s play area at its centre. Every lawn was immaculately mown and weed-free, every garden fenced with railings, every door beautifully painted. The street lamps were Victorian-style. There weren’t even any people, as if they’d lower the tone. The only things that disturbed the look were notices attached to the lamp posts, although even they were tastefully done. Don’t Build on our Burial Grounds! Stop the Development!

‘Is this a real village or a filmset for a period drama?’ Jai said.

‘It’s creepy,’ I said. ‘And everything’s fenced in. Look at the railings by the sides of the road. That would annoy me. You can only cross in designated spots. I’d feel the need to climb over them.’

‘That could end in tears,’ Jai said.

‘I hope you’re referring to my dodgy ankle rather than the size of my arse.’

Jai laughed. ‘Naturally. But yes, it’s almost too perfect.’

‘The village or my arse? Because that’s far from perfect.’ That had popped out before the censorship lobes in my brain had a chance to click in. Trying so hard to get our banter back that I crossed the line into dodgy territory. ‘Yes,’ I said hurriedly, cringing inside. ‘It’s quite Stepford. Almost ominous. But there are cameras everywhere. That could help us.’

‘There are tunnels in this area,’ Jai said, ignoring my babbling. ‘I wonder if that’s why they have all the fences. Are they scared of kids wandering off and falling into them? I heard they stretch for miles. Old lead mines and stuff. I’ve seen videos on YouTube. I wondered if you fancied dragging me down there? Maybe at night? In a storm? When they’re about to flood?’

I laughed, relieved I’d got away with the inappropriate arse comment. ‘Honestly, Jai,’ I said. ‘One little incident where we nearly die in a flooded cave and you won’t stop going on about it.’

We reached the rim of the valley, where the road sloped down again. A sign said, Thank you for driving carefully through Gritton. Underneath, in very faint letters as if they had been repeatedly scrubbed clean, were the words, Village of the Damned. It was almost reassuring that there were vandalising teenage scrotes in residence amongst all the perfection, but I wondered what the village had done to earn that accolade.

In another half-mile, we drove through red-brick housing which looked more normal and messy, as if people actually lived there, although there were still barriers to the pavements and some of the roads were gated. Ahead was rocky moorland and in front of it a field containing a collection of dubious-looking run-down caravans in various shades of dirt-colour.

‘That must be the place,’ I said.

I pulled up and climbed from the car, narrowly missing a neatly curled dog turd. The place contrasted so extremely with the main village, it was almost as if it was trying to make a point.

‘Nice.’ Jai unfolded himself slowly as if he didn’t want to get out.

Ten caravans were spread over a field of unkempt grass. No people were in evidence but one or two curtains twitched, and there was the muffled sound of kids screaming and dogs going ballistic inside the caravans.

‘The shutters are going down and the hackles are going up,’ I said.

‘Yeah. The cop-detection radar’s good in places like this.’

The largest caravan was aligned in front of the others as if on guard. Its wheels had either disappeared or sunk into the ground, so it looked as if it had sat down. The door squeaked open and a ginger Staffie charged out at us, barking and slavering. Jai and I both took a hasty step back and crashed into one another, demonstrating our smooth professionalism.

A boulder-shaped orange-haired woman emerged from the caravan, lunged forward, and grabbed the dog by the scruff of its neck. It carried on barking but at a more strangled pitch.

The woman gave us the same look I’d given the dog turd. ‘What?’

I flashed ID. ‘We’d like a word with Daniel Twigg. Which is his caravan?’

‘Why are you after him?’

‘Which is his caravan please?’

‘How do I know you’re not those animal activists? They’re dangerous, you know.’

I held up my ID again. ‘Because we’re police. Feel free to call and check.’

‘Why aren’t you wearing uniforms? You look too scruffy to be police. Well, you do.’ She pointed at me. ‘He looks okay.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said. ‘Which is his caravan?’

She frowned at us, causing creases in her face which matched her dog’s. After pausing long enough to demonstrate that she was still sceptical about me and was complying out of her good nature and not because she had to, the woman gestured towards a small caravan with trails of green mould drifting down its side. ‘He’s not well. He’s come back from work, so don’t go bothering him.’

‘Thanks.’

We moved gratefully away from the dog, which was baring its teeth and salivating.

‘What on earth …?’ On each side of the caravan door was a pile of rocks. But pile didn’t properly describe it. The rocks were balanced on top of one another in teetering stacks about four feet high, even though the base rocks were smaller than the higher ones.

‘Rock-balancing art,’ Jai said. ‘It’s what constitutes a wild time round here. No glue or cement or anything – just gravity and physics.’

‘I like them.’ I stepped between the rocks, worried about knocking them over.

I tapped on the door. It opened abruptly, causing the entire caravan to wobble and making me fear for the rock art. A man appeared. White-faced, nervous-looking. Mid-thirties. Longish hair. Delicate, unshaven features. Arctic Monkeys T-shirt.

Jai spoke first. ‘Are you Daniel Twigg? This is DI Meg Dalton and I’m DS Jai Sanghera. Can we ask you a few questions?’

‘You’d better come in.’ He stepped back to allow us to climb up.

The inside of the caravan was steaming hot, grubby, and smelled of cooked broccoli. We could only see one side of it, the other being separated off with a partition. Our half had a tiny kitchen area and some benches to sit on, and presumably the other half contained somewhere to sleep and a loo.

We accepted an offer of tea with some reluctance, and Daniel fished cups from the not-very-clean draining board and milk from a mini fridge.

We perched on a cramped bench while Daniel shuffled around awkwardly in the limited space. He didn’t make a drink for himself.

‘I’ve only got oat milk.’ Daniel sat opposite and plonked mugs in front of us. He grabbed a lump of what looked like Blu-tack and started fiddling with it. He had a slightly spaced-out look, and I remembered Gary saying he was a junkie, and something about pain in his back. He was moving stiffly.

‘Have you hurt your back?’ I asked.

He frowned. ‘A long time ago. It’s okay, but I have to take very strong painkillers. So bear with me. They affect my concentration sometimes.’

‘Do you have any idea where Violet is?’ I asked.

‘No.’

‘So talk us through this morning please.’

‘I arrived at the abattoir at seven, like I normally do, fed the pigs, then I felt ill. I came home, and I only found out Violet was missing when Anna phoned.’

‘Anna thinks you may have over-fed the pigs,’ I said. ‘Do you think you might have done that?’

Daniel looked up sharply. ‘What? No. Of course not. I gave them the right amount for twenty pigs. Why?’

‘They’d left their breakfast.’

Daniel’s eyes widened. ‘I didn’t give them too much.’

‘Okay, we’ll look into that. Have you got details of the new people who are taking the Category 2 waste?’

‘What new people?’

‘The contractor’s been changed. Did you organise that?’

He shook his head. ‘No, not me. I don’t know anything about that. Maybe try Gary?’

I sat back and let Jai ask questions while I watched. ‘When did you last see Violet?’ he said.

Daniel was making a miniature version of the balancing rocks – blobs stacked on top of one another. There was a tiny tremor in his hands when he manipulated the Blu-tack. How could he stand the heat in this caravan? ‘Friday, at work,’ he said.

‘How has she been recently?’

‘Okay, I think. But I don’t know a lot about her.’

‘What’s Violet like as a person?’ Jai settled deeper into his seat and put on his mates-at-the-pub voice. ‘You know, away from all the internet stuff.’

Daniel swallowed. ‘She was all right, I suppose. I didn’t give it much thought.’ His eyes flitted nervously between Jai and me. Mates-at-the-pub wasn’t working.

Jai shot me a discreet look. Daniel had used the past tense about Violet.

‘Do you know something, Daniel?’ I said. ‘You seem very upset.’

Daniel shifted back as if I was intimidating him. ‘Of course I’m upset. They were threatening her. Really badly. All of us – but Violet got it the worst. It’s been horrible. Scary.’

‘Tell us about it.’

He looked at his new sculpture – eight or nine Blu-tack blobs balanced on top of one another – and then crushed it with his thumb. ‘The website was Anna’s idea – I don’t know why I got involved. I’m not someone they should be attacking. I care about the animals. I suppose I can see why Gary and Kirsty piss people off. And Violet. But not me and Anna.’

‘Who’s Kirsty?’

‘Kirsty Nightingale. She’s got a pig farm over the valley.’

‘So the people involved in the website are yourself, Violet, Anna and Gary Finchley, and Kirsty Nightingale? Five of you?’

He nodded morosely. ‘I wish I’d stayed out of it.’

‘What did Gary and Kirsty do that pissed people off?’

Daniel picked up his blob of Blu-tack and rubbed it between his finger and thumb, looking at the Blu-tack rather than at us. ‘Gary’s just a dick. He was supposed to be doing strength challenges and stuff, but he’d stick in snide comments about vegans and vegetarians, saying they were weak and pasty. And Kirsty deliberately winds people up – it’s as if she enjoys it.’

‘So you think the Animal Vigilantes are responsible for Violet’s disappearance?’

He looked away. A tiny muscle above his eye twitched. Possibly nerves at being interviewed by cops, possibly something else. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘You believe they would hurt her?’

‘To make an example of her, yes. Of us, maybe. She might be just the first.’

‘What did you see this morning?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you know Violet was missing? Did you see something that worried you?’

‘No. I didn’t realise her car was there.’ He looked right at me when he said that, very deliberately. That made me suspicious. Along with mentioning not seeing the car. People rarely mentioned things they hadn’t seen.

‘Do you know what brought Violet to Gritton in the first place?’ I asked. ‘It seems a strange choice.’

‘I won’t argue with that. But no, I don’t know.’

I waited a second or two, but he said nothing more. ‘Has Violet had any arguments with anyone else that you’re aware of? Besides the animal rights people?’

‘She was annoyed with Gary.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘He comes on to her all the time. He’s always been an arsehole.’

Back to present tense. ‘In what way?’ I asked. In my experience, there were a multitude of ways to be an arsehole.

Daniel shrugged. ‘He’s an arrogant tosser and a racist. Been like that for years. And he leches after Violet.’ A flash of emotion across Daniel’s face. Jealousy?

‘How does Violet react to that?’

‘She didn’t dare say anything – he’s her boss.’

‘But Anna runs the abattoir, not Gary?’

Daniel gave a tiny smile. ‘Yes. Their parents left it to Anna. Thought she was more responsible. Even though she doesn’t want to be here.’

‘Is that a problem for Gary?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why does he work for his sister if he hates it so much?’

Daniel shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me how Gary’s mind works. But I guess she pays him well and is softer on him than any other employer would be. He’s not the most diligent employee.’

‘Does Violet have a boyfriend or girlfriend?’ I asked.

‘I don’t think so. If she does, they wouldn’t want to see the way Gary fawns over her.’ He stood, grabbed our empty cups, pivoted round, and dumped them in the sink. His arm went to his lower back and gave it a quick rub.

‘Where were you last night?’ I asked.

Daniel ran the tap over the cups, then leaned forward to splash water on his face. ‘Here, in bed.’

‘Can anyone confirm that?’

‘I doubt it. I was on my own. And we don’t have twenty CCTV cameras for every caravan here. Not like the main village.’

‘Are you from round here?’ Jai asked.

Daniel turned to face us, dropping his hands by his sides and leaning against the sink. ‘Yes, I grew up in Gritton.’