Читать книгу Cut to the Bone - Roz Watkins - Страница 12

‘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.’

‘Do your parents still live here then?’

‘I never knew my dad, and my mum moved away. She won’t ever come back.’

‘Why not?’

‘Can’t stand the place.’

Again the strange undercurrents. ‘Do you like living in Gritton?’ I said.

‘You drove through the village?’

I nodded.

Something dark and desperate passed across his face. ‘Can you imagine growing up there? Spied on the whole time, fences everywhere so kids can’t even leave their gardens, constantly corralled like prize ponies until they go crazy.’ That was the most animated he’d been since we’d arrived, his voice quick and forceful.

‘Did it drive you crazy?’ I said.

‘A little. A long time ago.’

The situation with Anna, Daniel and Gary made my detective nose twitch. They all worked at the abattoir and yet none of them wanted to be there. I got the impression they didn’t want to be in Gritton at all, and yet they were trapped in this place, bound together somehow.

‘Do you know anything about the Pale Child?’ I asked.

Daniel gave a small shake of his head.

‘If she sees your face, that means you’re going to die?’ I added.

He clenched his hands together, knuckles tight. ‘It’s not real. I told you – people here are strange. The old people moved here when their village was drowned under the reservoir in the 1940s. They claim you can still hear the bells of the old church ringing, even though it’s underwater and had been knocked down anyway, plus the bells had been taken to Chelmorton and Chaddesden. That’s how reliable the locals are. They’ll tell you about a vicar who gives a sermon for the dead once a year. The Pale Child thing is just an offshoot from all that. There’s nothing in it.’

‘What’s the story behind it?’ I asked.

A muscle twitched under Daniel’s eye. ‘She’s supposed to be a child who died in Victorian times. People see her through the trees. Or her ghost or whatever. If she sees your face, it means you’re going to die.’

We were all silent for a moment, then I said, ‘Did Violet see the Pale Child?’ I recalled that Anna had claimed she didn’t.

A flash of fear passed across Daniel’s face. Then he gave a quick nod and said, ‘Yes. At dusk in the woods on the edge of Gritton. She was sure the Pale Child saw her face.’