Читать книгу Cut to the Bone - Roz Watkins - Страница 13

We pulled up outside the home of Anna’s girlfriend, Esther, where Violet rented a room. It was one of a row of stone cottages facing a park. Roses and hollyhocks around the door; full-on chocolate-box front garden. It was in the excessively perfect part of the village, bordering the valley that swooped down to the abattoir, but far enough away that the abattoir didn’t make its presence felt.

The bucolic view was ruined by a police van and assorted members of the search team. There was always a conflict in these cases – preservation of life came first, so we had to comb the area with the thoroughness of a Labrador looking for treats. But if this turned out to be a crime scene, we’d have inevitably compromised the evidence. We got out of the car and suited up.

‘What was that about a child?’ Jai said.

I filled him in on what Anna had told me. ‘She was reluctant to talk about it,’ I said. ‘And she claimed Violet hadn’t seen the Pale Child, whereas Daniel just said she had.’

‘Hmm. Weird.’ Jai struggled with one of his overshoes. ‘Daniel likes Violet, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes. And there was a hint of someone a little less passive under all that hippieness.’

‘It’s always the quiet ones,’ Jai said.

‘Except it isn’t. It’s often the belligerent, aggressive and extremely loud ones. But yes, I wonder what Daniel’s like when he’s angry. And I think he saw something this morning at the abattoir that he’s not telling us about.’

One of the plants in the garden was scenting the air with a sweet and nostalgic fragrance. A memory hit me from childhood. From the time after my sister became ill. Playing in the garden, me wanting Carrie to be her old self and help me make a mud-castle for worms. What a strange child I’d been.

We made our way to Violet’s small bedroom. It was simple and serious-looking, not what I’d expected from someone who frequented YouTube in a pink bikini. A bookcase dominated one wall, the bed was covered by a plain white duvet, and a printer sat neatly on a desk in the corner.

I walked over to Violet’s bookcase and scanned the titles. A wide range of novels, from detective fiction through to a cluster of magic realism and a whole shelf of orange-spined classics.

‘Poncy books,’ Jai said. ‘Not your Fifty Shades type of girl.’

‘And look at the non-fiction,’ I said. ‘Journalism after Fake News, Journalism for the Internet World, The New Feminism, Women and Art.’

‘Feminism?’ Jai said. ‘She prances around semi-naked on the internet. Does that count as post-feminism?’

I walked over to Violet’s desk. There was no sign of a laptop. I leafed through a pile of papers by the printer. Articles from the internet: ‘Art and ethics’, ‘Creepypasta and internet memes’, ‘When stuff goes mad on the net’, ‘Why stripping can be a feminist act’ and ‘Why stripping can never be a feminist act’.

‘Looks like there’s more to Violet than meets the eye,’ I said. ‘Nothing about meat though, or the threats from the animal rights people.’

‘Hang on,’ Jai said, and reached for a paper from the floor. He held it up for me to read: ‘When online threats turn to physical violence’.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘She was worried.’

I turned to Violet’s bed. The duvet had been dragged across it in a half-hearted effort to make things look neat, but you could still see the indentation in the pillow where her head had been the last time she’d slept there. On the other pillow was a neatly folded cotton nightshirt with a penguin on it.

I stared at the penguin. I could feel the old me starting to come back. Struggling to get to the surface like a drowning swimmer. I wanted this girl to be okay.

Back at the station, I stood in the incident room we’d been allocated, wondering if the temperatures were breaching any health and safety regulations. The place had the ambience of a Turkish sauna. I eyed my team. They were fanning themselves and muttering about the heat, sweating extravagantly.

In front of me, too close, was DS Craig Cooper. Red-faced, puffy, damp. There was a small cut above his right eye. I knew this was a bad thought, but if someone had smacked him, I reckoned he deserved it. Next to Craig – turned slightly away – was DC Fiona Redfern, usually competent almost to the point of being annoying, but currently distracted by a workplace conflict I hadn’t got to the bottom of. Then Jai, not looking too bad, but unable to stop moaning about the weather for more than five seconds, partly to wind up Craig, who could never grasp that Jai had been born in England and was not acclimatised to the weather in the Punjab. Then a few more DCs I didn’t know well, and then the indexers, including a new civilian investigator called Donna, shipped in and paid a pittance to type stuff into our HOLMES database. She was a retired crime scene officer, so at least she knew the ropes.

I steeled myself to do the briefing. This case had all the makings of being seriously high profile and I knew my boss, DCI Richard Atkins, would be concerned about me. My gran had recently died in circumstances which he knew had pushed all my buttons. But if anything it had left me numb, lacking in emotion, closer to what Richard would find desirable in a detective. Maybe this could be a chance for me to not get too involved. To prove I could follow the rules and do everything by the book. But for now, Richard wasn’t around. He was on his way home from sunning himself in a secret location that we were all very intrigued about.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s get started. Yes, it’s a little warm and it would be nice if we had air-con, but we don’t, so let’s consider all the moaning about that done. We have a high-risk misper, Violet Armstrong, aged eighteen, disappeared from the abattoir at Gritton village yesterday evening. The last person to see her was a neighbour, when Violet went out at around eight.’

All eyes were on the over-sized image of Violet’s face – dark eyes bright with expectation, confident straight-toothed smile, peachy skin.

‘The actual Violet Armstrong?’ Craig said. ‘Bikini-strutting Violet?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘The actual Violet Armstrong.’

‘Wow.’ Craig licked his lips in an unpleasant manner. ‘Her videos are—’

‘Yes, thank you, Craig,’ I said. ‘We’re all familiar with her videos.’

Craig smiled. ‘Oh, are you? There’s a thought.’

‘A more pleasant one than picturing you leering over them,’ Jai said.

‘Enough of the videos,’ I snapped. ‘She’s a high-risk missing person. Treat her like anyone else.’

Fiona gave Craig a look of contempt before turning back to me. ‘Why was she at the abattoir at night?’

‘Works there. Why she would have chosen to work in an abattoir in an obscure Derbyshire village is one of the things we need to find out. This morning, her car was there, but no sign of her. No note. The CCTV was smashed. And her watch was by one of the pig pens, with the strap broken. There was blood on it, which has gone to be tested.’

‘By the pig pens?’ Fiona said. ‘Was that where she’d been cleaning?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘She shouldn’t have been in that area. We don’t know why she went there.’

‘I don’t suppose she was petting the pigs,’ Fiona said. ‘Given her views.’

‘CSI are there,’ I said. We were supposed to call them CSI now, just like on the TV show. I felt for the general public when our lot turned up sweating profusely inside their protective gear, instead of a bunch of Hollywood-polished Americans. ‘We have her laptop, which was in her locker with her bag and keys. Her purse was there, with her credit cards, and her passport was at home.’

‘She didn’t leave of her own accord then,’ Fiona said.

‘There are definitely some worrying signs. Violet had been receiving threats from animal rights activists. Social media comments saying she was asking to have her throat slit, and one this morning from a member of the Animal Vigilantes, suggesting she’d got what she deserved. We don’t know how the commenter knew Violet was missing.’

‘Shite,’ Craig said. ‘I always said those animal rights people were nuts. They’re the ones that wear those meat suits, aren’t they? What do you think, Meg? You hang around with those sorts.’

I sighed. ‘Just because I’m vegetarian doesn’t make me an animal rights activist, although I wouldn’t rule it out for the future.’

‘I can’t believe you even respond to him,’ Fiona said. She’d been short with Craig recently, and she had a point. Ignoring him was usually the soundest strategy, but I had an enduring sense that deep inside (very deep indeed) there was a decent guy trying to get out.

‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘I don’t want us to assume Violet’s disappearance is anything to do with animal rights. It’s much more likely it’s a family member or boyfriend.’

‘Is she in a relationship?’ Fiona said.

‘Not that we know of – yet. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t. Her best friend’s coming in.’

‘What about family?’

‘Her parents are on holiday in New Zealand – of all the inconvenient spots. They’re on their way back. No siblings.’ I fanned my face and took a swig of water. ‘Christ, this weather.’

‘Not going to break for a week or more now,’ Jai said. ‘And the abattoir’s not far from the wildfire, so if she has wandered off for any reason, let’s hope she hasn’t got too close to that. It’s not under control yet.’

‘It’s been a nightmare for the poor firefighters,’ Craig said. ‘They’ve been missing their afternoon naps.’

‘Well, I’m sure the weather will break soon, and they can get back to posing for calendars and naked kitten-rescuing.’ I wiped my forehead. I’d never sweated so much in my life. I was even repulsing myself. ‘If it carries on much longer, I might have to dig out my dress.’

Jai fanned himself. ‘If it carries on much longer, I might have to dig out mine.’

Craig snorted.

‘Why not?’ I said. ‘It’s ludicrous that it’s not seen as okay for men to wear dresses. It says all sorts of things about society’s attitudes that you really don’t want me to go into right now.’

‘No, we really don’t,’ Craig said. ‘And we also don’t want to see Jai in a dress.’

‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘The people who have easy access to the abattoir are: Anna Finchley, who owns it; Gary Finchley, who’s Anna’s brother and works there; and Daniel Twigg, who also works there. They all hate each other. Gary said Anna can’t stand Violet. He reckons Daniel’s a junkie, but he appears to be functioning. I think it’s drugs for pain relief – he has a bad back.’

‘Gary sounds like a nice chap,’ Jai said.

‘Yes, God love the bitter ones. Anyway, there’s that lot, and others could have got into the abattoir if they were loaned gate-clickers and keys. Or Violet could have let someone in. But if she wasn’t due at the abattoir till ten, why did she leave home at eight? It’s only a five-minute drive. Did she arrive at the abattoir early, maybe to meet someone? Or did she go somewhere else?’

‘Then there’s the abattoir waste,’ Jai added. ‘The Category 2 waste had been taken away before we arrived this morning, and we’re having trouble tracking down the company that disposed of it.’

‘Make no assumptions,’ I said. ‘We don’t have a body. We’re treating this as a high-risk missing person. Okay? We think she was wearing white overalls and DM-type boots. Witnesses say she always wears a brooch on a chain around her neck: a pelican. Never takes it off. There are lead mines in the area – the dogs should find a scent if she’s wandered off and fallen into one. There aren’t many houses nearby, but in the main Gritton village there’s loads of CCTV, so that should help us.’

‘Have we got her phone?’ Fiona said.

‘Unfortunately not.’

‘We’re on to the service provider to get call records and tower data,’ Jai added. ‘But if she didn’t make any calls, we’re screwed. And even if she did, the data doesn’t always help – there aren’t many towers in that area. But the techies are doing what they can. And before you ask, there was no sat-nav in her car.’

I was conscious of a general shuffling of feet, as if they were keen to dash off. To catch the golden hour.

‘Without veering into the realms of the very unlikely, I reckon there are four basic scenarios,’ I said. ‘One – she’s alive and she left the abattoir on her own; two – she’s alive and she left the abattoir with someone, possibly against her will; three – she’s dead and someone disposed of her body at the abattoir, possibly with the missing waste; four – she’s dead and someone took her body away from the abattoir. If she’s alive and left with someone, or if she’s dead and someone took her away, that would most likely have involved a car. Which somebody may have seen. Do you agree?’

They all nodded earnestly – except Craig, who was looking at me with the expression of a dog eyeing up a lamp post.

‘Anything else?’ I asked. ‘No matter how unlikely.’ I tried to soften my tone. I did my best to make the briefings non-scary, so people could talk without fear of having the piss taken, although it could be challenging with Craig and Jai around. I was well aware that if I wasn’t careful, I could end up with a queue of introverts at my door straight after the briefing, jostling for space with the folk from intelligence strategy, CSI, forensics, and family and media liaison. That I did not need.

But nobody said anything. They were too far into greyhounds-in-starting-boxes mode.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Dismiss nothing at this stage. We’ll do a short press briefing later today – get the photos out and an initial appeal. And let’s find that abattoir waste before it’s turned into puppy food and porky twizzlers.’