Читать книгу Cut to the Bone - Roz Watkins - Страница 20

Meg – Present day

Tuesday

I was at my desk skim-reading the recent statements from the house-to-house. Violet had spoken to so many people in her search for Rebecca Smith, and the residents of Gritton had been so excessively helpful, interested and keen to share their thoughts with our officers, that we were drowning in their contributions. Most of it was tediously irrelevant, the only thing of possible interest being someone’s assertion that Kirsty Nightingale – the pig-farming daughter of Tony Nightingale – dealt drugs. Surprising but not obviously helpful.

We’d spoken to Violet’s parents when they’d changed planes in Singapore, and they’d had no demands from any menacing folk about Violet, so a kidnap was looking unlikely. The search teams had found nothing, and there had been no sightings from people who weren’t attention-seeking and/or deranged, although plenty from those who were. A huge search of the moorland was underway, with help from an over-emotional public determined to get too close to the wildfire. Crime scene officers were at the abattoir, and in Violet’s room at the cottage, and the tech team were going through her laptop. There was still no sign of her phone. To use a cliché, she’d disappeared into thin air.

Fiona stuck her head around the door. ‘We’ve got some info from the house-to-house,’ she said. ‘An insomniac who spends her nights staring out at the lane by her cottage. And her lane’s on the main route into the abattoir. She thinks she saw Violet.’

‘Sounds helpful.’

‘Yeah. She was sure she saw a small, green car drive past in the direction of the abattoir at quarter to ten. And Violet’s car’s small and green, so that ties in with Tony Nightingale saying she left his farm around nine thirty.’

‘Okay, so it looks like he might have been the last person to speak to her.’

‘Yes. And this woman – a Mrs Ackroyd – was sure no other cars passed her that night, although there is another way to the abattoir – you just have to go down a really narrow lane.’

Mrs Ackroyd could of course be mistaken, as witnesses frequently were. I’d learned that the more vehement the account and detailed the description, the more likely it was that the large, black man with a beard was in fact a small, white man with a moustache. Still, if Mrs Ackroyd was right, Violet had driven from Tony Nightingale’s and gone to work at the abattoir as normal. But then what?

‘I’ve tracked down Tony Nightingale’s daughter, Bex,’ Fiona said, ‘who we thought might be the birth mother. She’s a dog trainer who lives just south of Nottingham. She says Violet’s not her child and she refuses to go anywhere near Gritton, or to a police station.’

Another one? Hadn’t Daniel Twigg said his mum refused to go to Gritton? What was it about that place? ‘Oh great,’ I said. ‘Do we know why?’

‘She won’t say, but she was very adamant.’

‘And she says Violet’s not her child? Did she have a baby at that time?’

‘Her answers were evasive.’

‘Arrange for us to go to her,’ I said. ‘This sounds interesting. And let’s have a closer look at Tony Nightingale. If Violet is his granddaughter, what are the implications of her turning up out of the blue? Could he have travelled with her to the abattoir? And what about his other daughter, Kirsty? Would it affect her inheritance or anything like that?’

‘I’ll look into it.’ Fiona left in a cloud of competence. Whatever it was that had been distracting her, she’d let it go.

My phone rang. Anna Finchley from the abattoir. ‘You’d better come and see this.’ Her voice was flat. ‘The Animal Vigilantes have put a banner up. Threatening us. It’s horrible.’

‘We’ll be right over.’

I found Jai in our tiny, sticky-surfaced kitchen, making tea. He turned to me, balancing a spent teabag on a fork. ‘Never interrupt a man who’s mashing.’

‘Even for a trip to the abattoir?’

‘Crikey, you know how to offer a guy a good time.’

‘They’ve had a visit from the Animal Vigilantes. A threatening banner’s appeared overnight.’

‘You win.’

‘Why are you mashing tea with a fork? Is that where all the forks are going? You’re nicking them for tea.’

‘No. Today the teaspoons are partying with the forks in the black hole. This is my personal lunch fork.’ He dropped it in the sink and followed me out to the car. He’d never see that fork again. He frowned. ‘You think the Animal Vigilantes haven’t finished yet?’

I pulled out of the car park and took the road towards Gritton. The heatwave showed no sign of abating and the sun battered the dry rocks and scorched grasses of the moors.

‘What about that abattoir waste?’ I said. ‘Please tell me we found it.’

‘Um … Not yet I’m afraid. Nobody admits to knowing who took it away,’ Jai replied.

‘Oh, for God’s sake. How can a ton of rotting giblets just disappear?’

‘I know, I know. Fiona’s on it.’

‘This is all highly suspicious. Did you check with the rendering plants?’

‘Yes, they all have cameras and an inspection process. They’re adamant they’d spot human remains. We alerted the local ones and they’ve checked cameras for yesterday and there was nothing suspicious, but they’ll let us know if any human heads appear.’

‘Bloody hell, Jai. All right, I get the message.’ I pictured the potential scene at the rendering plant.

‘Sorry, I imagine you don’t need that this morning.’

‘You weren’t exactly Mr Sober either. It was only Hannah being sensible. The pair of you got along well.’

‘She’s great.’

‘Possibly a little too well. Did she start telling you about my awful ex, and threatening to locate my fat baby photos?’

‘It was most enlightening. You never talk about your ex. Or your fat baby photos for that matter.’

‘He was a nightmare. Don’t assume arty, creative types can’t also be controlling bastards. And my baby photos are fodder for bad dreams. I have horrible taste in men and I was indeed a very fat baby.’

As I’d hoped, an evening of Hannah sharing my darkest secrets had settled my relationship with Jai. We felt more like buddies again, although I’d be steering clear of any conversation about Suki.

We joined the back of a queue of cars behind a car towing a caravan the size of a small planet. ‘Tourists,’ Jai sighed. ‘Why would you want to bring your accommodation with you like a giant snail?’

‘Too many terrifying B&B landlady experiences?’

Jai glanced at me. ‘I’m not sure I want to know.’

We sat in the queue for another ten minutes, with Jai cursing everyone who had ever visited the Peak District, or even looked at a map and considered it. ‘And the bikes are a pain in the arse too,’ he said.

‘Ah, come on, at least they’re doing their bit for the planet.’

‘Are they though? Think of the environmental costs of manufacturing all that fluorescent Lycra.’

Gritton came into view, the craggy edge rearing up behind the houses on the hill, the abattoir nestling in the valley, visible through a shimmering heat haze. As we headed down, I could see a shape draped over the concrete of the main abattoir building.

We drove through the gates and pulled up in the car park, outside the taped-off area.

‘That’s hard to miss,’ Jai said.

A huge banner hung from the side of the abattoir. It showed an image of a piglet skewered and being roasted above a fire, a wooden post shoved in its mouth, its dead eyes wide and terrified. Above the image were words in deep red. Animal Vigilantes! Underneath the image it said, Justice for all animals! Who will be next?

Jai and I climbed out of the car and stared at the banner.

Anna Finchley came rushing across the car park towards us, strands of damp hair stuck to her forehead. ‘Who’s done this?’ She spoke in a staccato rhythm. ‘Have they hurt Violet?’

‘Have you any idea where this came from?’ Jai asked. ‘Was anyone here last night?’

‘I didn’t see anything. Maybe I should have set up a camera, but I thought if anything had happened with Violet, it was already too late. What was the point of a camera now? This is so horrible. Why can’t things just go back to normal?’

Another woman popped out of the door of the abattoir and strode across the car park to join us.

‘This is Kirsty Nightingale,’ Anna said. ‘She’s involved with our website too.’

So this was Tony Nightingale’s daughter. And possibly the local drug dealer, which seemed implausible, but I’d learned that you could never tell. She was also potentially Violet’s aunt, and she was aware of that fact, if Tony had phoned her on Sunday night as he’d said. I recognised her from the video I’d watched earlier. She had a grounded look about her – like the junior school teacher who’d know what to do with the kid who’d swallowed a piece of Lego. She waved at the banner. ‘Horrible, isn’t it?’

I couldn’t deny it, but I’d seen similar images cheerily advertising bonfire-night parties or gatherings of boy scouts. Why was this suddenly so horrific? Was it the inference that Violet had been harmed, or just the effect of looking with clear eyes at a young animal being skewered and roasted?

‘Apparently there’s a bunch of them in the village now,’ Kirsty said. ‘With placards. Ridiculous people.’

‘Kirsty gets loads of abuse,’ Anna said. ‘They call her a murderer and a rapist.’

‘They’re disturbed,’ Kirsty said.

‘Have they been violent towards you?’ I asked.

‘Yes, they have. Those horrible people wearing the meat suits that make them look like they have no skin. I’ve had things thrown at me, I’ve been spat at. I’ve been worried for my daughter.’

‘When did you last see Violet?’

Kirsty wrinkled her nose as if thinking. ‘Er … when was it, Anna? We had a meeting about the website. Roughly a fortnight ago.’

‘How well do you know her?’

‘Not well at all.’ Kirsty laughed. ‘I’m not sure the glamorous Violet is interested in hanging around with yokel pig farmers.’

‘Okay, we’ll get someone to take a statement from you. Thank you.’ I turned to Anna. ‘Have you ever been targeted before? I mean, not just online?’

Anna shook her head. ‘Not really. One time a group came here, but they were peaceful. I went and spoke to them. This is a high-welfare abattoir. We’ve invested huge amounts in making it the best it can be. I mean, you can’t make it nice – animals don’t want to die. But we don’t use carbon dioxide stunning, and we’ve followed Temple Grandin’s principles.’

‘Oh? I’ve heard of her.’ I remembered reading about an autistic woman who’d made it her life’s work to improve the design of abattoirs. I admired that. Most people just turned away. That must have been what Daniel was talking about in his video with the rubber matting and curved walkways.

‘I told the protesters all that,’ Anna said. ‘And I said we had CCTV that’s properly monitored. They didn’t exactly agree with me, but they stopped shouting and didn’t stay long.’

‘Any follow-up? Any contact with any other groups or individuals? Any threats since Violet started working here?’

‘Only the ones on the website.’

‘Who knew Violet was missing yesterday morning?’ I said. ‘Someone commenting on behalf of the Animal Vigilantes knew about it almost immediately.’

‘Then they must be involved,’ Anna said. ‘Only Esther, Daniel, Gary and I knew she was missing, and we didn’t tell anyone.’

‘The Animal Vigilantes are dangerous,’ Kirsty said. ‘They claim to be anti-cruelty but they see the end as justifying the means. In their minds, if a few of us had to die to save a load of animals, that would be a price worth paying.’

A mobile phone rang, and Anna fished hers from a back pocket and checked the screen. ‘Sorry. Better take this.’

I could hear a loud, frantic voice at the other end but couldn’t make out words.

‘Have you called the police?’ Anna said.

More shouting at the other end. Anna let the hand with the phone drop to her side, and turned to us. ‘They’ve come for Gary.’