Kitabı oku: «A DI Meg Dalton thriller»

For Starsky the dog, whose foul woodland scavenging started all this.

And to the animals in intensive farms who don’t get that freedom.

Contents

Cover

Praise

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Extract

Author’s Note

Acknowledgements

About the Publisher

1

Meg – Present day

Monday

The road swooped into the valley, its sun-beaten tarmac melting into the hillside. The car smelled of petrol and hot plastic, and the steering wheel stuck to my hands. DS Jai Sanghera was sprawling in the passenger seat beside me, legs thrown apart, head back, and we were embroiled in a pointless argument in which I’d found myself defending his girlfriend for a reason I could no longer remember.

Jai’s manspreading was reaching such critical levels it was impeding my access to the gearstick. ‘I know you’re hot,’ I said. ‘No need to turn it into performance art.’

Jai dragged himself forward to fiddle with his air vent. ‘Let’s just agree to disagree, shall we? I think if Suki’s serious about me, she should try harder with the kids; you clearly don’t. We’ve got a missing person to focus on.’

‘Fine.’

I eased my foot off the brake and let the car accelerate through the treacly air. The wind curled round my damp face, and my shirt flapped against my stomach. I fanned myself, trying to let the tension dissipate.

In the distance I could see the dazzling surface of Ladybower Reservoir. We were heading for a valley to its east that looked like a huge meteorite crater, but had probably been caused by some dramatic event in the last ice age. The hot summer had turned the grass yellow, and the bowl of the valley was surrounded by rocks. They jutted up like teeth, as if we were driving into a gaping mouth. In the centre, where the tonsils would have been, was an ugly industrial building. Gritton Abattoir.

I forced my tone to be friendly. ‘What do we know about her?’

Jai took a long breath and when his voice came out, it was normal, not pissed off. ‘Eighteen-year-old girl. She was working at the abattoir overnight and when they got in this morning, her car was still there but no sign of her. You know who she is though?’

‘No. Who is she?’

‘Violet Armstrong.’

I looked at him for a beat longer than the driver should, our disagreement forgotten. ‘The Violet Armstrong?’

‘Yep. Bikini-barbecue-babe Violet Armstrong. Poster girl for carnivores everywhere. Missing from an abattoir.’

‘Jesus. What was she doing at an abattoir?’

‘I think she works there. Bit weird, I know. Especially with someone as controversial as her. It’s when “turning up in one piece” is way too literal.’

‘Thanks for that, Jai. No doubt there’ll be some banal explanation involving a dodgy boyfriend or a runaway pig.’

Jai laughed and I felt the atmosphere loosen. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘If I was a pig I’d run away from her and her barbecue tongs.’

On the horizon, tendrils of smoke drifted upwards, reminding me we were near the wildfire. ‘This weather’s got to break soon,’ I said. ‘We’ll get monsoon rains.’

‘Most of which will no doubt end up in my basement.’

I hadn’t yet been inside Jai’s new house, even though it was round the corner from mine, but he seemed obsessed with his damp basement. Maybe he’d been droning on to Suki about pumps and that was part of her problem.

We followed a narrow lane through gates into a concrete yard. A slab-sided grey building sat in front of us, sanitised and anonymous, giving away nothing about what went on inside.

‘Are you going to be okay with this?’ Jai said.

My head filled with images from abattoir videos posted by animal rights groups and shared by my friends on Facebook, just to improve my mental well-being and sleeping patterns. I didn’t need to see the real thing, especially in my current state of mind. Or hear it. This abattoir did pigs. Pigs squealed.

‘I’ll be okay,’ I said. ‘I’m more worried about the missing girl.’ But it struck me like an electric shock that I wasn’t that worried about the girl – at least not to my usual PhD-level. Was I so worn down from watching Gran die that I’d lost some vital part of myself? It scared the hell out of me. If I didn’t care about my job to the point of virtual mania, who even was I?

‘You do know she’s famous because she barbecues burgers in a bikini?’ Jai said. ‘A phrase I wouldn’t advise saying when drunk.’

‘Yeah. She simultaneously dumps on feminism and animal rights in an impressive double whammy.’ I could keep the banter going while I had my mini existential crisis, but our camaraderie felt forced. I’d thought I was doing the right thing by being super-nice about his girlfriend, thus removing any question of whether I liked him a little too much for a colleague, but I’d obviously got it all wrong.

We pulled up in the yard and heaved ourselves out of the car. The sun sliced through the hot air, making the car windows so shiny it hurt to look at them. A few uniforms were buzzing around. We had a lot of missing person calls, but this one had triggered a red-button-push.

The door to the abattoir building swung open and a skinny blonde woman came out at a gallop. ‘Goodness, it’s warm. I hope we’re not wasting your time. I’m not wanting to make a fuss, but I thought we should call just in case …’

‘Shall we pop inside a minute?’ I said. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Meg Dalton and this is Detective Sergeant Jai Sanghera. What’s your name?’

‘Anna Finchley. I own the abattoir.’

I wasn’t sure if it was subconscious sexism or ageism, but I was surprised at that revelation. There was a touch of the gangly teenager or new-born foal about her, although she must have been in her thirties. She didn’t look like an abattoir-owner.

‘Not being melodramatic, but do you think it’s the animal rights people?’ she said.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘We’ve had threats. And someone’s smashed the CCTV.’ Anna shook her head. ‘But surely, they wouldn’t … Maybe she went for a walk or …’

I looked at the sun-scorched hills in the distance. A faint smell of smoke hung in the air. It wasn’t an ideal spot for a hike.

‘How far are we from the reservoir?’ Jai said.

The beauty of Ladybower Reservoir seemed to act as a magnet for death. It was well known, to us at least. If some poor soul was planning to slit an artery and bleed to death in north Derbyshire, there was a fair chance Ladybower would be the destination of choice.

Anna said, ‘It’s just over the hill.’

‘Let’s take a few details inside,’ I said. ‘Can we see the smashed CCTV?’

Anna led us through a door into a grey corridor and on into a small room. The building was functional rather than swish, but had been recently renovated. So far, it was mercifully free of butchered animals.

I leaned to peer at the CCTV box, which looked like it had been set about with a baseball bat. I stepped back to let Jai see. ‘They’ve taken the hard drive,’ he said.

‘Let’s get this area sealed off and processed,’ I said.

We shuffled out of the room. A man was walking towards us down the corridor. He was lean, toned, and good-looking in a rough, footballer kind of way, and he moved like a man with something to prove.

Anna said, ‘What is it, Gary?’ I sensed tension between them. A slight narrowing of his eyes; a fractional curling of her upper lip. ‘This is my brother,’ Anna said. ‘He works here too.’

The man held up an expensive-looking, glittery, and clearly now evidentially compromised object. We needed to get the scene under control. ‘I found a watch,’ he said. ‘It—’

‘That’s Violet’s,’ Anna said. ‘Why on earth would she take off her watch? Where did you find it?’

‘If you’d let me finish, I’d tell you. I don’t know why she’d have gone there – it wasn’t in the area she cleans. It’s bloody weird, if you ask me.’

‘Just tell us where it was, Gary!’

‘It was beside the pig pens.’ He shot Anna a look that was almost accusing. ‘And there’s blood on it.’

2

Anna Finchley led us into an office containing a desk and four chairs. White-painted walls were covered with a surprising collection of abstract art – the kind with blobs of colour that my dad would say a three-year-old could do – and a prominent TV screen. Anna sank down on one of the chairs, crossing her legs and arms as if protecting herself.

‘Sit on that side if you want the window-view and the art,’ she said. ‘I sit here so I can monitor the CCTV. When it’s working. And I hate to be negative, but Violet’s not careless with her stuff. Why would she have dropped her watch? She shouldn’t even have been by the pig pens. And why would it have blood on it?’

Jai and I sat opposite her and didn’t answer her questions. She could run the scenarios on her own. I watched her face as she did so. Not giving much away.

‘When did you last see Violet?’ I asked.

Anna blinked a couple of times and looked to the ceiling. ‘The day before yesterday,’ she said. ‘I stayed late and I saw her at the start of her shift.’

‘And how was she?’

Anna shook her head and frowned. ‘Not that I’d necessarily notice, because I didn’t spend long talking to her, but she seemed fine.’

‘Could you talk us through this morning? Were you the first to arrive?’

‘I got here at about eight. Daniel had come in earlier and fed the pigs. Daniel Twigg. I think he’d messed up the amounts though, because they’d left loads. Maybe it was because he wasn’t feeling well – he’s gone home ill. I didn’t realise anything was wrong at first. Violet’s car’s parked round the side so I didn’t see it.’ Anna pushed her hair back behind her ears. ‘I got the pigs killed. Then cleaned up their pen. And the lorry arrived to take the Category 2 waste away – that’s the animals’ innards and other bits we can’t use – to be rendered, and when it went round the side, I noticed Violet’s car. It’s not normally parked that far round, so I hadn’t seen it at first. Anyway, I looked for her everywhere I could think, and tried her mobile but there was no answer. I phoned Esther – my partner, who Violet lodges with – and she’s not there. I phoned Violet’s parents in Sheffield but there was no answer. Then I went to check the CCTV, and when I saw it was smashed, I called you.’

Anna was providing a lot of detail in her descriptions. That could be normal. She might have just been a very helpful person, a kind-of human Lassie dog. Or not. It was too early to tell.

‘The Category 2 waste …’ I said. ‘Would that have included any meat waste from yesterday or last night?’ Our assumption was that Violet was alive, but I wanted to know what had happened to those waste products.

‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘Yes, it would. And from this morning. It’s all been taken away. It goes to be rendered.’

‘Do you have details of the company that takes it?’ I asked.

She froze a moment. ‘Why would … Oh, okay.’ She reached into a drawer, fished out an invoice and passed it over. If she’d worked out what this could mean, she kept it to herself.

I turned to Jai. ‘Do you mind calling them now? And checking on the searches.’

Jai took the paper and left the room.

When I turned back to Anna, her fists were clenched tight in her lap, knuckles shining white.

‘Violet was on a night shift?’ I said.

Anna nodded rapidly. ‘Ten till two thirty. Cleaning. She has a summer job here.’

‘Why did she come to work in an abattoir?’

‘It’s strange, isn’t it? When I found out who she was, I was baffled. I did ask her and she was rather vague. I can’t say for sure, but I got the impression she wanted to come to Gritton for some other reason, and this job was an excuse.’

‘Okay, thank you. And had she worked her shift last night? Could you tell this morning if the cleaning had been done?’

Anna frowned. ‘I’m not sure … We have such high standards here, it’s not as if she was mopping up blood – it’s more of an extra clean. We have what we call a “clean side” and a “dirty side”. She was on the clean side – meat only, no live animals – which is why it’s so strange that her watch turned up near the pig pen on the dirty side. She’s been given specific instructions not to go on the dirty side when she’s cleaning.’

‘Okay. Could you have another look – the guys will tell you where you can go. See if there’s anything to suggest she did or didn’t clean up.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Is there any CCTV other than the broken one? Any camera footage that would show if anyone else was here last night.’

She shook her head. ‘Sorry, no. Not on site.’

‘Where were you last night?’

‘At home. But Esther was with me. She doesn’t live with me, but she stayed over. She can confirm I was with her.’

‘Violet lodges with Esther?’

‘Yes. Yes, she does. I helped that girl a lot, even letting her live with my girlfriend.’ Was that a hint of bitterness in her tone?

‘Did Violet not appreciate that help?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes, I’m not saying she didn’t appreciate it.’ A somewhat tight-lipped response.

‘Do you get along with Violet?’

Anna swallowed. ‘She’s all right, I suppose. A good employee generally.’

‘Generally but not totally?’

Anna’s eyes hardened briefly. A flash of steel. ‘Just a turn of phrase. She’s fine.’

I paused to write in my notebook. Anna kept her face expressionless. She clearly didn’t like Violet. Could be relevant. Could be nothing. I spent half my life wanting to throttle my colleague Craig and I hadn’t murdered him yet.

‘How long has Violet been working here?’ I asked.

‘About a month. I can’t—’ Anna swung her gaze around the room as if Violet might be hiding in a corner. ‘Let me ring Esther again. Violet’s probably home by now.’

‘Okay, you do that,’ I said.

Anna fished out her mobile and dialled. The phone must have been picked straight up at the other end. ‘Is she back?’ Anna’s voice was loud and sharp.

I couldn’t hear the answer but Anna’s face dropped. She spoke into the phone. ‘No, nothing.’ There was a muffled reply, the words audible though my brain could make no sense of them, and then Anna said, ‘Oh, come on, Esther, you don’t believe that rubbish—’

Anna frowned at the woman’s response and ended the call with a brisk, ‘Okay, bye.’

‘No sign of her?’ I asked.

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘Okay. And what rubbish does Esther not believe?’

Anna shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. What else do you need to know?’

My brain got there in the end with the words I’d heard. ‘Did she say something about a pale child?’

Anna shifted papers around her desk before looking up and staring straight at me. ‘Not to cast aspersions on the people in this village, but they don’t get out enough. The Pale Child thing is all nonsense.’

‘Who is this Pale Child?’ I asked.

Anna gave me a strange look. Like somebody remembering a scene from their distant childhood. When she spoke, her voice was cracked, like sun-scorched earth. ‘As I said, it’s not real. Are we done here? Because I have things I need to be getting on with. It’s bad enough you people saying I can’t kill animals today, but if I don’t make a few phone calls soon, it’ll be too late to cancel, and they’ll be turning up here. I suspect you don’t need a bunch of condemned pigs marauding around the place.’ She wasn’t in Lassie-dog mode any more.

‘You make your phone calls,’ I said. ‘We’ll need to take a formal statement from you later. But first, could you tell me who else could have got into the abattoir last night.’

‘My brother, Gary, who you just met, has keys. He’s outside looking for Violet. And Daniel Twigg – the one who over-fed the pigs earlier.’

‘You said he was unwell, didn’t you? What’s the matter with him?’

‘Said he felt sick.’

‘Okay, we’ll talk to him. And before we go, even if it is nonsense, what’s the story about this Pale Child?’

Anna sighed. ‘It’s nothing. Just idiot-talk from the people in the village. It’s not relevant.’

‘Fine. Tell me anyway.’

‘People see her in the woods around the village. A girl dressed in white, old-fashioned clothes. Supposedly, if she sees your face, you’re going to die.’ She lowered her gaze. ‘Which is clearly not true.’

‘So she’s a child who lives in the village?’

‘She’s not a real child. The whole Pale Child thing is a myth. I don’t know why Esther even brought it up.’

‘Did Violet see this Pale Child?’

‘Of course not. I don’t know why you’re even asking about this.’

I wrote ‘Pale Child’ in my notebook and underlined it twice, then looked up and said, ‘Okay, tell me about the threats you mentioned earlier.’

Anna’s leg jiggled up and down before she stilled it with a hand. ‘You obviously know who Violet is. Her videos?’

‘I know she’s famous for videoing herself cooking meat-based products in a bikini.’

Anna sighed. ‘Maybe we used her, you could say.’ She fiddled with a loose thread on her vest-top. ‘I’ve been wanting to start a blog for a while, to debate this stuff. Meat, the environment, welfare, etc. Violet helped. She got us attention. I never knew it could be … dangerous.’

‘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.’

‘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.’

4

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.’