Cut to the Bone

by Roz Watkins

  ‘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?’