Cut to the Bone

by Roz Watkins

  ‘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 poli
ce?’ 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.’

  12

  A cloud of dust rose around the car as we accelerated towards Gritton village. The houses ahead clung to the yellow-green hillside, the ridge of rocks standing guard behind an area of moorland speckled with sheep.

  The words on the banner kept edging into my mind: Justice for all animals. Who Will Be Next? Was Gary next?

  Gary lived in Lower Gritton, the brick-terraced area we’d driven through on the way to Daniel’s caravan. Washing flapped and scruffy dogs barked in ragged gardens. As we neared the address we’d been given, we turned through open gates into a narrow street. I slammed on the brakes. The car slewed onto the pavement.

  Jai grabbed the handle above the car door. ‘Glad to see the advanced driving investment paid off.’

  ‘What the hell …’

  There was a throng of people in the road, merging into one red mass. Protesters wearing their unsettling meat-design clothing. The Animal Vigilantes. Shouting and waving banners. The mass of meat suits was obscene, and there were flies circling them as if it was real meat. The yelling blended into a wall of noise, but snippets were audible. ‘You’re evil … Animal abuse … We’re not fucking taking it any more!’

  I spotted Gary, his back pressed against the door of a red-brick house, shouting back at the protesters. One double-crewed car was parked a few doors down and two uniformed officers were sprinting in Gary’s direction.

  I turned off the engine and Jai and I jumped out of my car. The noise and the heat and brightness of the sun felt like being smacked on the head.

  Protesters surged towards Gary. The meat suits en masse, writhing and pushing together, were truly repulsive. Like the difference between one squirming maggot and a thousand.

  The shouting increased in volume and pitch, and someone pushed into me. A flush of adrenaline hit my stomach. If this all kicked off, we’d stand no chance with our Austerity Britain allocation of just two uniforms. These weren’t the skinny pacifists we normally found protesting about animal welfare. I sensed genuine menace.

  I gestured to Gary to get inside his house, but he stayed put, standing solidly with legs apart, waving his arms and shouting back at the protesters. I pushed into the crowd, keeping my elbows firm, trying to get to Gary, to persuade him to go inside.

  The protesters jostled me, forcing me into a man who stood a good foot above me and smelled of sweat and cannabis. He had a tattoo of a rodent on his cheek. A rat? I looked frantically for the uniforms. Others in the crowd must have picked up on the tension and there was an upsurge of noise and movement. A swelling of bodies towards me.

  Shouting and shoving. Everyone bigger and taller than me. Then Jai was beside me. Rat-man pushed him and shouted something I didn’t hear. Jai spun round, his face distorted with anger. Everything was happening at super-speed. Someone pushed rat-man aside. Gary. Rat-man spun round to confront him, and Gary lunged forward, fist raised and ready. I couldn’t move fast enough to stop him. I waited for Gary’s fist to connect with the man’s face, for blood to explode from his nose, for the rat to be torn in two. But it didn’t happen. Rat-man’s body tipped sideways, and he let out a roar. A woman had kicked his feet from under him. He crashed to the ground, his phone smashing on the tarmac. One of the uniforms shot out of the crowd, grabbed him and pulled him up, holding his arms behind him.

  And suddenly the mood changed. Placards were lowered, people started drifting away. It felt as if I’d imagined the intensity of the violence, as if the threat had been in my head. But then I saw Jai’s face and realised it hadn’t. This was real.

  Gary shouted at the woman who’d kicked rat-man. ‘Mandy, what are you doing? Are you crazy?’

  And I realised the woman was wearing a dressing gown. Blue towelling with a tea stain on one arm. She looked confused about why she was out in the road, but she’d saved Gary from getting in deep trouble.

  We left the uniforms to deal with rat-man, and said we’d handle Gary. The other protesters dispersed enough that Gary could open his front door safely. My heart was thudding unpleasantly in my chest, as if it hadn’t realised things had calmed down and still thought I was about to get my head kicked in.

  Jai and I followed Gary and the woman, Mandy presumably, into their house and pushed the door closed behind us. I turned the key to lock it and took a heavy breath. The house felt cool and damp after the hot dustiness outside.

  A blur of flailing arms and legs shot down the hall and hurled itself at Gary. ‘Daddy!’ A small girl leaped into his arms. She must have been about six or seven, with tangled blonde hair. She was wearing pink leggings and a sparkly top.

  Mandy said, ‘Gary, you’re going to get yourself killed!’ She had lank brown hair and huge dark eyes, and the kind of thinness that’s achieved by drinking and smoking rather than exercise and healthy eating.

  Gary spun round to face me. ‘Do you see now? They’re crazy. They’ve got Violet and now they’re after the rest of us.’ He prised the clinging monkey-girl off him and put her down.

  The living room was sparsely and shabbily furnished, and smelled like the day after a party – the kind where everyone’s smoked and drunk too much and someone’s puked in a wastepaper bin. An ancient and wheezy Jack Russell sprawled on the sofa, looking around the room like a feudal lord surveying his property.

  The little girl looked up at Jai and me. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ She was so quaintly polite, she seemed out of place in the dingy environment, like if you invited the queen along to your local boozer. I peered through a door to the tiny kitchen. Old plastic milk cartons and unwashed tins cluttered every inch of available work surface, and white dog hairs floated over the vinyl floor. Normally I never turned down a cuppa but …

  ‘I’ll make the drinks.’ Mandy disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘I need a beer,’ Gary snapped, and followed Mandy, leaving Jai and me with the little girl. She gave us an open smile, unperturbed by her parents having almost ended up smeared on the pavement outside. ‘Would you like to watch telly with me?’

  ‘Not today, I’m afraid,’ I said. ‘We haven’t got much time, and we need to talk to your daddy.’

  ‘Nobody ever has time.’ Her tone was so tragic I nearly found myself agreeing to watch Frozen with her. I sometimes wondered if I was really detective material. ‘Mummy’s always sad. And Daddy gets angry, and then there’s no one to play with me.’ I made a mental note of that. Daddy gets angry. And he clearly knew how to handle himself.

  The kitchen door bashed open and Gary clomped into the living room. I was struck again by the incongruity of him. He was like a Hollywood actor doing his best to disguise his good looks in order to play the role of a scumbag.

  Jai stood and held out his hand. ‘DS Jai Sanghera.’

  Gary reached slowly forward and shook Jai’s hand. His face looked like he’d just found a body full of maggots, a look that was regrettably familiar. What was his problem? I remembered Daniel Twigg saying he was racist, and felt anger welling up inside me. Jai had nearly got hurt protecting this ungrateful bastard.

  Gary spoke to me, ignoring Jai. ‘Are you going to arrest those animal rights maniacs now?’

  Jai’s expression was unreadable. People still did a version of this to me every now and then. Addressed whatever man was in the room and treated me like a small and rather uninteresting piece of furniture. A dresser or sideboard perhaps. I hadn’t seen the racial equivalent done to Jai before, but he’d told me about it. It made me want to put my hands around Gary’s fat neck and squeeze until he passed out.

  ‘Let it go, Meg,’ Jai said, under his breath.

  Gary seemed larger and more belligerent than he had the day before, as if the scuffle outside had released a squirt of testosterone into his bloodstream. It was useful to see – I was getting a much more genuine impression of him than if he’d been stuck in an int
erview room, minding his P’s and Q’s, even if we couldn’t use it overtly in evidence.

  ‘We have some more questions for you,’ I said, rather sharply. ‘About Violet. Shall we sit down?’

  ‘Help yourself. I wouldn’t get too near Flossy though.’

  I walked past the dog, who let out a low growl. I went for a chair near a surprising old-fashioned TV with a wooden surround. The kind of thing you’d pick up on eBay for a quid if you were prepared to drive and fetch it. Gary sat next to Flossy and Jai took the other chair.

  ‘I already told you everything yesterday,’ Gary said.

  ‘How well do you know Violet Armstrong?’ I asked.

  Gary’s eyes darted to the kitchen door. ‘Not that well. I already told you.’

  ‘What’s your relationship like?’

  ‘She’s someone I see at work, and we’ve both done stuff for Anna’s stupid website.’ He lowered his voice. ‘She’s a cute girl. I guess she caught my attention.’

  So that tied in with Daniel saying he leched after Violet. I felt a flash of sympathy for Mandy. ‘Have you any idea where she is?’ I said.

  ‘I already told you. No.’

  ‘Did Violet ask you about a Rebecca Smith?’

  He looked up calmly, not concerned by this question. ‘Yeah, she might have done. Early on. I didn’t know what she was on about.’

  ‘Do you know a Rebecca Smith?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What about Bex Smith, or you might have known her as Bex Nightingale?’

  The air in the room solidified. This was different. Gary’s eyes narrowed. He spoke slowly, with forced casualness. ‘I vaguely remember that name. Kirsty’s little sister, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Have you met her?’

  A pause. He was hiding it well, but his breath was coming faster, his chest rising higher. ‘I think she hung around a bit one summer when we were teenagers. She didn’t live with Kirsty and her dad. I might have met her, I don’t really remember.’

  I was expecting him to ask if this was about Violet’s birth mother. Or at least to ask what it was about. But he didn’t, which was interesting.