by Roz Watkins
I made the mistake of reading some of the comments. The detective in charge is Meg Dalton. That useless cow’s a vegetarian, promoted too fast because she’s a woman. Remove Meg Dalton from the case! Put someone competent in charge!
I pictured them sitting at their keyboards, spouting their venom, not caring about the effect it might have, not even thinking of me as a real person. There were no consequences for them. They didn’t have to look me in the eye and justify their behaviour. One thing I vowed – there would be consequences for anyone who killed an animal.
I tried to do a spot of therapy on myself. These arseholes couldn’t hurt me unless I allowed them too. Why should I care what they said about me? I was always so quick to jump to feeling guilty, taking responsibility, but it wasn’t my fault they were killing animals. My mind flipped to Daniel, who also lived with guilt. He was so far from the kind of person anyone would expect me to be interested in. He lived in a grotty caravan, he worked in an abattoir, he appeared to be dependent on opiate painkillers. He’d been done for causing death by dangerous driving, for God’s sake. He was not what one would call a good catch. And yet on some level far deeper than any of that, he was like me. We were the same.
I closed my eyes and saw blood. Remembered that Daniel had started to tell me about his younger brother. I tried phoning him but there was no answer.
Jai wandered into my room, stuffing a pasty into his face. ‘Hey, are you okay?’
‘Yeah, you know. Just an average week. A knife to my throat, a gallon of pig’s blood on my head …’
‘It sounded horrific.’
‘I’m fine, honestly, Jai.’
‘You’ll have seen the online brigade have worked themselves up into a frothing frenzy,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a confirmed serial killer, apparently. An enraged vegan activist picking off meat-industry workers.’
‘God, do you feel nostalgic for the good old days when we could get on with our jobs without all this crap?’
Jai shoved in another mouthful of lard. ‘Sorry. Didn’t get breakfast. But yeah, bring back the days when Enraged of Eldercliffe had to get off his arse, buy stamps, and write to the bloody paper to express his bigoted and unfounded feelings.’
I sighed. ‘Exactly. But could you make sure we’ve got protection in place for Daniel, Anna and Kirsty. I’m sure the Animal Vigilantes aren’t the killers, but they’re pretty unpleasant. And we should look again at Mandy. Maybe she found out about Gary’s relationship with Violet. Maybe she’s not what she appears. Also, I saw the Pale Child. A girl in a white dress with a doll’s face mask on. I got her mask. It’s gone to forensics.’
‘She’s a real person?’
‘She was real yesterday, and Hannah found a video of her from before Violet went missing, so it’s not just some kid cashing in on the whole thing.’
‘How odd. I thought she was supposed to be a ghost.’
‘I know. We need to find out who that girl is. Also, before I got doused in blood, Daniel was telling me about his younger brother. I can’t get hold of him, but can we check it out?’
‘I’ll look into it,’ Jai said, and headed off.
Seconds later, the door bashed open again and Fiona hotfooted it in.
‘Christ, it’s like Piccadilly Circus this morning,’ I said. ‘How am I to have my nap?’
‘Ha, ha, morning,’ Fiona said. She leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘You know that cut above Craig’s eye?’
‘Yes. He won’t say how he got it.’
‘I heard a rumour that Jai hit him.’
‘Jai?’ I’d never seen so much as a twitch from Jai in the time I’d known him, although when I arrived, I’d been told he had very occasional violent outbursts that everyone seemed to know about but nobody had witnessed.
‘Yes,’ Fiona said. ‘Jai.’
‘But that’s ridiculous. How are we supposed to run a murder investigation when they behave like primary school children? I’m already being mobbed by their wives and girlfriends as if I’m some kind of marriage guidance counsellor.’
Fiona opened her mouth as if to speak, then hesitated.
‘What is it. Fiona?’
‘Just tell me if this is none of my business. But … you do know Jai doesn’t want you to stick up for his girlfriend?’
‘Sorry?’ I said.
‘I think he wants you to agree that she’s being unreasonable.’
‘But I’m not sure she is.’
‘I don’t think that’s the point,’ Fiona said. ‘But it doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.’
I closed my eyes for a moment. I was too tired to manage the investigation, let alone deal with the labyrinthine goings-on of the team social dynamics. I could hardly tell Fiona that I worried I’d got too close to Jai. That by defending his girlfriend I was making it very clear that I was happy he’d found someone. That I wasn’t at all interested in him.
The door pushed open and Craig poked his head round it. Fiona gave him the look Hamlet gives next-door’s cat when it approaches his cat flap, but Craig wandered in, oblivious. I really was flavour of the morning.
Craig took a breath, about to speak, and I wondered if he was going to get some mileage out of the blood-dousing incident. I could do without any Carrie jokes, especially with that having been my sister’s name.
But it wasn’t that. He said, ‘They’ve found something in the woods.’
I froze. ‘What kind of something?’
‘Bits of that poor girl, by the sound of it.’
35
Bex – October 1999
The River Itchen was dark grey, far below her, reflecting the rain-filled sky. Cranes and industrial buildings sprawled over the flat areas to the side of the river, and a dirty brown boat chugged through the murky water, looking impossibly tiny.
Bex took her backpack from her shoulder and removed the Sainsbury’s bag, dumping the backpack on the ground beside her. A gust of wind grabbed her hair and whipped it around her face.
She hadn’t been able to look at the plastic strips in the toilet in the cafe. But she’d done four tests, and shoved them straight into the Sainsbury’s bag without looking. It was gross if she thought about it, but she was way past caring about a bit of pee.
She looked at the bag. It was wrong that this mundane object should contain such life-changing information. Potentially life-ending information. Because she couldn’t have the baby of a rapist. And she couldn’t face having an abortion either. So that was that. She was worth nothing anyway. Her mother had left her and her dad and sister didn’t want her. It made sense that someone should value her so little that he’d destroy her life for a few minutes of … what? Pleasure? Gratification? A few trivial minutes for him, that he’d probably forgotten about months ago. She hoped it had been Lucas, because he’d died. But deep down she knew it wasn’t him. The world didn’t work like that. People never got what they deserved.
She would have coped with the rape, she thought, if only her family had supported her. Helped her find out who did it, made him pay. But no, her family blamed her. Because wasn’t she always to blame?
So she’d find out now. In this place. And she’d deal with it.
The water was laid out far below her and nobody was around. Not in this freezing weather.
A flash of fear. But she could do it. She was strong.
Her heart was thudding in her chest, her breath coming fast. A gust of wind pulled at the plastic bag as she opened it and fished out the first test.
She snatched a breath of cold air.
There were two lines visible on the test.
She blinked and reached into the bag for the second test. That had two lines.
The third test. Two lines.
And the fourth. Two lines.
So this was it. She was pregnant. She dropped the bag and the wind grabbed it and carried it away over the side of the bridge. It hovered in the air high above the river for too long, before swirling its way down to the water.
Her hand relaxed and she dropped the last test onto the cold concrete. A seagull cried overhead, sounding too much like a baby.
She leaned over the barrier, her stomach pressing against it. Was this thing really inside her stomach? How could it be? Growing inside her. Part of her and not part of her. Part of him.
Bex felt her knees go soft and she collapsed onto the concrete. She realised she was sobbing.
It was growing inside her.
She was one of two again.
If she jumped into that steely water below, it wouldn’t only be her she killed. It would be this thing too. And she realised she couldn’t do it. Not again.
36
Meg – Present day
Thursday
Jai and I were in the car, heading for the woods. I couldn’t remember another summer where the hot weather had stretched on like this. Where I’d gone weeks without even throwing a cardigan in the car in case of a Peak District reversal where sun turned to fog and rain in an eye-blink. There’d been nothing quite like it since 1976, according to those who remembered, and no doubt it was lovely if you didn’t spend your days tackling wildfires or searching for decomposing bodies.
‘Are you okay?’ Jai said.
I pictured Violet’s face, the energy of her, young and strong, filled with so much life it seemed to burst out of her. ‘It’s good, I suppose. We need forensic evidence. But I’m not sure I’m ready to have it confirmed that she’s dead.’
‘I think we all know she’s dead,’ Jai said.
‘I’d hoped I was getting better at being detached, but I’m not.’
Jai sighed. ‘You don’t want to be detached. You’re a better cop when you’re riddled with stress and anxiety.’
‘Oh, cheers.’
Jai paused and then said, ‘They’re so far off the mark about you.’
‘I know. But even though they’re dicks, it hurts.’
We drove in silence for a while. My mind drifted back to the Justice for Violet group. The dead animals and the comments about me and my competence, or rather lack of competence.
‘I don’t think you have any idea,’ I said. ‘Not you personally. I don’t think anyone has any idea what it’s like to be publicly castigated until it happens.’
‘I suppose not,’ Jai said, happy in his status as un-publicly castigated.
‘I think of all the times I’ve read about politicians and celebrities, people coming off Twitter because they can’t stomach reading about themselves any longer, and I didn’t have a clue until it started happening to me last year.’
‘Any dickhead with a computer can have a voice now,’ Jai said. ‘That’s the problem. I don’t suppose they have the first idea what it’s like to be on the receiving end, having never done anything in their sad lives that puts their heads above the parapet. To have a go at you – someone who works so tirelessly to do the right thing.’
‘Wow, save that phrase for my eulogy. But thanks.’
We took the road up past the reservoir. The low water levels gave the impression that the huge spillways had grown, as if they’d sprouted up in the hot weather.
‘Jai,’ I said. ‘I heard a rumour …’
‘Oh God, is this about Craig?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, yes, we had a minor scuffle, but he already had a cut above his eye. I didn’t do that.’
‘You had a scuffle? What is this – infant school? Did you hit him?’
‘He hit me first. And he was deliberately goading me. I think he wanted me to hit him.’
‘God, Jai. You can’t go around hitting people. What were you arguing about?’
‘I can’t say. I had a theory but he denied it.’
‘So you hit each other. And it appears you hit him harder than he hit you.’
‘He hasn’t complained about it. He already had that cut.’
‘So where did the cut come from?’
‘I don’t know, Meg. He won’t say.’
‘No, but his bloody wife’s been asking about it, and I get the job of talking to him.’
‘Okay, okay. It was pretty bad what I accused him of, but he denied it. Can we leave it for now?’
I was somewhat intrigued but didn’t have the energy to pursue it. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Just try to behave like adults, can you? Adults who don’t hit each other. Maybe adult women – they rarely hit each other even when things get really bad. Try to behave like an adult woman.’
Jai turned to me and frowned. ‘Fine, Meg. I’ll do that. Just for you.’
‘Right. Good. That’s settled. Where are we going?’
‘Back towards the village,’ Jai said. ‘There’s a road runs along by the reservoir and then down into the woods.’
We drove towards Gritton, the windows of its houses shining like glitter on the hillside, the swarms of reporters and rubberneckers looking like ants on spilled honey. I’d been told that Violet’s poor parents were down there, doing their own relentless and desperate house-to-house enquiries.
I diverted towards the reservoir. The abattoir formed a strange focal point for this area, always visible, sitting glumly at the base of the valley.
There was just one CSI van and a marked car, but they’d drawn attention. People were hovering around the perimeter, raising their phones to get surreptitious shots.
I parked badly by the side of the road. Even though I was desperate for evidence, part of me didn’t want to know what they’d found. I pictured Helen Armstrong and hoped I wouldn’t be the one to tell her.
A steep common approach path had been marked with crime scene tape. Jai and I walked down, me shuffling sideways because of the slope and my ankle, and were met at the bottom by a uniformed officer.
‘We found a black bin liner, consistent with being dumped from up there.’ He waved towards the road, which was on a bank above us.
My stomach was churning. ‘What was in it?’
‘There’s a lot of hair,’ he said. ‘Long dark hair. And clothes, including underwear. And that pelican brooch is in there, on a chain.’
‘Shaved hair?’ I said.
‘Yes, shaved. And a razor, which I suppose was used to shave it. I’m afraid the stuff is absolutely covered in blood.’
Richard was no better than Craig in hot weather – his flesh seemed to sink downwards, as if you might turn round one day and find him pooled on the floor, still shouting orders up at you. He was sitting heavily on a chair at the front of the incident room.
Fiona was pacing, with arms crossed and a vexed expression.
The pictures of Gary in the pig’s head mask stared at us, Lord of the Flies style. And the photograph of Violet’s face taunted us, her radiance dulling everything else. The team sat in stunned silence. Even Craig sat quietly waiting for instructions.
I could feel the droplets gathering on my upper lip. I wiped them off surreptitiously, and stood at the front of the room with Violet’s face behind me.
‘A bag has been found in the woods, in the general area where we found Gary’s body, but nearer to the road. It contains clothes and boots that have been confirmed as Violet’s. And it contains her hair and a brooch which we’ve confirmed was hers. Also a razor, which we assume was used to shave her.’
‘Christ,’ Craig said. ‘That’s it then. She really was fed to pigs.’
‘There’s a lot of blood on the clothes and hair and on the bag,’ I said, ‘although we think some of it’s animal blood. The lab have agreed to fast-track it. But it’s nearly the weekend.’
‘God forbid that the outsourced lab workers should do anything on a bloody weekend,’ Craig said. ‘Never mind the poor girl’s parents are in hell.’
‘We’ve spoken to her parents and to Bex Smith. Explained that we haven’t found a body. But obviously everyone’s talking about the pigs.’
‘How horrendous,’ Fiona said. ‘Her parents must be in bits. And Bex.’
That had been an unfortunate turn of phrase, but nobody commented on it. Bex had been
calling, desperate for news. But she wouldn’t go to Gritton.
‘Eighteen,’ Craig muttered. ‘A kid. What’s the matter with people?’
‘I’m hopeful we’ll find prints or DNA on the bag or the boots or necklace,’ I said.
‘It’s unbelievable,’ Craig muttered. ‘I still can’t believe someone would feed an eighteen-year-old girl to pigs. That’s seriously fucked up.’ I’d never seen Craig like this before, but he did have kids of his own and Violet was barely more than a child, bikini-prancing notwithstanding. She’d got to him.
‘Come on, Craig.’ Richard hauled himself out of his chair and stood radiating heat. ‘We treat this like any other case.’
‘Looking at the slightly less photogenic Gary for a minute,’ Jai said, ‘we’ve confirmed he was killed by blunt force trauma to the head. He was struck with a rock from behind and then hit several more times. He was propped against the tree post-mortem, and someone put a mask on his head. A mask made from real pigskin. The good news is we found fibres on him, and a hair that wasn’t his. And we’ve got his phone, so I’m confident we’ll have more leads to follow up soon.’
‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘And I want us to have a good look at Mandy. She had a motive to kill both Violet and Gary if she found out about the affair. Also Anna and Daniel. And Kirsty. There’s this secret to do with the Pale Child. And I suspect they’re involved. What else do we have?’
‘I found out what Daniel must have been about to say about his brother,’ Fiona said. ‘Charlie Twigg died back in 1995 after saying he’d seen the Pale Child. He was only eight, and for some reason he wandered off to the reservoir. He managed to climb up to the rim of the spillway. Fell down it and died.’
‘Oh God, that’s awful,’ I said. ‘That must be what Kirsty’s kid, Frankie, referred to. She mentioned a boy and that hole at the reservoir.’ Poor Daniel. I’d been trying not to think about him but he’d kept creeping into my mind. Flashes of him saving the lamb. Confident and compassionate. ‘Is that the reason for all the fences?’ I said.
‘Yes. And then in 1999, Daniel’s friend Lucas died after the barbecue where Bex was raped. The car accident that Daniel went to prison for. Lucas also claimed he’d seen the Pale Child in the woods that night.’