Roz Watkins - Cut to the Bone

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.

‘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.