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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 police?’ 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.’

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