I pulled up and climbed from the car, narrowly missing a neatly curled dog turd. The place contrasted so extremely with the main village, it was almost as if it was trying to make a point.
‘Nice.’ Jai unfolded himself slowly as if he didn’t want to get out.
Ten caravans were spread over a field of unkempt grass. No people were in evidence but one or two curtains twitched, and there was the muffled sound of kids screaming and dogs going ballistic inside the caravans.
‘The shutters are going down and the hackles are going up,’ I said.
‘Yeah. The cop-detection radar’s good in places like this.’
The largest caravan was aligned in front of the others as if on guard. Its wheels had either disappeared or sunk into the ground, so it looked as if it had sat down. The door squeaked open and a ginger Staffie charged out at us, barking and slavering. Jai and I both took a hasty step back and crashed into one another, demonstrating our smooth professionalism.
A boulder-shaped orange-haired woman emerged from the caravan, lunged forward, and grabbed the dog by the scruff of its neck. It carried on barking but at a more strangled pitch.
The woman gave us the same look I’d given the dog turd. ‘What?’
I flashed ID. ‘We’d like a word with Daniel Twigg. Which is his caravan?’
‘Why are you after him?’
‘Which is his caravan please?’
‘How do I know you’re not those animal activists? They’re dangerous, you know.’
I held up my ID again. ‘Because we’re police. Feel free to call and check.’
‘Why aren’t you wearing uniforms? You look too scruffy to be police. Well, you do.’ She pointed at me. ‘He looks okay.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said. ‘Which is his caravan?’
She frowned at us, causing creases in her face which matched her dog’s. After pausing long enough to demonstrate that she was still sceptical about me and was complying out of her good nature and not because she had to, the woman gestured towards a small caravan with trails of green mould drifting down its side. ‘He’s not well. He’s come back from work, so don’t go bothering him.’
‘Thanks.’
We moved gratefully away from the dog, which was baring its teeth and salivating.
‘What on earth …?’ On each side of the caravan door was a pile of rocks. But pile didn’t properly describe it. The rocks were balanced on top of one another in teetering stacks about four feet high, even though the base rocks were smaller than the higher ones.
‘Rock-balancing art,’ Jai said. ‘It’s what constitutes a wild time round here. No glue or cement or anything – just gravity and physics.’
‘I like them.’ I stepped between the rocks, worried about knocking them over.
I tapped on the door. It opened abruptly, causing the entire caravan to wobble and making me fear for the rock art. A man appeared. White-faced, nervous-looking. Mid-thirties. Longish hair. Delicate, unshaven features. Arctic Monkeys T-shirt.
Jai spoke first. ‘Are you Daniel Twigg? This is DI Meg Dalton and I’m DS Jai Sanghera. Can we ask you a few questions?’
‘You’d better come in.’ He stepped back to allow us to climb up.
The inside of the caravan was steaming hot, grubby, and smelled of cooked broccoli. We could only see one side of it, the other being separated off with a partition. Our half had a tiny kitchen area and some benches to sit on, and presumably the other half contained somewhere to sleep and a loo.
We accepted an offer of tea with some reluctance, and Daniel fished cups from the not-very-clean draining board and milk from a mini fridge.
We perched on a cramped bench while Daniel shuffled around awkwardly in the limited space. He didn’t make a drink for himself.
‘I’ve only got oat milk.’ Daniel sat opposite and plonked mugs in front of us. He grabbed a lump of what looked like Blu-tack and started fiddling with it. He had a slightly spaced-out look, and I remembered Gary saying he was a junkie, and something about pain in his back. He was moving stiffly.
‘Have you hurt your back?’ I asked.
He frowned. ‘A long time ago. It’s okay, but I have to take very strong painkillers. So bear with me. They affect my concentration sometimes.’
‘Do you have any idea where Violet is?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘So talk us through this morning please.’
‘I arrived at the abattoir at seven, like I normally do, fed the pigs, then I felt ill. I came home, and I only found out Violet was missing when Anna phoned.’
‘Anna thinks you may have over-fed the pigs,’ I said. ‘Do you think you might have done that?’
Daniel looked up sharply. ‘What? No. Of course not. I gave them the right amount for twenty pigs. Why?’
‘They’d left their breakfast.’
Daniel’s eyes widened. ‘I didn’t give them too much.’
‘Okay, we’ll look into that. Have you got details of the new people who are taking the Category 2 waste?’
‘What new people?’
‘The contractor’s been changed. Did you organise that?’
He shook his head. ‘No, not me. I don’t know anything about that. Maybe try Gary?’
I sat back and let Jai ask questions while I watched. ‘When did you last see Violet?’ he said.
Daniel was making a miniature version of the balancing rocks – blobs stacked on top of one another. There was a tiny tremor in his hands when he manipulated the Blu-tack. How could he stand the heat in this caravan? ‘Friday, at work,’ he said.
‘How has she been recently?’
‘Okay, I think. But I don’t know a lot about her.’
‘What’s Violet like as a person?’ Jai settled deeper into his seat and put on his mates-at-the-pub voice. ‘You know, away from all the internet stuff.’
Daniel swallowed. ‘She was all right, I suppose. I didn’t give it much thought.’ His eyes flitted nervously between Jai and me. Mates-at-the-pub wasn’t working.
Jai shot me a discreet look. Daniel had used the past tense about Violet.
‘Do you know something, Daniel?’ I said. ‘You seem very upset.’
Daniel shifted back as if I was intimidating him. ‘Of course I’m upset. They were threatening her. Really badly. All of us – but Violet got it the worst. It’s been horrible. Scary.’
‘Tell us about it.’
He looked at his new sculpture – eight or nine Blu-tack blobs balanced on top of one another – and then crushed it with his thumb. ‘The website was Anna’s idea – I don’t know why I got involved. I’m not someone they should be attacking. I care about the animals. I suppose I can see why Gary and Kirsty piss people off. And Violet. But not me and Anna.’
‘Who’s Kirsty?’
‘Kirsty Nightingale. She’s got a pig farm over the valley.’
‘So the people involved in the website are yourself, Violet, Anna and Gary Finchley, and Kirsty Nightingale? Five of you?’
He nodded morosely. ‘I wish I’d stayed out of it.’
‘What did Gary and Kirsty do