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Back Cut to the Bone Save as PDF
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for Cut to the Bone
  3. About the Author
  4. Also by Roz Watkins
  5. Note to Readers
  6. Dedication
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. Extract
  67. Prologue
  68. Chapter 1
  69. Author’s note
  70. Acknowledgements
  71. About the Publisher

‘You’ve just rewarded him for being an arse.’ Kirsty’s tone was blunt.

Bex felt sick. Had Kirsty become one of those unnerving people who changed from sunny to scary second by second? She pulled her hand back. ‘Oh God, sorry.’

Kirsty laughed. ‘Relax. It’s fine. You weren’t to know.’

Their dad grabbed a cloth and mopped up the tea. ‘Don’t listen to your sister. She’s only teasing. She’s been so excited about you coming.’

‘So excited,’ Kirsty echoed. There it was again. Kirsty’s voice had two layers, the sarcasm so subtle it was almost not there. Bex could tell that her dad only heard one layer, but Daniel could detect the other one. His eyes flitted nervously between Bex and Kirsty.

Bex had never imagined that Kirsty might not like her, might not want her there.

‘You should get your dad to show you how he trains the pigs,’ Daniel said. ‘He’s really into animal training. The pigs are so cool.’

‘Wow, yes!’ Bex felt a sudden rush of optimism. ‘That would be brilliant.’

Her dad smiled. ‘Good. We can do that.’

At last, something Bex could do with her dad that would avoid the awkward silences. And training pigs sounded fun.

‘Soft in the head, the lot of you,’ Kirsty said. But she gave Bex a warm smile, and Bex realised she must have been wrong. Paranoid. She could be like that sometimes. Of course Kirsty was happy she was there. Nobody blamed her. The summer wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

11

Meg – Present day

Tuesday

I was at my desk skim-reading the recent statements from the house-to-house. Violet had spoken to so many people in her search for Rebecca Smith, and the residents of Gritton had been so excessively helpful, interested and keen to share their thoughts with our officers, that we were drowning in their contributions. Most of it was tediously irrelevant, the only thing of possible interest being someone’s assertion that Kirsty Nightingale – the pig-farming daughter of Tony Nightingale – dealt drugs. Surprising but not obviously helpful.

We’d spoken to Violet’s parents when they’d changed planes in Singapore, and they’d had no demands from any menacing folk about Violet, so a kidnap was looking unlikely. The search teams had found nothing, and there had been no sightings from people who weren’t attention-seeking and/or deranged, although plenty from those who were. A huge search of the moorland was underway, with help from an over-emotional public determined to get too close to the wildfire. Crime scene officers were at the abattoir, and in Violet’s room at the cottage, and the tech team were going through her laptop. There was still no sign of her phone. To use a cliché, she’d disappeared into thin air.