‘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.