‘If anyone saw anything unusual the night she disappeared, please call our hotline.’ I pointed into the crowd. ‘Yes?’

‘Dick Granger, the Enquirer.’ I’d come across Dick before. Never one to hold back for reasons of sensitivity, but even he seemed to have a twinge of doubt as he looked at Violet’s parents. Then he dived in before he lost his chance. ‘There have been suggestions Violet’s been killed and fed to pigs. What do the police say about that?’

I felt Helen flinch beside me and cursed myself for not warning them. I should have known a comment like that would shoot through social media like shit off a muck-spreader.

‘Violet’s been missing less than forty-eight hours,’ I said. ‘We’ve no reason to think she’s been killed. The vast majority of teenagers are found safe and well.’

Someone shouted, ‘But what about the pigs?’

I ignored them, but Roy butted in. ‘What’s the matter with you people? How do you think we feel, for God’s sake?’

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Helen reach a hand across and lay it on Roy’s arm.

Someone shouted, ‘What happened to her body?’

‘When will you upscale this to a suspected homicide?’ Dick shouted.

‘We’re treating Violet as a high-risk missing person,’ I said. ‘Huge resources are being put into finding her. There’s no question of needing to upscale anything.’

There was so much shouting I couldn’t tell who was saying what.

‘What about the Animal Vigilantes? Have you arrested anyone? What about Justice for Violet? What if they start killing animals tonight?’

‘We won’t tolerate abuse of animals,’ I said. ‘If anybody harms an animal tonight, we will be coming down extremely hard.’ I realised that sounded perhaps a little too menacing.

‘Are your sympathies with the animal activists, DI Dalton? Are you the right person to find Violet’s killers?’

I flicked my eyes to the speaker. A youngish man with prominent glasses and a trendy beard, who looked like he should have known better. I wanted to leap into the crowd and grab him by the throat, and he may have picked up on the vibe because he shuffled back in his seat.

Another shout. I didn’t see where it came from. ‘Does Meg Dalton have links to animal rights extremists?’

My pulse was racing. This felt out of control.

‘Mrs Armstrong! Where do you think Violet is?’ The shout came from a local reporter I vaguely knew, an ambitious but decent young woman. I turned to Helen, and she gave a tiny nod and looked out at the crowd.