by Roz Watkins
Jai sighed. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’
And we sat in silence, listening to the sound of the tyres on the rain-soaked road.
Jai steered around a rock, then said, ‘I found out who Richard went on holiday with.’
I felt awkward saying it. ‘Is love in the air?’
‘Apparently not. Maybe he agrees with you on the subject.’ Just a hint of snark. ‘He went with a male friend. He had a bit of a rant to me. Said the guy was a widower and they’re just friends and seriously, if Richard was gay, he’d be perfectly happy to tell us, his daughter’s transgender for goodness’ sake and he’s fine with that, do we seriously think he’d have a problem with being gay, so could we just drop it because this bloke is a friend and Richard has no desire to meet anyone for a relationship anyway, and they had a fantastic time on their safari, thank you very much, now shut up about it.’
‘Accurate replication of a Richard-rant there, Jai. And I like it. Great outcome.’
Jai pulled up outside Mum’s house. Drizzle was drifting sideways through the trees. ‘It’s difficult to imagine we had all that hot weather,’ I said. ‘It was like a different country. Do you want a cuppa?’
‘You don’t want some time to talk about … your dad?’
‘That bastard? No, I’m done with him.’
We splashed up the drive and knocked on the door. It opened to a frazzled-looking Mum, but her face lit up when she saw Jai. ‘How nice! Are you having a cup of tea.’ With Mum there was never a question mark at the end of that sentence.
‘That would be lovely, Mrs Dalton,’ Jai said. ‘Shall I give you a hand making it?’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ I spluttered. ‘She already thinks the sun shines out of your arse.’
‘Meg, really.’ Mum led us through to the kitchen, and then noticed my face. ‘Oh, good heavens. You have been in the wars, you poor thing.’
We sat at the kitchen table and Mum bustled around. I realised she wasn’t frazzled – she was excited. Buzzing with energy.
‘Are you going to sit down for a few minutes?’ I asked, pretending to be irritated. She was more herself than she’d been since Gran died. Possibly more herself than she’d ever been, and I was happy for her.
Mum ignored me. ‘How’s that girlfriend of yours?’ she said to Jai.
‘Oh. Um. Yes, actually we decided to call it quits. It’s fine.’
‘Oh goodness,’ Mum said, putting tea mugs in front of us and sitting at the table, still for the first time in God knows when. ‘I’m sorry.’
Jai glugged some tea. ‘She doesn’t like my kids. At first we avoided the issue, but it’s kind of a deal-breaker. And she was going to want kids of her own, and I don’t want more. Two is plenty.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ I said. ‘Sorry, that sounded wrong.’
‘So you’re both single,’ Mum said.
‘It’s the best way for cops.’ Jai took a biscuit. ‘Isn’t that right, Meg?’
I looked into my tea and didn’t comment.
Jai coughed. ‘When are you leaving for El Salvador, Mrs Dalton?’
‘Jesus, Jai,’ I said. ‘Stop calling her Mrs Dalton. You sound like you’re trying to sell her double glazing.’
‘Day after tomorrow. I’m so disorganised.’ That was not true. Everywhere I looked, there was a list on the back of an envelope, or a pile of neatly categorised stuff. ‘But we don’t need to talk about me. I want to talk about Meg.’ She reached and touched my hand. Jai smirked. ‘I mean, goodness me, you saved those poor women. I’m so proud of you.’
I felt like crying. I’d been pretending I was okay, but it had all been so hard. The Violet case, the abuse directed at me, and then the stuff with Dad. I swallowed, unable to talk.
‘I think you’re exhausted,’ Mum said. ‘After this, go home and go to bed. But I hope you’ve given yourself a pat on the back. Has she, Jai?’
‘I hope so too. She had a visit from the chief constable.’
‘Gosh, that’s nice. Good. She works so very hard.’
‘I am here, you know.’ I gripped my tea mug so tight I felt like it might smash into pieces.
Mum put her serious face on. ‘Are you okay though?’
‘I am, Mum. Justice for Violet have self-destructed in a puff of being totally bloody wrong about everything, the Animal Vigilantes have calmed the hell down, Bex and Violet are making sure Nina and Sofia are looked after. And Dad’s sodded off back to Scotland in a cloud of shame. What’s not to like? We’ve even managed to arrest most of the animal killers and the bastard who threatened Hamlet.’
‘Well, that’s excellent. I’m glad. I just need to say one more thing to you.’
‘Oh God.’ I half laughed, so as not to cry. ‘Am I going to be told off?’
‘About your father.’
I looked into my mug. Jai’s presence beside me felt good. Reassuring. I wondered if I’d made the wrong decision.
‘He did try to con me out of money too,’ Mum said, ‘but I was more cynical than you. You managed to cancel that cheque?’
I took a breath and looked up. ‘Yes. It’s all cancelled. Although I’m not sure my neighbours have forgiven me for his wounded-buffalo bellowing when he realised I’d locked him out and chucked his clothes out of the front window. Their Great Dane can be a bit excitable.’ It still made me feel queasy what I’d done to Dad, even though he was a bastard of the highest order.
‘You need to know it’s not you,’ Mum said. ‘He was being pursued by money-lenders. He was absolutely desperate. But I hope this helps you realise you’re worth ten of him. There’s no point you trying to impress him because he’s only ever focused on himself. The best thing you can do is be proud of yourself, forget about him, and get on with your life.’
Jai had been very quiet, sipping his tea. ‘My family are an absolute nightmare as well,’ he said. ‘I think it’s character-building.’
‘Just not the character I wanted,’ I said.
59
The pigs were in an outdoor pen with their piglets, the hazy evening sun highlighting the blond hairs on their backs and the flakes of mud where they’d rolled. The one with the patch over her eye was there, rooting around with a quiet determination. Our saviour.
Bex and Violet sat opposite me on a picnic bench, one of Tony’s creations. They were close to one another as if they’d known each other for years.
‘How could he not see it?’ Bex said. ‘Even if the occasional piglet gets crushed, which if you give them enough space they don’t, this is so much better.’
‘Will you be taking over the farm then?’ I asked.
She grimaced. ‘No. We’re both staying away from pigs for a while. But Dad’s paid for this lot to go to a sanctuary to live out their lives.’
‘Oh, thank goodness,’ I said. ‘I was going to offer to help with that. Old Patchy here saved us. I wasn’t going to let her spend another minute in a cage.’
‘No,’ Bex said. ‘It’s a drop in the ocean, but at least we can save these.’
Violet looked up. ‘No more barbecue videos for me,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why I ever got into that in the first place. I’m going to use my notoriety to campaign against factory farming. And I’ve got the right look for that now.’ She touched her head. Her hair was beginning to grow back and she looked stunning – the benefits of good bone structure.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.
‘I’m okay.’ The fading light touched her cheekbones and for a moment she looked much older, as if I was seeing the woman she would become. ‘It’s funny how much you appreciate simple things like the sun on your face. And I’ve got a birth mother, a grandmother and an aunt I never knew I had. Also a grandfather and another aunt, but I’m not sure I’ll be keeping in touch with them. And I’ve sorted things out with my parents – my adoptive parents.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’m really pleased.’
‘Yes, but …’ She was different. The naive confidence was gone. It
used to burn out of her eyes in her barbecue videos – the faith that everything would always be okay for her. ‘I’m trying to get my head around being Ivan’s daughter. I was seriously freaked out about it, but … well, I suppose I just have to get used to it. He had more excuse than most for his behaviour.’
‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ Bex said. ‘You’re clearly fine. We’re the product of nurture more than nature and Ivan had no chance to be normal. What a tragic life he led.’
‘I know,’ Violet said. ‘It doesn’t mean he’s passed on … anything to me.’ She looked over at the pigs and smiled. Two of the tiny piglets were chasing each other round like puppies.
‘Frankie’s coming to stay with me,’ Bex said. ‘I’ll make a crappy mum-substitute but I suspect even I’ll be better than what she’s used to.’
‘That’s great news’ I said. ‘And how about Nina and Sofia?’
Bex shook her head slowly. ‘I can’t imagine … More than thirty years trapped under a barn. All that time I thought she’d abandoned me, she was there. If only I’d realised.’
‘You couldn’t have known,’ I said.
‘He was obsessed with keeping water out of that barn.’ Bex looked up at the sky, which was beginning to deepen into pink. ‘I remember when I visited when I was sixteen, he directed it to flood the house rather than end up in the barn. I can see us all sitting in the kitchen, me soaking wet and shocked and wondering why on earth I’d even come to Gritton, and Daniel having a go at Dad because he’d let the old books get wet. The books that were rescued from the manor house. I thought Dad was concerned about the pigs.’
She took a deep, shuddery breath. ‘Talking to Nina, it’s obvious she never gave up. She played the long game, and pretended she’d resigned herself to her life, so Tony would trust her, but all the while she was waiting for her chance. Even though, once he micro-chipped them, it was pretty much impossible. If Tony hadn’t perpetuated the rumour about the Pale Child, someone would have found Ivan the first time he escaped and worked out what was going on. But people ran away from him. It makes me sick. Sick to my stomach that he’s my own father.’
I wasn’t sure what to say. Not sure how these women were supposed to cope with finding out the truth about their family. ‘I should have spotted it,’ I said. ‘We saw from the drone footage that there was a septic tank for that pig barn, but we just assumed it had been converted to a home.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t exactly expect there to be people imprisoned there,’ Violet said. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘I think Aunt Janet must have worked out there was a problem with Kirsty,’ Bex said. ‘She never wanted me to come to Gritton. Said it wasn’t safe, but I never knew why. I thought it was to do with the pigs.’
I nodded. And then she had warned Violet’s parents to keep her away from Gritton, which they did for as long as they could.
‘I keep thinking about Sofia,’ Violet said. ‘Locked up for her whole life. I can’t imagine. He gave them TV, but Sofia didn’t realise the TV people were real. She thought it was all made up, even though Nina did her best to educate her.’
‘Nina’s an incredible woman,’ I said.
‘They were kind to me,’ Violet said. ‘I’ll help them adapt any way I can.’
‘And Dad’s money can pay for whatever they need,’ Bex added.
‘The bastard can at least do that.’ Violet gave a shallow smile.
Bex turned to look at Violet and said, ‘He did it for love, you know. The kind of love he was taught by his father on the farm.’
‘Yeah,’ Violet said. ‘Misguided, fucked-up, Gritton-style love.’
If you loved Cut to the Bone, don’t miss the other books from the DI Meg Dalton series - available now!
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Turn the page for an extract from the first book in the DI Meg
Dalton series by Roz Watkins, The Devil’s Dice…
Prologue
The man clambered into the cave on shaking legs, sucked in a lungful of stale air and stared wide-eyed into the blackness. When the dark mellowed, he shuffled inside and sank onto the seat that a long-dead troglodyte had hewn into the cave wall. The familiar coldness seeped through his trousers and into his flesh. The discomfort pleased him.
He fished out his torch and stood it upright, so the light beamed up and bounced onto the glistening floor. Bats hung above him, their tiny feet grasping at the rock, furry bodies tucked into cavities.
The solitude was soothing. No judgemental glances from colleagues. No clients clamouring for his attention like swarms of angry insects. No wife shooting arrows of disappointment his way.
He placed the book by his side. Eased the cake from his pocket, pulled open the crinkly plastic wrapper and took the soft weight in his hand. He hesitated; then brought it to his lips, bit firmly and chewed fast. Another two bites and it was gone.
The air went thick. His throat tightened. He leant back against the cave wall. There wasn’t enough oxygen. He gasped. Clamped his eyes shut. An image of his long-dead mother slid into his head. Slumped in her wheelchair, head lolling to one side. And an earlier one – way back when his memories flitted like fish in shining water – smiling down at him and walking on her legs like a normal parent.
He rose. Stumbled to the back of the cave, grasped at the ferns on the wall, fell against them. His stomach clenched and his upper body folded forwards. He was retching, choking.
More snapshots in his head. Kate’s face on their honeymoon. Beaming in the light of a foreign island, laughing and raising a glass to sun-chapped lips. He gasped. Air wouldn’t come. Drowning. That time in Cornwall, still a child. Beach huts against the bright blue sky and then the waves throwing him down. Dragging him along the sea bed, his terror bitter and astonishing.
He crashed to the cave floor. An image of a childhood cat, orange-furred and ferocious, but loved so much. The cat dead on the lane. Now a girl hanging deep in the Labyrinth, the noose straight and still. Please, not his girl.
A terrible burning, like maggots burrowing into his cheeks. He clawed at his face, nails hacking into skin, gouging into eyes.
Blackness coming in from above and below. The image of his mother again, in bed, both emaciated and swollen. Suffocating. Pleading.
Chapter 1
I accelerated up the lane, tyres skidding in the mud, and prayed to the gods of murder investigations. Please bestow upon me the competence to act like a proper detective and not screw up in my new job.
The gods were silent, but my boss’s voice boomed from the hands-free phone. ‘Meg, did you get the details? Body in a cave… almond smell… philosophy book…’
I squinted at the phone, as if that would help. Richard’s monologue style of conversation meant he hadn’t noticed the bad signal. Had he really said ‘philosophy’? Our usual deaths were chaotic and drunken, with absolutely no philosophy involved.
Another snatch of Richard’s voice. ‘Scratches on his face…’ Then the line went dead.
I swerved to avoid a rock and dragged my attention back to the road, which climbed between fields sprinkled with disgruntled-looking sheep and edged with crumbling dry-stone walls. A mist of evidence-destroying drizzle hung in the air. As the farmland on the left merged into woods, I saw a couple of police vehicles in a bleak parking area, and the sat nav announced that I’d reached my destination.
I pulled in and took a moment to compose myself. Of course it was terrible that a man was dead, but if he’d had to die, at least he’d done it in an intriguing way, and when I happened to be nearby. I was an Inspector now. I could handle it. Mission ‘Reinvent Self in Derbyshire’ was on track. I took a fortifying breath, climbed from the car, and set off along a corridor marked with blue and white tape.
The path sloped up towards the base of an abandoned quarry. I trudged through the fallen leaves, the mud emphasising my limp and suckin
g at my feet with an intensity that felt personal. I needed to rethink my fitness regime, which mainly consisted of reading articles in New Scientist about the benefits of exercise. It wasn’t cutting it in my chubby mid-thirties.
Through the trees I saw the face of a cliff, tinted pink by the evening light. An area around its base was enclosed by ribbons of tape stretched between rocks and shade-stunted oaks, and a police tent squatted just outside. I walked over and encased my genetic matter in a protective body suit, face mask, overshoes and two pairs of gloves.
The duty sergeant was a bearded man who looked slightly too large for his uniform.
‘Sergeant Pearson,’ he said. ‘Ben. No evidence trampled. All under control.’
I didn’t know him, but I recognised the name. According to the (admittedly unreliable) Station grapevine, he was extensively tattooed. Nothing was visible but apparently his torso was completely covered and was the subject of much fascination, which just demonstrated the poor standard of gossip in the Derbyshire force.
‘DI Meg Dalton,’ I said, and looked around the taped area. There was no-one who was obviously dead.
Ben pointed to the cliff. ‘In the cave house.’
A narrow set of steps, smooth and concave through years of use, crawled sideways up the face of the cliff. At the top, about fifteen feet up, a dark, person-sized archway led into the rock.
‘There’s a house up there, burrowed into the rock? With a corpse in it?’
‘Yep,’ Ben said.
‘That’s a bit creepy.’
Ben squeezed his eyebrows together in a quick frown. ‘Oh. Have you heard…?’ He glanced up at the black entrance to the cave.
‘Heard what?’
‘Sorry. I thought you said something else. Never mind. It’s not important.’
I sighed. ‘Okay, so what about our iffy body?’
