The Kill Call

where women dressed head to toe in white plastic aprons, hats and hair nets, were processing the meat. The steaks she could see going through the line were enormous – big slabs of purplish-black meat, thickly marbled with fat.
    Gains had followed her gaze. ‘The taste is a bit sweet, compared to beef,’ he admitted. ‘Traditionally, it was thought that it would never suit the British palate, even if we didn’t have a cultural problem to overcome. But the taste can easily be improved with seasoning and spices. Like lamb, it goes rather well with herbs such as rosemary or sage. You really should try it.’
    Fry wished there was some way she could shake Maurice Gains’ complacency, make that hand stop stroking the smooth wood of his desk, just for a moment.
    ‘Mr Gains, an outbreak of trichinosis from eating infected horse meat isn’t very good news for you, is it?’ she said.
    ‘No connection with us,’ snapped Gains, losing his composure for just a moment. ‘I made a call this morning, and I’m told the suspect meat came from Poland. Brought in by some Polish workers living in a multi-occupancy property in Birmingham. That’s up to the Polish authorities to deal with, if they’re the country of origin.’
    ‘But, Mr Gains, don’t you think you might have something more serious to deal with than a PR challenge?’ she said.
    ‘We’ll take all the steps that are necessary to protect our brand.’
    ‘“Protect your brand”? That wasn’t what I meant.’
    ‘I don’t know what you do mean, then.’
    ‘I mean animal rights activists,’ said Fry. ‘Some of the protest groups out there can be pretty extreme in their actions. You must have taken that into account?’
    ‘We considered it, naturally,’ said Gains. ‘It was a factor that our business partners raised at the planning stage.’
    ‘Business partners?’
    ‘Our financial backers. Banks, I mean. They don’t play any active role in the business, but we needed finance to meet our start-up costs. So we had to put together a business proposal for them, and the public reaction was factored into that. But we’re not dealing with live animals here, you see. Currently, all our meat comes from Italy. It’s boned, cut and packaged in a plant near Turin, then shipped back to the UK in refrigerated lorries. You won’t find any ponies gambolling around in paddocks waiting to go on to the slaughter line. Not here. There’s nothing for the animal rights fanatics to get steamed up about.’
    ‘You think not?’
    ‘Look, we’re only distributing to specialist shops at the moment, and a few restaurants where the owners are willing to be innovative. But wait until we get our products into Tesco and Waitrose. Then public acceptance will soon follow.’
    ‘I’m glad you’re so confident.’
    ‘I suppose it might just be me, Sergeant, but I don’t understand where these animal lovers are coming from,’ said Gains. ‘Why do people who eat cows and sheep get so upset at the idea of eating a horse?’
    ‘They think of them as companions, not food.’
    ‘That’s the way most of us think about dogs, isn’t it? Yet the Chinese and Koreans eat dog meat, even consider it a delicacy. One man’s pet is another man’s protein.’ Gains smiled. ‘Isn’t that right, Sergeant?’
       
    Fry was relieved to get out of the R & G distribution centre. Though the smell had been clean, and maybe even overly hygienic, there had been a strange contradiction in the sight of those purple slabs of meat being handled and shipped out. By the time she got back to her car, she was very glad that Gavin Murfin wasn’t with her. She couldn’t have stood it if he’d produced something to eat right at this moment.
    A message from Murfin was waiting on her phone. There must have been no signal while she was inside R & G Enterprises.
    ‘Thought you might like to know,’ said Murfin when she called him back. ‘SOCOs lifted some latent prints from that gate on Longstone Moor. They’ve visited the farmer and printed him for comparison, but some of the latents don’t match. Could be you were right, Diane.’
    ‘Well, actually, Ben Cooper was right.’
    ‘I’ll tell him that.’
    Fry sighed. ‘Yes, do.’
    ‘Are you OK, Diane?’
    ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’ve just escaped from a vision of the future – R & G Enterprises.’
    She told Murfin about her visit, not leaving out the slabs of meat.
    ‘I know you said Patrick Rawson had a finger in a lot of pies,’