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Chapter 13: Yeehaa!
The Blue Tractor fundraiser was held at a pig farm and Velma had had to take three buses to get there. The party was a barn dance. She felt uncomfortable in the red and white checked blouse and denim tiered skirt she wore with cowboy boots and a big ole straw hat, but she needed to look the part. Or at least she thought she did. When she arrived she was surprised to see that more than half the attendees had played it safe with jeans and T-shirt. Fortunately there were enough people dressed like her to ensure she didn’t stand out.
“Howdy Ma’am,” said the cheerful man at the table by the door, “may I see your ticket please?” Velma smiled and handed him her ticket. “Thank you kindly,” his American accent came and went but she appreciated the effort, “have a fine and dandy time.”
Velma went inside the huge, clean barn which had a stage at one end on which a band was playing energetic country music. There were small tables around the other three walls, each covered in a red and white checked table cloth and surrounded by four chairs. The centre of the room was half full of people, young and old, who skipped in circles, following the instructions shouted out by the man on the banjo.
“Forwards 2, 3, 4, back 2, 3, 4, side 2, 3, 4. Join your partners. Round you go. Starting positions and forward 2, 3, 4, back 2, 3, 4, side 2, 3, 4. New partners, round you go!”
It was a very happy atmosphere which was a welcome change for Velma so she decided to enjoy it for a while and sat down at a vacant table. Everyone was friendly. A woman in a blue checked dress and long white apron went from table to table sharing a jug of warm cider. Velma decided to try some. A man wearing a cow-skin waistcoat over his shirt and sharp spurs on his boots wheeled a hostess trolley around the room to distribute cow burgers and pig sausages, fresh from the barbecue. Velma decided to try not to bite him.
She had taken the precaution of feeding on a racehorse owner the night before so she’d be able to resist impulses like that. She knew there would likely be a lot of serial killers here and she couldn’t afford to be tempted by them. She had a particular target in mind and it was unlikely she would have another opportunity any time soon.
***
Muriel handed Andy a cup of tea. “How do you think they found you?” she asked him.
He shrugged and finished chewing the bite of Tiffin he’d just taken. “Thanks,” he said eventually. “I don’t know. All I can think is, they must have seen my name on an animal rights group mailing list somewhere, found out I was in IT and thought I was a likely suspect.”
“You’re sure they didn’t track your IP address from the messages you sent?”
“Yes. No, I’m sure there was no way they could have tracked me through that. It’s really safe. Quite a lot of whistle blowers have used it and their identities have remained anonymous.”
Muriel offered Sammy a carrot stick. “Have you noticed that when people say I’m sure, it actually means they’re not sure?”
Andy was chewing again so he just shrugged.
“I mean, if I couldn’t find my keys,” she explained, “I might say, I’m sure I left them in the kitchen, but if I was definite I’d left them in the kitchen I would just say I left them in the kitchen!”
Andy swallowed and nodded. “Oh yeah, I see what you mean. But I actually am sure. I know they couldn’t have found my IP address.”
“They know it now though don’t they?”
“Not necessarily,” Andy told her with a smile. “I looked it up. Apparently it can be done, of course it can, but the police have to apply for a warrant before they can ask the Internet Service Providers what the IP address would be for a particular street address.”
“I’m confused.”
“Yeah, okay, I’m not explaining it very well, but basically the ISPs – Internet Service Providers – keep logs that link physical street addresses to the IP addresses assigned to the routers at that location. If the police have a warrant, they can get the ISPs to reveal which IP addresses were active at that specific address during a specific timeframe.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?”
“No,” Andy smiled. “They’ve given my laptops back so they obviously didn’t find anything incriminating on them, which means they wouldn’t be able to get a warrant. So they wouldn’t be able to find out whether I was active online at that time. And anyway, even if they could, that doesn’t tell them exactly what I was doing on the internet at that time.”
“Right,” Muriel nodded and took a bite of her chocolate-covered marmalade cake.
“I mean, if they had anything on me, they would have charged me by now wouldn’t they?”
“I guess. But maybe they’re trying to lull you into a false sense of security. Maybe they’re watching you to see what you do next!” She inhaled sharply, “maybe they’ve bugged your computers!”
Andy laughed. “No, they’d need a warrant for that too and they wouldn’t be able to get one because they’ve got no evidence against me. They can’t trace those encrypted messages back to me, so I’m golden. And they said on the news that there won’t be any animal research for ‘Bloodless‘ – they’ve admitted it’s not a disease. So it’s job done! Nothing more to worry about.” Sammy barked. “Of course you can have another carrot stick.”
Muriel licked the marmalade from her fingers and opened the games cupboard. “Scrabble, Mastermind, Monopoly or cards?” she asked.
“Scrabble!” said Andy decisively, “With Vel not here, there’ll be more tiles for me and I’ll finally be able to beat you!”
“Not gonna happen!”
***
Velma sat down laughing.
“Come back!” George, the red-haired man she’d just met called after her as he continued weaving through the circle of dancers.
“No, I’m tired,” she laughingly lied, “having a sit down.”
She was enjoying herself but there was only 48 minutes until the last bus back and she needed to do what she came here for. But she hadn’t seen the woman she was looking for anywhere. And no one she’d asked seemed to know where she was. Or what she looked like for that matter. Kay Griffin, CEO of Blue Tractor was nowhere to be found.
Suddenly the music stopped and the banjo player announced it was time for the raffle. A woman with short grey hair and carrying a cardboard box stepped onto the stage. She was followed by a taller woman wearing the unusual combination of a dark grey suit with a straw hat.
“Kay Griffin of Blue Tractor is going to draw the winning tickets,” banjo man told the room. “Thanks for coming Kay, that’s it, get your hand in there and rummage for five winning tickets. Go on Beryl, shake the box a bit, give everybody a fair chance.”
Kay put her hand in and pulled out the first ticket. “Red 14,” she said into the mic.
“Come on whoever’s got Red 14 – you’re the lucky winner of the Farm Fresh Meat Box! Ooh, we have a winner!” shouted the banjoist as a man in his sixties cheerfully approached the stage to claim his heavy prize. “Congratulations! That’ll keep you going for a while – have you got a big family?” The winner grinned and nodded. “You’ll need it,” banjo man told him, “either that or bloody big freezer! This is all locally produced, worth at least £100! You’ve got steaks, roasting joints, all your classic barbecue essentials – look at that: hand-linked sausages, gourmet burgers, bacon, and chicken breasts!”
Kay pulled out another one, “White 331,” and a ten year old girl rushed excitedly to the stage.
“Ooh,” said banjo man, “you’ve won a Cosy Night In Hamper: local wine, gourmet snacks and a wool blanket.” The child looked disappointed. “No, you don’t want that? What else have we got Beryl? Can she have a different prize?” Beryl quietly gave him the options. “Ooh, a voucher for horse riding? No? Or a £20 gift voucher for the Countryside Store? Yes? Ok!” he gave the voucher to the child and then exchanged a few more quiet words with Beryl.
“Blue 75,” Kay called out.
“Okay, who’s got Blue 75?” the pianist asked the room, “we’ve got three prizes left – horse riding voucher, wine and snacks hamper or – what’s the last one Beryl?” Beryl’s tiny voice told him. “Or a box of artisanal cheeses! There you go – you choose!”
The owner of Blue 75 claimed a prize, returned to his seat and then came back when Blue 77 was pulled from the box. Finally White 11 was pulled out, the raffle was over and the music began again.
Velma followed Kay when she left the stage and walked out to the carpark.
Kay leaned against her car, took a vanilla vape from her bag and inhaled deeply. She closed her eyes. It had been a long day. She’d arrived at her office at 8.30 am, hadn’t left until gone half seven, and then she’d had to drive more than thirty miles to this event which, unknown to her, had been put on her calendar three months earlier. After a couple more puffs she put the vape back in her bag and unlocked the car with a single push of the button on her key fob. She sat down in the driver’s seat at the exact same time as a strange woman in a red checked blouse and denim skirt sat in the passenger seat.
“Hello,” said Velma.
“Hello,” Kay replied, “what are you doing here?”
“That’s funny, I was going to ask you the same question.”
“What do you mean? This is my car.”
“No, I mean here, at this event. Why are you here?”
Kay sighed. “I’m sorry but I’m really tired and I’ve got a long drive. Could you email me with any questions you’ve got? You can reach me through the Blue Tractor website.”
“No, sorry, I need to talk to you now. It won’t take long.”
Kay sighed again. “Okay,” she said reluctantly, “what do you want to know?”
“I want to know why you’re here,” Velma repeated.
Kay thought it should have been obvious. “This is a Blue Tractor fundraiser. I am the CEO of Blue Tractor.”
“So why is it being held here?”
“This is a Blue Tractor Assured pig farm.”
“It is? I haven’t seen any pigs.”
“It’s an indoor producer. The pigs are housed indoors.”
“They can’t go outside?”
“Not here, no.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“But Blue Tractor approves them?” Velma asked another question she already knew the answer to. “They carry your logo?”
“There are three tiers to our approval system. One for Free Range farms, one for pigs who start their lives outdoors but are finished indoors, and one called Certified Standards Plus for farms that rear their pigs indoors. That’s what this farm is.”
“Standards Plus?”
“Yes.”
“And they don’t have to ever let the pigs outside to get that?”
“That’s right.”
“And your logo is used to tell people the meat is ‘high welfare’?”
Kay nodded.
“To get people to buy it?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think that’s right,” Velma told her.
“Yes, it is.”
“I mean it’s not right to trick people who don’t want animals to suffer into thinking they don’t suffer, when you know they’re forcibly bred, forcibly separated from their mums, and forcibly slaughtered by machine! You trick people into thinking it’s okay to buy anything with your logo on it when you know there is NO SUCH THING as humane meat.”
Kay exhaled and looked at the ceiling. “Could you just-“
“No. Such. Thing,” Velma repeated softly.
Kay reached for her phone. “Get out of my car or I’m calling the police.”
Velma looked deeply into Kay’s eyes. “No you’re not,” she said calmly, “you’re going to send a text.”
Even in the dark Kay could see the whites of Velma’s eyes fill with black. She gasped. “Who?” she asked fearfully, “who should I text?”
“Anyone you like,” Velma suggested with a smile, “your best friend, your partner, your colleague. Whoever you text most.”
Kay’s hand shook as she scrolled through her contacts. “What shall I write?” she asked.
“Go vegan.” Velma told her, then her stomach rumbled. “Oh, excuse me.” She watched Kay do as she was told and press send. “You see most people care about animals,” she explained as she took Kay’s phone out of her hand. “So if they knew the truth about the horrors animals are subjected to in all farming systems, they would likely want to prevent that suffering by refusing to buy any animal products. But because people like you keep deceiving them, the horror continues. And it will never stop Kay, it will never stop,” she showed her teeth, “unless I kill every single person who thinks like you.”
***
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