Savage Moon

'Any connection to Sutton or Peterson?'

'Unsure as yet. Which is no surprise given the way the investigation has been handled so far. You'll love the latest theory. I recommend you give it a “clutching at straws” kind of slant.'

'I'm all ears.'

'Plot the locations of the killings on a map and you'll see they've all taken place within the vicinity of the River Medlock. They're now wondering if a panther. . '

'Hang on, I thought Danny Gordon is the prime suspect?'

'Yes. But now they think he believes he's a panther.' A laugh of disbelief escaped Carmel. 'You're joking.'

'I wish I was. They're thinking Danny Gordon is creeping along the banks of the Medlock, using it as a kind of hunting territory.'

'Where does the river lead?'

'Look at your map, Miss Todd. Directly into the city centre.' She let out a low whistle. 'Now that is a good story.'

'I thought you'd like it.'

'Can I ask you a question, DCI McCloughlin?'

'Yes.'

'Why are you doing this?'

'Doing what?'

'Feeding me this information.'

McCloughlin thought about how, until quarter of an hour ago, the biggest incident to hit Manchester in God knew how long didn't involve him. Worse than that, DI Spicer, a man who had defied his orders on two previous investigations, was heading it up. But now a new hand of cards had been dealt. He had been asked by Summerby to help out and Spicer was actually requesting a lesser role. Once the Chronicle printed the man's latest theory, he would be marginalised completely. 'Do you want this help or not?'

'Oh yes, don't get me wrong. I couldn't appreciate it more. It's confusing me, that's all. DI Spicer seems like a decent officer. He's doing his best. Surely these tip-offs just undermine all his efforts?'

'Miss Todd, don't you worry yourself with details like that. I suggest you get over to Buxton Zoo. That's where you'll find Spicer pursuing his half-crazed line of enquiry.'

Twenty-Eight

Jon slowed to a halt and examined the chunky wooden sign:

Deliveries and office building.

He turned down the right-hand road and followed it to a low building that had been clad in rounded lengths of timber, giving it the appearance of a log cabin.

In the reception area was a massive aquarium that appeared to contain a sizeable chunk of the Great Barrier Reef. Brightly coloured fish darted in and out of the cliff face, unconcerned by the masses of bubbles spiralling up from the gravel bed. The woman behind the counter wore the same type of shirt Hobson had on in the police station at Mossley Brow.

'I need to speak with Jeremy Hobson please.'

'And you're from?'

Jon realised he'd forgotten to take out his identification.

'Sorry. DI Spicer.'

She looked down at her appointments book.

'He's not expecting me. If you could say it's me, he knows who I am. It's very urgent.'

'OK,' she said, glancing at her watch. 'He'll be over at the panther enclosure, preparing their feed.'

She entered a three-digit number into the phone and waited.

'Hi, it's Sally in reception. I have a DI Spicer to see Jeremy. He says it's urgent.' A short pause. 'Fine. I'll let him know.' She looked up. 'Someone is on their way over. Please help yourself to a tea or coffee.'

Jon stepped over to the machine, eyes settling on the button marked black coffee. What a win, he thought, reaching for a cup. Five minutes later a young man in a green fleece, khaki shorts and hiking boots walked through the double doors. Jon drained the last of his drink and followed him along the outside of the perimeter fence.

Through the metal links he could see crowds of people walking quickly along pristine paths punctuated by green litter bins. Beyond them a wire canopy reared up into the sky and Jon watched several monkeys swinging about in the branches of a tree contained within it, their mocking cries carrying across the zoo. But the crowds didn't seem interested: they were all heading straight past. I can guess where, Jon thought.

His guide reached a double gate and unlocked the padlock securing it. They stepped through and walked towards the rear of a large building made from giant breeze blocks. At the base of one wall was a row of old aquariums. Grass had grown up around them and each one was full to the brim with brackish- looking rain water. Obviously we're in an area not open to the public, Jon thought.

As they rounded the corner, an office that extended off the much higher main building was revealed. To the side of it ran an electrified fence that must have been at least thirty feet high. Its top part was angled inwards and Jon was reminded of the exercise area at Strangeways prison.

'He's in there.' The young man pointed to the door of the office and walked back the way they'd come.

Jon approached the building and stepped through the door into a kitchen area. Hobson was standing by the sink, cleaving lumps of red meat into smaller pieces. There were three metal buckets on the floor, two already full of flesh.

Jon met the other man's eyes and felt himself recoil slightly at their watery gaze. Hearing a radio playing in the office beyond, he said, 'Have you heard the news this morning?'

'No. Too busy running round.'

'We've found a third body. Same injuries as Rose Sutton and Derek Peterson.'

The meat cleaver froze half way through a downward sweep and Hobson looked over his shoulder, pale blue eyes wide open.

'Same injuries?'

'And a hair was recovered from the victim.'

The metal blade thumped into flesh and bone. 'My God, so it's not over. That means there's a second animal out there.'

'Or someone who's very good at staging attacks so they resemble those of a panther.'

Hobson swallowed. 'If you permitted me to see the body, I could tell you that. You told the papers I was advising on the investigation, after all.'

Not until I know what you're about, mate, Jon thought.

'Actually, I have a few questions to ask you about the hunting habits of panthers.'

'No problem. Do you mind if we talk as I prepare their meal?'

'Fine with me.' Jon skirted past Hobson and looked into the office beyond. On the wall above an untidy desk was a collection of panther photos. In the corner was a unit of grey lockers, name labels on each door. Next to that was a book case. He examined the spine of the largest publication.

Wild Cats of the World. Mel Sunquist and Fiona Sunquist.

Jon imagined the authors living out in secluded forests, waiting endless days for a glimpse of their subject. No wonder they wrote as a couple. His attention was drawn to a TV monitor. The view was of an enclosure with a bare tree trunk lying on its side.

Hobson's voice came from the kitchen. 'The red buttons let you switch between cameras, including the ones in their dens.'

'How many panthers have you got?' asked Jon, pressing each button in turn. The third view revealed a solitary animal asleep on a raised platform. The camera was looking directly down and any sense of perspective was impossible to gauge.

'Three. Mweru, a female, and her one-year-old female cub, Mara. Then there's Samburu, a fully grown adult male. The enclosure is divided in two. Samburu has one half, Mweru and Mara the other. Come on, you can meet them close up.'

Jon looked into the kitchen to see Hobson walking outside, buckets hanging from his arms. They approached a plain wooden door built in to the rear wall. Hobson placed the buckets on the worn grass and produced a set of keys from the pocket of his khaki gilet. He opened the door to reveal a narrow concrete strip, on the other side of which was a screen of heavy duty wire mesh and metal grates. A sharp smell immediately filled Jon's nostrils.

'Like all cats, they spray to mark their territory,' Hobson explained. He crouched down and pressed a palm against the concrete floor. 'Feel. This area has under-floor heating. It magnifies the smell.'