Chris Simms - Savage Moon

Fucking hell, Jon thought. I haven't even been there yet.

'How have they found that out?'

'Who knows? They could have run a check on his car registration. It was parked by the body, wasn't it?'

'That would have taken the cooperation of someone with access to the DVLA's database.'

Edwards shrugged. 'Or maybe a neighbour rang them to say there was police activity at the house.'

Jon wasn't accepting that. His mind switched back to the possibility someone at the station was tipping the press off. After all, didn't that reporter from the Chronicle appear at Crime Lake with miraculous speed? 'OK. So we now have no option but to issue another press release. How early can we do it?'

'The earlier, the better. The Chronicle will be working on its lunchtime edition now. The nationals will be blocking in their lead stories. You release more details and they'll snap them up.'

'Can you do it? I need to get a team over to Peterson's house as fast as possible.'

Edwards ran a hand over his bald head in a gesture of unnecessary drama. 'Sure. I can do it. But we need to work out what I'm going to say.'

Jon looked at his watch. Five past seven. He stepped towards the doors. 'Come on then, let's get started.'

By half past seven they'd worked out the main points of the release. They'd give Derek Peterson's name out, along with his street. Information received since Jon's statement had revealed possible links to Mrs Sutton's death. These were now being investigated and the police at Mossley Brow were assisting in this. A post mortem was also being carried out to compare and contrast the nature of each victim's injuries. Finally, an expert in the behaviour of big cats was being thoroughly briefed on all new developments though, Edwards was to stress, this was just one of several avenues being investigated at this stage.

'Is that enough?' Jon asked, eyes on the hastily scrawled sheet of paper.

Edwards' mouth was partly open and he bounced the end of a biro between his teeth. Click. Click. Click. 'Until we see this morning's papers, I don't know. They'll be asking what the nature of the injuries were.'

'Tell them it was something sharp. Possibly a short-bladed knife.'

'They'll want to know if we have any suspects — human that is. Have we?'

Jon shook his head. 'The only thing I've got at this stage is a bloody request for witnesses posted up on a dogging website.' He clocked Edwards' look. 'Exactly. That's why I need to get over to Peterson's.'

The door opened as the first members of the Outside Enquiry Team reported for duty. One held a bundle of newspapers. He held them up so Edwards could see. 'Reception said these are for you. That's one hell of a front page on the Chronicle .'

Edwards got up from his seat, took the papers and returned to Jon's desk, cradling the bundle like an archaeologist with a precious find. 'Oh.'

Jon stood up to see what sort of a headline could have provoked such a reaction.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE!

The page was almost completely covered by a shot of the moors. Superimposed over the top was a close up of a black panther, mouth wide open and fangs exposed. Jon could almost hear the ferocious snarl leaping from the page. Sweet Jesus, he thought, eyes dropping to the subhead below the image:

£50,000 offered for the Monster of the Moor.

He began to read the paragraph of text at the base of the page.

This morning Manchester faces a deadly threat. There is an enemy stalking us that attacks without warning, without compassion. It seems likely the animal has struck twice now, each time savagely ripping its victim apart. With the help of a prominent local businessman, the Manchester Evening Chronicle will put a stop to this evil. We're offering a £ 50,000 cash reward for anyone who captures the Monster of the Moor, dead or alive. Further reports on pages 2, 3, 4 and 5.

You bitch, Jon thought, an image of Carmel in his mind. Cancelling her exclusive hardly seemed an effective sanction now. He jabbed a finger at the front page. 'This is going to fuck everything up.'

Edwards slid the paper off the top, revealing the first of the national tabloids.

Beast terrorises Manchester.

He flipped through a succession of similar messages, stopping at the first broadsheet.

Copy cat killer?

'Nice headline,' Gavin murmured, examining a panel of photos that included a panther, mountain lion, jaguar and lynx. 'Well, they didn't mess about,' he quietly announced.

Jon placed the heels of his hands on the table, lowered his head and took a couple of deep breaths. I'm so out of my depth, he thought. What the hell do we do now? Gradually he noticed the room had gone quiet. He looked up to see all eyes upon him. It's your call, he realised. Just stick to protocol, it's all you can do at this stage.

'Right everyone. Let's sit down in five minutes. I just need to make a call.'

Before the officers turned away he caught the sceptical expressions on almost all of their faces. Edwards looked like he'd just developed a sudden case of toothache.

'I still say we stick to our original statement,' Jon whispered, painfully aware of the uncertainty in his voice. 'It's all conjecture and media bullshit. Surely our job is to bring a bit of restraint and rationality to all this?'

Edwards nodded. 'You're right.'

'Then add in something about us taking a very serious view of people carrying firearms on public land. Mention a custodial sentence, the last thing we need are a load of would-be Rambos roaming about with loaded shotguns.'

'Will do.'

Jon picked up a phone and dialled Summerby's number. As the line buzzed Jon stared down at his shoes. What the hell have I got myself into? I should never have asked to take this thing on, I haven't got nearly enough experience. I'll just have to tell him the case has come at the wrong time. I need to be at home, sorting things out with Alice.

The phone continued to ring. Come on, please pick up… After waiting another five rings he reluctantly replaced the receiver and glanced around. All six of the Outside Enquiry Team were now in, as were the essential members of the incident room. OK, he told himself, treat it like the talk before a rugby match. Fill them in on what we're going to do, get their enthusiasm bubbling, then get them out there. You can have a word with Summerby later on.

Taking a file from his desk, he moved to the centre of the room. 'OET? Gather round please. First things first: despite this morning's papers, we're treating this as a murder case. I don't want to hear any whispers about some fucking Monster of the Moor, all right?'

A few uncertain nods.

'Listen, if the powers that be decide it is a panther doing the killing, the role of the Major Incident Team ends and the involvement of the RSPCA or some other outfit begins. Now I'm assuming you're all keen to work this case?'

Everyone stared back, heads now eagerly bobbing.

'Good, because I don't want any one who's not a hundred per cent.' He looked down at his file, needing to break eye contact. You fucking fraud, he thought. 'The MO for Derek Peterson is identical to that for Rose Sutton, so we're assuming the same person or persons were responsible for both deaths. Now I'm going to need five officers to help me go through Peterson's property. You may have heard he was into a bit of car park action with other men.' He opened the file and handed out copies of Peterson's police record. 'As you can see, he was done for gross indecency back in ninety-three, an offence that cost him his job as a care worker at the Silverdale facility for young offenders.'

'That place,' an officer with curly black hair sighed knowingly.

'Sorry, what was that Detective… ' Jon waited for the officer to identify himself.