Chris Simms - Savage Moon

He led the team into the front room, noting that no one was hurrying to take a seat. 'OK. We're looking for documents, letters, anything relating to his time at the Silverdale facility, or his little car park hobby. Keep an eye out for anything linking him to Rose Sutton.' He pointed to two officers. 'Hugh and Paul, start upstairs. Susan, you and me will search in here. Alan and Mark, check the kitchen.'

Pulling on latex gloves, the officers moved off. Jon looked round the room. A unit stood at one end of it, shelves full of books, videos and magazines. By the television was a cabinet topped by an inch-thick layer of letters and junk mail. 'You take the shelves Susan. I'll start over here.'

There must have been several months' worth of post accumulated there, much of it unopened. He searched for signs of the sender, flipping envelopes over and scanning numerous logos and addresses.

Centurion Double Glazing. Capital One credit cards. United Utilities. Scottish Power. BT. The Telegraph Wine Club. Jon frowned, surprised Peterson was interested in wines.

Next was an open letter from the Benefits Agency. Along with details of his disability allowance was a reminder that the lease on his current vehicle was coming to an end. The letter asked that he choose a vehicle from the accompanying list. Jon slid out the piece of paper. Volvos, Toyotas, Renaults. All new. Jesus, he thought of the crappy old Ford he and Alice couldn't afford to replace.

Continuing through the pile, he found an envelope that appeared suspiciously anonymous. A PO Box number in Basingstoke was the only indication of where it had come from.

Knowing that no one could prove who opened it, he took out a penknife and ran the blade under the flap. Inside was a receipt from a mail order chemist. An order of Cialis soft tabs, whatever they were. Jon scanned the panel at the bottom of the document. 'Try our other premium quality drugs for enhancing male sexual performance!'

He replaced the sheet and carried on with his search, aware that he'd found no personal correspondence yet.

'Some interesting choices of home entertainment here, boss.' He glanced at Susan who was crouching in front of the shelf unit. From the way she was holding the DVD case by just a forefinger and thumb, he suspected she hadn't found The Sound

of Music .

'Go on then, as if I can't guess.'

' Chicken Run .'

'Not the animated film about those cute hens?'

'No. Though there seems to be quite a few cocks in it.' Jon gave a snort. 'Just be glad you're not going through his bedroom.'

'Yeah, I owe you a drink for sparing me that.'

A voice sounded from upstairs. 'Boss? We've got some interesting stuff here on his computer.'

Jon rolled his eyes at Susan then called out, 'Used the internet for keeping up with world news did he?'

'That'll be a no. Come and see.'

Before climbing the stairs Jon looked down the corridor towards the kitchen. 'How's it going in there, lads?'

'Could make a fortune from recycling his empty cans of Asda strong lager,' came the reply.

At the top of the stairs Jon headed for the doorway with the flickering blue light. The two officers were in front of the computer screen. 'I went into the history file, last site he'd been on was a right pervy one.'

'Called Swinger's Haven by any chance?'

The officer looked surprised. 'Yeah. Are you behind the appeal for witnesses posted there?'

'I am.'

'Well, there's been no replies to your posting, but I think he'd visited the forum bit just before. Appears he was checking for meets in the local area.'

Jon leaned forward to read the screen, relieved they hadn't scrolled down to the comments about himself.

'This one here, it says “Likewise. Mr P.” I think that's from him.'

'How come?'

He pointed to the scrap of paper sellotaped to the side of the monitor. 'SH. Username — Mr P, password — 5Burman. That's this address isn't it? 5 Burman Street. SH stands for Swinger's Haven because when I typed that username and password in, it gave me access.'

'Nice one, Paul. OK, unplug it and bag the whole thing up. The IT boys can go through everything properly.'

Jon glanced round the room, eyes lingering for a moment on the double bed. It was covered by a crumpled duvet and he could see a large grease mark on the pillow where Peterson's head had rested.

His mobile phone started to ring, Rick's name showing up on the screen. 'Rick, how's things?'

'Good. Can you talk?'

'Yup, fire away.'

'We've had a hit with the request on Swinger's Haven.'

'Yeah?' Jon paused, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen. 'We're on it at the moment. Doesn't seem to be any replies that I can see.'

'A guy just called me. We gave my telephone number, remember?'

Jon felt a trickle of excitement run down his neck. 'What did he say?'

'He heard the radio reports and thinks the person found yesterday is the same person he was with a few nights ago at Silburn Grove car park.'

'With? What did he mean by that?'

'You really want me to elaborate?'

'No thanks. Can he come to the nick?'

'No, he's not prepared to meet there.'

'Where then?'

'Next to the library is a nursery play area. You know it?'

'By those arches?'

'Yeah, there's some benches that face back at those arches.'

'What time?'

'In an hour.'

'Right, I'll meet you there.'

Jon just had time to call into a coffee shop by the library and grab a cup to take away. He followed the circular exterior of the library round to its main entrance, where the usual smattering of students were hanging around on the front steps.

To his right, a tram tooted its horn, then pulled away from the platform with an electric whine. Jon looked at the bronze tableau of women advancing forward in what appeared to be a disintegrating blanket. As usual, he wondered what the hell the statue was all about. On the benches just past it he could see Rick, also sipping from a paper cup.

Jon walked over in the shadow cast by the gothic town hall buildings that loomed over St Peter's square. 'Morning Rick. Little cold for an outside meeting, isn't it?'

Rick looked up with a smile and a shrug. 'Maybe he'll be happy to go somewhere warmer.'

Jon sat down and crossed his ankles. Visible in the windows between the arches was a day nursery. A set of toddlers sat entranced around a staff member as she read a story. Jon's mind went to his own baby, still months away from being able to sit up, let alone be read to. He wondered how Alice was and started to reach for his phone.

'Check out this guy. I think it could be him,' Rick said quietly.

Jon's fingers curled back round his coffee cup and glanced to his right. A man with a pudding-bowl haircut was tentatively making his way along the arches. He was about forty years old, five-foot-seven or eight tall, wide hips giving him a womanly shape. Gripped in front of him was a newspaper, held as if to fend off any unwelcome approach. His eyes settled for a moment on Rick and Jon, skittered nervously past them, then slowly returned.

'It's him,' Rick murmured, getting to his feet. 'Adrian? It's

Rick. We spoke earlier this morning.'

'Ah.'

He didn't move, but gripped the paper even more tightly across his stomach. Jon spotted a wedding ring on his finger.

Rick gestured to his side. 'This is my senior officer, DI Jon

Spicer. He's leading the investigation.'

Jon stood, but decided not to offer his hand. The bloke looked like he would be terrified by any physical contact. Instead he pointed towards the library. 'There's a coffee shop round the corner. Can we get you a drink?'

The man was silent for several moments. Finally he replied.