Chris Simms - Savage Moon

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.'

Jon pressed a knuckle against pleasantly warm concrete.

'You're welcome to come inside but please keep to the back wall,' Hobson instructed.

Jon did as he was asked. Examining the gloomy space beyond the wire, he realised he was looking into the dens he'd just seen on the CCTV screen. On each side of him were two more thick wire doors reinforced with metal struts. Beyond them were the main enclosures themselves. A row of windows stretched round the perimeter and Jon could see dozens of people looking through.

Hobson stepped in and clanged two metal pails together, which brought immediate movement from the right-hand den. A moment later a dark shadow moved up to the wire and Jon found himself looking at a pair of golden eyes. The animal, barely arm's distance away, regarded Jon for a second. He looked for any emotion, but the stare seemed neutral, bored almost.

'Ah, Samburu's in I see,' said Hobson. 'Hello big fella.' He placed the pails on the floor and moved to one end of the concrete strip. 'Don't be fooled by appearances. Docile but deadly is what I tell every assistant. He looks like he'd be nice to stroke but, give him half a chance, he'll have your hand off. First you'd know about it was when you realised your arm ended at your wrist. That's why I said keep to the back wall. Going too near only provokes him into making a lunge — and I don't want him snapping a tooth off on the wire mesh.'

Jon felt an uneasy thrill of excitement. Just a sheet of wire separated him from a creature that would kill him without any hesitation at all. Hobson had grasped a metal handle connected to a wire that ran up the wall and into the den. Another wire stretched from a large counterweight. As the counterweight lowered, the handle in Hobson's hand rose until he could secure it on a hook embedded in the wall. 'I've just lowered the trapdoor to his den. That keeps him inside while I put his food out. Now, where's Mweru and Mara?'

He picked up a bucket and ran it down the door leading into the other enclosure. Two panthers of almost equal size appeared from a thicket of bamboo. Lazily, they padded across the sandy floor and disappeared round to the front of their den. Next thing two more sets of yellow eyes shone behind the wire. Hobson stepped gingerly past Samburu's side and lowered the trap door to the neighbouring den. 'Right, all in.' He stood in front of the gate leading into the mother and cub's enclosure, then took his keys out once again. Fixed to a metal plate in the centre of the enclosure was a building site sign with a graphic of a head in a hard hat and a raised hand. Danger: Keep Out .

Hobson glanced up at a mirror high on the wall that let him see into the den. 'Check and double check,' he whispered, more to himself than Jon. Then he unlocked the gate's padlock, slid back two large bolts and shouldered it open. Next he picked up two of the buckets and walked out into the enclosure itself. Jon saw the spectator's faces begin to turn. Fingers started to point. Mweru and Mara paced back and forth across a patch of light, tips of their long tails twitching. Samburu was nowhere to be seen.

Hobson walked confidently over to a pole of wood and wedged a chunk of meat into the V at its top. You love this, don't you, Jon thought, beginning a quick tally of people watching. He gave up at the third window, having counted forty-eight faces.

His eyes returned to Hobson as he proceeded round, hiding bits of meat on various branches and ledges of rock. Two minutes later he returned to the side gate, both buckets empty, face slightly flushed.