Chris Simms - Savage Moon

He relocked the side gate then reached for the handle controlling the counterweight. 'OK ladies, give them a good show.'

The metal trapdoor scraped up and the two cats appeared in the open. Mweru made a beeline for the wooden pole. Rearing up on her hind legs, she sniffed the meat then, almost reluctantly, grabbed it in her jaws. Hobson chuckled. 'Beef. They hate it. Chicken every day would be their choice. Right, now for Samburu.'

He lobbed the empty pails out on the grass, picked up the third one, then approached the side gate to Samburu's enclosure. The same procedure was repeated and Hobson strode out like a gladiator entering the ring. Jon glanced at the handle to the counterweight. You'd soon lose that swagger if I unhooked that counterweight, he thought, looking at the den before him. In its corner was a metal door with a small viewing window. 'You're hiding behind that aren't you?' whispered Jon, stepping up to the narrow opening and peering through.

An eye appeared, immediately followed by a snarl as several yellow teeth connected with the edge of the window. Jon actually felt the animal's breath on his face as he lurched backwards, the back of his head thudding against the wall behind. The panther appeared at floor level and pushed a huge paw at the gap below the wire mesh, cruel claws fully extended. All the while it stared at Jon in that same emotionless way. No hard feelings, the look seemed to say. But of course I want to eat you.

Jon looked at its slick coat, darker spots just visible in the glossy fur. But for a heavier bunching of muscles about its shoulders, the animal had very similar proportions to a domestic cat. It was just about twenty times larger and able to haul prey heavier than itself up a vertical tree trunk. Jon glanced at the height of the viewing window. Easily six feet up, he thought, and all you had to do was rear up on your hind legs to be the same height as me. He couldn't help smiling. 'You crafty bastard,' he whispered. 'You knew I'd eventually look through, didn't you?'

The cat moved away, apparently now bored with his presence. Jon glanced again at Hobson as he completed his circuit of the enclosure, pausing to actually bow to the watching audience. Suspicion blossomed in Jon's head. 'You like this too bloody much.' He looked at where Samburu had pawed the mesh. A few hairs were caught there. Jon reached in his pockets, pulled out a small evidence bag, then crouched down. Samburu was just visible at the other side of the den, sitting in front of the trap door, waiting to be released. Jon quickly extended a hand, plucked a few hairs from the wire and stood up. A swift check of the other den revealed a few more hairs on the wire there and he snatched those for his collection.

When Hobson reappeared Jon was at his designated spot, arms behind his back.

'That's them sorted,' Hobson announced, wiping his hands on his shorts then securing the gate to the enclosure and lifting the trap door to Samburu's den. 'What was it you wanted to ask me?'

They stepped back outside and Hobson locked the wooden door behind them. 'Are panthers known to follow rivers and streams? Perhaps to use as a hunting ground?' Jon asked.

Hobson paused for a moment. 'Yes. Especially in jungles. A river provides a natural pathway through thick vegetation.'

'Do they mind water?'

'They don't seek it out like tigers do, but they certainly don't mind swimming across a river if it cuts through their territory. More often a river probably acts as its edge. Delineating the border. Of course a river crossing point would also be a good place for a panther to ambush its prey.'

Jon nodded, satisfied the answer reinforced the Medlock theory.

'Why do you ask?' Hobson said, picking up the empty pails. Should I tell him? Jon wondered. Yes, let's see how he reacts.

'This morning's victim was found within metres of the Medlock. The river also runs through Daisy Nook Country Park where Peterson was found. The Medlock rises at the foot of Saddleworth Moor where, as you know, Rose Sutton was killed.'

During his short speech Hobson's pale eyes flickered all around, never once settling on Jon. 'Interesting.'

'Isn't it?' Jon replied, now studying the man more carefully. He glanced towards the gates he'd come by. 'I'd better be heading back. Is the zoo always this busy on a weekday? There must have been a couple of hundred people watching just now.' Hobson stacked the buckets into each other and led the way towards the reception building. 'Not usually, no.'

'Just since people started getting killed?'

'That's right. Some of the staff see it as macabre, but I'm trying to use it as a way of educating people about these magnificent animals. I've written a panther information sheet for staff to hand out. It encourages people to give money to conservation projects. Donations, I hear, have risen sharply.'

Jon wasn't surprised. People were so easily seduced by anything that slaughtered their fellow humans. Panthers, sharks, crocodiles, inmates awaiting execution on death row, Apache gunship helicopters. 'So must your takings at the gates.'

'True,' Hobson replied, eyes on the ground in front.

'How would you describe your relationship with Rose

Sutton?'

Hobson glanced at him and Jon looked straight back with a steady gaze.

'We got on pretty well. A shared interest, I suppose. She was fascinated by the prospect of a panther roaming their land. Unlike the husband. He just wanted to kill it.'

'You spent a fair bit of time with her then? Up on the moors?'

'Not really. They'd lost maybe a dozen sheep over the last few years. Sometimes I wouldn't see her for months.'

'Ken Sutton suspected she was having an affair.'

Hobson was about to smile, then his face dropped. 'Hang on. Are we discussing the behaviour of panthers or Rose Sutton's personal life?'

'I don't know. They seem to be linked, at least in death.' By now they'd reached the perimeter fence. Hobson put the buckets down. 'You said earlier the killing this morning could have been someone staging an attack to resemble a panther.'

Jon cocked his head to the side. Come on then smart arse, what was I implying? He watched as Hobson pondered what to say.

'I've been working for some time now on the theory that there is more than one Alien Big Cat living in the Peak District National Park. The locations and almost simultaneous killings of sheep, that sort of thing. I don't believe it's a human you're hunting.'

No, you probably don't, thought Jon, but that's not going to stop me searching. 'Thanks for your help.'

Hobson let him through the gate and he walked back to his car, got inside and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. Come on Jon, think. What's going on? Should more of the investigation focus on Hobson? He removed the evidence bag from his pocket and held it up. The collection of hairs inside stuck to the plastic, some crossing over each other as if arranged in an archaic code. What will you tell me? he asked himself.

A car appeared at the edge of his vision, crossing the car park and coming to a halt in the far corner. Carmel Todd got out and set off for reception. What the fuck was she doing here? Is this a pre-arranged meeting or have you just received a call? He remembered the radio on in Hobson's office. The man could easily have heard the news and rung her. He waited until she'd gone inside, then started his car. His mobile went off. Eagerly he glanced at the screen, but his wife's name wasn't showing.

'DI Spicer here.'

'Jon, it's Rick. You need to get back here.'

'What's happened?'

'Danny Gordon has been found in a squat on the Oldham

Road.'

'Yes! Is he being taken to Longsight?'

'No, the MRI's mortuary. Officers at the scene reckon he's been dead a good five days.'

Jon sat back in his seat. Five days? That meant it was impossible that his prime suspect was the killer. 'He's dead?'