Chris Simms - Savage Moon

Jon felt his grip on the receiver tighten. Samburu. 'You're certain? No chance of it just being the same species or something? How big is the gene pool for panthers? There could be-'

'Don't try and lecture me on DNA analysis, Jon. It's a match. Now I'm sending you the hairs back. You'll need a proper lab test to make it official.'

She hung up without another word. Jon cradled the handset in his palm, eyes on the floor.

'Well? Don't keep us in suspense man.'

Summerby's voice. Jon replaced the phone and turned to face him. 'I think we have a breakthrough. The hairs from Sutton and Peterson belong to a male panther called Samburu. It currently resides in the enclosure at Buxton Zoo.'

Gavin Edwards frowned. 'I don't understand.'

'I believe Jeremy Hobson killed all three victims and left the hairs to whip up this frenzy about panthers.'

'Here we go,' McCloughlin muttered. 'Spicer going off with all guns blazing. Why would he do that?'

Jon shrugged. 'The usual. Money. Possibly revenge in the case of Rose Sutton. It's likely they were having an affair.'

McCloughlin scowled. 'Couldn't any visitor in the zoo grab a few hairs from the bars of the panther's cage?'

Jon shook his head. 'You can't get anywhere near the animals. The viewing gallery is made up of plate glass windows and the outer part of the enclosure is double fenced. There is no way a member of the public can get within touching distance.'

'How did you get the hairs then?'

'Hobson let me watch him putting their food out. I got the hairs from the point staff get access to the enclosure.'

'So any staff member could have taken them.'

'Possible, I suppose. But who else has got the motive apart from Hobson? Plus he has the know-how on a panther's attack techniques. He'd be able to stage it so the injuries were convincing.'

Summerby laced his fingers. 'I'm not convinced, Jon. But bring him in for questioning. God knows we need this thing wrapped up before all hell breaks loose.'

Jon and Rick clicked through the zoo's turnstile, warrant cards still in their hands. The zoo seemed quiet, just a young boy with a bunch of balloons standing in front of the monkeys' cage.

'I know where everyone will be.' Jon led Rick towards the panther enclosure. Despite the droplets of rain carried on the chill breeze, a large crowd was gathered at the railings to the outer part of the enclosure. Hobson was in the centre of the throng, midway through one of his lectures. A young male assistant stood to his side.

'Look at him,' said Jon, coming to a halt. 'I said he was loving this.'

'So this is Samburu, a fully grown adult male,' Hobson announced. He'd placed a foot on the lowermost rail and was resting his forearms on his knee. It looked like he was posing for an imaginary camera. Below him, Samburu paced impatiently to and fro.

'How heavy is he?' asked a man with a toddler perched on his shoulders.

'Just under ninety kilos.'

'What's that in stones?'

'Fourteen.'

'Jeez, that's more than me,' another man said to the woman at his side.

'Do they like water?' someone else asked.

'They don't mind it at all. Here, I'll show you.' Hobson lifted out a hunk of pork and tossed it into the shallows of the muddy brown pond in the corner. Samburu shot him a baleful look before gingerly stepping in and sinking his head below the surface. His face reappeared, meat held firmly in his jaws. The crowd clapped as he turned and waded out. After flicking his paws dry, he walked behind a clump of exotic looking grass.

I don't blame you, thought Jon. It can't be fun being made to perform for this bunch of idiots.

'He always eats there,' Hobson continued. 'Now, I'll be feeding Mara and Mweru next.' He picked up the empty pail and began to make his way through the audience, nodding to appreciative comments as he went.

Time to burst your bubble mate, Jon thought, stepping forwards to block his way. 'Mr Hobson. Could I have a word?'

Hobson tried to step past, chest still puffed out. 'Certainly. After I've fed the other two cats.'

Jon leaned a shoulder in his way. 'Now. If you don't mind.' Irritation showed in Hobson's eyes. People at the outer edge of the crowd were turning round, sensing a more interesting spectacle unfolding behind them.

'Detective, I have work to do. Now, I'm willing to assist you, but you'll have to wait.'

'It's Detective Inspector, Sir, and I'm afraid we can't wait. You'll come with us now.'

Hobson's pale eyes shifted to Jon's side as Rick stepped forwards too. The bluster disappeared from his voice. 'What's this about?'

'Guess.'

Hobson turned to his young assistant. 'Martin, get Mr O'Brien to feed Mara and Mweru.' He handed the empty bucket over. 'Don't forget their vitamin supplement.'

Once they were out of earshot of the crowd, Hobson said,

'Am I under arrest?'

'No,' Jon replied. 'But you would have been if you didn't agree to come with us.'

'I don't understand. This is to do with the attacks, isn't it?'

'Let's just leave it until we get to the station.'

With Hobson in the back of the car, they set off for the A624, aiming for the motorway back into Manchester. Jon kept an eye on Hobson in the rear view mirror. The man was silent. Too silent. He's thinking through his options, thought Jon. Suddenly he wanted to get the interview going. A traffic bulletin announced big delays on the M67 so Jon turned towards Mossley Brow instead. Ten minutes later they were escorting him into the station's reception.

'Is Inspector Clegg here?' Jon asked. 'We need an interview room.'

Clegg appeared seconds later, shock showing on his face when he spotted Hobson. 'DI Spicer. You need an interview room?' He glanced at Hobson again.

'Yes, thanks. Where can we go?'

He led them through into the corridor and opened the first door they came to. Jon ushered Hobson inside then said to Rick,

'Stay with him, I'll be two minutes.'

Once the door was shut, he turned to Clegg. 'We'll need blank tapes.'

Clegg looked at the door. 'Why have you brought him in?'

'There's a lot of circumstantial evidence tying him in with this whole mess.'

'He's a suspect?'

'More than that. I think he could be our man. I'm keen to get the interview started as quickly as possible.'

Clegg lumbered off to his office, returning with two blank tapes. 'Mind if I sit in?'

'Be my guest,' Jon replied, peeling the cellophane off. Once the machine was recording, Jon explained to Hobson he wasn't being formally charged with anything but, in the interests of the investigation, it would be helpful if he could clarify a few points.

Once Hobson gave his assent, Jon leaned forward. Rick was sitting on one side while Clegg leaned against the wall in the opposite corner. 'Where were you between six and ten last night, Mr Hobson?'

'At home.'

'What were you doing?'

'Watching telly.'

'What did you watch?'

'The usual stuff. A few soaps. There was a film on with Sean Connery. The one about the prison where he has a white wig.' Fine, Jon thought. You've got last night's television schedule worked out. Doesn't mean you weren't up on that moor with a tape recorder. 'And the morning of Trevor Kerrigan's death?'

'That was yesterday?'

'Correct.'

'I was opening the zoo up.'

'At dawn?'

'Well, I usually get up at six-thirty and sign for the food delivery at the main gates at seven-thirty.'

'Anyone help you with that?'

'Yes, Mr O'Brien. He is often there before me.'

'You saw him yesterday morning?'

'Yes, he was there.'

'And that was when?'

'I said. Seven-thirty, maybe just after.'

Kerrigan was found just before seven. Could Hobson have made it from the Brookvale golf course to his zoo in half an hour? If the roads were quiet, yes. But he would have also needed to remove a lot of blood from his person before signing for any deliveries of meat. 'Tell me a bit about your time in Kenya.'