Savage Moon

Jon recalled a scene from some distant documentary. 'Don't they then drag their prey back up into the tree?'

'Yes. Leopards can lift carcasses three times their own body weight up to a height of six metres if necessary. I once saw one in a Kenyan national park hefting a young giraffe up a trunk, remarkable sight. However, they'd have no need to do that in Britain since we have no predators big enough to drive them away from their kill.

'The second hunting technique is common to all cats, including domestic ones. It's called the stalk, run, pounce approach. The leopard will creep up on its prey, belly close to the ground, ears pointing forward. This phase of attack will usually be initiated using the cover of vegetation. Once within striking range the leopard transfers its weight on to its powerful hind legs and sprints towards the animal.'

He contracted his freckled fingers into hooks and pressed their tips against the map. 'From there it will use its claws to move up to the animal's head and bite through the base of the skull or, in some cases, latch on to the throat and suffocate the animal by crushing its windpipe.'

Hobson sat back and Jon couldn't help thinking that the man was enjoying himself. He glanced again at Rose Sutton's photos.

'Was she killed in that manner?'

'No.'

'Was the sheep?'

Hobson stood and pointed to a photo of the sheep's carcass. It lay on its side, eyes missing, mouth bloody, hind quarters eaten away, scraps of intestine littering the surrounding grass. 'I'm not sure. The crows had been ripping at the dead ewe. More so than Mrs Sutton. It's hard to say which wounds were caused by which animal.'

Jon looked at Clegg. 'Where is the sheep's carcass? We should get a pathologist to conduct a proper examination.'

His colleague glanced at the ceiling, as if having trouble trying to recall the information. 'Er, it was disposed of, I think.'

Jon sat up. 'You think? What the hell does that mean?' Clegg's eyes dropped. 'Mr Sutton burnt it.'

Christ Almighty, Jon thought. 'That sheep was a vital part of the crime scene.'

'Well, the SOCO was satisfied there was no need to store it.' Jon shook his head. Whoever the SOCO was, he should be sent back to training college. And Clegg should have known better too. This whole investigation was a shambles.

Hobson sat down. 'My take on events is this. The panther had made its kill and then Mrs Sutton turned up as it was attempting to feed.'

'Maybe she even tried to shoo it away, Rose was a plucky woman,' Clegg added.

'Her throat injuries arose from the panther swiping at her to protect its kill,' Hobson concluded.

Jon shut his eyes. If it was a panther, this wouldn't be a case for the police much longer. And then it would be back to Summerby for the next mind-numbing case. He searched for ways to refute the theory. 'The man discovered this morning. He was no farmer protecting his sheep.'

'No,' Hobson agreed. 'But he was in a car park that bordered a field of sheep. Was there some sort of a hedge between this car park and the field?'

Jon thought for a second. 'Yes. A tree and a bramble patch.'

'A tree?' Hobson's white eyebrows were raised. Jon nodded.

'It should be checked for claw marks. Many of the attacks I've documented on livestock in this area take place close to woodland, scrub or dry stone walls. The panther uses this cover to stalk the sheep which, all too often, tuck themselves into these same spots for a bit of protection from the elements. Rose Sutton was found by an outcrop of rock.'

Shit. It was beginning to sound more and more like a horror film. Jon held up a finger. 'But our man this morning had driven to the car park. Surely you're not trying to claim a vehicle pulling up with its headlights on wouldn't scare the animal off?' Hobson shrugged. 'Do we know how long it was between him parking there and being attacked?'

'No.'

'What if he'd been sitting there a while?'

Knowing Peterson, he would have sat there half the night for the possibility of sex. 'OK, so our man could have been loitering there for a bit. Perhaps he needs a piss. He gets out of his vehicle, wanders too close to the undergrowth and bang, something attacks him. I still reckon any panther in the vicinity would have just run away.'

Hobson uncrossed his arms. 'As I mentioned earlier, perhaps this animal has conquered its fear of humans. If it has, we've got a major problem on our hands trying to catch it.'

Jon looked at him. 'How so?'

'Leopards are wickedly intelligent. Many who have studied them have commented that if lions shared the stealth and cunning of leopards, humans would have died in their thousands over the centuries. Have you ever heard of the Man-Eating Leopard of Rudraprayag?'

Here we go again, Jon thought. You're bloody relishing this.

'Over an eight-year period from nineteen eighteen to nineteen twenty-six a single leopard killed one hundred and twenty-six villagers in Nepal. The animal grew more and more bold, even climbing through windows and taking victims from their beds. A bounty of one thousand pounds — a small fortune in those days — attracted hunters from all over. None could get near the beast. Eventually a man called Jim Corbett was called in. Corbett was born in north India and had been a hunter all his life. Even he began to believe the animal had a sixth sense when it came to outwitting its pursuers. One time Corbett waited three weeks in a tower that overlooked a bridge the leopard was known to cross. The day after he gave up on that location, the animal crossed the bridge and claimed more villagers on the other side.' Once again Hobson sat back, a satisfied look on his face. Jon waited for him to carry on before realising the man had finished speaking. For fuck's sake. 'So what happened in the end?' Hobson flicked a hand. 'Oh, he got it eventually. But by then the animal was old and decrepit. My point is, catching the beast will be incredibly hard. Traps, poisoned carcasses, marksmen in hides — a leopard will sense them all a mile off.'

Jon tapped his fingers on the table. Hobson's unquestioning assumption that a leopard was responsible for the attacks rankled him. 'Inspector Clegg, is there any chance of speaking to Mr Sutton? There are still many more traditional angles of investiga- tion to cover before we assume this is the work of some phantom beast.' He shot a glance at Hobson. So you can stop drooling over your bloody maps. Hobson's eyelids flickered momentarily and a red spot appeared on each cheek. Good, Jon thought. I hope that stung.

Clegg moved towards the door. 'We can try him from the phone in my office.'

Jon nodded to Hobson. 'Thanks for your talk. It was very illuminating.'

'No problem,' Hobson replied, pale blue eyes dropping to the table as he reached for a pen.

Once they were further down the corridor Jon said quietly,

'What's the score with that Hobson?'

Clegg glanced over his shoulder at Jon. 'He's an acknowl- edged authority on the behaviour of big cats. At the moment he's trying to plot the animal's territorial movements by time and place of attack.'

'I don't like him. He's got some sort of agenda.'

Clegg paused in the doorway to his office. 'He's been nothing less than helpful, Sir.' Jon registered the unnecessary emphasis on the word sir. 'All his time and effort is given voluntarily.'

Exactly, thought Jon. There's something in it for him. 'The media is already reporting that a black panther carried out the attack on Saddleworth Moor. If they start writing that the animal has killed again, what do you think will happen to visitor numbers to the panther enclosure at his zoo?'

Clegg's jaw set a fraction tighter. 'If you don't mind me saying, that seems a very cynical approach to take.'

You haven't worked the cases I have, Jon thought. 'Maybe. But I want Hobson's access to this investigation limited strictly to his area of expertise. Which means not leaving him unsupervised in an office where there are documents and reports about the investigation. Now, you said back there Mrs Sutton was a plucky woman. You knew her?'