Savage Moon

'Where was he found?'

'Around five miles from here, towards the city. In a car park by the edge of a lake.'

Sutton's eyes lifted to Jon. 'How old was he?'

'Mid-forties.'

'Mid-forties?'

Jon studied the other man. 'Should his age be of any concern to you?'

'What?' Sutton's eyes refocused, brittle exterior closing back over. 'It's not.'

'It seemed to cause you some concern.'

'No. It's a shock, that's all. To hear someone else has died.'

'It is,' Jon replied. 'So, the place where you found her… ' Sutton crossed his arms. 'I'm not going back up there now.

It's my lunch. Adam, you can take him if you want.' He nodded towards the quad bike. 'Keys are on the hook. I'll be around here when you get back.' Without waiting for an answer he set off across the courtyard, glancing about his feet. 'Chip!' he barked aggressively. 'If that bloody dog is in the upper field again

. . Chip!'

The animal materialised from beneath the tractor, jinking round a stray chicken before submissively approaching Sutton, ears pressed close to its head. 'Get in there,' Sutton growled, jabbing his finger at a kennel. The dog slithered inside.

The cat jumped down from the mound of tiles, ignoring the chicken to trot alongside the farmer with its head held high. Sutton opened the front door of the farm and first the cat, then the man were swallowed by the darkness within.

Jon stood staring at the farmhouse. He had the distinct impression that attitudes to death were a lot different here. Sutton seemed to accept it readily as part of life, but only in the order he sanctioned.

The cat was free to kill the rats, but not the chickens. Under Sutton's supervision, the dog could harry and torment the sheep, but not chase the cat. The sheep were a mere commodity, to be protected and fed until their time for slaughter. And Sutton was master of them all. Jon thought about how the sheep dog had deferred to him and how the cat had ingratiated itself. Even the sheep seemed to sense that the farmer was boss.

But now things were different. A new element had been introduced that upset the established order. It had been killing his sheep, costing him money. It didn't take much to see that Sutton regarded it as a lot more than a threat to his income — it was a challenge to his rank and, with the death of his wife, a personal enemy. He guessed the farmer didn't want the creature merely trapped or tranquillised: he wanted it dead.

Jon turned to his colleague. 'Well, that's us told. Do you know the way?'

Adam nodded. 'Better change our shoes.'

But I haven't got any others, Jon thought, watching Adam as he opened his vehicle and got out a pair of green wellies. His eyes turned to the fresh black mud sticking to the farmer's Land Rover. Bollocks, I'm going to get covered.

'Haven't you brought anything else for your feet?' Adam asked, now pulling out a thick ski jacket.

'No,' Jon replied, opening his boot and taking out a thin waterproof coat.

'Sure you'll be warm enough in that?' Adam observed him dubiously as he put it on.

How the hell should I know? thought Jon, glancing at the sky.

'There's a fair wind up there, that's all. Shall we see if Ken can lend you anything?'

'No, don't worry,' Jon didn't want to add to the farmer's perception of him as a clueless city boy. 'We're not going to be long, are we?'

Adam shrugged, then walked over to the barn housing the quad bike. He took the keys from the hook and started the machine up. 'Climb on,' he said, jabbing a thumb at the pillion seat behind him.

Jon looked around for a crash helmet, saw none, then climbed gingerly on to the rear seat.

'Keep a good hold of my jacket,' Adam instructed as the vehicle jerked forward, nearly throwing Jon off the back.

Adam steered the bike up a rough stone track that led along the side of the farmhouse then came to a halt at a gate. Jon jumped off to open it and Adam drove into the field beyond. After swinging it shut and hooking the loop of chain around the gate post, Jon climbed back on the bike and they set off across the thick grass, sheep scattering before them.

At the far side, a low building with a series of railings in front of it was nestled against the drystone wall that meandered along the foot of the slopes. Immediately behind it the muted tones of the moor began. Jon was struck by the abruptness of the change. It seemed like the moor was pressing down from above, only held back by the barrier of stone which, at any moment, would collapse, allowing the wild land to engulf the cultivated field below.

He leaned forwards and raised his voice over the bike's engine. 'What's that building over there?'

Adam turned in the direction of Jon's outstretched finger.

'Sheep sheds. There's a trough built into the courtyard for dipping them. The workers drive the animals between the railings where they queue up for their bath.'

Jon nodded, eyes now on the moor itself. 'That's some change. The green of the grass and the brown of the moor.'

'The field's been seeded and treated with fertiliser. You can't touch the moor. ESA — environmentally sensitive area,' Adam shouted back.

They soon stopped at another gate by the side of the sheds. Once through it Adam announced, 'Hold tight, it gets a lot bumpier from now on.'

Ken Sutton stood by his kitchen window, head slightly bowed. Once the sound of the quad bike's engine had completely died away he turned to the young man. He was sitting in the wooden chair at the side of the Aga, hands hovering just above it.

'Still not used to the chill, Andrew?'

'Chill? It's bloody freezing,' he replied, guttural accent placing an emphasis on the word bloody.

Sutton shrugged. 'No more than usual for this time of year.'

'Yeah?' Andrew replied, his blond hair catching the light.

'Well, it's in the high eighties back home. That's the usual temperature for this time of year in South Africa.'

Sutton had stepped over to the kitchen table where two large pieces of paper were spread out. One was a map of all the farmland he owned, the other was a more detailed rendition of the area surrounding the farm house itself. 'So what are your thoughts?'

Andrew looked over his shoulder, unwilling to take his hands away from the heat source beneath them. 'I can set up motion sensors across that top field. Start them on a level with the farmhouse, then position them in an arc going outwards to those buildings, the ones near that wall-'

'The sheep dipping sheds,' Sutton cut in.

'Right, them. Then they can follow a line back across the field to the track. I'll hook them up to a unit you can keep here in the farmhouse. That way nothing can come down off the moor without us knowing about it. You'll have to clear that field of sheep though, otherwise the sensors will be going off every five minutes.'

'If that's what it takes.' Sutton's eyes were on the pieces of paper before him. 'And what about defences for the farmhouse?' Reluctantly, Andrew moved away from the Aga. He reached into the pocket of his camouflage jacket and brought out a plastic bag full of dark brown strips of meat. 'Biltong?'

Sutton regarded the contents suspiciously. 'What did you say that stuff is made out of again?'

Andrew gave a brief smile. 'Dried impala with a few spices.' Sutton shook his head. 'I'll do without.'

The younger man took out a thin length of rigid meat and bit off the top third, exposing clean white teeth as he did so. 'You got the stakes and fencing like I asked?'

'Yes, six-feet posts and medium stock fencing. It was all dropped off earlier today.'

'Barbed wire?'

'There are plenty of rolls in the barns.'

'Good. So we plug these gaps.' Using the piece of meat as a pointer, Andrew indicated the open-sided barns before tapping the entrance to the courtyard itself. 'And we put up a gate here.

Barbed wire at the top. Basically, we'll turn your farmhouse into a kraal.'