Savage Moon

'Oh.'

'Shall I pick up anything on the way home?'

'Yes, we need more nappy sacks. Why have you got more stuff to sort out? You're not in charge of the case are you?'

Just tell her you are, a voice said. Jon shut his eyes and shied away from the admission. 'Not really. It's just that I attended the crime scene, so it was me who gave the statement.'

Silence on the other end of the phone.

'Alice?' Nothing.

'Alice, are you there?'

'They can't dump that on you. Not now.'

'It's all right, babe. There'll be a whole team on it, not just me.' He thought about the size of the workload hurtling his way. 'It won't be that bad.'

'Really?'

'Of course.'

'Well, I'll see you later then.'

Jon replaced the phone and lowered his head. You spineless prick, he cursed himself. Sooner or later, that lie is going to cost you. He spun in his seat, fished the cigarettes out of his coat pocket and headed for the car park.

The match was still flaring in his cupped hands as he touched the tip of the cigarette against it. Angrily sucking the smoke back, he immediately regretted his eagerness as phosphorous-laced fumes ripped at the back of his throat.

'Fuck!' He flicked the still burning match away and watched as it fell like a miniature comet towards the black tarmac.

When he pulled up at the twenty-four hour garage on the A6, his dashboard clock read 10.27 p.m. Knowing the doors would be locked, he marched across to the attendant's booth where an elderly man was fumbling for change, bent over by a cough that seemed to bubble up from the bottom of his lungs.

Tapping ash from a lit cigarette, the attendant reached to the side and the intercom came to life. 'Sounds like you need some fags to go with that cough.'

'Aye, that's what I'm here for.'

The two men burst out laughing, though whether at each other, themselves or death itself, Jon wasn't sure.

'Forty Berkleys mate.' The old man slid a tenner through the gap under the window.

He listened to the old man's wheezes as he shuffled away.

Please don't let me end up like him, he thought, aware of the packet of ten in his own pocket.

The speaker crackled again. 'Yes boss?'

Jon placed his hands on the counter, his car keys clinking against the metal surface as he did so. 'Do you have any packs of nappy sacks?'

'Nappy sacks? Yeah. Anything else?'

His eyes went to the rack of confectionary by the till. 'Some

Extra Strong Mints too.'

The man walked out from behind the counter, fetched the items and came back, a puzzled look now on his face. 'Was it you I saw on the telly earlier? Giving that statement about the bloke who was found this morning?'

'You must have a good eye for faces,' Jon answered, slipping a fiver under the window. To his annoyance, the man didn't pick it up.

'So what's the score then? The newswoman said you lot aren't denying there's a link to the woman who got ripped apart up on Saddleworth. That means there is one, right?'

Here we go, thought Jon. Like I'm about to reveal anything to you. He nodded at the items in the man's hands. 'Listen, I'm in a bit of a rush here. Can you just give us them and do my change?'

As if Jon's terse reply contained a secret nugget of informa- tion, the man touched a finger to the side of his nose. 'Message taken, boss. Message taken.'

He was home five minutes later, the remains of an Extra Strong Mint wedged in the corner of his mouth. Except for a low murmur from the TV, the house was silent and calm. He hung his jacket on the banister and looked into the front room. Alice was in a pair of pale blue towelling pyjamas, fast asleep on the sofa with Holly stretched across her lap. He glanced about for Punch. Strange, no dog. He walked down the short corridor into the kitchen. Empty. As he started making up Holly's bottle, a thought suddenly occurred. Oh no, the stupid mutt. He knows he's not allowed upstairs. Jon stood on the bottom step. 'Punch? Punch, are you there?' he whispered, trying not to wake Alice.

He heard his wife stir. 'Jon. Is that you?'

'Hi babe,' he replied in a soft voice, stepping through the door and crouching down in front of the sofa. 'You OK?'

Alice struggled up on to an elbow, eyes bleary with sleep.

'What time is it?'

'Just after ten-thirty. She's not been squawking yet?'

'No.' She rubbed at her left eye. 'You've been smoking.' Jon leaned back on his haunches. 'I had a sneaky one as a wind-me-down.'

She sat up straight now. 'Jon, what are you doing letting yourself start again?'

'I know. I'll pack it in again soon. It's just work at the moment is getting to me.'

'What about Holly? There are statistics that link passive smoking to cot death. You should be thinking about her.'

Fucking hell, that's a bit extreme, thought Jon. 'Ali, it was over two hours ago.'

'But I can still smell it.'

'Yeah, but… ' he gave up. The conversation was irrational.

'Where's Punch?'

'In the yard.'

'The yard? What's he doing out there?'

'Jon, I'm really sorry to say this. Just after you rang I caught it licking Holly's face. Like it does to a bone before it starts chewing it. I just don't feel safe with that animal in the house with our baby.'

Jon shook his head. Am I hearing this right? 'Say again.'

'I don't feel safe with him in the house.'

'What, you thought Punch was about to bite Holly? Ali, the dog's being protective, he would never hurt her.'

'I've seen it looking at her. It doesn't like her. It's jealous. We can't risk it.'

Jon looked down at their baby. This was just paranoid. Alice wasn't like this. What the hell was going on? 'You've locked him outside? It's raining out there.'

'The shed's open. I put his basket and food bowl in it.'

Jon bit his lip, stood up and walked to the back door. He opened it and looked out. Punch was curled on the concrete in the corner. His coat was glistening under the streetlight and Jon could see shivers running down his back. He wanted to shout into the house that she was totally out of order. 'Punch, come here, boy!'

His dog got uncertainly to its feet, the stump of its tail beginning to wag. Jon gestured into the kitchen. 'Come on!'

Punch trotted over and climbed the steps, droplets of rain beaded on the fur above his eyes.

'You stupid thing, what are you doing there?' Jon reached for a tea towel and began rubbing him down.

'Jon, he's not staying in this house.'

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Alice in the kitchen doorway, Holly cradled in her arms. 'Ali, I'll keep the kitchen door shut and we can talk about it in the morning. He can't sleep out in that shed.'

'And Holly? You value the dog above our daughter?'

Jon's hands paused. What sort of a question was that? Carefully, he formulated an answer before opening his mouth.

'It's not a case of who I value more, Ali, this is crazy. What's really the matter?'

'Fine!' He'd never heard so much venom in her voice. Punch shrank away beneath his fingers and Holly started to cry. 'Have it your way. You can sleep down here with your precious dog!' She slammed the kitchen door shut and he heard her stamping up the stairs. He looked at Punch's sad brown eyes. 'What the fuck was that about?'

Faintly at first, Holly's crying was picking up in strength. He noticed the half made-up bottle by the sink. 'Stay there boy.' He quickly washed his hands, mixed powder with the water, then warmed it in the microwave. Closing the kitchen door behind him, he climbed the stairs. 'Ali? I've got her bottle. Do you want me to feed her?'

'Did you wash your hands?'

'Yes.'

'Give it to me.'

He stepped into the dark nursery. Alice raised her eyes only enough to look at the bottle in his outstretched hand, but he could see she was crying. 'Are you all right, babe?'