Jon pressed a knuckle against pleasantly warm concrete.
'You're welcome to come inside but please keep to the back wall,' Hobson instructed.
Jon did as he was asked. Examining the gloomy space beyond the wire, he realised he was looking into the dens he'd just seen on the CCTV screen. On each side of him were two more thick wire doors reinforced with metal struts. Beyond them were the main enclosures themselves. A row of windows stretched round the perimeter and Jon could see dozens of people looking through.
Hobson stepped in and clanged two metal pails together, which brought immediate movement from the right-hand den. A moment later a dark shadow moved up to the wire and Jon found himself looking at a pair of golden eyes. The animal, barely arm's distance away, regarded Jon for a second. He looked for any emotion, but the stare seemed neutral, bored almost.
'Ah, Samburu's in I see,' said Hobson. 'Hello big fella.' He placed the pails on the floor and moved to one end of the concrete strip. 'Don't be fooled by appearances. Docile but deadly is what I tell every assistant. He looks like he'd be nice to stroke but, give him half a chance, he'll have your hand off. First you'd know about it was when you realised your arm ended at your wrist. That's why I said keep to the back wall. Going too near only provokes him into making a lunge — and I don't want him snapping a tooth off on the wire mesh.'
Jon felt an uneasy thrill of excitement. Just a sheet of wire separated him from a creature that would kill him without any hesitation at all. Hobson had grasped a metal handle connected to a wire that ran up the wall and into the den. Another wire stretched from a large counterweight. As the counterweight lowered, the handle in Hobson's hand rose until he could secure it on a hook embedded in the wall. 'I've just lowered the trapdoor to his den. That keeps him inside while I put his food out. Now, where's Mweru and Mara?'
He picked up a bucket and ran it down the door leading into the other enclosure. Two panthers of almost equal size appeared from a thicket of bamboo. Lazily, they padded across the sandy floor and disappeared round to the front of their den. Next thing two more sets of yellow eyes shone behind the wire. Hobson stepped gingerly past Samburu's side and lowered the trap door to the neighbouring den. 'Right, all in.' He stood in front of the gate leading into the mother and cub's enclosure, then took his keys out once again. Fixed to a metal plate in the centre of the enclosure was a building site sign with a graphic of a head in a hard hat and a raised hand. Danger: Keep Out.
Hobson glanced up at a mirror high on the wall that let him see into the den. 'Check and double check,' he whispered, more to himself than Jon. Then he unlocked the gate's padlock, slid back two large bolts and shouldered it open. Next he picked up two of the buckets and walked out into the enclosure itself. Jon saw the spectator's faces begin to turn. Fingers started to point. Mweru and Mara paced back and forth across a patch of light, tips of their long tails twitching. Samburu was nowhere to be seen.
Hobson walked confidently over to a pole of wood and wedged a chunk of meat into the V at its top. You love this, don't you, Jon thought, beginning a quick tally of people watching. He gave up at the third window, having counted forty-eight faces.
His eyes returned to Hobson as he proceeded round, hiding bits of meat on various branches and ledges of rock. Two minutes later he returned to the side gate, both buckets empty, face slightly flushed.
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.'