Savage Moon

The press officer ruffled his copy of the newspaper. 'I have a contact on the features desk at the Chronicle. They're doing an interview with a man who's booked into the Royal Hotel in Buxton for the next twenty-one days. He says that's how long he'll need to trap and kill the panther.'

'Who is he?' Jon asked.

'He runs an agency that organises bear shoots in Eastern

Europe, among other things. Quite a character apparently.' Jon rolled his eyes. 'Where's he from?'

'He's British.'

'And I presume he's armed with some sort of a weapon?'

'Yup. It's got a scope on it that would put a paparazzi photographer to shame. I understand they've already done a photo-shoot in the grounds of the hotel. He even wears a hunting hat with game feathers in it.'

Jon looked at Summerby. 'This is getting like the wild west.'

'Agreed. I've been on to the Chief Constable of Derbyshire. This hunter fellow's firearm certificate is up to date, so all they can do is warn him not to discharge it in unauthorised areas. If the farmers allow him on to their land, we can't stop him.'

'There's more from the local papers,' Edwards said reluctantly.

'I just heard a black Labrador was shot and killed early this morning in Tandle Hill Countryside Park near Oldham.'

'Shot with what?' DC Gardiner asked.

'A bolt from a crossbow. The owner said the animal was retrieving a ball from undergrowth. He heard a yelp and when he went to investigate he saw a person in full camouflage gear standing over the dog. He turned the dead animal over with his foot, then casually walked away.'

'Once he realised it wasn't a panther,' DC Gardiner concluded.

'How many panther sightings have we had from Saddleworth since news of Kerrigan's death broke?' Summerby asked.

'Twenty-seven at the last count,' Edwards replied. 'And not just Saddleworth. There's been calls from Stalybridge, Ashton-under-Lyne, Glossop, Whaley Bridge. Even Bury.'

'Bury?' Jon said. 'That's nowhere near Saddleworth.'

'People are terrified. It's certainly not a good time to be a black cat. The RSPCA have reported another one being killed in Levenshulme. Uniforms also recovered a carcass of one from a lock-up garage in Cheetham Hill. It had been clubbed to death. There are even reports of someone in a tower block in Gorton shooting crows with an airgun.'

'Crows? Why?' DC Gardiner asked.

Edwards shrugged. 'They're animals and they're black?' Jon saw he was serious. 'God, he's probably right.'

The phone on Jon's desk rang. Rick reached over and picked it up. 'DI Spicer's phone. Yes he is.' He held the phone out.

'Nikki Kingston. She says it's urgent.'

Jon walked over. 'Nikki, it's Jon here.' He turned slightly from the mass of listening officers. 'Everything all right?'

'I've got something important for you.'

Keeping it strictly business then, he thought. 'Go ahead.'

'I did the DNA test on those hairs you gave me. The ones from Buxton Zoo.'

'What did you find?'

'I'm still bloody furious with you. Do you realise that?'

'I was hoping we might talk… '

'Save it. I don't want to hear your bullshit apologies. The hairs from Rose Sutton and Derek Peterson match some of the hairs from the sample you gave me. There was a Y chromosome present, so it came from a male animal.'

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.'