Savage Moon

Sutton remained impassive.

Jon sat back, injecting a more casual note into his voice. 'Why all these security measures? Shouldn't the guns be kept in their locker when not in use? Are you frightened of something, Mr Sutton?'

His head moved a fraction. Obviously unsettled by Sutton's silence, Andrew Du Toit said, 'We're taking extra precautions because of the animal out there.'

Jon kept his eyes on Sutton. 'Animal or person?' Du Toit looked confused. 'What do you mean?'

Jon saw a chink in Sutton's defence. His nephew didn't know what was really going on. 'Your uncle has reason to fear a person, not an animal. These killings are to avenge past wrongs aren't they, Ken? That's why you scrubbed the word off the rock. You knew its significance. Do you speak Kikuyu then, Mr Sutton? Have you ever been to Africa?'

Du Toit sat forwards. 'Uncle? What's this about. Tell the policeman-'

Sutton's head whipped round and spit flew from his mouth.

'Say nothing!'

His nephew flinched backwards.

That's better, thought Jon. Now we're getting somewhere. The dead animals were staring down and Jon glanced up, as if by glaring back he could force their heads to turn. A stag, antlers branching out high from its head. Several foxes, their mouths partly open as if panting for breath. Deer, sharp horns spiralling up a good two feet. Jon's eyes narrowed. Those weren't deer, they were impala. He ran his eyes along the walls, identifying the head of a warthog in the corner.

'You lived in Kenya, didn't you? When was it?' He began working out the dates. Sutton was about seventy. During the fifties, he would have been in his twenties. He married Rose Sutton late. What had Clegg said? When he was well past forty? Was that because he didn't live in Britain during the fifties?

'James Field.' Jon said the words slowly. 'Njama Gathambo.' Sutton's head turned and Jon saw the fury in his eyes.

'That name means something to you, doesn't it? Njama

Gathambo's mum was called Mary.'

Sutton kept his silence. Keep going, Jon thought. You'll hit a nerve soon.

'She was orphaned during the Mau Mau uprising in Kenya. Her mother died in a British detention camp at Kamiti.'

Still he kept his mouth closed.

'Njama has made two metal panther claws. He used them to kill your wife and then he daubed the word “remember” on the rocks with her blood.'

Sutton's fingers dug into the arms of his chair. 'The savages. The filthy, bloody savages. I knew that evil would never die.'

'Uncle, what's he talking about?'

'What did you do in Kenya? Were you in the army?' Sutton shook his head. 'I was a farmer, one of the dozens who the Government encouraged to go out there and make something of that land. We transformed the country, made it a success. But the bloody Kukes weren't happy. They wanted what we'd created. They formed that barbaric sect and started attacking us, creeping out of the jungles, smeared in blood and entrails. Eating their victims.'

Jon sat forwards. 'You fought the Mau Mau?'

'It was a fight to save civilisation itself. And people get hurt in fights. I joined the Kenya Regiment. Later, when the detention camps were built, I worked in one of those.'

'Kamiti? You worked there?'

Sutton raised a finger. 'That was for bloody women. The ones who'd hide bullets in their baby's blankets, then smuggle the ammo to the animals hiding in the jungle.'

'Where did you work then?'

'Hola.'

'The site of that massacre? You tried to deny it ever happened.'

'Massacre?' Sutton gave a cruel smile, eyes glinting in the light from the flames. 'We only killed ten of them. They were the hardcore, the lowest of the low, the ones who wouldn't confess their oaths, no matter what we did.'

'And you did plenty, didn't you?' He looked into Sutton's eyes and saw only malice. You cruel bastard. He wanted to wipe the look from his face. 'Well, the grandson of one of those men you killed is coming for you, right now.'

'We built that country. And the Government in London sold us down the river. When they decided it was all an embarrassment, they washed their hands of us. They even let out Kenyatta, the biggest terrorist of all.'

'So you moved back here?'

'Before they handed power over to those bloody savages, yes. We had to leave that farm behind and start again. My sister, Andrew's mum, went to South Africa.'

Du Toit looked up. 'Hang on, this is all about a kaffir? You're saying my Aunty Rose was killed by a fucking kaffir?'

A beeping noise sounded in the kitchen. Du Toit's head snapped to the side. 'Something's triggered the sensors in the top field!' He jumped to his feet, grabbing his gun as he did so.

Sutton struggled to get up. 'No! Andrew, stay inside.'

Jon was on his feet. 'I'm calling for back-up. Everybody sit down.'

'Bullshit,' Andrew replied, hurrying into the kitchen. Sutton was reaching for his gun.

'Stay where you are,' said Jon, pulling his mobile out. One bar of signal flickered on and off. He tried to dial Longsight, but the call was dropped after two shaky rings. Bollocks! Du Toit reappeared in the doorway and threw a walkie-talkie to Sutton.

'I'm going out. Keep this turned on.'

'Andrew, don't!' said Jon, grabbing Sutton's arm as he too made for the door. 'Where's your bloody phone?'

Sutton struggled to get free. 'There, by the gun cabinet.' Jon bounded over to it. 'How does it work? I can't get a dial tone.'

Sutton turned in the kitchen doorway. 'The green button. Press it.'

'I have! There's nothing.'

Sutton walked stiffly over, listened to the phone, jabbed at the green button and lifted it to his ear once again. 'He's cut the wires.'

Jon remembered the line from Field's project. The Mau Mau chose isolated farms with no phones. Think. There must be some way of getting help.

Sutton returned to his armchair and sat down on the edge of it, rifle in one hand, walkie-talkie in the other. Low static emanated from the speaker.

'We should go and get him back,' Jon said, peering through the tiny windows set into the thick walls.

'He knows what he's doing,' Sutton stated, before adding,

'Kill the bastard, Andrew.'

Jon paced up and down. Text messages! Don't they require less signal to get through? He started typing, Suttons farm.

The walkie-talkie came to life. 'He's here, on the track. Climbing down one of your telephone posts. Looks like he's wearing an animal skin.'

Sutton pressed the transmit button. 'Kill him! Kill the bastard!' As Jon tried to grab the walkie-talkie it emitted a sharp burst of static. An instant later the sound of a gunshot rolled across the fields outside. 'I think I winged him! He's running back to the top field.' The words came in broken snatches. 'He's fast.'

Ken stood up. 'Now we'll show him who's boss.'

Still trying to type the message, Jon made a grab for him.

'Sutton, do not go out there!'

The older man yanked his arm free, the walkie-talkie falling to the floor.

'Jesus,' cursed Jon. Quickly he completed the message. Jammer here. Send help. He brought Rick's number up and pressed send. The little envelope on his screen folded itself over and flew off. A second later the words, Message Sent appeared. 'Thank fuck for that,' Jon said.

Outside the quad bike roared to life. Jon got to the front door just as Sutton zoomed past, his rifle jammed into a gap behind the seat. The red lights bounced away down the track, Chip barking manically at them.

Jon looked at the dog. 'This is a fucking nightmare.' He went back into the kitchen. What the hell do I do now? Inside the front room, the walkie-talkie continued to buzz. Jon went though, picked it up and pressed the transmit button. 'Hello? Andrew, can you hear me? Andrew?'