Savage Moon

Thirteen

They slowed to a stop in front of the barn and Jon climbed off the quad bike. While Adam drove it slowly back inside, he examined his feet. Smeared black earth clung to the sides of his shoes and fragments of gorse were caught in the soaking laces.

'OK,' said Adam, hanging the keys back on the hook. 'You'd like a word with Ken?'

They walked across the courtyard to the front door of the farmhouse. Adam knocked loudly on the heavy wooden door then opened it. The kitchen was pretty much as Jon had expected — flagstone floor, chunky wooden table and an ancient Aga with tea towels and oven gloves draped over its front rail.

A Welsh dresser stood opposite Jon and he noticed the pair of walkie-talkies standing upright in a base unit, battery lights glowing as they recharged. The shelves above were lined with plates painted with images of foxhunts. Hounds raced across landscapes, horses vaulted hedges and, in one, a stag was being brought down in the shallows of a river, eyes wide with terror.

'In here.' Ken's voice came from further inside the house. Seeing Adam removing his boots, Jon crouched down and took his shoes off, realising his socks were totally saturated. They crossed the kitchen and Jon glanced back to see a trail of glistening footprints behind him.

The doorway led straight into a large living room, where an enormous fire crackled away in the hearth. Apart from the weak light filtering through the windows, the flames provided the room's only illumination.

Sutton was sitting in an armchair before the fire, dark lines etched into his weary face. A mug was balanced in one hand, curls of steam rising above the rim. 'There's tea in the pot.'

'Jon? You want a cup?' asked Adam.

'Please. Chuck in a couple of sugars too,' Jon replied, glancing up at the animal heads lining the walls. There must have been a dozen foxes, a few badgers and several varieties of deer, some with antlers, others without.

Adam went back into the kitchen and Jon turned to Sutton who was staring impassively at the fire. Wondering where the younger man with the rifle was, Jon pointed to the armchair opposite. 'Mind if I sit down?'

Ken grunted and Jon took it as a yes. Taking out his notebook and pen, he eased himself into the seat, trying to keep his sodden socks from view by tucking his feet under the chair. Waves of heat began pushing against his face and he hoped the warmth would soon work its way down to his frozen shins and ankles.

'So you've seen the moor,' Sutton stated, eyes still on the flames.

'Yes. It's certainly an unforgiving place. I'm sorry you had to find your wife up there.'

'Oh, she didn't mind it. The place has a strange kind of beauty.'

Maybe if you're hiking over it occasionally, Jon thought. But that's bloody it. 'Your wife, Mr Sutton. Aside from helping you out on the farm, what else did she do with her time?'

Sutton turned his head towards him. The rims of his eyes were red and emotion played at the corners of his mouth before he spoke. 'She did more than help out. She ran this bloody place.'

Jon's pen remained at the top of a blank page. 'With your help?'

'I do what I can, which is less and less these days.'

'What about children?'

Sutton shook his head. 'We married late. Maybe that's why we were never blessed.'

'So who helps out now?'

Sutton tilted his head to the window. 'There're lads on neighbouring farms. People pitch in for lambing. We look out for each other.'

Jon couldn't see him running the farm for much longer. He wondered if the old man would stay in the farmhouse once he was forced to sell off the land. 'The man who was in your jeep. Is he from a neighbouring farm?'

Adam reappeared with the tea, handed a cup to Jon and sat down on the sofa.

Sutton nodded. 'A neighbour, yes.'

'So your wife. How would you describe your marriage? Did it have its ups and downs?'

'Of course. Doesn't yours?'

Jon imagined Alice's reaction when he mentioned he was working on another murder investigation. It's about to, he thought. 'Did you argue much?'

Sutton gave a sigh that combined exhaustion and frustration.

'Listen, lad, I don't know what your job involves and I don't think you know mine. But let me tell you, running a farm like this is hard. You have to work as a team to keep on top. There's no packing up at the end of the day to catch the train home. So we'd argue sometimes, but we were a bloody good team, Rose and me. A bloody good team.'

Jon spotted a glistening in the man's eyes as he turned back to the dancing flames. 'Did she have any outside interests? Friends or social groups for instance?'

'She knew everyone in the area. We'd go for drinks some nights in the village.'

'I'm sure you've been asked this, but what about people she'd fallen out with?'

'Rose? She was friends with everyone.' There was a defensive note in his voice. 'Adam, you tell him. Friends with everyone she was.'

Jon glanced at his colleague who gave a silent nod. 'Adam mentioned she worked in a nursery before you married. Did she stay in contact with her former workmates?'

'She'd see them every now and again, I suppose.'

'At their houses or just crossing paths in the village?'

'I don't know. Both. If there was a birthday or something. She'd go for the odd meal with friends and old colleagues. They're one and the same, I suppose.'

'These sheep you've been losing — could Rose have had an argument with any dog owners crossing your land?'

Sutton held up a finger. 'It's no dog that's been killing our sheep. I can save you time by telling you that for certain.'

The anger bubbling in his throat encouraged Jon to pursue the subject. 'Can you be certain of that?'

'When a dog worries sheep, it tries to snap at their legs. If it latches onto a limb it might rip the flesh by shaking its head from side to side.'

Jon's mind went to the image of the terrified stag on the plate in the kitchen. The cluster of dogs hanging off it.

'Creates a certain type of wound,' Sutton continued. 'Messy. It doesn't jump on to a sheep's back and then bite through the top of their spine. And it doesn't then eat half the animal either.'

'Have you had problems with dogs worrying your sheep then?'

'A few.'

'The most recent?'

'Early last spring. An idiot couple with an Alsatian. Two ewes miscarried.'

'You spoke to these people?'

'Oh, I was for more than speaking to them.' He pointed to a metal cabinet in the corner. 'If Rose hadn't stopped me, I'd have shot that bloody dog.'

'So what happened?'

'They paid for the lambs.'

'Did you get involved in this?' asked Jon, turning to Adam.

'No, I didn't. How did they pay you Ken?'

'Cash of course. Rose spoke to them. I was too angry for words.'

'Did you get their names or anything?'

'No.'

'Were they local?' Jon asked.

'Of course not. Day trippers they were. From a city I should think.'

We'll never trace them, Jon thought. 'Have you ever had to shoot a dog, Ken?'

'Once. About eight year ago.'

Jon saw Ken's eyes connect briefly with Adam's once again. These two are sharing a lot of information I don't know about.

Adam coughed. 'Ken had to shoot a Collie. It was all properly documented, the report will be at the station.'

'And the dog's owners? Who were they?' Jon asked. Adam shrugged. 'I don't know.'

Jesus Christ, Jon thought. 'Well, we'd better dig that file out. I take it the owners weren't too happy?'

'No they weren't.' Sutton smirked and Jon saw cruelty in the twist of his lips. 'I gave them a sack to carry the animal's body in. Saved the boot of their car from getting covered with blood.' Jon glanced at the gun cabinet. 'So what sort of weapons are in there?'

Sutton placed his mug on the hearth. 'I own a Browning twelve-bore shotgun and a Ruger point twenty-two rifle.'

'License for the shotgun and firearms certificate for the rifle?' Sutton looked at him as if he was stupid. 'Of course. Shall I fetch them from the kitchen?'

Adam gave another cough. 'Ken's just put in an application at the station for a Remington two four three-calibre hunting rifle.' More information emerging only when it has to, Jon thought.

'Two rifles? What's wrong with just the one?' he asked Sutton.

'I use the twenty-two for vermin control. Rats and the odd fox, mainly. But I've been having problems with a few deer lately. They can cause a lot of damage, so I need something with more range and power.'

'And this Remington will give you that?'

'It will,' Sutton replied.

Jon sat back. 'The man you were with earlier. Was he carrying the twenty-two rifle?'

'No, that was his own weapon.'

Jon didn't like the fact that several guns were being kept on the farm. 'Is it licensed?'

'Of course. And, as the land owner, I've granted him full permission to discharge it anywhere in the areas designated by my firearms certificate.'

'Which are?'

'The area immediately surrounding the farm and the upper moor land.'

Jon tapped the pen against the top of his notebook. The heat from the fire was now getting uncomfortable and he swivelled his knees away from the flames. 'I presume this hunting rifle you're applying for would also be big enough to bring down a panther if you happened to spot one?'

Sutton breathed in slowly through his nose, as if considering the possibility for the first time. 'I suppose it would.'

You're a crap actor, thought Jon. 'You seem certain a panther is killing your sheep, Mr Sutton, despite any actual evidence.' Jon watched as he passed a hand over his lips. 'Something's killing them. Something that doesn't belong in this country.' Strange, Jon thought. That sounded like a touch of nervous- ness. 'And you believe the same creature killed your wife?' Sutton sat up in his seat. 'What else did, man? Tell me, what else did?'

Jon kept his expression neutral. 'I aim to find out.'

Looking disgusted, Sutton turned away and muttered, 'Well, you won't do that warming your socks in front of my fire.'

Jon looked down to see curls of steam rising from his wet feet. Shit, I must look like a right fool. He shifted in his seat again.

'The nature of the bite marks on your dead sheep. Did you observe those yourself or were they pointed out to you by a third party?'

'You mean Hobson? He showed them to me, yes.'

'Has he been to your farm much?'

'Every time we find a dead sheep, even if it's just a scattering of bones.'

'You'd take him to the remains each time?'

'Rose would usually. She was fascinated by the whole thing.' Another bloody link Adam forgot to mention, thought Jon.

'So Hobson and your wife were quite well acquainted?' Sutton stared at him. 'What are you suggesting by that?'

'Nothing,' Jon replied. 'I'm trying to ascertain who knew your wife, that's all.'

Sutton glanced at the clock on the wall. 'Is that it? It will be dark soon. I've got to burl those ewes.'

'One last thing. Does the name Derek Peterson mean anything to you?' Jon watched the man's face carefully, but spotted nothing as Sutton replied that it didn't. He closed his notebook and they all stood. 'Thanks very much for your time.' Sutton flexed his knees a couple of times before walking stiffly towards the door. In the kitchen he started climbing into his waterproof trousers as Jon reluctantly slid his now warm feet back into his cold and soaking shoes. Adam put on his boots and opened the door. Cold air rushed in and Jon saw the light was beginning to fade.

'What do you want to do next?' Adam asked as they walked towards their vehicles.

Jon's eyes strayed to the sheep watching them from the corner of the pen, their muzzles seeming to smoulder in the rapidly chilling air. 'Have a word with you, but not here,' Jon murmured. 'Let's stop at the top of the lane.'

'OK,' Adam replied cautiously.

They waved goodbye to Sutton who briefly held a hand up in return as he strode over to the barn. What a life, Jon thought, watching him in his rear-view mirror as he drove away.

At the end of the track to Sutton's farm Jon pulled over and got out. Adam came to a halt and Jon got into the jeep. 'You didn't tell me Hobson knew Rose Sutton.'

Adam raised his eyebrows. 'It slipped my mind. To be honest, I thought you knew.'

'How the hell would I?'

'That's a good question, now I think about it. Sorry.'

Did it slip your mind deliberately or are you just slow? Jon wondered. 'I thought Sutton's behaviour was odd.'

'How do you mean?' Adam started adjusting the fan vent on the dashboard.

'When I mentioned the possibility of a panther just now, it really unsettled him. He almost seemed scared I thought.'

'Scared? Wary, maybe. It killed his wife after all.' Jon shot him a glance.

'I mean, he believes a panther killed his wife,' Adam hastily corrected himself.

'I'm not sure. He looked like he was sweating it a bit. You're happy with his alibi? What was it, some sheep market up in the Lake District?'

'Yes, he was staying at a hotel in Keswick.'

'Statistically we're always best off looking at immediate family in murder cases.'

Clegg shook his head. 'He can't have done it. There are plenty of witnesses who saw him stagger off to his room at gone two in the morning. Totally pissed apparently, and his bar bill backs that up. Next day he was down for breakfast at seven sharp. To get from Keswick to here and back again in under five hours is practically impossible.'

'Practically, but not totally.'

'No, but then he'd have had to get Rose up on to the moor, kill her, tidy himself up and set off back to Keswick. Not possible in the time he had.'

'What about the other guy? The one with the rifle. Do you know him?'

Adam shook his head again. 'I only saw him from behind as he was walking towards the farm house.'

'Sutton said he was a neighbour.'

'Not from any farm I'm familiar with.'

'There are too many people roaming around with hunting rifles. It's an accident waiting to happen, especially with everyone so on edge. Can you find out who that bloke is and if he has a license for that gun?'

'Will do.'

'And keep back approval for Sutton's application for that

Remington hunting rifle.'

'It's already been signed off.'

Jon's eyes narrowed. 'It's obvious he doesn't want that rifle for culling any deer.' Adam shrugged again and Jon's suspicions moved up a notch. 'I'd like to speak with Rose's friends as well. Someone is hiding something. I know Sutton said they were a good team, but there's more to a marriage than that. Maybe she was having an affair. There was a bit of an age gap between them, and no kids either. When I mentioned another person being killed this morning, he was concerned to know the person's age. Perhaps there's something in that.'

He watched as Adam continued to fiddle with the fins of the heating vent.

What's on your mind? Jon wondered, sensing undisclosed information in the silence. 'Adam, if you've got anything to say about this that is relevant to the investigation, now is the time.'

Keeping his eyes averted, the other man shook his head. This is your last chance, mate, Jon thought. 'You're sure?' Their eyes met. 'Yes, absolutely.'

Bollocks, thought Jon, you're lying. His immediate reaction was to cut him from any further involvement in the investigation. Then he remembered the saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. What was Clegg? Deciding it would be better to keep an eye on him, he said,

'And can you find the file on that dog he shot? I'd like the owners traced, interviewed and eliminated. In an ideal world, I'd like the same for the owners of that Alsatian, though God knows how we'll ever find them.'

'So what's the next step in the investigation?'

Jon could tell the other man was worried that his role in the case was about to evaporate. 'I need to get back to my nick and report to the boss. We'll be setting up an incident room at Longsight for Peterson's death, but I'd like to keep your room at Mossley Brow open too. Can you continue acting as my point of contact here?'

Adam looked relieved. 'With pleasure.'

'It's going to be necessary to start moving the files, photographs and records on Rose Sutton over to Longsight. I'll get an indexer to start putting everything we have on her into HOLMES.'

Adam looked disappointed.

'We have to work these cases side by side,' Jon explained. 'It's the only way to uncover whatever links Peterson to Mrs Sutton.'

'I know,' Adam replied, looking out the window towards the road as it dropped down into the tiny village of Holme. 'I need to drop by at my sister's. Which way are you driving back?'

Jon ducked his head so he could see the summit of the moors through the windscreen. 'That's the quickest way isn't it?'

Adam nodded. 'Yup. Best you set off now while there's still some light left.'

'What, beware the moon and all that?' Jon grinned.

The serious look remained on Adam's face. 'It's just a long walk down if you get a puncture. Reception from your mobile comes and goes up there, remember?'

'Fair enough. I'll be in contact soon.' Jon climbed out, got back into his own car and set off up the steep road. On reaching the level ground at the top, he could see the sun was now just a faint smudge of orange on the western horizon. There wasn't a single other car in sight and suddenly he felt very small as he crossed the empty terrain. After a few minutes he reached the other side of the plateau and was surprised to feel relief at the sight of the pooled lights of Manchester twinkling away below.

His mobile phone started beeping away in his pocket. Jon realised he'd had no signal for the past three hours and he quickly fished it out of his jacket. The voicemail symbol was flashing so he pressed the button that connected him to his messages.

Summerby's voice immediately came on the line. 'Jon, you might want to get back here at some stage. Apparently you promised a press conference this afternoon and we now have a shoal of reporters circling in reception. The press liaison officer would be pulling his hair out — if he had any.'