Savage Moon

Eighteen

Jon just had time to call into a coffee shop by the library and grab a cup to take away. He followed the circular exterior of the library round to its main entrance, where the usual smattering of students were hanging around on the front steps.

To his right, a tram tooted its horn, then pulled away from the platform with an electric whine. Jon looked at the bronze tableau of women advancing forward in what appeared to be a disintegrating blanket. As usual, he wondered what the hell the statue was all about. On the benches just past it he could see Rick, also sipping from a paper cup.

Jon walked over in the shadow cast by the gothic town hall buildings that loomed over St Peter's square. 'Morning Rick. Little cold for an outside meeting, isn't it?'

Rick looked up with a smile and a shrug. 'Maybe he'll be happy to go somewhere warmer.'

Jon sat down and crossed his ankles. Visible in the windows between the arches was a day nursery. A set of toddlers sat entranced around a staff member as she read a story. Jon's mind went to his own baby, still months away from being able to sit up, let alone be read to. He wondered how Alice was and started to reach for his phone.

'Check out this guy. I think it could be him,' Rick said quietly.

Jon's fingers curled back round his coffee cup and glanced to his right. A man with a pudding-bowl haircut was tentatively making his way along the arches. He was about forty years old, five-foot-seven or eight tall, wide hips giving him a womanly shape. Gripped in front of him was a newspaper, held as if to fend off any unwelcome approach. His eyes settled for a moment on Rick and Jon, skittered nervously past them, then slowly returned.

'It's him,' Rick murmured, getting to his feet. 'Adrian? It's

Rick. We spoke earlier this morning.'

'Ah.'

He didn't move, but gripped the paper even more tightly across his stomach. Jon spotted a wedding ring on his finger.

Rick gestured to his side. 'This is my senior officer, DI Jon

Spicer. He's leading the investigation.'

Jon stood, but decided not to offer his hand. The bloke looked like he would be terrified by any physical contact. Instead he pointed towards the library. 'There's a coffee shop round the corner. Can we get you a drink?'

The man was silent for several moments. Finally he replied.

'There's a cafe´ in the library itself.' His voice squeaked with nerves.

'Whatever you prefer,' Rick answered.

They walked in awkward silence until they reached the library's entrance.

'I think I'd prefer it in here,' he said, making eye contact with

Rick for a split second.

Jon and Rick dropped their cups into a bin. They filed through the library's swing gate, crossed the foyer and went down the wide stone steps into the basement cafe´ where a woman was bustling around behind the counter.

'What would you like?' Jon asked.

The man glanced at his watch. 'Erm. A tea. Thank you.'

'Rick, another frothy coffee?' He let one eyebrow arch up and Rick gave him a polite smile.

'Yes, thank you, Jon.'

As the woman served their drinks, Jon looked down at

Adrian. 'Do you work in the city centre?'

He glanced about, checking that no one was within hearing distance. 'Yes. I work for the council, in the town hall offices.' Jon made himself look interested. 'That must be a great building to work in. Architecturally I mean.'

Adrian frowned. 'It's a little cramped. Not designed for all the computers we can't seem to survive without nowadays.'

Jon smiled. 'Yeah, same can be said for most police stations.' He nodded at the corner table. 'Over there?'

Once they'd sat down, Jon took out his notebook and pen.

'Now Adrian, everything you tell us is in the strictest confidence. Are you clear about that?'

'That's a promise is it? I have your promise? I can't let anyone know that I… that I was there, in the car park.'

'You have my word,' Jon assured him, hoping the case wouldn't develop in such a way that a court appearance would be necessary. 'So can you tell us exactly what happened?'

Adrian coughed nervously, then interlinked his fingers. 'I arrived at the car park at about ten o'clock. No one was there so I walked over to the brick shed at the end to wait.'

As he spoke his face slowly changed from a light red to a deep purple. You poor bastard, Jon thought. This is excruciating for you, isn't it?

'Why leave your car?' Rick gently prodded.

'I don't like staying in it.' He glanced up. From his imploring look, Jon could tell he didn't want to explain why.

'Sorry Adrian,' Jon said. 'We need to be clear on why. The attack took place by that shed. It could be important.'

Adrian made an attempt to clear his throat. 'I'm not… not the only one who uses the car.'

Right, Jon thought. Can't have other men's spunk on the wife's seat. 'So you were waiting by the shed?'

'Yes, there're trees behind it. It's quite a private area. The car turned up about ten minutes later. A dark blue Volvo, I gave part of its registration to the emergency operator when I called.' Seeing Jon's look of acknowledgement, Adrian paused. 'Is it the car? The car of the person found yesterday morning?'

'We think so, yes.' He got the photo of Derek Peterson out.

'Was this the man who arrived in the Volvo?' Adrian nodded. 'Now he's dead?'

Jon gave a single nod.

'And he was called Peterson?'

'He was.'

For a few moments Adrian's lips moved as he tried to form a word. Then he gave up and just stared at the table.

Jon met Rick's gaze, then turned his eyes towards Adrian and gave a little nod. Your turn.

'Adrian. The Volvo had just arrived… ' Rick prompted. Head still bowed, Adrian continued. 'Yes. He parked about ten metres away from my car. I stepped out from the side of the shed, waited for him — Peterson — to see me, then I moved back into the shadows. A few seconds later I heard his footsteps. He came round the corner and stood before me.' Adrian's head sagged lower as if weighed down by shame. 'We had just got started when… '

'Sorry Adrian.' Jon kept his eyes on his notebook, avoiding eye contact. 'I take it you were… the height of your head was at… '

'I was kneeling, yes. Then I heard movement in the undergrowth behind us. Twigs snapping, then a shoe crunching on gravel. I hadn't time to look up before there was this… this kind of stifled cry. So full of rage it was.'

'From the attacker?' Jon asked.

'I think so. Then came the sound of something striking Peterson. He staggered back against the wall of the shed and I rolled on to the ground and covered my head with my arms, waiting to get hit. But the noises continued above me. I looked up and saw it was a young man. They were chest to chest, grappling with the weapon. Blood was dripping down Peterson's face. The younger man was hissing bastard, bastard, bastard and Peterson's whole posture changed.'

'How do you mean?' Jon sat forward.

'Well, at first he was just as surprised as me. But then he recognised the guy who'd hit him.'

'How do you know he recognised him?' Jon cut in.

'He just did. You'll see when I carry on. Peterson kind of squared up to him, did something to break the younger man's grip on the metal bar. By now I was on my feet, I moved around them and was going towards my car. It looked like Peterson was going to disarm him and I thought we could both make a run for it, but Peterson didn't escape when he had the chance.'

Adrian raised a hand to the bridge of his nose and pinched it.

'Peterson got hold of the young guy's wrist and twisted it up and behind his back. It must have really hurt because the lad let go of the bar with his other hand and started to gasp.' Adrian's eyes were now squeezed shut. 'He kept twisting the lad's arm up, forcing him to bend forward. Then… then he pulled the lad's tracksuit bottoms down. I actually said to him, what are you doing? He told me to piss off. He had the bar ready and I backed off, away from it all. It was then the lad started to scream.'

Jon lifted one hand from the table. 'Hang on, I think I've lost you here. It was the lad screaming, not Peterson?'

'Yes. The lad. I'm sure Peterson knew him. That's why he did it, he was punishing him, I'm sure.' He turned towards the wall and shook his head.

'Sorry Adrian, you're saying Peterson assaulted his attacker?' Adrian ran a hand down the side of his face. 'He'd bent him over. He used that metal bar on him, I know he did.'

'You mean he inserted it into the lad's anus?'

'I didn't actually see, but the screams. What else was he doing?'

Jon turned the information over in his head. Christ, Adrian was probably right. 'So you went back to your car and rang nine-nine-nine?'

'Yes, the screaming went on and on. Then Peterson reappeared. By now the blood was completely covering his face and sweatshirt. He had this look on his face. Sort of shocked but also triumphant. He swapped the bar to his other hand, opened the car… '

'He was still carrying the weapon?'

'Yes, he shoved it under the driver's seat. At that point I rang off and got the hell out of there.'

'Did Peterson follow you out?'

'He did.'

Jon sat back. Jesus, that put a whole new angle on the incident. No wonder Peterson didn't want to report it. 'Adrian. I really appreciate you coming forward with this information. How are you doing for time?'

Adrian glanced at his watch. 'I should be going.' He stood up, then noticed his untouched tea. 'Sorry, I completely forgot about it.'

Jon waved a hand in dismissal. 'Not a problem. Adrian, at some point, we'll need to take a formal statement. When's the best time to contact you?'

'Will it be used to identify me?'

'No, absolutely not. Should we call you at your office?'

'Yes. My office.'

Rick straightened up. 'I've got your work number, Adrian.' Jon stood up and held out his hand. It was gripped momentarily in a sweaty palm, then Adrian hurried off between the tables. Jon moved round to the empty seat, stretched his legs out and reached across the table for his coffee. As he did so, he ran over Adrian's version of events. Jesus, Peterson was a sick fuck. To actually shove an iron bar up some poor bloke's arse.

He looked up. 'Why assault someone like that?'

'I think Adrian was right. Punishment surely,' Rick replied. Jon took another sip. The answer was lacking somehow. Punishment beatings involved smashed kneecaps or shattered faces. This was more like rape. 'It wasn't just punishment. I think it was sexual humiliation. The lad had the audacity to attack him, Peterson was showing him who was boss. And to me that suggests, at some point, Peterson was in a position of authority over the lad.'

'You mean this Silverdale facility? The lad was in there when

Peterson was on the staff?'

'That's my guess. Peterson was into young boys. The DVDs in his house are proof of that. I think this lad was abused by Peterson. He was trying to settle scores. Only it all goes horribly wrong, and Peterson bitches him again.'

'So the next time he catches Peterson up in Daisy Nook Country Park he comes armed with something a lot more serious.'

'Looks like it. What I can't figure out is what Rose Sutton did to piss him off so badly. Don't forget, she was slashed to ribbons before the iron bar attack on Peterson. And why was he fucking around with an iron bar at all? Why not just go for Peterson with the same weapon he used on Rose Sutton? It was pretty effective first time after all.'

'Maybe he ditched that one and had to get hold of another.'

'Or go back and retrieve the first one.'

Rick shrugged. 'I guess we'll find out when we nail him. I tell you one thing. He'll have had some serious injuries from the bar. Internal ones.'

Jon pulled out his mobile. Seeing there was no signal, he drained his coffee and led the way up the stairs. Once outside under the library's portico he looked out at the needles of rain slicing through the air. As he waited for the crime scene manager to answer his phone he watched a magpie as it hopped along the edge of the tram platform, totally unperturbed by the passengers waiting there. Its head dipped to the side and it dropped from view on to the rails, reappearing a couple of seconds later. Then, emitting a sharp clacking sound, it flew to the top of a black metal pole and alighted on the CCTV camera mounted there, long tail raising and lowering as it balanced itself in the light breeze. Weren't those things rare once, Jon wondered, trying to remember a childhood rhyme about good luck if you spotted more than one. Now they were common as pigeons.

'Richard Matthews here.'

'Richard, DI Spicer. Are you still at Crime Lake?'

'Yes.'

'Can I ask a favour?'

'Go ahead.'

'Has Peterson's Volvo been towed yet?'

'No, a flat-bed truck is on its way.'

'Just check for me and see if the driver's door is open.'

'OK. I'm in the caravan at the moment. Two seconds while I put some gloves on.' Jon listened to the movement at the other end of the line. 'Right, I'm by his vehicle. I'm trying the door. Yes, it's open.'

'Good. Now, take a look under the driver's seat. Anything there?'

'There is. It looks like a crow bar.'

'OK, careful to avoid touching the ends of it, can you lift it out and tell me what you see?'

'I've got it. Yes, there's something here. Appears to be blood, possibly faecal matter too.'

Jon closed his eyes, imagining the years of misery the lad must have endured. Was it any wonder he ended up so desperate for revenge? 'I'll need you to take swabs and test for DNA. We need a result as soon as.'

'It's top of my list.'

'Cheers, Richard.'

Jon hung up and looked at Rick. 'If the lad was in the Silverdale facility, he's a young offender. If he's a young offender, he's got a record.'

'And if he's got a record, his DNA is on the national database,' Rick finished the sentence.

Jon held up a hand and they slapped palms together. 'Don't you just love it when a plan comes together?'

Rick gave him a cheesy grin. 'I'd better get back to Chester

House.'

'You still working on that complaints thing you mentioned?' Rick threw a glance upwards. 'Just finishing it, thank God.'

'So what's next?'

'I'm starting a stint with the Drugs Squad next week.'

'Fancy joining this investigation in the meantime? I could do with the help.'

Rick looked him in the eyes. 'Some mad bastard ripping people's throats out? To be honest mate, I thought you'd never ask.'

Jon smiled. 'Nice one. Why don't you get it cleared with your boss then come over to the incident room. I'll bring you up to speed.'

Rick glanced at his watch. 'He's in a meeting until lunch. Why don't I come over now and just clear it with him later?'

'Fair enough.'

As they reached Jon's car Rick ducked his head for a better view through the rear window. 'What's Punch doing in there?'

'Spot of bother with Alice. She's decided he's a danger to Holly. Won't have him in the house.' As he opened the door Punch's face lit up with delight. 'Hello there stupid, you OK?' The dog stared back tongue protruding from the side of its mouth as they got in.

'He didn't try to bite her, did he?' Rick asked, clipping in his seatbelt.

Jon started the engine and reversed the car out of its space.

'No.'

'Scratched her?'

Jon shook his head.

'Am I missing something here?'

'Not really.' Suddenly he had the urge to describe out loud the bizarre turn of events. Perhaps it would make everything clearer in his head. 'She saw him lick Holly on the head. And because he licks his bones before chewing them, she concluded he was getting ready to do the same to Holly. To be honest, she's not been herself since the birth. She gets wound up very easily, worries about things too much.'

'Wound up about what?'

'I don't know. Stuff that's out of her control. Iraq, for instance. She was crying the other night because she reckons our forces are killing their babies. She goes on and on about it.'

'Any other things like that?'

Jon glanced suspiciously at him, sensing something behind the question. 'Things like what?'

'Morbid thoughts. About death, people being injured. That sort of stuff.'

Jon dug his fingernails into the leather of the steering wheel.

'She worries about Holly being OK. She gets up to check she's still breathing during the night. Reckons the baby monitor might not be working.'

Rick remained silent for a few seconds. 'What about in the mornings? Is she getting up all right?'

'Rick, we've got a three-month-old baby. She's frigging knackered.'

'Yeah, but you're getting up aren't you?'

'What's your point here?'

'I've got an older sister. She's got two kids. Both times she suffered from post-natal depression. Feeling that she couldn't cope, that she was failing as a mother, lethargy, dark thoughts. Fretting about her baby. She wouldn't leave any windows open in case a fox got into the house and carried it off.'

Jon looked at him. 'A fox?' Even as he heard the incredulous note in his voice, he knew Alice's fears about Punch were just as groundless. 'You reckon she's depressed then?'

'I'm no doctor, mate, but it sounds very similar.'

Jon felt a sense of dread. My God, he thought. 'I should have spotted it myself.'

'No. It's quite subtle at first. She obviously hasn't seen it either.'

'So what happened to your sister? Did the kids go into care?'

'What?' Rick smiled. 'Course not. Her GP prescribed anti- depressants. They took a few weeks to kick in, but she's fine now.'

He was taken aback by Rick's almost flippant tone. 'But addicted to pills for the rest of her life?'

'For fuck's sake, Jon, it's not like that nowadays. They take them for about six months, then gradually get weaned off them. It's no big deal. You make it sound like her brain was turned to mush. It's not One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Medicines have come a long way since then.'

Jon pinched his lower lip between a finger and thumb. 'So I need to get her to a doctor's.'

'I think you should discuss it with her first. You know, a few gentle nudges about how she's feeling. Perhaps float a visit just as a possibility.'

'Yeah, you're right. I don't suppose you could take Punch for a day or two?'

'Jon, I live in a flat. Not a chance.'

'Yeah, thought so,' Jon replied, eyes on his dog's reflection in the rear-view mirror.