by Chris Simms
He pulled into the half deserted Co-op car park, listening to the sound of a babbling brook as he walked to the rear of the tourist office. A bell jangled briefly on opening the back door and the smell of freshly printed paper filled his nostrils. On racks and shelves beside him were neat stacks of photocopied sheets – areas of local interest, walks in the surrounding countryside, summaries of the village's history – including accounts of the great flood of 1936 that washed many of the original weavers' cottages away down the valley.
He emerged from the rear of the premises into the front room where, alongside the ordnance survey maps and glossy National Park guide books were pencils, rulers, rubbers and other small items, all bearing a ram's horn emblem and the words, Holme of the weavers' art.
'Adam, I wondered if that was your jeep going past just now.' His older sister's blue eyes twinkled as she smiled, her hands going to the back of her head to adjust the band keeping her frizzy brown hair in its ponytail. 'What brings you over the hill?' Adam gave a half smile, unable to keep the worry from his eyes. 'We need to have a chat, Edith. Are you closing up soon?' She glanced at the door, concern now making her eyebrows tilt. 'I doubt we'll get anyone coming in now. What's happened?'
Adam moved across the room and positioned himself in the corner by the till, out of sight from the street. The familiar reassurance he felt in the company of his older sister flooded him and he started speaking quickly, keen to unload all his anxieties on to her. 'There's been some developments in the investigation into Rose's death. Someone else was killed this morning and now there's an officer from the Major Incident Team in Manchester sniffing around. He's linking both deaths and moving the investigation to the city, proper incident room, team of officers on outside enquiries. They'll be going into Rose's life . . . '
His sister held up a finger and the rush of words died in his throat. She took the set of keys lying by the side of the till, walked over to the front door, locked it and flipped the sign over to Closed.
'Now,' she said, a firm note in her voice. 'Start again and take it slowly this time. 'What do you mean someone else has been killed?'
'Some bloke from Manchester. A car park queer.' She shook her head in question.
'You know, one of them who hangs around in public places looking for other men. Toilets and that.' His mouth was turned downwards in disgust.
'And he was killed. Why are they linking it to Rose?'
'His injuries. They were the same,' he replied, gesturing towards his neck.
His sister's hand went to her throat and she pinched the neck of her blouse closed. 'Oh my God.' Her eyes drifted to the side, then turned back to her brother. 'Who was this man?'
'He was called Derek Peterson.' Adam let the name hang. Not seeing anything register on her face, he continued. 'He was in his forties, lived in Clayton on the edge of the city. Worked in a care home for young offenders, but got convicted for gross indecency. There's no way Rose knew him, is there?'
Slowly, Edith turned her head from side to side. 'I don't think so. Surely the investigation will soon discover that?'
'You don't understand the way this is going to work, Edie. They'll delve into every aspect of Rose's life, rake through it all. The officer who turned up today is already talking about re- interviewing all Rose's family, friends and acquaintances. Not just the friendly chats I've carried out. They'll be knocking on your door, no doubt about it.'
'Wanting to know what?'
'Any secrets she might have had. Searching for motive. Reasons why someone might have killed her.'
'Someone? What happened to the beast that's been taking
Sutton's sheep?'
'He's refusing to accept that. Says it has to be treated as murder.'
'He? Who is this damned he?'
'He's a Detective Inspector called Jon Spicer.'
'What's he like?'
Adam inserted the tip of a knuckle between his teeth and began to gently nip at it as he contemplated an answer.
'Stop it,' Edith snapped, slapping his hand down. 'How many times have I told you not to do that?'
He looked at her with the hurt eyes of a chastised schoolboy.
'He's no fool Edie. God knows what courses he's been on, but this is the sort of case he's been trained for. He already knows I haven't been totally straight with him.'
Edith crossed her arms. 'You stupid fool, Adam Clegg.'
'I think Ken has his suspicions too,' Adam added miserably.
'Why?'
'You know what Ken's like, man of few words. But when Spicer told him about the man who was killed last night, he suddenly seemed interested. Wanted to know the victim's age and description. Spicer picked up on it too, even asked me later if Rose could have been seeing another man.'
Edith rolled her eyes. 'Why I ever let you two involve me in your stupidity,' she hissed. 'You'll have to tell this Spicer person the truth then, won't you?'
Adam let out a bitter laugh. 'And have Ken Sutton find out I was having an affair with his wife?'
'Why would he find out?'
'Gossip, it always leaks out sooner or later.'
'So what do you propose? Keep playing it your way and risk ruining your entire career? And what about me? You're asking me to lie to a police officer too. I could go to prison for that couldn't I? Impeding a murder investigation. I let you two meet in my house for God's sake. What if someone saw something?'
'Edie, she always walked there remember? I'd leave by the front, she'd leave by the back and go across the fields to the village where her car was parked. No one ever saw a thing.' He knew his sister couldn't argue – if anyone saw anything, word would have got out by now.
'You still haven't told me what you think we should do.'
'Just tell them who Rose was friendly with. Make out the marriage was fine. Don't give them any cause to suspect anything.'
'I don't know, Adam. This is all sliding out of control.'
'Edith! You can't tell them the truth about me and Rose. If
Sutton finds out... God knows what he's capable of.'
She looked back at him, her expression giving nothing away.
'Edie, come on. Apart from a heart of ice, the guy's got several guns. I remembered something today as a result of a question Spicer asked. You know that time a few years back when Ken killed the dog worrying his sheep? His first barrel only peppered the animal's back legs. Sutton then admitted he walked up to it and emptied the other barrel point blank into its head. He then tied it to the bumper of his Land Rover and dragged it across the field to the owners. The couple were totally distraught, insisted he was grinning as he did it.'
She stayed silent for a while before reluctantly nodding. 'So I cover up for you. What then?'
'When they can't find anything on her, they'll focus the investigation on where it should be.'
'You mean catching the beast?'
He glanced at the now black windows, towards the darkness beyond. 'Exactly. Catching that bloody thing out there.'
Fifteen
Jon slowed down as he passed the main entrance to Longsight police station. Holy shit, there was a TV crew there. As he tried to spot anything that would indicate whether it was from a local or national station, he saw an arm pointing in his direction. That blonde from the car park at Crime Lake. The photographer with her started turning, a camera going up to his face.
Jon accelerated round the corner, relieved to pull into the staff entrance at the side of the building. Not pausing at his office, he made his way straight up to Summerby's room. Gavin Edwards, the Press Liaison Officer, was inside. He was five foot-six at most and Jon couldn't decide what caused the guy most angst – his lack of height or his rapidly disappearing hair. He'd come from a London newsroom where they evidently thought each day was an episode of 24. If things weren't tense enough, Edwards would manufacture it so they were. Nervously, he peered down at the throng of people on the pavement below.
'Ah, Jon, here at last,' Summerby said with a t
heatrical flick of his eyes towards Edwards.
As if on cue, the other man whirled round. 'This is the big one, Jon. Once it goes out on the wire we can expect interest from across the world.'
That's DI Spicer to twats like you, Jon thought. 'Yeah, sorry for the delay. I was visiting a farm, didn't realise there was no signal there.'
'On the moor where Mrs Sutton was found?' Edwards asked, eyes shining.
Jon could see the connections coming together in the man's head. 'That's right. And yes, the injuries from both victims match and no, I don't believe we have a savage beast out there slaughtering people.'
'But surely... ' Edwards began.
Jon cut him off. 'Boss, what were the results from the PM?' Summerby drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, making a sound like a horse galloping. 'He's typing up as we speak, but he said all his findings concur with his analysis at the scene. Time of death sometime between midnight and four in the morning. Oh, and from the angle of the lacerations on both sides of his face and neck, he believes the attacker was carrying a multi-pronged weapon in each hand.'
An image of a beast standing up on its hind legs and lashing out with both its front paws flashed in Jon's head. 'Did we track down a next of kin?'
'Yes, the body was cleaned up and an ID was made by his brother half an hour ago. Confirmed as one Derek Peterson.' Jon sat down. 'This wild animal theory is going to be a major problem. There's a supposed expert in big cat behaviour helping out at Mossley Brow nick. He's taking it for granted a panther killed Rose Sutton and Derek Peterson. If the press link the two incidents together, interest levels are going to go through the roof. I'd prefer to play down the Peterson killing.' He heard Edwards snort. 'We've got a couple of sensitive leads on Derek Peterson. They link into the gay scene and if the press go steaming in we could lose them.'
'So what do you propose?' Summerby asked.
'Is Peterson's brother still here?'
'Yes, there's a counsellor with him.'
'If we can make sure he's kept away from the press, I can issue a statement that just covers the basics without giving away Peterson's identity.'
'They won't be satisfied with that. You'll have to toss them something,' Edwards butted in.
Jon didn't bother looking at him. 'Maybe if I hint at an imminent development and ask them for a bit of restraint.'
'What sort of imminent development?' Edwards again.
You flying out of this fucking window, Jon thought, finally turning his eyes to the press officer. 'I'll let you know when I think of it,' he replied, praying something would come of Rick's appeal on Swinger's Haven.
Edwards looked incredulous. 'Stories this juicy don't crop up every day. Their editors down in the big smoke will be screaming for something.'
The big smoke, Jon sneered to himself. If you're so in awe of London, why don't you piss off back down there. 'I'm not releasing some half-baked observations that risk blowing this panther thing out of all proportion. We can buy more time if we say the victim hasn't been formally identified. At least that way we can delay conjecture about the two deaths being linked. What do you think, boss?'
'We can get away with saying the next of kin hasn't been located, but only for a while. Just don't forget it's a two-way thing with the press, Jon. They can help as well as hinder.'
'Agreed.' Jon stood up. 'I'll get it over with then.' As he headed back down the stairs he could hear Edwards hurrying to catch him.
'I've set things up in meeting room two. Want me to show them in?'
'OK.' Jon watched the other man as he rushed off towards reception. Jon ducked into the toilets and looked at himself in the mirror. Shit, I look knackered. He massaged the skin below his eyes in the vain hope of removing the dark smudges seemingly ingrained there. Summerby was right, this investiga- tion was going to be conducted under a very bright spotlight. The fluorescent strips glared down at him and he knew how a rabbit must feel. 'Come on, Spicer, you'll be fine,' he murmured, straightening his tie. Remembering the media awareness course he'd recently completed, he reached for a hand towel to wipe the dampness from his forehead, knowing it would look like a layer of grease on the TV screen.
As he walked into the room all noise quickly died away. Edwards had been busy. At the end of the room a collection of screens bearing the logo for Greater Manchester Police had been erected. A lectern stood waiting for him, microphones for several radio stations already clipped to it. Jon walked to the front of the room and tapped them with a finger. 'Can we have these mikes and all tape recorders off, please? Those too,' he said, looking into the video camera lenses that were trained on him.
Satisfied his instructions had been followed, he surveyed the room, trying to impose an air of authority. 'Right, before my official comments, a quick word.' Hands paused on writing pads.
'I know you all, quite literally, scent blood on this one; however, I'm appealing for some leeway here. We'll keep you up to date on everything, but until certain avenues have been followed up we need the details of this morning's killing minimised. I'll explain why as soon as possible. Can I expect your cooperation with this?'
Sideways glances were exchanged.
'Why? Is today's victim special?' an older guy at the back asked.
'It appears he was frequenting places used by homosexual men for casual sex. If this becomes a focal point of your reports we risk losing potential witnesses.'
'And this car park at Crime Lake is one such place?'
'Yes.'
'Surely that will be common knowledge?'
'Only to those on the scene, not to the general public. It will help us if things stay that way. You know how this works – any appeal for witnesses will draw a blank if you're all splashing the fact it's a dogging site. Some restraint then, ladies and gents?'
More glances were exchanged and a ripple of reluctant nods slowly spread across the room. Seizing the opportunity, Jon nodded to a cameraman. 'OK – to proceed with my statement.' He heard a slight crackle as the mikes came back on. Put your hands behind your back, he thought, knowing the stance imparted a more measured appearance. Keeping his head still and eyes trained on a point just above the reporters staring at him, he announced, 'My name is DI Spicer and I work for Greater Manchester Police's Major Incident Team. At seven forty-five this morning, the body of a middle-aged Caucasian man was discovered in a car park by Daisy Nook Country Park. From injuries found on the body, the death is being treated as suspicious at this stage. Until a post mortem has been carried out and a formal identification made, I cannot comment further. Any witnesses are urged to contact the incident room at Longsight police station.'
He took a step to the side, suddenly wishing the exit wasn't at the other end of the room as a clamour of disappointed voices rang out.
'Is it true the victim's torso was severely lacerated?'
'Does this carry the hallmarks of an attack by a wild animal?'
'Are you linking this to the killing of Mrs Sutton up on
Saddleworth Moor?'
Bollocks, thought Jon. He turned to them once again. Holding up both hands, he said, 'As you can understand, I cannot comment further until the victim's family have been informed. However, at this stage we're not linking the death of Mrs Sutton with this morning's incident.'
There was a pause as over a dozen reporters mentally dissected this. None looked convinced.
'OK everyone,' Gavin Edwards said, taking the stage. 'I'll be issuing a press release within the next half hour. Updates will also be available on the voice bank; for those reporters not from Manchester the telephone number will be on my press release.' Jon made it to the door and started hurrying away down the corridor. A woman's voice called out behind him. 'So there'll be no need to visit the moors where Mrs Sutton died?'
Jon recognised the voice. That bloody woman from the Manchester Evening Chronicle. Carmel something. He tried to wave the question away. 'That's correct.'
'So why do you have peat and bits of heather on th
e bottoms of your trousers and shoes? Surely you've been up to Saddleworth Moor already?'
He looked down. Fuck, he'd forgotten his shoes were filthy. He reached for the handle of the nearest door. To his relief it opened on an empty meeting room. 'In here.'
She hurried inside, failing to hide the pleased look on her face. Shutting the door, he turned to her. She was almost a foot smaller than him, but she didn't flinch at his most menacing stare.
'DI Spicer, the Red Tops are sending teams up from London. The Mail 's already here, desperate to find out where today's victim lived so they can start door to doors on his street. Now I know he had injuries to his face and neck, and you've just pretty much confirmed to me that you've been up on to Saddleworth Moor. My news editor expects me to deliver first on this one. It's my patch. I have the local contacts. If a Red Top beats me to the story, my job's on the line. Why shouldn't I go with this information?'
'How did you find out about his injuries?' She shook her head. 'I'm sorry.'
Jon scrutinised her and she kept looking right back. She's got balls, he thought, his respect for her growing. 'If you print those details, I'll see you're barred from every news conference I ever hold.'
He saw her stance soften slightly and he knew she'd picked up on the hollow ring in his voice. 'DI Spicer, if I lose my job, you wouldn't need to bar me from future conferences. What am I supposed to do?'
Jon let his shoulders relax a little too. 'You tell me.'
'How about a deal?'
'Go on.'
'I keep back what I know, you give me an exclusive interview with the family of this morning's victim.'