03-Savage Moon (19 page)

'Why? Shouldn't I be?'

Actually, no. You were in a foul mood last night. And you've kicked our dog out of the house, remember? 'Well, you know

. . . you were upset.'

'Oh that,' she said breezily. 'My hormones again. They go up and down like a bloody yo-yo at the moment.'

Unable to see her face, Jon tried to focus on the intonations in her voice. It sounded like the Alice he knew and loved. But was it an act or had her dark mood really passed? 'So what you said about stuff. Punch for instance... '

'Oh Jon. I know it's not easy, but we can't have him in the house. Sorry.'

Still she sounded so normal. Like they were debating whether to ditch a cheap piece of furniture. 'Ali, I can't leave him at some kennel for strays. We need to talk about this properly.'

'Jon, Holly's crying. I have to go.'

'OK, I'll try and call later.'

'Fine. Speak to you in a bit.'

The line went dead and Jon found himself staring at the mouthpiece of the receiver as if he could find a clue to his wife's behaviour in the arrangement of holes there. He dialled his mum and dad's number.

'Hello?'

Dad. Why did he always sound vaguely surprised at the phone's ability to transmit voices into his ear. 'Morning, Dad. You all right?'

'Yes.'

Jon waited for him to elaborate. Nothing. Christ, the man was awful at speaking on the phone. 'Did you see Salford playing the other day? That Aussie they've brought in looks like he'll be useful.'

'He does. You want your mum?' Jon gave in. 'Yeah, go on then.'

'Mary! It's Jon. He wants a word.'

A bang as the phone was put down on the wooden sideboard. Jon could see his Dad wandering back into the front room where his paper and cup of coffee awaited.

'Hello, Jon. Everything all right?'

'Yeah—'

'Have you seen the morning news? That case you're on is talk of the town.'

Jon shut his eyes. 'I know. Listen, can you pop round ours later? Alice was a bit upset last night.'

'Upset?'

'Over-tired I think. She's probably going a bit stir crazy in the house with just her and the baby. She could do with some company.'

'She should get some fresh air. Take Punch out for a walk.'

'She won't be doing that. She kicked Punch out.'

'Kicked Punch out?'

'She doesn't want him in the house anymore.'

'Why on earth has she decided that?'

'She thinks he's a danger to Holly.'

'Danger to Holly?'

'I know. She reckons Punch is jealous of her.'

'Well, now you mention it, I've heard that before too. Dogs are pack animals, very sensitive to where they lie in order of importance.'

Jesus, not you too, Jon thought. 'Mum, we're talking about

Punch. He's a total softie.'

'True, but you can never really tell what an animal is thinking.'

'Mum, it's not like Alice to be so harsh.'

'She's protecting her baby, Jon. Maternal instinct.'

'She's acting strange more like. Emotional.'

'Has she rung Amanda?'

Amanda. Alice's mum, who had just gone on holiday with her latest boy friend. 'She's in the Canary Islands for the next fortnight, remember?'

'Oh yes. I'll give Alice a call. See if she wants to go out for a coffee or lunch.'

Jon felt the tension in him abate slightly. 'Thanks, Mum, that would be a great help.'

'Where's the dog then?'

'In the back of my car. I didn't know what to do with him. I don't suppose he could stay at yours?'

'Ours? I don't know.'

'Just for a day or two.'

The silence spoke volumes as she searched for a valid reason to say no. He cut in, not wanting to hear what she came up with. 'Don't worry. I'll see if someone else can take him in.'

'Well, if you're sure. I don't want to be awkward... '

His mobile started to ring. 'OK. I've got to go. Speak to you later.' He hung up without waiting for a reply, angered by what he perceived as selfishness on her part.

As soon as he saw Carmel's name on the screen, he took the call. 'You lot ever tell the fucking truth? You can forget—'

'Jon, it wasn't my story. Look at the names on the front page. The news editor coordinated the whole thing. Him and a rich businessman mate who's offering the reward.'

'And who is that?'

'I don't know. Honestly. They've got me on background stuff. You'll find my piece on Alien Big Cat sightings on page three. You realise they've got Peterson's address?'

'Yeah. Nothing to do with you either?' he said, marching towards the side exit.

'Listen. I just wanted you to know that I kept my word.'

'And I don't believe you. The interview's off.' He hung up, taking a small amount of pleasure in cutting her down. The other officers were in the car park waiting for him. 'Right,' he barked. 'Let's get over to Peterson's. By the way, it fucking stinks in his house.' Setting off towards his vehicle, he called over his shoulder. 'I can take one other.'

He opened up his car and Punch scrabbled excitedly to his feet. Jon leaned forward, extending a hand over the seat so his dog could nuzzle eagerly at his palm. 'Hello boy,' he smiled, spirits lifted by the animal's uncomplicated affection.

The other door opened and an officer peered in. 'Sniffer dog, boss?'

'No. My mutt, Punch. He won't bite.' He glanced at his colleague's questioning expression. 'Don't ask.'

The uniform standing at the front door looked concerned when their convoy of unmarked police cars pulled up. His face quickly showed relief when he realised they were fellow officers – a bit of company at last.

Telling Punch to stay put, Jon led the search team up the pathway, keeping his face averted from the press photographer standing on the pavement. Flashing his ID at the officer, he took out Peterson's set of keys, selected the one for the front door and opened it. The same stale smell greeted him. No wonder he had to leave his house to find a shag.

He led the team into the front room, noting that no one was hurrying to take a seat. 'OK. We're looking for documents, letters, anything relating to his time at the Silverdale facility, or his little car park hobby. Keep an eye out for anything linking him to Rose Sutton.' He pointed to two officers. 'Hugh and Paul, start upstairs. Susan, you and me will search in here. Alan and Mark, check the kitchen.'

Pulling on latex gloves, the officers moved off. Jon looked round the room. A unit stood at one end of it, shelves full of books, videos and magazines. By the television was a cabinet topped by an inch-thick layer of letters and junk mail. 'You take the shelves Susan. I'll start over here.'

There must have been several months' worth of post accumulated there, much of it unopened. He searched for signs of the sender, flipping envelopes over and scanning numerous logos and addresses.

Centurion Double Glazing. Capital One credit cards. United Utilities. Scottish Power. BT. The Telegraph Wine Club. Jon frowned, surprised Peterson was interested in wines.

Next was an open letter from the Benefits Agency. Along with details of his disability allowance was a reminder that the lease on his current vehicle was coming to an end. The letter asked that he choose a vehicle from the accompanying list. Jon slid out the piece of paper. Volvos, Toyotas, Renaults. All new. Jesus, he thought of the crappy old Ford he and Alice couldn't afford to replace.

Continuing through the pile, he found an envelope that appeared suspiciously anonymous. A PO Box number in Basingstoke was the only indication of where it had come from.

Knowing that no one could prove who opened it, he took out a penknife and ran the blade under the flap. Inside was a receipt from a mail order chemist. An order of Cialis soft tabs, whatever they were. Jon scanned the panel at the bottom of the document. 'Try our other premium quality drugs for enhancing male sexual performance!'

He replaced the sheet and carried on with his search, aware that he'd found no personal correspondence yet.

'Some interesting choices of home entertainment here, boss.' He glanced at Susan who was crouching in front of the shelf unit. From the way she was holding the DVD case by just a forefinger and thumb, he suspected she hadn't found
The Sound

of Music
.

'Go on then, as if I can't guess.'

'
Chicken Run
.'

'Not the animated film about those cute hens?'

'No. Though there seems to be quite a few cocks in it.' Jon gave a snort. 'Just be glad you're not going through his bedroom.'

'Yeah, I owe you a drink for sparing me that.'

A voice sounded from upstairs. 'Boss? We've got some interesting stuff here on his computer.'

Jon rolled his eyes at Susan then called out, 'Used the internet for keeping up with world news did he?'

'That'll be a no. Come and see.'

Before climbing the stairs Jon looked down the corridor towards the kitchen. 'How's it going in there, lads?'

'Could make a fortune from recycling his empty cans of Asda strong lager,' came the reply.

At the top of the stairs Jon headed for the doorway with the flickering blue light. The two officers were in front of the computer screen. 'I went into the history file, last site he'd been on was a right pervy one.'

'Called Swinger's Haven by any chance?'

The officer looked surprised. 'Yeah. Are you behind the appeal for witnesses posted there?'

'I am.'

'Well, there's been no replies to your posting, but I think he'd visited the forum bit just before. Appears he was checking for meets in the local area.'

Jon leaned forward to read the screen, relieved they hadn't scrolled down to the comments about himself.

'This one here, it says “Likewise. Mr P.” I think that's from him.'

'How come?'

He pointed to the scrap of paper sellotaped to the side of the monitor. 'SH. Username – Mr P, password – 5Burman. That's this address isn't it? 5 Burman Street. SH stands for Swinger's Haven because when I typed that username and password in, it gave me access.'

'Nice one, Paul. OK, unplug it and bag the whole thing up. The IT boys can go through everything properly.'

Jon glanced round the room, eyes lingering for a moment on the double bed. It was covered by a crumpled duvet and he could see a large grease mark on the pillow where Peterson's head had rested.

His mobile phone started to ring, Rick's name showing up on the screen. 'Rick, how's things?'

'Good. Can you talk?'

'Yup, fire away.'

'We've had a hit with the request on Swinger's Haven.'

'Yeah?' Jon paused, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen. 'We're on it at the moment. Doesn't seem to be any replies that I can see.'

'A guy just called me. We gave my telephone number, remember?'

Jon felt a trickle of excitement run down his neck. 'What did he say?'

'He heard the radio reports and thinks the person found yesterday is the same person he was with a few nights ago at Silburn Grove car park.'

'With? What did he mean by that?'

'You really want me to elaborate?'

'No thanks. Can he come to the nick?'

'No, he's not prepared to meet there.'

'Where then?'

'Next to the library is a nursery play area. You know it?'

'By those arches?'

'Yeah, there's some benches that face back at those arches.'

'What time?'

'In an hour.'

'Right, I'll meet you there.'

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.