Moondog and the Reed Leopard

by Neil Mach

  ‘What did you do?’

  She held in her stomach, ‘You are so nice to me. So friendly. You are helpful and thoughtful. I think… Well, in return, I am, you know, mean and stupid. I’ve acted like an empty-headed louse...’

  Moondog wrinkled his nose and gazed at her forehead, then leaned his body into hers, ‘Come on Hopie, what is it? Out with it. What did you do?’

  ‘I stole your fingerprints.’

  ‘How? Why? When?’

  ‘I took the glass you used in Miss Stook’s Teahouse. I took the glass into work so that prints could be lifted from the edges by forensics people. Now you will think I’m one of those unscrupulous cheaters you hate.’

  ‘Is that why you are worrying?

  ‘I feel terrible, really bad... I’m so sorry, so sorry. It is unforgivable, isn’t it?’

  Moondog took her by the elbow and made sensitive hush-hush noises. She realized her eyes had gone dewy. She felt too nervous to look at him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t mean a thing...’

  ‘But?’

  He kissed her hair, just above the ear, and began to whisper, ‘It’s fine, perfectly fine. Wipe your eyes, drink your tea, and we’ll get ready to go, yeah?’ She nodded.

  *

  Moondog arranged for a minicab to collect them outside the Holiday Inn and take them to the police station in Hugh-Lupus.

  Once they were dressed in their smart outdoor coats, he shut-up the trailer again and Hopie marveled at how the sleek, modern, mobile-home was automatically transformed back into a plain, unpleasant box.

  As Moondog left the site he checked the static cameras, left on the camp’s approaches, and looked over his Hummer to make sure it looked still in one piece.

  *

  At the police station, Moondog opened the door of the cab to allow Hopie to step out, and she held his arm to balance herself. Then she moved to give him an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek, but he motioned towards the car door, and held her by the shoulder instead.

  ‘Best of luck, he said. ‘If you need me, call. If I can’t come to the phone right away, leave a voice message. Otherwise, unless something extraordinary happens, I’ll be back here in the cab for five. Are you okay?’

  She bounced on her toes, ready for a proper farewell smooch, but Moondog dodged her lips, like the fighter he was, and dipped down low to give the driver a tip.

  Hopie tootled to her office at the County police station, a little hesitant, and with a hollow expression on her face.

  Moondog watched from the opposite side of the road, and when he was sure that Hopie was safely inside the building, he inclined over to speak to a red-haired, violet-faced vagrant, who had hidden on a pile of rags upon a sheet of soggy cardboard, and who sat directly opposite the cop-shop. It appeared as if he’d sat there all night. Moondog passed the dosser a twenty-pound note and chatted with him for a moment before he left him and ambled towards the lower end of Mountsorrel Lane, a quarter of a mile away.

  Here, at this new location, Moondog concealed himself, ducked by a wall, and removed his mobile phone. He found Tibby Fromstein’s avatar from his directory; the production assistant had been saved with the image of a mother goose.

  ‘Hi, what have you got for me?’ he asked.

  Tibby Fromstein chewed on something crispy, probably toast, because she had to clear her throat to speak, ‘The kids attacked at Groby Pool have retracted earlier statements. They withdrew allegations of crime, and now it’s not even logged as an official police incident...’

  ‘That’s curious. Even though they got themselves clawed by an unexplained beast. They must have doubts about their recollections...’

  ‘Either that or someone got to them. Perhaps a parent persuaded them to drop the allegations so they could get back to their life.’

  ‘I’m outside Kelly Locke’s place right now...’

  ‘Good place to start. But I warn you, she might be untalkative. Especially if someone has got to her.’

  ‘Worth a try, though.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yeah, I sent a picture over to you of an Asian man I’m trying to identify. He’s been hanging around a site I’m currently watching. He’s from out of town but connected through the wildlife chap named Calcedon. Would you send the photo to our partners in P.A.W.S. to see if they recognize the face? And also, the R.S.P.B. special investigations people...’

  ‘No problem. Oh, by the way, Rowley Goldwrath says the most recent images you sent from Groby pool are no good for the show. He says you filmed a group of roe deer ...’

  ‘Really? That’s how useless he is. Shows what he understands. I told you he was a know-nothing, didn’t I? Do you have the picture with you?’

  ‘Hold on, I have to open my laptop. I’m eating breakfast, so I have my hands full. Yes, grabbing it. What am I seeing?’

  ‘See the last deer in the line; the one that’s not drinking.’

  ‘Yes, I see it...’

  ‘What’s directly behind that animal?’

  There was a distinct silence the other end of the line. As if Tibby gasped. ‘Holy crud. Is that what I think it is?’

  ‘I need to do more work, obviously. But as you can see, it’s getting quite interesting...’

  ‘All sins forgiven young man. And that visual will keep the producers happy. Well done.’

  *

  After ringing off, Moondog moved to a grit-bin by a dead-tree and came across a clump of blankets and shopping-bags. The pile of street rubbish concealed another dosser. This one had a long beard and dodgy looking, peeling skin. Moondog exchanged words with the man and gave him twenty. Then he took a position opposite the man, on the other side of the street, close to the entrance of Ellen House, where he could wait and watch for the dosser’s signal.

  After twenty minutes, a respectable thirty-something female emerged from the building. Moondog managed a fleeting glance at her wavy brown hair, cute dimples, and strong eyebrows before she marched his way. Her elegant bag had been pushed over an arm, as she jingled with a set of Audi keys in finely manicured fingers.

  Moondog recognised the signal from across the way — he saw the dosser flap a newspaper — so, with that, he turned and literally bumped into the female.

  ‘Oh, my. I’m sorry. Pardon me. I’m in a right pickle...’ Moondog said. He studied a flashy TAG Heuer wristwatch. ‘My driver hasn’t arrived, but I have to get to a meeting at Butter Cross. That’s in Iveshead, do you know it? Is there a bus service I can take?’

  ‘Er?’ the woman tilted her head to one side to evaluate the stranger without making eye contact. She scanned him from neck to toe. He wore Valentino branded trainers, a pair of True Religion red-denim jeans and a Givenchy quilted jacket. He did not look like the kind of person who would ever use the bus; she knew this when she saw his two-thousand-dollar watch. ‘I don’t know...’ she said, as she drew herself ever-so-slightly from him, to tug the hem of her jacket.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll ask someone else. Please, I apologise if I’ve been a nuisance ...’

  ‘Fine —’ she said. And Moondog knew that in that crazy split second, that he could seal the deal. He gave her the sweetest smile he could conjure. His frothy hair stayed still, thanks to the white woolen Moncler hat designed, though he’d permitted a few curls to drop down from the edges. He’d taken his nose-ring out earlier and replaced it with a handcrafted, bejeweled stud. He knew that what the girl perceived when she had said Fine, was a glittering image of diamonds and bubbles, followed by a glint ultramarine, luminescent eyes. ‘I work near there...’ she gushed. ‘I’m going right now. May I offer you a lift?’

  ‘That’s great...’ he replied. But he didn’t want to sound too eager, so he left a posturing pause before adding, ‘Of course, only if it doesn’t put you out.’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s no bother. I’m on my way anyway. I’m just going to get my car. It’s parked off-street, in a garage. Do you want to come?’

  ‘You sure
it’s no bother?’

  ‘None at all, it’s fine.’

  Kelly Locke

  As they drove out of a private parking bay, Moondog noticed Kelly’s fragrance. ‘Is that Black Orchid by Tom Ford?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, presenting a row of white teeth. ‘You know your perfumes.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What business are you in?’ she asked. She frowned at the accumulation of traffic.

  ‘I’m in plant and machinery,’ Moondog told her, checking the time on his TAG. ‘Sales and acquisitions. I’m going to a meeting at Iveshead, to meet an accountant, is it far away? ‘

  She shook her head.

  ‘You don’t work at the accountant’s office at the Butter Cross, do you? Now that would be a coincidence...’ he asked.

  ‘No, I work in a search and selection agency,’ she explained, got clear of a road-sweeping vehicle and took her Audi into fifth gear. ‘It’s nearby. We do work for the Fulfilment Centre at Belvoir.’

  ‘I don’t know what that is...’

  ‘Oh? You’re not from round here?’

  ‘I’m from Kent. Do you know it? The Garden of England...’

  ‘I have never got down that far. It sounds nice.’

  ‘It is. So, what’s this Centre at Belvoir?’

  ‘It’s one of those gigantic internet warehouses. Our local one at Belvoir is one of the biggest. They are the principal employers round here now all the industry and commerce has dried up.’

  Moondog allowed a healthy long pause before he spoke again: ‘Pets, huh? Little pests aren’t they, right?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Pets? Do you have a new kitten?’

  She raised an eyebrow then shrugged. She chose not to answer the question. But Moondog watched her expression when she took a sneaky look at her own hands and wrists. They were spoiled by a network of nasty wounds and slashes.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude...’ Moondog went on. ‘I had no right to ask about your scratches.’ Moondog gazed out of the passenger window and made a crooked expression with his lips that suggested they’d be sealed for the remainder of the journey. He pushed his shoulders back to make himself seem rigid and stubborn.

  After a minute she couldn’t stand the silence, and said, ‘It’s not your fault. It’s me; I'm silly. You’re not from around, here are you? Why would you know?’

  He gave a disdainful shrug but didn’t bother to turn his chin to alter his view from the window.

  ‘It’s been in the newspapers...’ she went on, after the silence. ‘Me and my boyfriend. I was attacked at a natural beauty spot. That’s how I got the cuts…’

  Now he turned. Moondog gasped, his mouth fell open, and he said, ‘That’s dreadful. He did this to you? Your boyfriend did this? That’s vile.’

  ‘Not my boyfriend, he didn’t do it. We were both harmed…’

  ‘What kind of twisted sicko would do such a thing? And this happened in Iveshead? I must be more careful around these parts... It’s not like this in Kent. Have they caught the bastard who did it yet? Is he locked-up in jail? Is this a risky area? This is outrageous.’

  ‘Um, the thing is —’

  ‘Is your boyfriend okay? Oh God, please tell me he’s okay. This is dreadful.’

  ‘He has the same injuries as me. He’s okay.’

  ‘Cuts? Did the nutter use a knife? Did this violent offender use a blade? Is he a terrorist? This is awful.’

  Moondog became aware they had arrived on the outskirts of Iveshead. The speed limit reduced to thirty and they passed a sign for the village. Luckily, a set of temporary traffic lights held them up a little while longer.

  ‘It wasn’t a man,’ she told him. She looked over at Moondog. ‘It wasn’t a man who attacked us...’

  Moondog narrowed his eyes, ‘A woman?’ He inspected her hands as she turned the steering wheel to ready the car around the lights when they turned to green. ‘I see, yes. A woman would make scratch marks with her long nails. What kind of vicious female assaulted you? Why couldn’t your boyfriend fight her off? Was she superhuman? This is alarming.’

  ‘It wasn’t a woman either. It was something else.’

  Moondog rubbed his hands and dropped his jaw. But did not say another word.

  ‘It’s in the newspapers; you can look it up. An animal did it. We think a —’

  ‘An animal?’ he blurted. ‘An animal did that to you? An animal climbed into your car. Couldn't your boyfriend fight it off? This is unspeakable. What was it? A badger? A crazed fox?’

  ‘Actually, we were both out of the car; we were lying on our picnic blankets at a beauty spot. While we were eating our snacks, an animal came out of the darkness and attacked us.’

  ‘Out of the darkness? This happened in the dark. Why were you eating snacks in the dark? Was the creature a bat? Was it a rat? I heard rats would do this if cornered. Did you corner the rodent? Why didn’t you run back to your car? This is ghastly.’

  ‘We did not have time to run, the thing came at us fast... And it wasn’t a rat.’

  ‘What type of animal was it then? What type of animal is active at night?’ He made a clutch of um and ah sounds then said, ‘It must have been a badger. They have massive claws. They would certainly inflict damage. Even so, you must have annoyed the thing.’

  ‘It wasn’t a badger...’

  ‘What could it have been?’

  ‘We don’t know. Look, we’re here. And I don’t want to go into it right now. There’s the Butter Cross you wanted. And that’s where I work.’ She pointed to an upstairs room, above a nail-bar, but he couldn’t wrench his eyes from the deep grooves and gashes that run the length of her arms.

  ‘Do you want to meet for lunch?’ he asked as he unfastened his seat belt.

  ‘I don’t think so...’ she said. She’d had enough questions from him.

  ‘Well, here’s my card if you change your mind.’ Moondog said as he jumped from the car and passed a stiff black plastic business card.

  She took it with a nod.

  *

  ‘I booked you into the Holiday Inn.’ These were Moondog’s first words when Hopie climbed into the back seat of her mini cab, outside the County police station, at five past five.

  ‘Why? Why did you do that? Why can’t I stay in your trailer?’

  ‘You can if you want, Hopie. That’s not a problem. Though, not tonight I’m afraid…’

  ‘Why?’ Hopie made a squishy-faced frown and tugged her hair. ‘Is it because I made a fool of myself? Is it because I got squiffy last night? It is, isn’t it? Tell me…’

  ‘No, not at all. You didn’t make a fool of yourself last night. I already told you that —’

  ‘Then, why?’

  ‘I’ll be back late. Maybe not back due till dawn. And two things concern me...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I do not like to leave you alone in the trailer, and...’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘And you’ll probably dig into my cocktail cabinet and drink me out of booze, you reprobate...’

  ‘Rotter,’ Hopie gave Moondog a playful thump, then allowed her thighs to touch his, as she stretched her limbs long and wide, with all the confidence of a courtesan. ‘I’m fine alone in the caravan…’ she whispered. ‘I will behave, I promise you. Won’t you let me stay in your trailer, please?’ She raised her eyebrows and smiled. ‘Please, please?’

  ‘The Holiday Inn is fantastic. You’ll love it,’ he told her. ‘Think of your stay as a premium package, a demonstration of my fondness for you. I want to overindulge you, isn’t that nice?’

  ‘I suppose so, but —’

  ‘Relax in the spa, get yourself a treatment, and swim in the pool after a sauna. You will love it. I got you this…’

  He handed a gift-wrapped box that he’d bought from one of those sophisticated, rarely visited, boutiques in town. She pulled the ribbons and sneaked a look inside by lifting a corner of the lid. There, under tissue paper, she saw
a bikini.

  ‘That’s a nice thought… I’ll need it for the pool…’

  ‘I hope it’s your size. I’m sure it is…’

  ‘But I want to go with you. I want to do more detective work.’

  ‘You won’t like it.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because I do.’

  ‘It seems that this thing is settled in your mind.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  She loved the way he could be so persuasive and masterful. It gave her a buzz. A tingling set of impulses that lashed through her nerve endings and energized her fibers. She licked her top lip in eagerness. ‘When you get back to the hotel in the morning, will you come to see my new bikini? Then jump in to keep me warm?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  She rubbed her knee against his long leg with unbridled enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Moondog looked out of the side window.

  After a while, she spoke again. ‘What was Kelly Locke like? Was she pretty? Did you ask her out on a date? Will you take her out on a midnight picnic?’

  ‘I think she’s had enough of nocturnal picnics. And anyway, don’t get jealous, I did ask her out, but she flat refused. Green doesn’t suit you…’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Anyway, I discovered she was not really attacked by a cat.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Cat scratches are made in parallel marks of twos and fours. Cats leave razor-sharp red scars that heal quickly. I noticed her scars were random bars, horizontal and vertical, and some were so deeper than others, so they won’t heal for days. None of the cuts aligned. I can confidently say they were not produced by cat claws...’

  ‘What were they then?’

  ‘Made by a human. My best suspicion is she did it herself... It’s a dose of self-harm.’

  ‘Why would she claim she got attacked by a giant cat then?’

  ‘People self-harm when they deal with emotional pain, often to punish themselves or relieve built-up tension. I believe the couple didn’t go to Groby Pool for a picnic and a cuddle. Instead, I am willing to bet they went there to do something else, something they knew might be tense and nerve-wracking. But they couldn’t go through with it, whatever it was, so they ended up harming themselves as a substitute...’