High Moor by Graeme Reynolds Read Free Book Online Page B

of a tree house high in its branches.
    Steven tried to take in the detail of the scene, but found his eyes skipping away from the tree.
    This is ridiculous. I’m a trained police officer. There’s nothing here that I haven’t seen before a hundred times .
    He forced himself to focus and discovered that he was wrong.
    Red tendrils hung from the branches of the oak. At first Steven thought he was looking at paper party decorations, until he realised that they were intestines. Blood oozed through the gaps in the wooden boards of the tree house and formed large dark red drops that spattered on the forest floor with sickening regularity like some form of perverse metronome.
    He followed the path of the ropes that led from the tree house to the adjacent pine and saw the wounds in the tree where something had climbed up it. The scars oozed sap as if the tree was weeping for the dead boy. He started to get a picture of what had occurred here, and it didn’t make a lot of sense.
    One of the white-coated forensics officers held up a severed arm with a blood stained chisel clutched in its pale white hand. “Boss, I’ve found the other one.” Then he placed it in a clear plastic bag.
    Steven grabbed Matt’s arm and guided him towards the officer and his grisly trophy. “Take a look, Matt. Is it the same as the sheep?”
    The old man's face was white with shock. “Yes. Definitely canine, not feline. Same sort of bite diameter. I'd say this boy was killed by the same animal that killed those sheep.”
    Steven grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around so that they were face to face. “So, Matt, you tell me. How many fucking dogs do you know of that can climb a forty-foot tree?”
    The old man looked unsteady on his feet. He leaned against a tree for support and took several long deep breaths, then he pushed his way past Steven and moved towards the gore-covered oak.
    He circled the tree, making deliberate, careful steps as he widened his search radius, eyes fixed on the soft, bloodstained ground. After a few moments, he stopped and crouched to examine something.
    “Jesus, oh dear Jesus…” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
    Steven could see the old man trembling from where he stood. His face had become ashen, and his hands shook as he retrieved a cigarette from his pack and took a long deep drag on it.
    “Matt? What’s the matter?”
    “Over here. You need to see this.”
    Steven cursed and tried to pick his way through the blood-soaked bracken to where the old hunter stood. By the time he reached him, he could feel the cold, sticky wetness soaking through his trousers. He tried not to think about it and focused on Matt instead. “So? What have you found?”
    Matt gestured to the ground. Steven saw two large prints, just visible through the foliage. The prints were around two feet apart, and each was a foot long. Steven could make out impressions at the front of the prints, where claws had dug deep into the earth, and a rounded mark from the heels.
    “This is where it jumped down from the tree,” said Matt.
    “What the hell? Those prints look more like a human footprint than anything else. Do you have any idea what could have made tracks like that?”
    The old man shook his head. “I can’t help you, lad. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
    “Do you know what kind of animal did this, Matt? I need your help here because I don’t have the slightest idea of what the hell is going on.”
    “I can’t, Steven. That’s all there is too it. Consider me off the case and unavailable for any consultation. In fact, I’m taking the wife and the grandkids, and I’m going on holiday. Today.”
    “What the fuck, Matt. Don’t leave me hung out to dry like this. I’ve got a fucking puma stalking the area, which may or may not just have killed a child, and I have no-one else I can turn to for help tracking the fucking thing down and put a bullet in it.”
    Matt turned and walked away from the tree. Steven