K-9 (12 page)

Darkus decided to steer off down a side street, before they found their way to Highbury Fields, a tree-lined park in the centre of a residential neighbourhood, where a mix of young and old peppered the grass.

As Darkus and Wilbur crossed the park they encountered a variety of canines: some were finely coiffed lapdogs, others were pit bull terriers bred for violence and street status, following orders from their young masters, who appeared equally aggressive under hooded tops. Darkus remembered a phrase from his earlier canine research: ‘
It travels up and down the lead. If you’re confident, the dog is confident.
’ Darkus straightened up and walked on, undaunted. Wilbur, in turn, appeared unfazed, inspecting the pit bulls with professional disdain. Darkus observed this, feeling inwardly proud, and tried to adopt the same approach with the owners.

Darkus found a secluded area of grass and let Wilbur off the lead. He took the Kong toy and threw it as far as he could. Wilbur galloped after it excitedly, before turning back with the toy in his mouth, wagging his tail in a frenzy. Wilbur ran back and delivered the Kong into Darkus’s gloved hands, then jumped up and rested his paws on his master’s chest gratefully.

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Darkus, laughing.

For a moment, they were just an ordinary boy and an ordinary dog.

Wilbur hopped down and rolled on the grass, wriggling and scratching his back, then flopping over and playing dead.

‘You’re a terrible actor,’ said Darkus, smiling. ‘Here . . .’

He prepared to throw the toy again, until Wilbur sat up and began barking at something behind him, with a curious mixture of apprehension and excitement.

Before Darkus could turn around, a voice answered, ‘It’s OK, Wilbur.’

Wilbur sat down obediently. Then another voice followed it:

‘Sorry tae interrupt ye tway’s playtime . . .’

Darkus turned to see the corduroy-clad bulk of Uncle Bill limping across the park towards them. He was accompanied by Captain Reed from the rescue centre, wearing grey army fatigues and a raincoat.

Darkus instinctively went to stand by Wilbur’s side.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Reed, ‘we’re not here to take him away.’

Wilbur bounded towards the captain’s side, greeting his former master.

‘Quite the opposite as it happens,’ added Bill, removing his homburg hat and shifting from his bad leg to his good one. ‘Ah convinced the docs tae let me return tae work. Just packed Dougal aff tae his forsaken lighthouse.’

‘How did you find us?’ demanded Darkus.

‘Bogna told us ye were oot for a walkie. The rest was deduction. Simples,’ he said with a smile.

Darkus noticed Uncle Bill’s Ford saloon parked off at the edge of the grass.

‘That still doesn’t explain what you want with us . . . Here, boy,’ Darkus instructed Wilbur, who obediently returned to him and sat.

‘He’s coming along well,’ said Reed.

‘What can I do for you gentlemen?’ asked Darkus.

Bill looked at Reed for a moment, then back to Darkus.

‘We have a wee problem that I think ye Knightleys might be able tae assist us with,’ Bill began.

‘Dad’s had another episode,’ said Darkus defensively.

‘Ah’m aware of that, Doc.’

‘And I suppose it’s just coincidence that you’re here making your proposal in his absence? So he can’t object? Just like on the last case.’

Bill shrugged, impressed with the boy’s guile. ‘This is of vital importance tae the department – any one of their lives could be in danger at the next full moon,’ he warned grimly.

‘Dad was right,’ said Darkus. ‘There
is
something on the Heath. I’m not prepared to say that it’s supernatural, but it’s definitely . . .’ he paused, looked for the right word, ‘highly antisocial.’

‘We have more tae worry aboot than missing pets, Doc. London appears tae be crawling with strange canines, and they’re hunting down
mah
men. I’ve had tway of them watching mah hoose.’

‘Me too,’ replied Darkus.

‘I will nae say
what
they are, but they’re crafty as hell. They’re fast, they move too quick tae follow and they rarely leave any evidence behind. If they dae, it’s left as a sign, as if tae say, “We know where ye live.” However, with the right support, we believe ye and Wilbur here might be able tae help us find oot where they live, what they want, and who their keeper is. Before the next full moon of course. That’s in less than seventy-tway hours.’

Darkus thought it over.

‘We had a verra successful collaboration on the last case, ye must admit,’ Bill pleaded.

‘Help you how?’ said Darkus.

Bill rummaged in his voluminous overcoat before pulling out a plastic evidence bag containing a small fragment of torn corduroy.

‘This wee bit of trooser belonged tae one of the intended victims. Tae
me
, as a matter of fact. It’s coated in dried dog’s saliva. Disgusting,’ he explained. ‘They recovered it on the Millennium Bridge after mah wee high dive. It’s been kept tightly sealed since then, so the scent does nae escape.’ He waggled the evidence bag in the air before them. ‘I believe with the right nose on the job, this may lead us tae the perpetrator.’

‘You expect us to follow
that
, across the whole of London, maybe beyond?’

Captain Reed flipped up the collar of his raincoat and chimed in, ‘Wilbur here was attached to the bomb squad and special operations. He has a very unique set of skills. When we can’t detect things, and machines can’t detect things, we have to rely on a superior sense.’ Reed nodded towards Wilbur. ‘When it comes to counterterrorism, the K-9s are our last line of defence.’

Darkus looked down at his dog, confused.

‘Wilbur,’ Reed almost barked. ‘Find the gun,’ he instructed.

Darkus stood back as Wilbur reared up on two legs and appeared to paw at Uncle Bill’s overcoat.

‘Ho ye!’ Bill exclaimed, chuckling as Wilbur nuzzled into his armpit and pulled out a small snub-nosed revolver.

Wilbur then sat down and dropped the gun on the grass.

‘Good boy,’ said the captain in clipped tones.

‘Well, that was a tad overfamiliar,’ said Bill, straightening his clothes, embarrassed. ‘May ah pick up the mahaska?’ Bill asked Reed. ‘Mah piece?’ he implored.

‘Give,’ ordered Reed, then Wilbur retrieved the gun and dropped it in the captain’s hand. Reed balanced it in his palm before passing it back to Bill. ‘Odd weight for a .38.’

‘Aye, that’s because she’s loaded wi’ silver bullets,’ replied Bill, matter-of-factly. ‘Ah’m nae taking onie chances.’

Darkus raised his eyebrows.

Reed continued. ‘Wilbur can detect gun oil at several hundred metres, among many other danger signs.’

Darkus watched Wilbur anxiously. ‘I still don’t see how he could possibly trace a scent across an entire city.’

‘We’ve scoured the CCTV cameras at the scene of the crimes,’ Bill went on. ‘The dogs are always alone, with nae owner in sight. They always return tae the north side of the river. By comparing the footage of the dogs we’ve narrowed down their last known where­aboots tae a one-square-mile radius aroond Victoria Train Station. We believe that’s enough to give ye and Wilbur a fighting chance of finding their HQ.’

Darkus thought it over, suddenly wishing for an ordinary life, and an ordinary walk with his ordinary dog.

‘Why Wilbur? Why me?’

‘He’s got the snout, ye’ve got the brain. The Knightley brain. With the Knowledge on board too. That’s a dynamite combo.’

Darkus didn’t look convinced.

‘A’right, Darkus, it’s like this,’ Bill went on. ‘If they see me or Cap’n Reed, the game’s up . . . Besides,’ he confessed guiltily, ‘nae one suspects a child.’

‘What if they already suspect me? They’ve been to Wolseley Close.’

Bill pouted and shifted on his feet.

‘What you mean is,’ Darkus concluded, ‘I’m deniable.’

‘There’s nae denying it. Nae.’

As usual, Darkus didn’t really understand what the Scotsman was saying – and he got the impression Bill liked it that way.

Fortunately for Bill, Darkus had the bit between his teeth and wasn’t about to let go.

‘With the right support,’ granted Darkus, ‘we may be of assistance.’

‘I cannae guarantee a surveillance drone or an armoured battalion, Doc. The department is facing greater austerity measures than ever. Even my meal allowance is in jeopardy. But ye have mah word I shall oversee the operation personally.’

Darkus considered his position. Nothing about the operation sounded appealing, other than to see what Wilbur was really capable of, and to prove once again to his father that he was a worthy business partner – and maybe, just maybe, to get to the bottom of what had put his dad back in a trance. Besides, as long as the ‘smart’ dogs were watching them, they’d never be truly safe.

The question was, were Darkus and Wilbur ‘smart’ enough to catch them?

Chapter 11

The Hunt

Less than an hour later, Darkus watched London through the window of the Ford saloon, finding himself compressed in the back seat with Uncle Bill on one side and Wilbur on the other. Reed sat up front next to the driver, who Darkus recognised from their last assignment. Wilbur’s window was cracked open for him to sniff the air, his jowls leaving a residue of slobber on the glass.

Before departing, Darkus had assembled his customary tools of the trade: his phone, fingerprint kit and a jeweller’s loupe (a small cylindrical lens which served as a miniature magnifying glass). Bogna had assured him that his father would be well taken care of in the usual way, and sent Darkus and Wilbur off with a packed lunch – although Darkus was unsure which sandwiches were for him and which were for the dog. As the catas­trophiser hummed insistently at the back of his head, he was reminded that there was still one critical element missing. And that was his stepsister, Tilly.

She would bring that X-factor that Darkus couldn’t provide: her knowledge of the street, of emotions and human behaviour, which could not be learned in books no matter how many hours one spent reading. While Darkus was confident in his encyclopaedic knowledge of detective work, Tilly had an encyclopaedic knowledge of what makes people tick: the fine strings that make up someone’s personality and how to tug on the right one, to play them like a harp. Darkus suspected he would never understand people the way he understood cases.

Darkus stared at his phone keypad. Should he call her again? She’d already mentioned she wasn’t at home – that meant both of them were on the loose at the same time. In due course this would attract unwanted attention from Clive, the school authorities, or maybe even social services.

What was she doing anyway? Perhaps she was more preoccupied with the mysterious hoodie on the motor scooter who’d courted her in the early hours outside Wolseley Close? Darkus reminded himself that Tilly was still a wild card and could not be relied upon as an operational certainty. Yes, she had helped him recover his father on the last case, but not before risking life and limb in her own dogged pursuit of the Combination. She had her own agenda and it was jaded by tragedy: to track down those members of the Combination who were responsible for her mother’s death. If Darkus’s mission deviated from that agenda, he could
not
count on Tilly to be there in a crisis – or even to pick up the phone. And if he was honest with himself, Darkus couldn’t blame her. She was more alone than he had ever been. She was damaged, badly – but Darkus hoped not beyond repair.

Darkus put his phone back in his pocket and familiarised himself with his surroundings. The saloon pulled out of the plodding traffic and parked illegally by the kerb of Terminus Place, opposite the main entrance to Victoria Train Station. Uncle Bill strained to open the car door and hoisted himself out.

‘Follaw me,’ he bellowed.

Bill led Darkus, Wilbur and Captain Reed away from the Ford saloon as it briskly accelerated back into traffic. Darkus looked up at the once grand fa
ç
ade of Victoria Station, which was now encroached upon by the road barriers of London’s busiest bus terminal. A large clock occupied the centre of the station’s frontage, keeping time as legions of travellers hurried beneath it.

Bill led them through the bustle of people and queuing red buses to a white Transit van parked strategically across from the station entrance. The van had a ladder strapped to its roof and a builder behind the wheel with his feet on the dashboard, reading a tabloid newspaper. Darkus recognised the set-up from his last assignment: that particular operation had resulted in an attempted assault, a frenzied foot chase and the prime suspect being flattened by a bus. Hopefully this time round the going would be easier – although Darkus wasn’t convinced it would be and the catastrophiser was skittering in the background, making all the wrong noises.

Captain Reed climbed into the centre seat beside the driver, then instructed Wilbur to jump up next to him. Reed closed the door and wound down the window, then Bill passed him the evidence bag containing the torn piece of corduroy. The captain whispered something in Wilbur’s ear, then opened up the plastic to deliver the scent. Wilbur poked his snout right inside the bag, burrowing around, as if hunting for an invisible snack. He drew in the smell and allowed the molecules to be processed by the two hundred and twenty million nerve endings that make up the canine nose – as opposed to the mere five million in the human one.