K-9 (16 page)

‘You see, they’re very good dogs,’ King said proudly, then turned to address the canines. ‘Eat
slowly
. It’ll be more enjoyable . . .’

Darkus felt his bowels loosen and a chill run down his spine. He looked wide-eyed at Tilly, who looked as alarmed as he did. King raised his hand to give the command to eat – then stopped.

The six Rottweilers had all sat down on the spot and were staring in the direction of the window. King followed their gaze. Outside a single siren could be heard approaching the building, casting a blue light across the chamber. It was followed by a second siren and a third. A murmur travelled through the assembly.

King barked orders quickly. ‘Dogs, heel!’ The Rottweilers raced to his side and sat in formation. He pointed to Darkus and Wilbur, then turned to the hoodies. ‘Get ’em out of here! Form a perimeter.’

A pair of lift doors slid open at the end of the room. Darkus and Wilbur were grabbed and manhandled into a waiting lift car, flanked by hoodies. Wilbur barked at their assailants until Darkus brought him to heel.

‘Not yet, boy, we’re outnumbered.’

The lift descended smoothly with the hoodies jostling each other for position. Darkus found Tilly pressed in next to him, with Doyle beside her.

‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ Doyle muttered. ‘You’re not one of us, you’re one of them.’

‘He’s right,’ added Tilly, as she quietly slipped Doyle’s phone back into his hoodie pocket without him seeing.

‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ Darkus responded.

‘Today you live,’ warned Doyle. ‘But tomorrow you’ll pay.’

The lift doors opened on to the entrance hall, revealing a row of police cars waiting in the driveway with Uncle Bill in the centre.

Doyle tightened the drawstrings of his hoodie to obscure his face, then shoved Darkus out towards the waiting police presence.

Both Darkus and Doyle turned to look for Tilly, but she’d vanished.

The hoodies formed a protective vanguard around the entrance as Uncle Bill approached, taking the cigar from his mouth and tossing it to the tarmac, stubbing it out with his orthopaedic loafer for effect.

‘A’right, huiddies.’ His words had no effect. ‘Move along, ye hear?’

The youths didn’t move an inch. The rest of the police officers appeared too afraid to intervene. Darkus approached the line of cars.

‘Ye a’right, Darkus?’ said Bill with concern.

Darkus nodded. ‘Just about.’

‘I smell coffee,’ said Bill, intrigued. ‘D’ye think it’s for us?’ His face brightened. ‘D’ye think they’ll have biscuits?’

‘They’re using it to disguise their scent,’ Darkus replied flatly.

‘Ay course, I knew tha’, I knew tha’,’ blustered Bill.

‘The real villain is inside,’ explained Darkus. ‘Wait here, boy,’ he told Wilbur, who obediently went to Captain Reed’s side.

‘Lead on,’ said Bill, then addressed the hoodies. ‘Come on, break it up, break it up –’

Bill forced his way through the centre of the line-up, stepping on toes and scuffing trainers. Darkus followed in his wake, the way a car might follow the path of a snowplough.

Darkus walked ahead to the lift and stabbed the call button. The polished steel doors opened again and they stepped inside. Darkus pressed the button for the top floor.

Moments later, they were walking along the communal balcony towards the red door at the end of the row. The various residents looked up from their kitchen counters as Uncle Bill doffed his hat and flashed his badge at each in turn. Bill arrived at the red door, rapped on it and reached for the handle.

‘Be careful –’ warned Darkus, getting there first.

He knelt down low and nudged it open – then fell back as a miniature schnauzer raced to the door and began yapping furiously.

‘Shut up!’ an elderly man’s voice yelled at the dog. Footsteps followed it to the door, which was pulled open to reveal a seventy-year-old man in a bathrobe and slippers. ‘Can I help you?’

Darkus got to his feet, puzzled.

‘Ye sure this is the right one?’ Bill asked him. Darkus nodded. ‘We have a warrant,’ Bill went on, trying to uncrumple a piece of paper.

‘Be my guest,’ said the old man and ushered them in.

Darkus walked straight to the left-hand door and opened it, expecting to find the set of stairs descending into the chamber – but instead he found an elderly lady, with her feet on an ottoman, watching TV. Darkus ran his hand along the walls, which were adorned with ageing paintings and built in cupboards. He tapped on each one but the construction felt solid. There was no sign of any secret chamber whatsoever.

Darkus examined the faces of the elderly couple, but they were either completely unaware, vaguely senile, or professional actors. Concluding that any one of these theories was equally plausible, but equally impossible to prove, Darkus realised he’d been outplayed.

He turned to Bill. ‘I was held hostage by the crime boss, Barabas King . . . right here in this room. In a chamber below this room to be precise.’

Uncle Bill fumbled for his walkie-talkie. ‘A’right all units, search the entire building.’

‘He’ll be long gone by now,’ said Darkus, perplexed.

‘Well, whadd’ye suggest we dae?’ enquired Bill.

‘I don’t know,’ Darkus replied frankly. ‘But King’s out for blood and we’ve only got two days until the next full moon.’

Brendan Doyle watched Darkus and the police officers return to their cars empty-handed. The rest of the hoodies disbanded and walked into the darkness or re-entered the building. The motorcade of cars exited the estate and the streets cleared out. Brendan found himself all alone as he walked across the recreation area to his waiting motor scooter. He picked up the black carbon helmet with the devil’s horns on either side of the visor, fished for his keys and turned the ignition.

He climbed aboard and gunned the engine, which sputtered and whined. He folded the kickstand and pushed away, cruising around the playground and towards the exit.

Then he applied the brakes, finding that a metal gate had been lowered to block his path. He shrugged, turned the wheel and motored across to the other side, then came to a halt, finding the same thing.

‘What the – ?’

He turned the wheel and did a U-turn to find the two hoodies from Victoria Station standing before him, flanked by the two Rottweilers.

‘You called the 5-0,’ the first hoodie said.

‘What?! Who?’ Doyle asked, genuinely confused.

The dogs’ eyes shone and glittered in the night.

‘The police, the Special Branch,’ the second hoodie said. ‘You called ’em.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Doyle shouted.

‘Then
someone
used
your
phone.’

‘That’s impossi–’ He pulled out his phone to check his recent calls, then saw an unfamiliar number and did a double take. ‘There must be a mistake.’

‘We don’t allow mistakes.’

The hoodies whistled and the Rottweilers took off across the tarmac.

Doyle cranked the throttle and sped across the recre­ation area, bouncing up and down on the seat, nearly losing control of the back wheel. The scooter weaved and wobbled away from the running dogs.

The Rottweilers caught up with unnatural speed, snapping at the rear licence plate and pulling it off. Doyle cranked the throttle again, doing a wheelie as he crossed on to a pedestrian walkway, which was his only means of escape. Doyle grinned, getting the upper hand as the dogs’ speed was impeded by the incline.

Doyle half flew over the brow of the walkway and on to the flat part leading to the main road. All that stood in his way now was a set of metal barriers to prevent vehicles such as his using the pedestrian path. Doyle realised, even with his skill, he would not be able to guide the scooter through this tight set of railings. He turned back to see the dogs gallop over the crest of the hill, leaving a fine spray of spit and steam in their wake. Doyle revved up, wheelied on to the narrow parapet that ran above the path and accelerated along it, bypassing the barriers. His wheels were only just slim enough to stay on solid ground. Like a fairground performer he kept his balance as the scooter traversed the low wall and bounced back on to the path with a crunch, arriving at the main road.

He raised his fist in triumph. ‘Sick!!!’

Then the scooter lurched and decelerated with a clattering sound as the exhaust pipe dropped off and trailed along the road. The engine spluttered and complained, losing speed.

‘No – !’ The exhaust drowned him out.

Doyle went pale inside his helmet and cranked his head to see the Rottweilers leap straight over the barriers and zero in on him. He urged the scooter on, rocking back and forth, willing it forward. The Rottweilers leaped again in perfect synchronicity . . .

The scooter toppled and smashed to the ground, its rear wheel spinning fruitlessly in space. The engine ran free with a high-pitched scream – which went some way towards hiding the human one.

Doyle struggled helplessly on his back. The black helmet with the horns was tossed aside as the beasts smothered the rider on the ground. A few curtains twitched in the windows of the high-rise overhead, then were still.

Chapter 13

A Wake-Up Call

Darkus sat in the back seat of the Ford saloon with Wilbur while Uncle Bill took the front seat next to the driver. Captain Reed had made his apologies and returned to the rescue centre where his other dogs required attention. Bill had given Darkus a new secure phone to replace the one that was lost in the tunnel – clearly the mission wasn’t over yet.

Wilbur wouldn’t sit still and kept circling on the seat, sniffing around in the footwell below it, until the driver took a sharp turn and a small yelp escaped from the heavy tartan blanket at their feet. Darkus looked down as the fabric unfurled to reveal Tilly curled in a ball under the seat. Wilbur wagged his tail and made room, pleased to see her.

‘Nice of you to drop in,’ said Darkus. ‘You were a big help back there,’ he added with a hint of sarcasm.

‘Why d’you think the boydem showed up when they did, huh?’ Tilly snapped.

‘By “boydem” are ye referring to
me
?’ asked Bill, a little insulted.

‘I believe it’s current street parlance for the law enforcement community,’ Darkus explained.

‘And what the hell were you doing there in the first place?!’ she challenged him, dragging herself up on to the back seat. ‘You nearly compromised a two-month, deep cover operation.’

‘Doing what?’ said Darkus. ‘Maybe if you were more willing to share information, we might build a new spirit of cooperation.’

‘Whatever. You were lucky I was there at all,’ she replied. ‘I had to borrow Brendan’s mobile in case they’d bugged mine.’

‘So that’s what you were doing on the back of that scooter. Hanging out with Doyle.’

‘I don’t expect you to understand the importance of field work. You can’t learn everything from books.’

‘I can’t see what you’d learn from the likes of
him
.’

‘That sounds like jealousy in your voice, Darkus. It doesn’t take a great detective to spot that. Brendan isn’t so bad really. His parents are lawyers, so yeah, he tries a bit hard to be all gangsta – but he can take care of himself, and he took care of me. And he knows people who know people, and they all work for one person: Barabas King. And King is so big I’m betting he’s connected to the biggest baddie of all: and that’s
the Combination
.’

Darkus knew she could be right, but it was too early to entertain that possibility without proof, and it felt too much like something his father would say. ‘You’re as bad as my dad,’ he said. ‘There’s no hard evidence that the Combination’s behind this. King’s too insane to be kept on a leash by the likes of Morton Underwood or his colleagues – that’s if Underwood’s even alive. Besides, King said it himself: he answers to no one.’

‘You really think he’d admit to anything in front of his band of artful dodgers? Or that he’d have access to the kind of resources necessary to send highly trained dogs to whack senior police officers?’

‘How d’ye know about tha’?’ said Bill from the front seat.

‘I read the news, I question the official story. All you need is a computer, an internet connection, a natural curiosity and an ability to blend in.’

Darkus nodded. He couldn’t help being impressed by Tilly’s ingenuity.

‘And guess what?’ Tilly went on. ‘It’s no coincidence that each of the victims lost a small article of clothing in the lead-up to the full moon.’

Darkus turned to Bill. ‘Is this true?’

‘Now ye say it, I did lose a glove a few days befoore mah attack.’

Darkus caught on. ‘They used it as bait for the dogs. To give them the scent.’

‘Precisely,’ said Tilly. ‘Of course there could also be an occult connection. I’m not excluding anything at this point.’

‘It had a Custard Cream hidden in it tae,’ muttered Bill. ‘Lucky bleeders.’