K-9 (21 page)

‘What is it?’ said Tilly.

Darkus knelt down and angled his phone on an odd arrangement of shapes in the earth. ‘Looks like a partial paw print.’

‘If that’s a partial . . . the paw must have been –’

‘Massive. Precisely,’ said Darkus, photographing the print from several angles.

Moments later, they walked back round to the gravel driveway and entered the front door.

Fiona was already holding court in the sitting room, pouring tea into china cups for Knightley and Bill.

‘I’ll be mother . . .’ she whispered.

The dozen or so dogs were sitting and lying in various states of repose around the room, which was decorated with a heavily floral motif. Wilbur sat at ease in the corner, silently examining the others.

‘The theory behind my long-running TV series,’ Fiona went on, ‘is that there is
no
such thing as a
bad
dog.’ She set down the teapot and plopped down into an armchair. ‘Dogs, like humans, can be educated and encouraged to be valuable members of society. Every one of God’s creatures has the ability to redeem itself. My job is to give our four-legged friends the practical tools with which to harness their more barbaric tendencies and help them live under human rule.’

Bill nodded eagerly, reaching for the Hobnobs with a pair of sugar tongs.

Fiona added milk to her tea and continued: ‘After all, dogs began as wolves, before they were brought to heel. They descend from the same DNA. Dogs are merely wolves that have been bred to love instead of attack. Just like we humans are descended from the barbaric cavemen – and yet now we sit here, having a nice, civilised cup of tea.’

Darkus noticed that a thin layer of dog hair still clung to the carpets and furniture. An elderly housekeeper worked urgently on a chaise longue with a large lint roller that was rapidly resembling a furry paw. She tore off the hairy bit and kept rolling.

Fiona looked up at Darkus and Tilly as they approached the sofa. ‘Did you find anything of interest?’

‘Nothing yet,’ Tilly lied.

Knightley looked puzzled. Bill shrugged and dunked another biscuit into his teacup, munching happily.

‘It would be useful, with your permission, Fifi,’ Darkus carried on, ‘if we could examine the rest of the house for possible points of ingress.’

‘He means places where the beast might have attempted entry,’ Bill clarified in between mouthfuls.

‘I see. Of course,’ said Fiona and gestured with a bejewelled hand. ‘Be my guest.’

Darkus nodded to Tilly and they left the tea party to begin their search of the inside.

They moved through the high-ceilinged reception rooms, kitchen and utility rooms on the ground floor, each detective focusing in on their particular area of expertise. Darkus examined the floors, furnishings and windows, while Tilly studied the shelves, ceilings and security features.

A door under the stairs opened on to a narrow set of steps leading down to the basement. It had been converted into a private gym complete with soundproofed walls and two matching treadmills – presumably one was for the ‘life partner’ Fiona was obviously on the hunt for. The windows were locked and reinforced with shatterproof glass and Darkus had to admit the house was very secure.

They worked their way upwards, sweeping the building efficiently, ducking into cloakrooms and toilets, before ascending a grand staircase to the upper floors. A series of bedrooms were all decorated in shabby chic and each contained a cluster of baskets, torn pillows and dog bowls. Clearly, these animals really
were
Fiona’s family and they had the run of the house. The stench of canine scent was musky and overpowering. Tilly pulled her sweatshirt over her nose and led the way to the master bedroom.

Fiona’s bedchamber boasted a grand four-poster bed which was also surrounded by dog baskets. Her bedspread was covered in a thin layer of matted hair.

Darkus approached the bed cautiously, then took a pair of latex gloves from his top pocket and snapped them on.

‘What are you doing?’ Tilly whispered.

‘Just checking for bedfellows . . .’

Darkus gently lifted the hairy bedspread, then the rest of the bedclothes fell away to reveal two heavy indentations, pressed into the soft mattress topper. One shape was human and had a gigantic woman’s nightie discarded by it. The other shape appeared to be a large, curled-up animal of some kind and was accompanied by a large thatch of bristly hair.

‘What
is
that?’ Tilly murmured, wrinkling her nose.

‘The hair of a large dog, it would appear.’

Tilly cocked her head. ‘Wait a second. You’re not suggesting that thing out there . . . might have been . . . up here?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ said Darkus. ‘I’m merely postulating ideas until I find one that supports all the facts.’

Darkus took out his phone and aimed it at the mattress, flash-photographing the evidence; then carefully replaced the bedclothes and bedspread, removed the gloves and put them in their own Ziploc bag, before tucking them in his pocket.

Tilly examined the panic button located on Fiona’s side of the bed, which would alert the police in the event of an intruder. Darkus continued into the ensuite bathroom and examined the bathtub and shower cubicle. Another thick knot of hair blocked the plughole of the tub. Darkus plucked it out with a pair of tweezers, then deposited the evidence in another Ziploc and stashed it. Next he surveyed the tiled floor, noting some partial footprints between the shower and the bath. He knelt down and photographed them, before pocketing the phone and exiting the room.

Darkus re-entered the sitting room with Tilly in tow. Fiona, Knightley and Bill looked up expectantly.

‘I can see no evidence of a break-in,’ announced Darkus.

‘Well, that’s reassuring,’ sighed Fiona, relieved.

Knightley got to his feet. ‘Do you need us to have a second look?’

Bill stood up gamely, wiping crumbs from his chin.

Darkus looked to Tilly who shook her head.

‘It’s not necessary,’ replied Darkus. ‘We’ve seen everything we need to see.’

The whole party emerged from the front door, flanked by retrievers, collies and terriers, who all seemed disappointed to be saying goodbye.

‘So, what’s the verdict?’ Knightley muttered to his son under his breath.

‘It’s too early to say,’ Darkus replied in hushed tones.

‘I wish you’d stop saying that,’ his father snipped.

‘You used to say the same thing.’

‘You could’ve at least given me a chance to look around. Even if my powers of reasoning are in a poor state of repair compared to yours.’

‘I take no pleasure in that fact, Dad.’

‘Then you agree – they
are
.’

‘Dad, I don’t think us arguing about your ability to reason soundly is going to help us solve this case.’

‘You’re so irritatingly logical.’

‘You were once too. So logical you didn’t bother with the less logical things in life . . . like me and Mum.’

‘Let’s not dredge up past history. We’ve got a case on the boil.’

‘Agreed. And I did find one “smoking gun” in the back garden . . . although I’m not sure if it fires silver bullets.’ Darkus showed his father the picture of the partial paw print on his phone.

‘It’s a match for the one on the Heath!’ said Knightley.

‘Let’s not tell the whole world,’ warned Darkus.

They were interrupted by Fiona calling out from the boot room.

‘It’s a shame you can’t stay . . .’ she commiserated. ‘It’s nearly time for walkies. Our favourite time of the day.’ The dogs started leaping in muted excitement.

‘Well, as it happens,’ Bill interjected, ‘my doctor has instructed me tae take regular exercise for my leg. Ten thousand steps a day in fact.’ He rummaged deep in his coat pockets and pulled out a digital pedometer. ‘And it so happens I have the rest ay the day aff.’

Knightley and Darkus looked at each other in disbelief.

Fiona’s eyes appeared to flinch before she responded, ‘Then you must join us, Monty. Mustn’t he, lovers?’ The dogs jumped for joy, on the point of barking, but restraining themselves.

Fiona reached for a long coat rack, draped almost entirely with dog leads.

Bill turned to Knightley. ‘Alan, ah’m going to handle this investigation
personally
. Ah’ll report back later . . . or tomorrow mornin’.’ He winked and raised his thick eyebrows all in one motion.

Knightley frowned. ‘I’ll wait for your call.’

Darkus and his father returned to the Fairway with Tilly and Wilbur, then the cab performed a tight U-turn and exited through the opening driveway gates. Fiona activated the house alarm and strolled on to the street, arm in arm with Bill, encircled by canines great and small. The gates closed automatically behind them.

Darkus watched the odd couple with concern from the back seat. ‘Do you think his judgement has been impaired?’

‘Thoroughly,’ answered Knightley. ‘You remember what I told you about females, Doc . . .’

‘Yes, but I’m not sure you actually believe it. You said they’re a distraction,’ said Darkus with a hint of resentment.

Tilly piped up from the glass divider behind Knightley’s head. ‘Ah-ah! You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Not this time. A bit of feminine intuition never hurt anyone.’ She examined the scene. ‘Fiona’s clearly not interested in him.’

‘And he’s following her around like a puppy,’ added Darkus, watching Bill gallantly squire Fiona and her procession of dogs along the pavement in the direction of the Heath.

‘I fear we have yet another problem to add to our list,’ complained Knightley.

Chapter 19

A Visit From The Quartermaster

As they arrived at 27 Cherwell Place, Darkus spotted two further issues. The first was a scruffily dressed male reporter with a long-lensed camera loitering at the street corner. The second was a pair of Rottweilers casually sniffing around some rubbish bins at the top of the road, as if they’d been instructed to ‘act natural’. The reporter began bombarding the black cab with flash photographs as it pulled up outside the address.

The Knightleys and Tilly hopped out, their heads hung low, and hurried to the door, which Bogna was already holding open for them. Wilbur stood guard on the pavement, staring down the Rottweilers who were watching from their vantage point in silence.

The reporter followed his targets to the property line, snapping frame after frame.

The Rottweilers witnessed the melee from a safe distance and decided not to act.

‘Alan?’ the reporter shouted. ‘What do you say to the rumours of a werewolf on Hampstead Heath?’

Knightley squinted in the glare of the flashbulb. ‘No comment.’

‘Darkus? What about you?’ he persisted.

‘Same as my father I’m afraid. No comment.’

‘What about
you
?’ The reporter turned to Tilly.

‘Why don’t you hack my phone and find out?’ she began. ‘Hold on, I’ve got a better idea: I’ll hack
yours
, find out where you live, find out what you’re hiding, tell your wife and family. Upload it all over the web. How’d you like that?’

The reporter lowered his camera, looking dumbfounded. Tilly vanished inside after the Knightleys and the door slammed in his face.

Inside, Bogna hung their coats for them and directed them to the living room where she explained they had a guest waiting.

Miss Khan sat politely poised on the edge of the sofa, with a stainless steel briefcase at her feet and a plate of Bogna’s sandwiches uneaten before her. She stood up as Tilly introduced her.

‘Alan, this is Miss Khan from school. She’s the extra assistance I told you about.’

‘Glad to meet you,’ said Knightley, extending his hand formally.

‘I’ve heard a great deal about you, Mr Knightley.’

‘All good I hope –’

‘But I’ve not seen you at any parents’ days,’ she continued.

‘I was having a . . . somewhat extended sabbatical.’

‘I understand you woke up last October. There was an open day just before Christmas.’

Knightley’s brow shifted, looking scolded. ‘You’re right, I will make more of an effort next time.’ He straightened his tie awkwardly, appearing somewhat taken with this rather unyielding character. ‘You have my undivided attention.’

‘To business . . .’ she went on.

She opened the stainless steel briefcase to reveal a foam cut-out containing three small cylindrical devices.

‘I brought some extra double-A batteries with me, in case you don’t have any.’ She plucked the devices out and handed one each to Darkus, Tilly and Knightley. ‘When you press this button, it emits a high-pitched ultrasonic frequency which will intimidate and disturb any dog . . . or wolf . . . within a hundred-metre radius. In fact it might even disturb very young children, because their powers of hearing are far more advanced than ours. But hopefully there won’t be any young babies in the vicinity.’