K-9 (22 page)

‘I certainly hope not,’ Knightley assured her.

‘To switch it off, simply press it again. It could make the difference between getting away, or not. Depending of course on what you’re seeking to get away from.’

‘We’re not at liberty to say at this point, Miss Khan,’ said Darkus. ‘Partly for confidentiality reasons and partly because we’re not entirely sure
what
it is we’re dealing with.’

‘I’ve read
The
Cranston Star
. I know what they’re speculating.’

‘I prefer to deal in facts,’ answered Darkus.

‘Where do you stand on the supernatural, Miss Khan?’ Knightley pressed her.

‘My family believed in myths and legends,’ she replied. ‘My father had certain gods he prayed to. I, however, prefer the answers that science provides us with. I find them more reliable.’

‘And what if you were confronted by something you couldn’t explain scientifically?’ Knightley insisted.

‘Then, Mr Knightley, I will let you know if and when that happens.’

‘Perhaps one day you will and then we can discuss this further.’

Knightley seemed to relish the prospect of a future exchange. He betrayed the vaguest glint in his eye, like an unpolished diamond buried deep in the rough of his often brusque demeanour. Darkus suddenly realised that his father dearly wanted someone to unearth that gem – whether it was Jackie, or another person who might be better equipped to know what sort of care it required. That person was the missing piece of the puzzle that had kept his father searching and investigating all this time, as a means to fill the void. Darkus feared his dad would never be truly happy until someone appreciated what he’d kept hidden inside all these years.

‘Until then,’ replied Miss Khan, ‘you’ll find me at the next parents’ day . . . along with all Darkus’s other teachers, who I’m sure would be very curious to meet you too. For the record, he, and Tilly here, are top-notch students. Top of the class.’

‘I have no doubt.’ Knightley beamed with pride.

‘Though their attendance record leaves a lot to be desired.’ Miss Khan turned to Darkus and Tilly. ‘Speaking of which, I must return to Cranston before my absence triggers any alarm bells. I trust I’ll see you both back at school safely . . . By the end of the week, please, Mr Knightley.’

‘Wait . . . How’s Brendan?’ Tilly asked the teacher.

‘I don’t know. It’s immediate family only at the hospital. The first task was identifying him. It’ll be a slow, painful recovery.’

Tilly went pale, then swallowed. ‘Please keep me posted,’ she insisted.

‘Of course,’ replied Miss Khan.

Darkus nodded awkwardly, unsure how to feel about Brendan Doyle. The bully had made Darkus’s life hell, but no one deserved what the boy would have to endure. Doyle’s fate had been dealt so quickly and violently that it almost scared Darkus more than any other facet of the case.

‘Perhaps I can see you out, Miss Khan,’ said Knightley.

‘With all the press attention, I think it’s better we’re not photographed together.’

‘Very wise.’

Miss Khan pulled a headscarf over her jet-black hair and moved to the entrance hall. Bogna placed her hands together in her version of a Hindu farewell and ushered her out of the front door.

Darkus climbed the stairs to his father’s office to get a bird’s-eye view of the street. Fortunately the reporter had gone, possibly heeding Tilly’s warning, or perhaps having got all the photographs he required. Darkus watched from the window as Miss Khan walked briskly to the top of the road, approaching the two Rottweilers who were still loitering with intent.

Suddenly anxious that Miss Khan may have become a target by association, Darkus reached through the open office window and held out the ultrasonic device she’d given him. He pressed the button.

The two Rottweilers reacted immediately, shaking their heads with irritation, as if trying to rid themselves of an unseen insect. Miss Khan passed them without incident and turned on to the main road, vanishing from sight. Satisfied that the gadget would prove useful, Darkus switched it off and closed the window.

The dogs shook off their discomfort and trotted away in the opposite direction, leaving Cherwell Place deserted.

Darkus turned to the doorway and found Wilbur whimpering on the landing, his ears flat against his head. Darkus looked down at the ultrasonic dog whistle and realised it would have been equally painful for him.

‘Oh no – sorry, boy, I didn’t think.’ Wilbur came to heel and Darkus ruffled the dog’s fur.

He looked around his father’s office, noting the rows of reference books, the solitary office chair and the mahogany desk, accented with Carpathian elm. Darkus wondered to himself whether this was what the future had in store for him as well – like father, like son. It was a lonely existence, one devoted to details, formulas and technicalities. Some might even call it a devotion to the trivial, until of course these elements were arranged into a logical pattern in order to solve the crime. But surely when a mind was so focused on the details, it might miss the wood for the trees. Maybe the really important things in life could not be examined, catalogued and explained. Maybe they were what took place between the clues and behind the scenes, while detectives were too busy detecting things.

‘What’s on your mind?’ Tilly interrupted him from the doorway.

‘Tonight is the last night before the full moon,’ Darkus replied. ‘We can only hope the press coverage peaks before King lets the dogs out.’

‘I’m more worried about the Heath,’ she replied. ‘By tomorrow night, that place is going to be crawling with looky-loos and have-a-go heroes. I only hope they don’t run into whatever’s creeping around up there –’

‘Wait . . .’ Darkus interrupted her and moved towards the sofa urgently.

‘What’s wrong?’

Hung over the edge of the sofa was his father’s tweed jacket – except for a small square of fabric that had been cut away from the arm. A piece of frayed silk lining was poking out in its place. The catastrophiser started humming and rattling.

‘Dad – ?’ Darkus called out.

A thundering on the stairs heralded Bogna’s arrival with an ever-present tray of sandwiches. ‘Something is wrong? I was just preparing sandwich.’

His father appeared behind her. ‘What is it, Doc?’

‘Was there some kind of accident with your jacket?’ Darkus demanded.

‘Not that I know of,’ said Knightley.

Bogna approached the offending hole in the garment. ‘Who has done this to Alan’s nice jacket?’ she asked, outraged.

Darkus looked to Wilbur but the dog didn’t exhibit any of his traditional guilty signs – and besides, he was a reformed character. ‘It wasn’t Wilbur,’ he confirmed.

Bogna tried unsuccessfully to press the lining back into the hole. ‘Who would do such a thing?’

‘The Combination,’ Knightley answered. ‘I fear they’re behind this. And I can only deduce that I have now been targeted
personally
.’

Tilly nodded. ‘Every dog-attack victim lost an article of clothing in the run-up to the full moon.’

‘It’s how they track you,’ agreed Darkus grimly, nodding to the office window. ‘The lock’s been forced. Someone must have got in while we were talking to Miss Khan.’

‘Now let’s not get hysterical,’ Knightley assured them. ‘It’ll take more than a few trained mutts to take down Alan Knightley.’

Bogna, Darkus and Tilly looked at each other, appearing less convinced.

‘Especially now that we have Miss Khan’s high-tech dog whistles,’ Knightley went on.

‘I don’t fancy their chances against a werewolf,’ Tilly suggested.

‘Hopefully none of us will get close enough to find out,’ said Darkus.

‘So you concede a supernatural presence is at work?’ his father asked him.

‘I concede nothing. I discount nothing,’ Darkus responded. ‘We have members of SO 42 marked for death at the jaws of King’s attack dogs. And we have a particularly fierce creature picking off victims at random on Hampstead Heath and visiting a well-known TV personality. All during the full moon. What connects these bizarre events is something I’m still working on.’

‘Well, now’s no time to hold anything back,’ said Knightley, sounding more coherent and more fearful than usual. ‘Share your theories.’

‘OK,’ agreed Darkus. ‘But first, what do we know about Fiona Connelly? Tilly . . . ?’

Tilly tapped on her phone and typed in a search. Within moments she was reading a short bio of Fiona Connelly.

‘Fiona was raised and educated in Kenya, East Africa. An only child, born of white parents of British descent who reportedly ran a wildlife park near Mombasa before dying in a safari accident, leaving Fiona an orphan. Fiona assembled a host of veterinary qualifications in Kenya before making the move to Britain five years ago, arriving as a relative unknown. She quickly impressed the “powers that be” in the TV world with her know­ledge and understanding of dog behaviour and, well, the rest is history. She’s written two bestselling dog behaviour guides and has been a judge at Crufts. She is unmarried and has not been linked to any significant others, in the public eye, or otherwise.’

‘Thanks, Tilly,’ said Darkus. ‘Now I’ll tell you what
I
know – or rather what I can
prove
,’ he announced, pausing for effect. ‘Whatever was in Fiona’s garden was permitted entry into it.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Knightley.

‘How?’ enquired Tilly.

‘We saw footage of the creature moving along the side of the house to the front of the property,’ explained Darkus. ‘But, as you observed yourself, Tilly, the fingerprint scanner on the side gate has sensors on both sides – therefore, the creature could not have passed in or out of that door unless it was an approved person, with fingerprints.’

‘Surely it could’ve just scaled the fence?’ argued Knightley.

‘I discounted that possibility for the simple reason that there were no scratch or scuff marks on the black metal railings. I checked carefully. Nothing has scaled that fence,’ Darkus stated with conviction. ‘As I said before, it’s not about what the footage shows, but what it doesn’t show. We never saw the creature cross that threshold. It’s as if whoever let the creature on to the property wanted to disguise the fact that they had done so.’

‘Are you saying Fiona deliberately let that thing on to her own property?’ Tilly asked.

‘Either she did, or someone with access to her secur­ity system did,’ replied Darkus. ‘Security is tight. So tight that someone
had
to have known about the intruder.’

‘A-plus,’ said Knightley. ‘I take my hat off to you, Doc.’

‘I still don’t have a complete solution to the facts,’ Darkus complained. ‘If you’d allow me a few hours alone with my thoughts, I may be able to find one.’

Knightley raised his eyebrows, realising he was being ejected from his own office. ‘OK, I’ll make a cup of tea and see if I can raise Uncle Bill.’

‘Tilly, perhaps you could look at whether we can bypass Fiona’s security system for our own purposes. I suspect we’ll need to conduct further surveillance on the property tomorrow.’

‘I’m on it,’ she replied.

‘Dinner is served at seven thirty,’ Bogna added. ‘It will be a collection of cold meats and cheeses, including hard-boiled eggs, delicious blood sausage and favourite kielbasa sticks.’

‘Yum,’ said Knightley, then retreated to the door, leaving Darkus alone at the desk.

‘Wilbur,’ said Darkus, ‘you can stay.’

The German shepherd wagged his tail and sat obediently by his master.

Chapter 20

Amateur Night

The sun sank below the trees surrounding Hampstead Heath and the handful of street lamps at the East Heath Road entrance flickered to life.

A light mist began to creep in over the meadows as a cameraman packed the last of his equipment into a mobile broadcast van. His blonde reporter companion hopped into the passenger seat, the doors slammed shut and the van pulled out of the now empty car park.

A few moments later, an unmarked police Vauxhall drove in and parked in a far corner, switching off its lights. A few moments after that, a customised open-top Land Rover with a steel roll cage and a vertical exhaust accelerated into the car park and skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust.

Chief Inspector Draycott grimaced and stepped gingerly out of his Vauxhall in a black polo neck and permanent crease trousers. He wafted away the dust to find Clive Palmer grinning at the wheel of the Land Rover, with Lance Corporal Burke standing behind him on a makeshift weapons platform, wearing full camouflage and a pair of night-vision goggles.

‘Tell me you don’t actually have a machine gun on that thing?’ Draycott demanded.

‘Of course not,’ replied Clive, leaning out of the window. ‘But Ray’s brought his crossbow. Just in case.’

Burke held the weapon aloft in a silent battle cry.

‘No four-by-fours,’ commanded Draycott. ‘No crossbows.’

‘I knew you were going to say that.’ Clive jumped down from the vehicle to reveal he was wearing an all black shell suit and matching trainers. He walked around to the back and released the tailgate. ‘Which is why I brought these . . .’