K-9 (7 page)

Knightley nodded towards the pizza, a little guiltily. ‘You’d better hurry up. It’s not getting any warmer.’

Darkus picked up a knife and fork, cut a slice and folded it into his mouth. Although it was cold, the pizza tasted good, as it always did.

‘So what
were
you doing on Hampstead Heath?’ Darkus asked in between mouthfuls.

‘What d’you think I was doing? Hunting a werewolf of course.’

Darkus nodded, resigned to his father’s outlandish obsessions. ‘Then why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because you don’t believe in werewolves.’

‘Maybe I do.’

‘Come, come, Doc. Don’t be childish,’ he said with no hint of irony. ‘We both know what you believe – and I quote: “There’s always a rational explanation rather than a supernatural one”. Apart from in
this
case obviously. I refer to the paw print you no doubt saw in that wooded clearing.’

‘I recorded the evidence, yes.’

‘I know of no animal on record with a print that resembles
that
. Do you?’ enquired Knightley.

‘Not immediately, no.’

‘
Quod erat demonstrandum
,’ his father said, resting his case.

‘Not necessarily,’ Darkus countered.

‘Must we indulge in this idle back-and-forth in the absence of any evidence to the contrary?’

‘Clearly your investigation has drawn a blank. Those missing posters have been there for over a month.’

Knightley frowned. ‘I’m aware of that, Doc.’

‘More importantly, I hear Uncle Bill is out of play, in hospital recovering from serious injuries.’

‘Sadly, that is correct,’ admitted Knightley. ‘But it’s not yet clear if these two cases are related.’

‘What happened to him?’ Darkus demanded.

‘That’s not relevant at this point.’ Knightley avoided the issue. ‘It could be coincidence.’

‘I never succumb to the luxury of coincidence,’ said Darkus, feeling increasingly frustrated. ‘You taught me that.’

‘You’re going to have to bow to my age and wisdom on this, Doc. I must focus my energies on the matter at hand.’

‘Well, maybe I can be of service. You might have forgotten . . .’ He slid a business card across the table. ‘It says . . .
and
Son
.’

‘If you’d like to interview one of my witnesses before you shoot down my werewolf theory, be my guest.’

‘When and where can I interview this he, she . . . or it?’

Knightley checked his wristwatch. ‘We can meet him in exactly twenty minutes, if you’d like?’

Darkus had no idea how his father could be so precise, but he shrugged his consent. ‘There’s no time like the present.’

Knightley turned to the waitress and called out: ‘Two portions of chocolate fudge cake and the bill, please.’

Chapter 5

A Shaggy Dog Story

The climb back up Parliament Hill was infinitely more challenging after having consumed a pizza and a thick slice of chocolate fudge cake. Darkus and his dad were both nursing a stitch by the time they reached the summit.

‘And how is your mother?’ Knightley enquired, with his usual attempt at indifference. But Darkus knew his father’s tone well enough to hear the keen interest disguised under the surface.

‘She’s OK,’ he replied, not knowing quite where this line of questioning was going. ‘She’s been spending time with Wilbur – well, she was, until he was evicted.’

‘Clive . . .’ Knightley nodded evenly.

‘He and Wilbur just never . . . clicked.’

‘Well, there’s a surprise.’

‘Sometimes I don’t know why Mum . . .’ Darkus trailed off.

‘I’m sure she has her reasons, Doc,’ his father explained. ‘She’s loyal to a fault. It takes a lot to drive your mother away. But I managed it, didn’t I.’

‘The “episode”, your condition, it wasn’t your fault,’ Darkus went on.

‘A great many things
were
my fault though. Still, I hope I’ll have a chance to make it up to you. To both of you.’

‘Good day, Mr Knightley,’ a female voice interrupted them.

Darkus turned to see an imposing figure approaching from a side path, surrounded by dogs of all shapes and sizes. It was a large, dramatically shaped woman in her fifties, hemmed in by a tweed jacket and a long plaid skirt. Her white hair was tied back under a silk Hermès headscarf, framing a striking face and a pair of rose-tinted granny spectacles. A sports whistle hung on her chest. The tight ring of golden retrievers, collies and terriers that encircled her sturdy Hunter boots almost gave the impression she was floating on a cloud.

‘Is that your witness?’ Darkus asked uncertainly.

‘No,’ Knightley replied. ‘An acquaintance from the Heath.’

Darkus did a double take, realising who it was.

‘That’s Fiona Connelly, from
Bad Dog
,’ he murmured, a little star-struck. She looked even more commanding than she did on TV.

‘The very same,’ answered Knightley with a hint of pride. ‘Fiona, meet my son, Darkus. You can call him Doc.’

‘Hello, Doc,’ she cooed in her dainty but strict upper-class accent, then turned to address his father. ‘Mr Knightley, I wonder if I might trouble you for a sit-down sometime soon.’ She felt a tug and turned aside to one poorly behaved Labrador. ‘Ssssssit!’ She blew her whistle so loudly that it gave everyone a start. Then she returned her attention to Knightley, lowering her voice. ‘I have a little . . .
problem
, Alan, which I wonder if you might be able to assist with.’

‘Fire away. You’re in good company. My son sometimes works with me . . .’ He searched for an apt description. ‘Sort of like an intern.’

Darkus shot his father a look.

Fiona continued: ‘It’s a little . . . inappropriate to discuss it in front of a child.’

‘Technically, I’m a teenager,’ Darkus chimed in. ‘And by the way, I’m a big fan of your work.’

‘How very kind of you. But I would still prefer a
private
session,’ she trilled, ‘if you wouldn’t object, Alan.’ She raised an eyebrow, revealing a gummy smile. ‘Don’t make me beg.’

‘Very well,’ said Knightley and handed her a card. ‘Call my office and I’ll be happy to arrange a time.’

‘Thank you, I’ll do that.
Come
, my darlings!!’

She pointed to the other side of the hill, blew her whistle and the parade of four-legged friends followed behind her with unquestioning loyalty.

‘Wow,’ uttered Darkus. ‘Do you think she does private classes?’

‘If we play our cards right, who knows.’

‘So where’s your witness . . . ?’

Knightley pointed to a middle-aged man with a shock of long, grey hair and a pair of heavily bristling sideburns. He was dressed in slightly over-tight spandex, with a bandana tied around his head, and was performing a series of Tai Chi exercises on a small mound. He swept his arms around, then brought them close to his chest, occasionally raising a knee or extending into a stretch. Darkus noted the similarities to the Knightleys’ own chosen martial art, Wing Chun, which also relied on the movement of energy – but in the Knightleys’ case it involved deflecting an enemy’s energy and returning it in the form of a punch.

An ageing but loyal collie appeared from the blind side of the hill, also wearing a bandana, and dropped a frisbee at the Tai Chi man’s feet. The close resemblance between dog and owner was a phenomenon Darkus had seen on many occasions, but in this case the likeness was uncanny. Without breaking his rhythm, the man reached down for the frisbee and elegantly hurled it down the hill for the dog to fetch. The dog fled after it, leaving the man to continue his exercises.

‘Him?’ whispered Darkus.

His father nodded.

‘I hope you brought your silver bullets,’ Darkus quipped.

‘I’m still working on those, although there’s no first-hand evidence that they actually do kill werewolves,’ Knightley responded, perfectly serious. ‘Excuse me, sir?’ he called out.

‘Is there something more I can help you with?’ the Tai Chi man replied, his voice fading in the wind.

‘My son would like to hear your testimony,’ Knightley went on.

‘He’s only a kid, man,’ the Tai Chi man replied, examining Darkus with scepticism.

‘Yes, but with a thirst for knowledge,’ replied Knightley. ‘Be good enough to tell him what you saw at the last full moon.’

Darkus examined the witness carefully for any facial tics or tells.

The Tai Chi man reached in his spandex jacket for a tobacco pouch. ‘I come up here the same time every day. Good for the mind, body and soul,’ he advised, rolling up a cigarette, raising it to his mouth and lighting it.

Darkus had observed these sorts of contradictions before: sports masters who ate too much; doctors who drank too much; Uncle Bill who did all of the above too much. But he didn’t think this would disparage the witness’s testimony – if what the man had to say was even sensible.

‘Proceed,’ said Darkus.

‘Well, I was up here last month, and I decided to stay late, and the moon was high and full. I was practising my form, inhaling through my nostrils, drawing colourless energy from the earth, through my ancient roots, up my sushumna channel and into my sacral chakra. You dig?’

‘I dig,’ Knightley replied.

‘Then I blew out the dark, toxic energy through my mouth. Great clouds of it.’

‘Go on,’ prompted Darkus, raising his eyebrows and glancing at his father.

Knightley shrugged.

The Tai Chi man went on. ‘Well, Puja noticed it first.’

‘Puja?’ Darkus asked.

‘The dog,’ he replied, pointing down to the collie, who had still not located the frisbee, even though it was bright red and lying in plain sight.

‘What did she notice exactly?’ Darkus went on.

‘She started barking at the trees,’ he replied.

‘Which trees precisely?’ said Darkus.

‘All of them. She kept turning round in circles, barking in all directions.’

Darkus surveyed the Heath from this high position: there were acres of trees extending on all sides.

‘What d’you think she was barking at?’ he asked.

‘Something was moving in them,’ the man answered. ‘I couldn’t see what. But it’s like the trees themselves were
moving
.’

‘The wind perhaps?’ Darkus suggested.

‘It was going too fast for that. It was
in
the trees. Let’s just say, it wasn’t
of nature
.’

‘Did you get a look at this entity?’ asked Darkus. ‘Can you give us a description?’

‘Nope. We ran when we heard the howl.’

‘The howl?’

‘Most mind-blowingly terrifying noise I ever heard in my life,’ the witness stammered. ‘Puja bolted and I was right behind her. Didn’t stop running till we reached the pub.’

Darkus nodded. ‘I see. And have you ever witnessed this phenomenon since that time?’

‘Guess we’ll have to wait until the next full moon. But when it comes, you sure as hell won’t find me up here.’ He spread his feet shoulder-width apart, closed his eyes and returned to his exercises.

Knightley accompanied his son away from the mound.

‘Well?’ Knightley asked impatiently. ‘What d’you think?’

‘It’s too early to say,’ Darkus responded.

‘Don’t give me that line. I invented that line.’

‘Well, he’s hardly the most reliable witness.’

‘I thought you would’ve learned from our last investigation,’ said Knightley, ‘that you can’t judge a book by its cover.’

‘My mind is open to every possibility. Even the most outlandish one.’

‘You’re not a very good liar, Doc,’ his father commented. ‘You’ll find that comes with age and experience.’

Darkus furrowed his brow, not wishing to face the spectre of adulthood just yet. His father had made plenty of mistakes: losing Darkus’s mum Jackie to the interloper, Clive; and losing many of his detective skills during the four-year coma, which had ultimately led to Darkus and his father teaming up as partners in solving crime. Darkus would make plenty of mistakes too – but hopefully on his own schedule, not his father’s.

Knightley appealed to him again. ‘If you don’t believe this man’s testimony, and I can’t say I blame you,’ he admitted, ‘may I suggest we visit someone whose judgement you
do
trust? Or at least . . . sort of?’

Chapter 6

A Relative Once Removed

‘Did ye bring the bickies, Alan?’ Uncle Bill blurted, attempting to sit up in his hospital bed. He eventually resorted to pressing a button, which raised him like an overweight Count Dracula back from the dead. Without his hat and overcoat, Bill was deprived of some of his enigma, but none of his girth, which seemed to have experienced a growth spurt, or girth spurt – presumably due to a period of inactivity, regular hospital meals and sympathy gifts of confectionery – and as a result, his patient’s gown was struggling to conceal him.