K-9 (23 page)

Clive took out three BMX bicycles and lined them up against the car.

‘Aren’t we a little old for this sort of thing?’ asked Draycott, before finding himself strangely taken with the bikes.

‘These are from my personal collection. I’m taking that one . . .’ Clive pointed to his favourite, which had black plastic wheels. ‘You can argue it out over the other two.’ Then he added privately to Draycott, ‘But I wouldn’t upset Ray. He’s got a
very
short fuse.’

Burke leaped down from the back of the Land Rover and shouldered a military backpack. Draycott gave the man some distance, before turning to Clive, who was hoisting a large, heavy sports bag on to his back.

Draycott recoiled, turning up his nose. ‘What in God’s name is that
smell
?’

‘Lion dung,’ said Clive with a wink. ‘Stole it from Chessington World of Adventures.’

‘Why would you do that?!’ Draycott implored.

‘It’s a well-known deterrent to foxes and other predators,’ Clive explained. ‘Makes ’em think there’s a “big cat” around. Scares the pants off ’em.’

‘Not as stupid as he looks,’ commented Burke.

‘Thank you, Ray,’ Clive added.

‘OK,’ admitted Draycott. ‘This is not as bad as I was expecting. Let’s saddle up and do some good.’

‘Amen, brother,’ replied Clive.

On the other side of the Heath, at the entrance to Parliament Hill Fields, a female figure walked intrepidly in a thick anorak and woolly hat, holding a flashlight. Slightly embarrassingly, she also held a crucifix, although it was buried deep in her jacket pocket out of sight, clutched in a gloved hand. Alexis didn’t believe in all that supernatural stuff, but she still decided to err on the side of caution.

‘Come on, Ian!’ she called behind her.

A lanky adolescent figure, Ian Dulwich, ambled to keep up with her. ‘Coming . . .’ he said gallantly, although he was weighed down by a long-lensed camera and a fully laden rucksack with several water flasks swinging from it.

She turned to chastise him. ‘It’s not enough to just break the story – I’ve already got every major news outlet chomping at the bit. Now it’s about the follow-up . . . the
wow
moment . . . the National Geographic shot. If we, or rather
you
, can get a snap of this thing, whatever it turns out to be, then we’re talking worldwide acclaim. I’m talking the Loch Ness monster, Big Foot. Proper myth and legend stuff.’

‘Whatever you say, Lex.’ Ian shifted the rucksack and attempted to stretch out his back.

‘According to the witness report the epicentre of the activity is Parliament Hill.’ She pointed up the steep, dark incline towards the summit, just visible on the skyline.

‘It looks like an awfully long way up . . .’ Ian pointed out. ‘And it doesn’t look like anyone else is around. I mean . . . no one could hear us scream.’

‘I’m not intending to scream, Ian. Are you?’ Alexis challenged him.

‘Of course not,’ he backtracked. ‘I’m just saying . . .’

‘Last one up’s a sissy,’ she ordered and took off up the hill, with one hand swinging confidently, while the other one still clutched the crucifix, out of sight.

On the opposite side of Parliament Hill, the sound of three panting cyclists could be heard over the background hum of the city and the occasional birdcall from the wilderness. Clive Palmer, Chief Inspector Draycott and Lance Corporal Burke hyperventilated as they leaned down on the pedals with all their middle-aged spread, coaxing their undersized BMXs up the arduous hill from the ponds. The path was overarched with tall, ancient trees and thick foliage on all sides. The bikes had no lights but could just be seen in the dim light of the not yet full moon.

‘I . . . can’t . . . go . . . one . . . centimetre . . . further.’ Clive stopped pedalling and almost began to roll backwards down the hill until he painfully dismounted. ‘My L-5 vertebra is bloody killing me.’

‘Maybe it’s that sack of steaming lion excrement on your back,’ snapped Draycott. ‘I mean, if there is something out there, it’s going to smell us a mile off. And you did insist on these stupid bikes,’ he complained. ‘I’ve got a perfectly good mountain bike at home. With pannier bags and everything.’

‘If you two are finished comparing your tackle, can we take this hill?’ Burke advised, before surveying the scene. ‘Switching to infrared.’ He pulled down his night-vision goggles, tapped his head and said, ‘Follow my lead.’ He then pumped his fist in the air and continued pedalling heavily uphill.

Draycott groaned and continued after him. ‘If my wife knew I was riding without a helmet, there’d be hell to pay.’

Clive rubbed his lower back and kept walking, pushing the bike beside him. Suddenly, the heavens opened up and started pouring with rain.

‘Fan-bloody-tastic –’

Then a noise stopped him. A high-pitched crying noise, almost like a baby.

‘Guys?’ Clive called after the others who were almost out of sight at the upper edge of the woods. ‘Oh, guuuuys . . . ?’ Clive started walking faster, pushing the BMX uphill more urgently. ‘Wait for me!’

Burke and Draycott leaned against their bikes at the top of the tree-lined path. Behind them, the grassy banks of Parliament Hill stretched up to the grey, foreboding sky.

Clive arrived in a hurry, his bike toppling to the ground as he clutched his chest. ‘I heard something. Like a baby crying –’ he gasped.

‘Probably foxes,’ said Burke. ‘It’s rutting season.’

‘Perfect,’ announced Draycott. ‘Then it’s all the work of some randy foxes and the Knightleys think they’re chasing a werewolf? Those
amateurs
! Just wait until we solve this case, hand it over to Bill Oddie or Bear Grylls and have our moment in the limelight.’

Suddenly a much louder noise echoed through the trees around them. It was a tortured howl – like the distress horn of a sinking ocean liner.

‘That didn’t sound like a fox,’ whispered Clive.

‘No. It didn’t,’ agreed Draycott.

Burke scanned the undergrowth with his night-vision goggles. A large shape appeared to move through the trees on his infrared. ‘Stay calm, people. The hostile seems to be a quarter of a klick due north of our position. When engaging the enemy it’s vital to maintain the element of surprise –’

Burke was interrupted by another fearsome howl, which lasted longer and reached an even more terrifying pitch.

‘Surprise?’ hissed Draycott. ‘You really think it hasn’t already smelled us? Or rather
him
.’ He jabbed a finger at Clive.

Clive checked his watch. ‘Oh, bum. I promised Jackie I’d be home for
MasterChef
,’ he improvised. ‘I’d better get going –’

‘Ah-ah, not so fast,’ said Draycott. ‘You got us into this mess in the first place. I want to know what’s going on up here. Deserters will be court-martialled.’

‘I second that,’ added Burke.

‘Bl-oody hell, all-right . . .’ Clive moaned.

‘Platoon, move out!’ Burke ordered.

The troop pushed their bicycles in the direction of the sound, along the path at the base of Parliament Hill.

Meanwhile, Alexis and Ian tramped across the other side of the hill, with a distant spire behind them, which was just a vague shadow on the skyline. They crossed the apex and descended through a small wooded outcrop, arriving at a fallen tree stretched dramatically across the meadow before them.

Then they froze, also hearing the howl echoing through the woods.

‘Er . . . Lex?’ Ian piped up, his water bottles rattling. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘Sure did. And it sounded like it was coming from behind those trees.’

She pointed to a small, dark gap in the undergrowth.

‘Er, don’t you think,’ suggested Ian, ‘perhaps, we should call for help?’

‘What, and let someone else get all the glory? No way.’

She strode towards the gap in the hedgerows with her torch trained ahead of her – and the crucifix in her pocket, feeling like it was burning a hole in her gloved hand. She bent her head to duck under the overhanging branches and ventured through the rabbit hole, so to speak.

‘Remember,’ she recited to herself. ‘
Sky News Sunrise
 . . . Good morning, Eamonn . . . Charlotte . . . It’s Alexis here with a breaking story . . .’ She picked her way through the brambles which were tearing at her clothes. ‘OK, and it’s over to Nazaneen with a weather update . . .’

Her torch beam picked out a deserted clearing with a muddy circle of ground surrounded by a high wall of thickets. In no way did it look inviting. It was darker than the outer reaches of space, and it smelled of death.

‘Ian? You should take a look in here. It’s really cool,’ she lied.

Then she suddenly heard a frantic rattling of water bottles.

‘Ian . . . ?’ She turned the beam around to search the meadow that lay just beyond the hedgerows.

Ian wasn’t there any more.

‘Ian!’

She saw him stumbling away across the hillside in fear, the rucksack jangling behind him.

‘You coward!’ she shouted after him angrily.

‘Sorry, Lex! Not worth it –’ he panted over his shoulder.

‘Fine!’ she yelled defiantly. ‘This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. And you blew it!’

She turned the torch beam back to the clearing and screamed in shock.

Something was crouched in the middle of the circle.

Before her brain could fully register what the thing was, Alexis reached for her crucifix, then fumbled and dropped the torch, her hands shaking uncontrollably. The light dropped to the ground, falling at an abject angle, leaving the clearing itself in total darkness.

She started hyperventilating, tore off one glove, pulled out her phone and started texting, desperately stabbing at the screen, her face lit up in a paroxysm of fear.

The thing came closer, avoiding the fallen torchlight so as not to be seen.

Alexis managed to hit ‘Send’, then turned the screen of the phone around to illuminate her attacker. Alexis recoiled in surprise, before surrendering to a full-blown, blood-curdling scream. The kind that not even the best horror films could come close to.

In less than a second, the phone was snuffed out and stamped into a hundred pieces. The crucifix fell to the ground, and Alexis was completely encompassed by the dark.

‘What the hell was that . . . ?’ demanded Clive from the path a few hundred metres away.

‘A woman in distress,’ Burke deduced.

‘Oh, top marks, Ray,’ Draycott snipped. ‘We might have a position for you on the force.’

‘I’m going in,’ said Burke.

‘On whose orders?’ Draycott barked.

‘
Hasta la vista
.’ Burke lowered his night-vision goggles and set off in the direction of the scream.

‘Don’t be a hero!’ Draycott called after him.

Another deafening howl sent birds scattering above the trees. The sound appeared to be nearer than before.

‘Can we leave now?’ Clive asked.

Draycott thought about it for a second. ‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day.’

Clive held up his hand in a high five. Draycott raised his hand to meet Clive’s, until . . .

Clive’s whole arm dropped out of reach, as his legs were pulled out from under him.

‘What – ?’ he yelled.

Clive hit the ground, spreadeagled and face down in the mud.

‘Ouch! That reaaa-lly hurt,’ he complained.

Then Clive was suddenly yanked backwards, trailing along the ground towards a large bush.

‘Clive?’ Draycott shouted.

‘Heeeeeeelp!’

Clive clawed at the mud as he was dragged through the darkness by an unseen attacker, his legs and feet completely vanishing into the undergrowth, until only his head and the shoulders of his shell suit were visible through the bush.

‘It’s got my trainers off –’ Clive screamed. ‘I’ve had it! Ray?! Somebody, please!!’

Burke heard the commotion and turned his bike around.

Draycott waded in, grabbing Clive by the arms and pulling him in a desperate tug of war with the enemy. A growling, chattering noise came from the foliage.

Clive stabbed a finger at the sports bag. ‘The dung! Throw the dung!’

Draycott briefly let go of Clive, who was instantly pulled even deeper into the undergrowth, until he clutched on to two hedgerows – now only the thatch of his salt-and-pepper hair was visible through the bush.

Draycott unzipped the sports bag with his free hand, turned up his nose and reached in, grabbing a handful of predator deterrent. Draycott threw it, hitting Clive squarely on the top of the head.

‘Not me! The werewolf!’ Clive whined.

Burke skidded to a halt, dropped his bike and grabbed Clive’s arms. Clive’s lower half jolted again sharply as he was pulled further backwards. Draycott threw aside the sports bag and joined Burke in holding on to Clive.