K-9 (25 page)

‘Bravo,’ Knightley added. ‘So the two cases
are
connected?’

‘We’ll know for certain when the moon is up.’

‘I’ll stay here,’ said Tilly. ‘I need another few hours to finish the programming. By this evening we’ll have a backdoor into Fiona’s security system – which means we’ll be able to watch the house ourselves, undetected.’

She looked to Darkus for approval, but received none.

‘Don’t mention it. Piece of cake,’ she added.

But Darkus didn’t even hear her, such was the intensity of his focus. He looked down to Wilbur, who watched loyally, his head still resting on the basket.

‘Come on, boy. We’ve got work to do.’

But Wilbur didn’t obey, appearing unwilling to move.

‘Come on, boy,’ Darkus repeated. ‘What are you afraid of?’

Wilbur simply curled up more tightly in his basket and refused to budge.

‘Fine,’ Darkus conceded, gathering his coat and heading for the door. ‘Be like that.’

Knightley nodded apprehensively to Tilly and followed his son out.

Chapter 22

The Unlikely Combination

Barabas King found himself in another empty building – an abandoned factory this time, chosen for its anonymity. So anonymous in fact that he didn’t know where it was himself. His pack of dogs sat obediently in formation behind him, awaiting instructions.

King glanced up at the cloudy sky that was just visible through a broken skylight window. He approached a mirror, which hung over a dirty basin. He examined his face closely, looking for any telltale signs.

Then a voice appeared behind him. It was a woman, but her image was just outside the range of the reflection.

‘Hello, Barabas,’ she said with a clipped upper-class tone.

‘I told you to stop interfering, Fiona,’ King hissed.

Behind him, the dogs whined and stomped their feet, sensing something wrong.

‘I can help,’ she answered. ‘If you’ll let me.’ She paused. ‘Every dog can be healed. Even one as bad as you.’

‘I don’t need your help,’ he spat. ‘This is your last warning . . .’

‘We’ll see . . .’ she said ominously. ‘By the light of the moon . . .’

As her footsteps receded into the distance, the dogs began howling and barking uncontrollably.

Chapter 23

Behavioural Problems

The Fairway cab pulled up discreetly at a street corner overlooking Hyde Park, with Knightley behind the wheel and Darkus in the back seat, each observing the scene through their own pair of binoculars.

Across the way, a film crew arrived and began setting up their equipment by a pedestrian crossing. A small throng of onlookers had gathered nearby to watch.

‘Where is she . . . ?’ Darkus murmured to himself.

‘According to the fan website Fiona should arrive any minute,’ Knightley explained. ‘Tilly found that out. She’s very good you know.’

‘I know,’ said Darkus, distracted.

A few moments later, a chauffeur-driven car parked near the crossing and Fiona Connelly stepped out, wearing a bulging raincoat, belted at the waist, a long yellow corduroy skirt and sturdy outdoor shoes. A make-up person adjusted her hair, then an assistant passed Fiona the strap of a lead, which was attached to an excitable springer spaniel.

‘Heel!’ Fiona instructed.

The dog stopped yapping at once and stood still.

‘
Goood
,’ she cooed.

The assembled crowd broke into light applause, after which Fiona shrugged modestly, bowed a little and waved. The Knightleys watched closely for any clue, their faces pressed against the eyecups.

The director called out instructions to the crew. ‘OK, roll camera. And . . . action!’

Fiona walked along the pavement leading the springer spaniel, which was prancing at her feet. She approached the pedestrian crossing, demonstrating how to lead the dog across a busy road.

Fiona made a point of stopping at the edge of the pavement and raised her hand abruptly in an almost military salute.

‘Ssssssit!’

The spaniel obeyed without question. Then Fiona extended her finger and pressed the ‘Wait’ button. After a few moments, the pedestrian tone started beeping and she raised the lead, signalling the dog to stand and trot across the road alongside her.

Reaching the other side, Fiona turned to the waiting camera and addressed it.

‘So you see, even the cheekiest springer spaniel can be brought to heel . . . with the proper discipline. So it’s goodbye from me . . .’ She gave a gummy smile and pointed down at the spaniel. ‘And it’s goodbye from this
bad dog
made
good
 . . .
Good boy!
’ She petted the dog vigorously.

‘OK, and cut!’ the director called out. ‘Magic, Fifi.’

The throng of onlookers surged forward, holding out books and photos for Fiona to autograph. She gracefully signed each one, before being startled as a much larger figure bustled through the crowd towards her.

‘Is that who I think it is?’ said Knightley, rubbing his eyes.

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Darkus.

‘Fifi? Ye looked pure barry out there, there’s nae doubt,’ said Uncle Bill, approaching her and doffing his hat.

‘Monty . . .’ she whispered diplomatically. ‘I didn’t know you were coming to set?’

‘Aye, I’m meeting Alan and Darkus o’er there . . .’

Bill pointed directly at the cab.

‘Oh great,’ complained Knightley, dropping his binoculars and waving back awkwardly.

‘He’s a liability,’ said Darkus.

Bill gave Fiona a bear hug, then excused himself and virtually skipped across the road to greet his colleagues.

‘A’right, Alan? Darkus?’ He attempted to lean through the cab window unsuccessfully.

‘Bill, this was meant to be a surveillance operation,’ Knightley explained.

‘On Fifi . . . ? Why would ye wannae dae that?’

‘We believe she may be in danger,’ Darkus elaborated. ‘From her midnight caller.’

‘Nae problem, I’ll park the Moby Dick outside her place and keep an eye on things, eh?’

‘Using the van might be a little . . . unsubtle,’ advised Knightley.

‘If you agree, Dad,’ began Darkus, ‘I think Bill should remain as close
to Fiona as possible.’

‘Belter,’ agreed Bill, nodding eagerly.

‘Advise her that it’s for her own safety. Accompany her home if necessary,’ said Darkus. ‘But don’t let her out of your sight.’

‘Beezer!’ exclaimed Bill lustily, although the Knightleys had no idea what he meant.

‘Be careful,’ warned Darkus. ‘We’ll give you further instructions in a few hours.’

‘Have you still got those silver bullets handy?’ asked Knightley.

Bill patted his snub-nosed revolver, which was tucked in a holster under one of his generous arms. ‘Dinna leave home wi’out ’em.’

‘Good,’ said Knightley.

Darkus glanced up at the sky, half expecting the moon to peer back at him from behind a cloud, but it was concealing itself for as long as possible – waiting for the witching hour to arrive.

Finding their cover blown, and having to resort to leaving their prime suspect in Bill’s less than capable hands, the Knightleys returned to Cherwell Place. Before they could fully unlock the door, Bogna opened it with urgent news.

‘Wilbur is on strikes.’

‘What d’you mean on strike?’ said Knightley.

‘He won’t go for walk. He not eating my food,’ she replied.

‘Are there any
other
symptoms?’ asked Knightley delicately.

‘I’m home, boy,’ Darkus called through the doorway.

‘He acts all funny and won’t leave his baskets,’ explained Bogna. ‘I have called Captain Reed – he’s just arrived.’

Darkus led the way into the living room to find Wilbur curled up by Bogna’s armchair, apparently refusing to budge. Captain Reed stood patiently by the mantelpiece, watching him.

‘Darkus . . . Alan.’ The captain nodded to them.

‘John,’ Knightley acknowledged him.

Darkus knelt by his dog, resting a protective hand on his back. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ he asked Reed, getting straight to the point.

‘Don’t worry, there’s nothing physically wrong with him. But he appears to be having a relapse of some kind,’ Reed began. ‘Possibly a touch of post-traumatic stress disorder. Brought on by what, I couldn’t tell you. He’s partially regressed into the fearful dog he was when you first got him.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Darkus.

‘He’s been through a lot the past seventy-two hours,’ Knightley reasoned. ‘We all have I suppose.’

‘But I need you, Wilbur . . .’ Darkus rubbed his head playfully.

The German shepherd twitched his bat-ears uncertainly. The adults looked on, concerned.

‘What’s wrong, boy?’ Darkus whispered.

Wilbur looked up at the darkening sky outside the window, then rested his head on his paws and cried softly for a second.

Captain Reed paced by the fireplace, perplexed. ‘This may sound crazy . . .’

‘We don’t use the c-word in this house,’ Knightley pointed out.

Darkus gave his father a sceptical look.

‘Well, at least, I don’t,’ Knightley clarified.

‘But what?’ Darkus asked Reed.

‘He’s been staring out of that window at the sky ever since I arrived. If I was a superstitious man – which I’m not – I’d say he was afraid of the full moon.’

‘How could he possibly know about that?’ said Darkus, petting his dog again. ‘It’s OK, Wilbur. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’

Knightley nodded. ‘It’s certainly possible. The moon controls the tides, the elements, not to mention our emotions and state of mind.’

Darkus understood that the gravitational attraction of the moon affected the oceans, by causing the water to bulge, resulting in high tides – the highest one on record being over fifty metres, as he recalled, in the Bay of Fundy near Nova Scotia, Canada. However, he dismissed the moon’s effect on the emotions as unscientific and impossible to prove.

Darkus got to his feet and entered the kitchen, before returning with Wilbur’s beloved Metropolitan Police rubber Kong toy. ‘Would this cheer you up?’ he asked the mutt.

Wilbur raised his greying eyebrows.

‘Tomorrow, after the full moon, we’ll go to the park. Like old times.’

Wilbur suddenly rolled on to his back and wagged his tail.

‘Attaboy.’ Darkus broke into a smile. ‘He’s fine, aren’t you, boy?’

Knightley and Reed exchanged a nod, appearing reassured. Bogna looked less convinced, cocked an eyebrow and returned to her duties.

Darkus went upstairs to check on Tilly’s progress but found the landing and office empty, with no sign of his stepsister or her ever-present laptop computer. He checked his phone for any communication from her and, as if by magic, an email appeared:

Program done. Click the link below to activate it. All CCTV cameras will then switch to a pre-recorded loop, giving you freedom to move about the property. Your fingerprint will access all doors and gates. The alarm will not sound.

Darkus smiled, wondering how and when she’d acquired his fingerprint, and admiring her devious skills. Then he read on:

I’ve gone to the Heath. It’s a mystery to me but you obviously care about this girl so I’m going to find her for you. Don’t try and call me – mobile signal is intermittent up here anyway. Catch you later.

Xo T*

She signed off in her usual way.

Darkus’s heart sank, and he immediately disobeyed her instructions and tried to call her, but it went straight to voicemail. He clicked off his phone and cursed himself for his foolish emotions, which had now put his beloved stepsister in danger – although Tilly would never tolerate him using such a term of endearment to describe her. For the first time, Darkus felt like the world was slipping out of his control and for all his careful attention to detail, the most important people in his life were now all under threat.

He glanced out of the window and calculated that there were only around three hours of daylight left. Then the Heath would be pitch dark, and the animals would come out – including the predator. Whatever it was.

Darkus realised that the time for playing his cards close to his chest was gone. He must soon disclose everything he knew to his father, for fear of any further repercussions. Returning downstairs, Darkus passed on Tilly’s message and advised his dad that they needed to assemble the necessary equipment and set out for Hampstead Heath at once – to investigate the Connelly residence, prevent any further disappearances and hopefully draw this strange case to a close.

Chapter 24