Kat Wolfe Investigates

by Lauren St. John

  Dr Wolfe was following by road. She’d stopped off at the farm adjoining Paradise House to check on a patient. A bull had cut his nose tossing a prowler out of his field on the night of the thunderstorm. On Saturday, when she’d first gone to see him, she’d arrived to find Sergeant Singh handcuffing Darren Weebly.

  ‘He was covered in the most horrendous bites and claw marks,’ Dr Wolfe told Kat, ‘which he claimed were inflicted during a pest-control job. He’d also been kicked by the bull. Incredibly, he was smiling from ear to torn ear. He explained to Sergeant Singh that it was because he’d regained consciousness to find a fresh growth of hair on his head.’

  On the coastal path, Harper gave a shout. ‘There they are!’

  Kat nudged Charming Outlaw into a trot, easing up at the point where the path sloped down towards Durdle Door. The Jurassic Coast’s famous limestone arch stood proud in a turquoise sea. Beyond it, a pale gold beach tapered into the haze.

  The Singh family were laying out colourful rugs on an emerald patch of grass overlooking the bay. As Kat unsaddled Charming Outlaw, Sergeant Singh introduced everyone to his wife, Asha, and ten-year-old son, Prem.

  Everyone had contributed to the picnic. The Singhs had brought vegetable pakoras and filled a flask with mango lassi, and there were rice-paper rolls from Tina, and a salad and chocolate cake from Nettie. Edith had brought freshly baked scones, jam and coconut cream, and Dr Wolfe was stopping en route to pick up chips, dips and ginger beer.

  Kat had remembered to bring carrots for Charming Outlaw. She fed him a couple as she tethered him to Edith’s mobility scooter. Shading her eyes, she squinted into the empty sky.

  When she turned, she found Sergeant Singh leaning against the scooter. ‘If he said he’ll be here, he will.’

  Kat shrugged. ‘I don’t care whether he shows up or doesn’t.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said the policeman, hiding a smile. ‘Kat, I wanted to apologize for doubting you. Thanks to you and Harper, I’ve solved two mysteries in one weekend. It’s exceedingly strange how Darren Weebly, the pest-control salesman I found lurking about outside Paradise House during the storm, held the key to the Case of the Missing Pumpkin. However, the moment I arrested him, he confessed everything!

  ‘Better still, he spilled the beans on Miracle Sprout, a banned baldness cure Reg was manufacturing. That and Miracle Veg, another of his products, are so packed with chemicals they’re practically radioactive. Darren and Reg are unlikely to go to jail, but they will be doing hundreds of hours of community service. Picking up litter, cleaning toilets and so on.’

  He glanced over at Edith. ‘I thought Reg’s mum would be devastated to find out that her son’s a petty criminal, but she took it very well. Says a spell of charity work will be character-building for him.’

  Kat had a feeling that it would take more than a spell of good deeds to alter Reg’s ways, but it was definitely a start.

  ‘I’m sorry I doubted you, too, Sergeant Singh. About twenty Tank Regiment dinner guests owe their lives to you. So do me and Harper. I can’t believe you ran almost nine kilometres to save me and Harper and raise the alert at the base. My grandfather says the army are going to give you a medal for bravery.’

  He grinned. ‘The best part will be seeing the look on the super’s face when he has to present it to me.’

  ‘One thing still puzzles me,’ said Kat. ‘How did you know me that Harper and I needed rescuing?’

  ‘I felt it in my bones.’

  A black dot appeared in the sky. Moments later, a shiny blue helicopter buzzed overhead and landed in the nearby car park. Kat was worried that Charming Outlaw might panic, but he was too busy snatching up grass.

  The Dark Lord came striding up the path carrying a Fortnum & Mason’s hamper. He wore grey silk trousers and an open-necked white shirt, which, Kat guessed, was as close as he ever got to casual. After the introductions, he unpacked a china tea set, two flasks of boiling water and canisters of Earl Grey tea and Ethiopian coffee.

  Kat could tell it wasn’t easy for him, relaxing and being normal. But it meant a lot that he’d made the effort to come.

  ‘This is the most magnificent feast I’ve ever seen,’ said Edith. ‘I hardly know where to begin.’

  ‘I always find that the middle is as good a place as any,’ the Dark Lord remarked. ‘Take a deep breath and dive in.’

  Edith was putting on a brave front, but Kat could tell that the joy of being involved in a proper spy caper was offset by fears for her future. Reg’s arrest meant she would have to sell her cottage to cover his legal bills. She’d have no choice but to move to Glebe Gardens Home for Seniors, and they’d never allow her to take her beloved retriever.

  Kat was in possession of news that might make Edith feel better, but she’d been sworn to secrecy until it was confirmed.

  Dr Wolfe was next to arrive. When she saw her nemesis, her smile faded and she hesitated, as if she might sprint away.

  The Dark Lord stepped forward with a smile and put out his hand. ‘Dr Wolfe, it’s a pleasure to see you. May I offer you a cup of Earl Grey tea?’

  Kat saw her mum’s shoulders relax.

  ‘Do you know, Lord Hamilton-Crosse, I can’t think of anything I’d like more.’

  ‘Call me Dirk.’

  ‘Call me Ellen . . .’

  Picnicking where dinosaurs had roamed 140 million years ago was one of the best experiences of Kat’s life. It wasn’t only the feast, delicious though that was. It was the infinite blue of the coast, the chestnut racehorse looking out over it, and the company. The Wolfes had been in Bluebell Bay for only two weeks, but somehow Kat felt that everyone present was family.

  Even her grandfather.

  When the tea and treats were gone, and the rest of the adults were snoozing or exploring, he had a private word with Kat and Harper.

  The Ghost Owl’s story was classified, which meant that most of those involved in it were told bits of it only on a need-to-know basis.

  For example, Sergeant Singh, whose heroic run had saved Colonel Cunningham and other dignitaries from eating lethal lasagne, would never learn who Kazimir Gorev was, or what had driven him to attempt such a heinous crime.

  Kat and Harper, whose efforts had stopped one of the deadliest Russian spies of all time and saved the Minister of Defence, were entitled to know more.

  ‘Who was the Ghost Owl?’ Harper asked Lord Hamilton-Crosse. ‘I’ll die of curiosity if you can’t say. Was Chef Roley actually Brad, the boat owner from San Antonio, in disguise? Or was he a member of the Owl Service?’

  ‘You came close to the truth when you suspected the neighbour. The real story is a tragedy all round. Brad Emery was best friends with Mario Baranello. He grew up believing he was an all-American boy and that his parents were a loving couple from Texas. Not until he was sixteen did he learn that he’d been adopted by Russian Illegals. They’d lived undercover for years, doing ordinary work, being ordinary citizens. When the Ghost Owl “woke them up” and put them to work, their duty was to train their adopted son to be a Russian agent. They told him that if he refused he’d spend the rest of his life breaking rocks in Siberia.

  ‘Once his friends joined the US Army, Brad was ordered to plant bugs in their homes and in their military kit bags and sleeping bags and spy on them. That’s how the Russians learned of their mission to blow up a Soviet bomb factory in Afghanistan in 1986. When Brad learned that he’d indirectly caused Mario’s death, he was devastated. The other soldiers assumed, rightly, that he was in mourning for his best friend. They wanted him to know he would always be part of their circle, so they swore an oath of allegiance.’

  ‘All for One. One for All,’ finished Harper. ‘But what about the CIA officer who planned the mission and was found dead with papers proving he was KGB?’

  ‘It’s possible that he was an innocent man, killed by an actual double agent,’ said the Dark Lord.

  ‘It’s hard to keep up with everything,’ said Kat. ‘So did Brad actually k
ill his friends with the heart-attack gun?’

  ‘From what we’ve learned from the coded documents you posted to us, he did not. But he was forced to give information on their movements and missions to a Russian agent code-named the Ghost Owl. His name was Kazimir Gorev, aka Roley George. Kazimir was an Illegal who’d spent years working as a chef in the British Army. He used an imaginary aunt as a cover for trips to Moscow or the US.’

  ‘Do you mean he organized the assassinations of Evan, Trey, Tony and Vaughan from Bluebell Bay?’

  ‘Evan, Trey and Tony were the victims of the Ghost Owl’s hitmen,’ said the Dark Lord. ‘It looks as if Tony had an actual cardiac arrest. By the time he died, Javier had become convinced that the Owl Service members were being targeted by the Ghost Owl. He knew he’d be next. To keep himself safe while he redoubled his efforts to track the Russian down, he faked his own death in a car crash. In the US, the Ghost Owl’s trail had gone cold. Javier was close to giving up when he had a breakthrough. Tragically, Brad passed away in a climbing accident, but in his will, he left Javier a beautiful photo of a white barn owl.’

  ‘The one in the kitchen at Avalon Heights!’ said Kat.

  ‘Exactly. In an envelope hidden at the back of it were Brad’s secret files on everything he’d discovered about the Ghost Owl. It was his way of making amends for what he’d done. Javier turned them into code.’

  ‘The owl notes in the white envelope I found?’ Kat wondered if this was the right moment to mention the green briefcase she’d taken from Avalon Heights. There was nothing in it. She’d looked. Just pens, pencils and some old sunglasses. But the Dark Lord was still talking and it went from her mind.

  ‘Brad revealed that, far from living in America, the Ghost Owl operated his network from the army base near Bluebell Bay. So Javier Morgan reinvented himself as Ramon, a Paraguayan bird artist, and moved here immediately. Once in the UK, he contacted me through a mutual friend and told me his history and everything he knew. Of course, I wanted the Ghost Owl found as much as he did. I gave him the use of Avalon Heights for free, but he insisted on paying rent. British Intelligence set him up with everything he needed, security-wise.’

  ‘Option Thirteen?’ said Kat.

  He gave her a reproachful look. ‘Yes, Option Thirteen. For two years, we worked with him to track down the Ghost Owl. But Ramon grew frustrated with our slow progress. He wasn’t a particularly good bird watcher, or artist, and he was afraid his cover would be blown. Nine days ago, he took matters into his own hands. He’d identified Chef Roley as the potential Ghost Owl and decided to lure him to an address in London with a note only he would understand:

  I know what happened to Evan and Vaughan.

  ‘That’s where you come in, Kat. He needed to find someone to pet-sit his parrot. He didn’t know the chef already had his suspicions that Ramon was Javier Morgan, the supposedly dead former Owl Service-member, and had sent him the package containing the photo of the soldiers. Unfortunately, the delivery was delayed and in the meantime the chef received Ramon’s note. He knew immediately that his suspicions were correct.

  ‘At dawn that Thursday, Ramon was looking through his telescope when, by chance, he saw Chef Roley coming through the firing-range gate and making his way to the station. Ramon didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his wallet, abandoned his suitcase and ran. He boarded the same train but travelled in a separate carriage. The chef led him to a very crowded Oxford Street. Ramon didn’t realise that it was a trap. As you know, it was almost the death of him.’

  Harper gasped. ‘So Ramon was the Oxford Street Phantom after all?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Our Waterloo station camera picked him up by sheer chance and we sent a tail. Our agent saw him collapse on Oxford Street, but not who shot him. We had a Secret Service ambulance on the scene in minutes. Annoyingly, someone noticed the false plates. The whole thing has turned into a conspiracy-theory circus. We’ll wait a while longer, then feed a couple of tame reporters a story about the victim living happily in a national park in Paraguay, recovering from a rare illness.’

  ‘If Ramon was shot with the heart-attack gun, how did he survive?’ asked Harper.

  ‘Bulletproof vest,’ said the Dark Lord, patting his chest.

  ‘Never be without it,’ piped up Kat, and they both laughed.

  Harper looked from one to the other and shook her head. ‘So it was the British Secret Service that took the suitcase from Avalon Heights after Kat had been to feed Bailey in the fog?’

  ‘It was. They didn’t want the cleaner finding it and asking questions. They left a fake travel itinerary there too. They didn’t know that Ramon had organized a pet-sitter, nor that she and her best friend were budding detectives with a formidable skill set and array of animal warriors, village bobbies and ex-librarians to provide back-up.’

  Kat grinned. ‘Is Ramon ever coming home to Bluebell Bay?’

  ‘He’s alive somewhere in the world. That’s all you’ll ever know.’

  ‘Wherever he is, try to let him know that Bailey, his parrot, has found a forever home with Harper and Professor Lamb,’ said Kat. ‘He’s going to have the best life. They speak the same languages.’

  He smiled. ‘And that’s important?’

  ‘Yes, because parrots never lie . . . Grandfather,’ Kat said nervously, ‘how much did you say to my mum about what happened? Am I going to be banned from pet-sitting for life?’

  ‘I didn’t go into details. I told both your dad, Harper, and your mum, Kat, that because you refused to accept Ramon’s disappearance without question, you’ve done a tremendous service to national security and saved many lives. I said they should be proud. I am.’

  Kat looked up shyly. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes. However, I don’t ever want you risking your life to rescue me again. As Minister of Defence, I’m the one who should be saving you, not the other way around. And Harper, I’m going to recommend that you take some coding lessons from one of our cyber-security experts. You skirted dangerously close to crossing lines that could get you arrested. I’d rather we nurture and guide your talents and keep you safe. Some day in the future, we might like to work with you.’

  ‘Anything is possible,’ said Harper.

  He smiled. ‘Yes, it is. Now, girls, are you sure you don’t want to change your minds about the Ghost Owl reward money? Half a million pounds is a lot. I could put it into a college trust fund for the two of you.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Harper.

  Kat agreed. ‘We’ve made up our minds.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the Dark Lord. ‘I’ll see that your instructions are carried out.’

  In the car park, the helicopter roared to life. The Dark Lord grimaced. ‘Duty calls.’

  He looked back at the picnic rugs, where Tina, Asha and Dr Wolfe were leaning together, laughing. A wistful expression flitted across his face. Kat had a vision of him returning to his stately home and wandering the empty rooms all alone.

  ‘I suppose this is goodbye,’ said her grandfather. He put out a hand, and Kat shook it formally.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so British,’ cried Harper. ‘Give each other a hug.’

  They laughed and embraced.

  ‘Stay out of trouble,’ instructed the Dark Lord.

  ‘Define trouble,’ Kat said innocently.

  ‘For starters, you can avoid leaping over iron gates on out-of-control racehorses during electrical storms. If I were you, I’d give snipers, barbecues, pest-control salesmen, Russian spies and the army base a wide berth too. Oh, and don’t open any mysterious packages from dodgy couriers either. They might just be from an assassin.’

  The blades of the helicopter spun into a blur. His mouth tugged into a smile.

  ‘See you when I see you, Kat Wolfe.’

  ‘Not if I see you first,’ she said softly, but he was already walking away.

  38

  The Armchair Adventurers’ Club

  ‘You cut it,’ said Kat.

  ‘No, you cut i
t,’ countered Harper.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, why don’t you both cut it?’ said Edith. ‘It’s a wonder the two of you managed to solve a whole mystery together when it takes you this long to tackle a ribbon.’

  ‘We had help,’ Harper told her.

  ‘A lot,’ Kat agreed.

  Edith put an arm round each of them. ‘And, in my case, you’ve repaid that help about half a million times.’

  About ten minutes after the Dark Lord had left the picnic at Durdle Door, Edith’s phone had rung. When she’d hung up, she’d been in tears. ‘That was the estate agent. Kittiwake Cottage has been sold.’

  ‘Oh, Edith, I’m so sorry,’ said Sergeant Singh.

  ‘No, it’s good news – the best I’ve ever had. I feel as if I’ve won the lottery.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes,’ Edith said joyously. ‘A gentleman who wishes to remain anonymous has just offered a stupendous sum for my cottage. He wants to turn it into a library and gift it to Bluebell Bay for all eternity.

  ‘And that’s not all,’ she’d continued as the picnickers crowded round to congratulate her.

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘He’s asked me to stay on in the cottage as librarian for as long as I’d like the job – forever, if that’s what I want. He’s offered quite a generous salary too. And a laptop. I’m going to have my very own computer!’

  ‘What an extraordinary man,’ said Dr Wolfe.

  ‘Yes, he is.’ Edith smiled. ‘But I suspect he has had some rather extraordinary assistance. Kat and Harper, I don’t suppose the two of you know anything about this?’

  ‘Us?’ Kat said innocently. ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘Clueless, that’s us,’ seconded Harper.

  ‘Perhaps it shall forever remain a mystery,’ murmured Edith.

  ‘I must say that Bluebell Bay has certainly livened up since the Wolfes and Lambs moved to town,’ remarked Sergeant Singh. ‘I do hope that you’re going to be continuing with your Paws and Claws pet-sitting agency, Kat. You’re really rather good at it.’