by Gavin, Rohan
“Go ahead, Alan,” she answered.
“Show them the Knowledge, Doc.”
“Okay, gentlemen. Follow me . . .”
Darkus led the entire procession through the house, upstairs, and across the landing to his bedroom. Knightley followed obediently behind Draycott and his officers.
Darkus paused at his bedroom door and turned to address them all. “You’ll have to excuse the state of my room. I left in something of a hurry.”
“He’s a very neat boy,” explained Jackie.
Clive harrumphed in agreement.
Draycott and his officers watched impatiently as Darkus opened the door to his room, then stopped dead, instantly detecting something wrong. He turned to his father, confused. “Someone’s been here.”
“What do you mean, Doc?”
Darkus walked briskly into the room, mentally recording every object that was out of place. He saw his laptop on the desk with the cable still attached, but lying limp, leading nowhere. The hard drive was gone.
“I must’ve forgotten to lock it away,” said Darkus, looking up at his father apologetically. “I always lock it away,” he added, hardly believing his error.
Knightley took a moment to process this, then nodded soberly. “It’s okay, Doc. There are forces at work that are obviously closer at my heels than I thought.”
“How very convenient,” said Draycott. “The one piece of evidence that might substantiate your story has mysteriously gone missing.”
“There’s nothing mysterious about it,” said Knightley plainly. “It’s the work of the Combination; you can be sure of that.”
“The what?” Draycott asked, stroking his mustache, curious.
“The organization I was telling you about. They know I’ve woken up, and they’ve traced me here. And by their good fortune they’ve managed to stumble onto the single most important piece of evidence I have against them. Clearly they gained access to my son’s room in the past twelve hours, probably with the collusion of your own officers.”
“You’re accusing my men of being involved?” Draycott bristled.
“Unfortunately, the heinous fraternity I refer to draws its members from both crime and law enforcement. And that hard drive was our best chance of finding them.”
“And what exactly was on it?” asked Draycott.
“Only a detailed record of every case in my illustrious career, every crime scene, every clue, every lead to the location and membership of the Combination.” Knightley sighed heavily. “I must conclude that the Knowledge has already been passed up the ladder, or destroyed, and I’m left with nothing but . . .” He trailed off, looking at Darkus with a newfound intensity.
“Nothing but me,” said Darkus, finishing his sentence. He quickly followed his father’s logic without Knightley having to say a word. “I’ve got the Knowledge . . . up here.” Darkus pointed to his own head.
“It’s impossible, Doc,” Knightley barked, not wishing to accept the truth.
“I’m telling you, it’s all here,” Darkus repeated with complete conviction.
“If you think I’d utilize my own son—”
“If everything you’ve said is true,” said Darkus, “that’s exactly what you should do.”
“Damn it, Doc . . .” Knightley rubbed his head, racked with anxiety.
“Okay, show’s over, Alan,” Draycott announced. “You’re coming with me.”
Darkus grabbed his father’s arm. “If you don’t take me with you, I’ll be in more danger here. I’m a sitting duck,” he said gravely.
“This is insanity,” murmured Knightley.
“I couldn’t have chosen a better word myself,” said Draycott. “Now come along. You’re under arrest.”
“Wait a second,” Knightley said, examining Darkus closely. “If you’re so sure of yourself . . .” He paused, then launched into a carefully chosen line of questioning: “What was the prima facie evidence in the investigation of the Man with the Harelip?”
The entire group looked from Knightley to Darkus.
“The bloody paw print,” answered Darkus.
Everyone turned back to Knightley, whose eyes lit up wildly. “Where and when did I first encounter the Jade Dagger?”
Darkus wasn’t even aware he’d become the center of attention—his brain was too busy producing the answer with the speed of a well-oiled machine.
“December 2001,” he said without hesitation. “On a train bound for Didcot Parkway. The three forty.”
“Excellent. Excellent!” Knightley exclaimed, thrilled.
Draycott turned to Jackie, stroking his mustache. “This sort of rapport is common in kidnap cases. I believe we’re witnessing what’s known as—”
“Stockholm syndrome,” said Jackie warily.
“Yes, exactly,” Draycott said, clearing his throat.
“Or maybe it’s just father-son syndrome,” she said drily.
Fearing he might have been intellectually outmaneuvered, Draycott got back to what he knew best. “All right, Alan, come quietly.”
The officers manhandled Knightley back across the landing as he struggled to slow them down, turning to face Jackie. “Doc’s right. He’s not safe here,” he said flatly.
Jackie shrugged, helpless. “What do you want me to do?”
Inexplicably, Knightley stopped resisting for a moment and sniffed the air, then answered, “Nothing. He’ll be protected. It’s okay.” He relaxed and let the officers guide him as Jackie watched, mystified.
“What do you mean, it’s okay?!” she demanded.
Draycott escorted Knightley down the staircase. “I hereby arrest you on suspicion of theft of a motor vehicle, child abduction, and public disorder—”
“That will not be necessary, Inspector,” a voice interrupted him.
Darkus immediately recognized the voice and matched it with the aroma he’d detected moments after his father did. “Uncle Bill . . . ,” he muttered under his breath.
“It’s Chief Inspector!” Draycott called out, unable to see whom he was addressing.
By this time, the wisps of cigar smoke were visibly climbing the stairs, although Bill himself was planted firmly in the entrance hall, his girth apparently too abundant for the crowded staircase.
“And you are . . . ?” said Draycott.
“A friend,” Bill replied, then lowered his smoldering stogie and held up a leather ID wallet.
“And not a moment too soon,” said Knightley, offering his cuffed hands to Draycott.
Draycott parted his way through the smoke and examined Bill’s ID. “SO 42 . . . ?” he scoffed. “Never heard of it.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Yer’ll find a phone number there . . .” Bill held it up to Draycott’s face. “I suggest ye call it.”
Draycott snatched the ID wallet out of his hand and drew a cell phone from his utility belt. He marched into the living room, punching the number into the keypad, then stopped, surprised to receive an immediate answer on the other end.
“Hello? Yes, this is Chief Inspector Draycott. Who is this?”
There was a long pause as the voice on the other end delivered a long and thorough explanation.
“But—” Draycott tried to interject, but the voice continued for another ten seconds.
The rest of the police officers listened in silence. Knightley took the opportunity to exchange pleasantries with his old friend.
“You’ve lost some weight, Bill. Approximately three pounds, I’d say.”
“Aye, thank ye for noticing, Alan.”
Meanwhile, Draycott slowly turned a shade paler and lowered the phone, unconsciously clipping it to his belt.Then he went completely quiet for a moment.
“Sir?” a policeman asked, concerned.
“Yes . . . ?” Draycott replied, dazed. “Yes,” he repeated, regaining command of himself. “Move out, men. We have a . . .” He searched for the right word. “A jurisdictional issue.”
The assembled officers looked at each other.<
br />
“You heard me,” he said, pointing to the door. “Chop-chop.” Draycott thrust the ID wallet back at Bill and turned to Knightley. “Until next time, Alan,” he said, unlocking the handcuffs and reattaching them to his belt. “And there will certainly be a next time,” he warned, then followed his officers out.
Clive and Jackie descended the stairs, unsure of what had just happened.
“Clive, Jackie, would ye give me a moment alone with Alan and young Darkus?” Bill requested.
“Doc, is that okay with you?” Jackie asked.
“Absolutely, yes-yes,” Darkus replied, unable to hide his enthusiasm.
Then a new voice interjected. “If you’re missing something, you might want to talk to me too,” said Tilly, standing above them on the stairs. “I saw a couple of cops snooping around Darkus’s bedroom—only I don’t think they were real cops.” She had their attention now. “They left five minutes ago.”
Darkus listened carefully as Tilly relayed her story to Knightley and Uncle Bill, giving a full description of the two suspects, along with cell-phone video footage of them leaving the scene in their police car. Bill instantly relayed the details to the local constabulary, who confirmed that the two officers in question never reported back to the station.
First they’d stolen Knightley’s case files, then they’d made sure his progress was obstructed by Draycott. Now the Knowledge, and its thieves, were long gone.
Struggling to keep pace with events, strangely, Darkus found himself wondering about Tilly’s hair and the fact that it had changed color again since the previous day. He marveled at how she found time for anything else, let alone to observe the suspicious behavior of two so-called police officers. He had to admit he was impressed. After Tilly finished her account, Uncle Bill thanked her and asked her to wait next door until he had interviewed Darkus.
“I’m not finished yet,” she protested. “I’ve got a few questions of my own.” She turned her attention to Knightley.
“All in good time,” he answered vaguely.
Tilly narrowed her eyes, assessing the situation before letting Uncle Bill usher her out of the living room and close the door behind her.
Bill sat opposite the Knightleys, his homburg hat resting on his generous midsection. “Now, Darkus,” he began.
“Call me Doc.”
“Doc. Yer father and myself worked together on many of the cases ye apparently know so well.”
“I never saw your name mentioned,” said Darkus.
“That’s because ma name is not technically ‘Uncle Bill.’ It’s Montague Billoch.”
“You work for Scotland Yard,” said Darkus, remembering the name from the Knowledge.
“Indeed.”
Knightley added, “That’s where he got his nickname. Uncle Bill—Old Bill. The Bill—it’s slang for the police.”
“Logical,” said Darkus with a nod.
“Aye. Only I don’t work for any department ye or many other people will have heard of,” Bill went on.
“SO 42,” said Darkus.
“Aye,” said Bill. “Specialist Operations branch forty-two. Only among the likes of yer father and myself, it’s known as the Department of the Unexplained. It does not operate in the world of Draycott or the regular police force. It’s too secretive for that. It exists outside the regular world, just like the crimes it investigates.”
“And what crimes are those?” asked Darkus.
“Highly organized crime, parapsychology, the occult, the dark arts, and well nigh everything in between.”
“In other words . . . the Combination,” said Knightley.
“We’ll see about that, Alan,” said Bill, then turned back to Darkus. “Yer father and me don’t always see eye to eye. Alan believes there is one organization that is responsible for all these unexplained events. The Combination, he claims. I, however, find it hard to believe such a web is possible, and have yet to see the evidence.”
“That’s why I assembled all my cases into one file: the Knowledge,” added Knightley. “For reasons of security, I never referred to our enemy by name.”
“Indeed.” Bill explained to Darkus: “Yer father was preparing to hand over the sum total of all his investigations to prove or disprove his theory once and for all. But before he could do that, he had his wee . . . episode.”
Knightley nodded gravely. “Now the Knowledge is gone, and we’re back to square one. And my brain is nothing but a dull blade.”
Uncle Bill shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the chair creaking under his weight.
“Now, Doc . . . how do ye feel about everything we’ve told ye?” he inquired gently.
Knightley waited with bated breath for his son’s response.
“I don’t have the empirical data to determine whether one organization is responsible for all my father’s cases,” said Darkus. “However, having had the chance to digest the Knowledge, I would agree with him that there are certainly connections: all those clues going missing, forensic evidence being mishandled or ruled inadmissible in court, witnesses changing their stories.”
Knightley cleared his throat and took over. “My memory’s not what it used to be, but Darkus knows the history. Throughout my career, there were clues, traces, that formed a common thread running through every case. Follow the thread and you locate the Combination.”
Darkus watched his father, concerned. It was clear that whether the Combination existed or not, his father wasn’t about to let it go. Uncle Bill shrugged, unconvinced, his chair creaking in complaint.
Knightley continued undaunted: “Clive’s daughter observes two police officers absconding with the Knowl-edge. You think that’s coincidence?”
Bill shifted in his seat again, apparently too exhausted to weigh the theories anymore. “I have bigger fish to fry, Alan,” he wheezed.
“And what, pray tell, are they?” said Knightley.
Bill sighed, uncertain whether involving Knightley would be beneficial or not. He produced a fresh cigar, struck a match to it, and resumed puffing smoke. “I have six unexplained bank robberies across six different counties, committed by six individuals with no criminal backgrounds,” he complained.
“It was on the news last night,” added Darkus.
“Piquant,” said Knightley. “Are there any patterns relating to age, gender, or ethnicity?”
“None whatsayever.” Bill blew a smoke ring.
“Any casualties as a result of the robberies?” continued Knightley.
“No.”
“Any suspects in custody?”
“Just one. And I’m off to see him shortly.”
“What about tools or weapons of choice?” Darkus ventured.
“Aye. One clue was discovered at the scene of every crime. Only it’s not a weapon, exactly,” said Bill, looking perplexed. “It’s a boook.”
Chapter 8
The Avid Reader
Knightley’s ears lifted at Bill’s last answer. His nostrils flared, and he leaned forward as if all his features were streamlining themselves, preparing for the hunt.
“A book. That is most interesting,” Knightley remarked. “And the particular book was . . . ?”
“A self-help book. Not something I go in for myself,” replied Bill, a little too defensively. “It’s called The Code, by Ambrose Chambers.”
“Doc? What do you know about it?”
“Only that it’s the work of a first-time author whose background is shrouded in mystery,” said Darkus. “And he’s never been photographed. Most believe it’s a marketing ploy. Since the book’s publication a few months ago, it has been steadily climbing the bestseller lists, combining New Age motivational strategies with ancient mythology and pop psychology. The reviews were mixed. The general consensus is that it’s harmless.”
“But clearly it’s not,” said Knightley.
“Now, Alan, there’s no evidence to suggest the book has anything to do with the crimes.”
“There’s no evidence to sugges
t the book doesn’t have anything to do with them either,” said Darkus.
“Exactly,” said Knightley. “And this bears all the hallmarks of our usual foe.”
“A’right. Seeing as you’ve decided to return to the land of the living, Alan, why don’t ye come with us? Prove the existence of the Combination.”
“What about Doc?” he asked.
Darkus looked from one man to the other, sensing his future was hanging in the balance.
“Ye said it yerself, Alan—if the Combination’s out there and Draycott’s men are compromised, Darkus is in more danger here,” reasoned Bill.
“You’re suggesting we bring him on the case? He’s only a boy.”
“With the mind of an experienced investigator . . . with yer mind, Alan.”
Knightley shook his head.
“In yer current state, Alan, we need him.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Darkus. “I’m coming.”
Knightley frowned. “What you’ve read in the Knowledge is nothing compared to reality, Doc. This is no urban myth. The forces of good date back through the centuries, and I understand their appeal. But the forces of evil are far older—and more powerful. And the closer you get to them, the more malevolent they become,” Knightley concluded, visibly anxious.
“If he’s going, so am I,” a voice interrupted them.
The three of them turned to find Tilly standing in the doorway.
“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Knightley ordered.
“I’ve still got questions,” she replied.
Knightley gestured impatiently. “Fire away.”
“About my mom.”
Knightley went quiet. “Yes . . . I’m terribly sorry, Tilly—”
“Was it an accident? Or was it another one of your unexplained cases?” she demanded, biting her lip nervously.
Darkus realized she’d been eavesdropping on the entire conversation from outside the door.
“Because you know what I think?” she went on. “I think it had something to do with whatever you were working on, Knightley. And until I find out the truth, I’m holding you responsible for her death.”
Knightley swallowed hard, then composed himself. “Based on the state of the car, the investigation concluded it was a tragic accident, nothing more,” he replied in measured tones, controlling his emotions. “Your mother was the finest researcher I ever worked with. And she loved you very, very much. I did everything I could to protect her.”