K-9

by Rohan Gavin

  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

  The Trophy

  Tilly didn’t give Darkus the whole truth, nothing but the truth. She gave him enough to make him feel guilty, but not so much that it distracted him from the core of the case. She figured Darkus did the same thing to her regularly. He never gave her the full contents of his mind and frequently withheld his suspicions until he could present the solution to his eager audience on a plate.

  The whole truth was that Tilly had managed to hack into Alexis’s mobile phone network and – using data acquired from cellular phone masts in the area – she had triangulated the almost exact location from where Alexis’s fateful last text was sent.

  Using a relatively cheap handheld GPS device, Tilly followed the coordinates around the base of Parliament Hill, past various joggers and tourists, and a team of police officers picking through the undergrowth, searching for Alexis. She also overheard a handful of teenage thrill-seekers trudging through the woods, discussing the possibility of werewolves roaming the Heath, and what on earth they would do if they happened upon one.

  For Tilly herself, the jury was out on the whole supernatural issue. But she’d brought a set of rosary beads that she’d inherited from her mother, just in case. They hadn’t saved her mum, but maybe they would save her. She’d also brought one of Miss Khan’s ultrasonic dog whistles – to cover all bases.

  The path led Tilly through a gap in the undergrowth, revealing a lush meadow with a view of a spire in the distance. A fallen tree lay dramatically across one side of the meadow. Tilly checked the GPS against a detailed map of Hampstead Heath and realised she was within metres of the spot where Alexis had sent the text message.

  She looked around, surveying the landscape, doing a full 360-degree scan, then stopped, seeing a small opening in the bushes directly behind her, leading into the woods. She moved closer, spotting a long, blonde hair wound around one of the thorny bushes that guarded the opening. Tilly plucked it between her fingers and held it up to the dimming light.

  ‘I’d know that hair anywhere . . .’ she whispered to herself.

  Tilly rolled up her sleeves and carefully pried open the thorny gateway to the woods, revealing a lonely clearing.

  It was much darker in the shadow of the forest. And colder, and scarier. Tilly felt a chill run down her spine. She observed her surroundings, finding the muddy ground was demarcated by a wall of tall thickets.

  She checked her phone and found the signal bars empty.

  She suddenly wondered why on earth she was doing this, especially alone. What was she trying to prove? She didn’t care a hang about pushy blonde Alexis Bateman, who had quite clearly brought her fate upon herself, whatever fate it was. Was Tilly doing this in order to score points against Darkus? Or to earn his admiration and possibly martyr herself in the process?

  The wind picked up, blowing the dead leaves through the air and somehow making the clearing even darker than it was already. Tilly shook her head and thought better of the whole thing.

  ‘Forget this –’ She turned around and marched towards the gap in the hedgerows, until . . .

  A hoarse whisper stopped her – it was one word, spoken in a series of croaks, coming from somewhere deep in the wall of thickets. Tilly turned around and shuddered. She couldn’t work out what it was, or what it was saying. It was the sound of someone who’d had the life choked out of them.

  ‘Wa-a-aiit . . .’ it said, struggling to gain volume.

  Tilly bent down and approached the sound, coming face-to-face with a tall barrier of branches, vines and leaves. She ran her hand over it and realised it was a makeshift door, fabricated to look like part of the wilderness.

  ‘Wa-a-aiiit, pleee-ase,’ the voice insisted.

  ‘Alexis?’ Tilly whispered through the wall.

  ‘Yeeee-es.’

  Tilly grabbed hold of the door and pulled it to one side. A cloud of black flies swarmed out, hitting Tilly in the face and getting caught in her hair.

  She screamed, swatting at them and spitting them out of her mouth, until the flies dispersed, the buzzing subsided and the full horror of the hunting lodge was revealed.

  Tilly crept inside, seeing the ghoulish creatures hanging with their eye sockets gaping and their jaws yawning in pain. Tilly blocked out the nightmarish trophy gallery and focused instead on the small, still living creature huddled in the corner of the lodge.

  At first, Tilly didn’t even think it was Alexis. This creature was too frail and old. Her clothes were shredded, her face was drawn into itself a
nd her once beautiful blonde hair had completely faded to grey. Whatever she had witnessed had quite literally scared the life out of her – and aged her by decades.

  ‘Hee-elp . . . me . . .’ she whispered through cracked, dry lips.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m here to get you.’

  Tilly checked her pulse. Alexis’s heart rate was over a hundred and fifty beats per minute but she was still breathing, just about. However, her wrists and ankles were bound with thick rope, wound so tightly that it had broken the skin. The rope was looped around two massive trees to ensure there was no escape.

  Tilly instantly pulled a small metal gadget from her backpack and pressed the button on the top. Alexis visibly jumped as a blade shot out of the handle. Tilly angled the flick knife on the rope around her classmate’s wrist and started sawing through it. The outer strands began to fray but the rope was too thick. Tilly sawed faster, but it was no good.

  Tilly checked her phone again but the signal bars were still empty. She tried to look out through the wall of thickets but the daylight was fading fast and they were too deep in the woods to cry out.

  ‘I need to go get help,’ said Tilly.

  ‘No!’ Alexis cried out. ‘Don’t leave me. Please-please-please-please. She’s coming back . . .’

  ‘Fiona Connelly?’

  Alexis nodded quickly.

  ‘OK, but you’ll have to be patient.’

  Alexis nodded and winced as Tilly angled the knife on the rope again and continued to saw.

  Chapter 25

  Bampot (translation: person of unsound mind)

  Uncle Bill was walking on a cloud. Not only had he met the woman who might be the love of his life, but they appeared to share so many of the same interests. In the past few hours they had consumed almost a whole bottle of fine wine and three packets of choc­olate digestive biscuits. Several retrievers lay prostrate around Fiona’s living room. The sun was sinking in the sky, the conversation had never dried up for a moment, and he felt quite certain romance was just around the corner.