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  ‘Good morning, Doc,’ said his father. ‘Nice of you to join us.’

  ‘I must have overslept . . .’ Darkus said, confused.

  ‘You might say I did too!’ quipped Knightley. ‘But for some reason I woke up right as rain. We allowed you some extra shut-eye to keep you fresh for the investigation.’

  ‘Dad, I need to talk to you. Urgently –’

  Knightley held up his hand to shush him. ‘First, say hello to our distinguished guest . . .’

  Another figure looked up from the armchair facing the fireplace. Darkus instantly recognised her as Fiona Connelly, the larger-than-life presenter of Bad Dog.

  ‘Doc, you remember Miss Connelly,’ Knightley announced.

  Darkus wasn’t certain if he’d woken up – the whole scene had the strange quality of a dream.

  ‘Hello again, Doc,’ she replied in her dainty but strict upper-class tone, which resembled that of a headmistress at an all-girls school.

  Without the dogs for cover, her physique was even more buxom than before. Her white hair was tied up in a bun, hovering over large-framed granny spectacles and a slash of red lipstick. Her figure offered great rolling hills of country tweed; her jacket looked like it might split open at any moment, barely able to accommodate her pneumatic bust. Her tree-trunk thighs were compressed into a thick woollen skirt with an oversized, decorative safety pin to guard her dignity and keep the folds closed. Judging by her sturdy, stockinged calves and double-socked feet, the Hunter wellies could only have belonged to her. All of this was completed with a sweet perfume that reminded Darkus of Victoria sponge cake. Wilbur must have concurred because he sat happily silent, his nostrils slightly raised to drink in the aroma.

  Dazed, Darkus answered awkwardly. ‘It’s an honour, Miss Connelly. I see you’ve met my dog, Wilbur.’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ replied Fiona. ‘He’s a gorgeous fella, aren’t you, Wilbur.’

  Wilbur wagged his tail cheerily.

  ‘Good dog,’ she cooed by way of a reward.

  ‘You may remember, Fiona mentioned a problem she needed assistance with,’ Knightley explained. ‘Upon waking from my slumbers, I got straight in touch, and, well, you’ll see that it’s a most curious and unusual case.’

  Darkus continued to listen, mystified.

  ‘I take my security very seriously,’ Fiona went on. ‘So on your father’s advice I came over at once,’ she added.

  Darkus looked to Tilly for some kind of affirmation. Tilly just shrugged and nodded, confirming that this was someone to be believed.

  ‘So to business . . .’ Fiona announced. ‘I propose to hire Knightley and Son to investigate an intruder on my property. The following conversation must of course be held in strict confidence.’

  ‘Confidence is our middle name,’ replied Knightley. ‘As you know, we charge a reasonable flat rate per day, regardless of the client. Plus expenses of course.’

  ‘Very well,’ Fiona agreed.

  ‘Proceed,’ said Darkus.

  ‘Being a public figure, and a woman living alone,’ she explained with a slight blush and a vigorous straightening of her jacket, ‘I find it necessary to protect myself and my family.’

  ‘I thought you said you lived alone,’ Darkus interjected.

  ‘My furry family,’ she replied, gesturing to her golden retriever, as if it ought to be obvious.

  ‘I see,’ said Darkus.

  ‘As well as hosting a successful TV programme about dogs, I am also a dog-lover. Perhaps, I am told, that is why I, myself, am still . . . unattached. And very much . . . available.’ She glanced at Knightley, whose eyes went wide, before he covered himself with an innocent smile. ‘For that reason,’ Fiona went on, ‘I have had installed at my home a state-of-the-art alarm and surveillance system. It is able to detect intruders and alert me of their presence. It is also able to display any visitors on a series of CCTV cameras that are linked back to my flat screen TV or iPad.’

  ‘I am aware of such systems,’ said Darkus. Tilly nodded, indicating that she was as well. ‘Do you live in a particularly high crime area?’

  ‘Not particularly, no,’ Fiona replied.

  ‘If you don’t mind, where is your property located, Miss Connelly?’ asked Darkus, building a case history in his head.

  ‘Overlooking Hampstead Heath,’ she answered.

  Darkus looked to his father, who raised his eyebrows in a silent acknowledgement.

  ‘I see,’ Darkus continued, suddenly more interested. ‘And as you have the benefit of 24-7 surveillance cameras, might I ask why you haven’t been able to identify this intruder already?’

  ‘Because it’s not a person,’ Fiona responded, looking pale. ‘It’s an animal of some kind.’

  Darkus, his father and Tilly all exchanged a glance.

  ‘Please describe it for me,’ Darkus said, reaching in his pocket for his ever-present little black book.

  ‘I can do better than that,’ she replied, reaching into her bulky handbag and producing a DVD, which she handed to Knightley.

  Knightley knelt by the TV set and inserted the disc into the DVD player. A silence descended over the room, including both the canines, as the disc booted up, then the TV displayed a menu. Knightley pressed ‘Play’ and video surveillance footage flashed up on the screen.

  The image showed a night-time scene of a walled back garden – except there was a particularly strong ambient light over the proceedings.

  Darkus examined the date and time code running along the top of the frame and realised. ‘This was during the last full moon.’

  ‘Indeed it was,’ Fiona replied. ‘Just after two o’ clock in the morning as you can see . . . Here it comes now . . .’

  On screen, a strange-looking beast dropped from the high wall and entered the frame. It was hairy except for the head, which hung out of sight below the shoulders in an almost Neanderthal pose. It appeared to be using the shadows to conceal itself and was walking mostly on all fours, but occasionally rearing up to stand on two. It half galloped, half crawled across the perfectly manicured lawn and followed a garden path leading around the side of the Gothic-looking property.

  ‘I assume,’ Darkus commented, ‘that your perimeter wall is adjacent to the Heath?’

  ‘Yes. Very observant,’ replied Fiona.

  ‘You’ll find he’s a chip off the old block – and more,’ Knightley commented with his usual mix of pride and the faintest hint of professional jealousy.

  The dark shape continued along the path and out of sight.

  The screen flicked to another camera angle, showing an alley along the side of the house. The creature pawed hesitantly at a drainpipe, again mostly obscured by shadow, then continued towards the front of the property.

  The screen flicked to a third angle as the creature leaped into frame and shambled towards the front garden and driveway. It stopped, silhouetted in the moonlight. Its head – still steeped in shadow – looked towards the surveillance camera and up at the house. Then the beast appeared to sit back on its hind legs and let out a long, tortured howl – although the footage provided no sound.

  After several moments, the beast returned to all fours, raced across the driveway, quickly scaled the front gate of the property and vanished into the night.

  ‘The hard drive stores around three weeks of footage,’ explained Fiona. ‘This is the only known appearance of . . . it. But as you can imagine, I’d like some answers.’

  ‘Naturally,’ replied Knightley.

  ‘Have you shown this to the police, ma’am?’ asked Darkus.

  Fiona winced at this term of address, before answering. ‘They put it down to a prank . . . But I’m not so sure. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Did you hear a howl that night?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m an extremely deep sleeper.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ said Knightley, before realising this information was completely irrelevant to the case.

  ‘You know what they say. Birds o
f a feather . . .’ said Fiona flirtatiously.

  Knightley looked alarmed.

  ‘Dad, can you replay the footage, please?’

  Knightley restarted the DVD and they watched the clip again.

  As the beast shambled through the front garden, then sat back and howled, Darkus signalled to his dad.

  ‘Pause it there, if you will.’

  The frame froze on the beast looking up at the house.

  ‘Might I deduce,’ Darkus began, ‘that your bedroom is situated on the second floor at the front of the house?’

  ‘Absolutely correct,’ Fiona replied, somewhat surprised.

  ‘Then I put it to you, Miss Connelly . . .’ Darkus went on. ‘Is it possible that this creature was somehow trying to communicate with you?’

  ‘In twenty years of veterinary work, I’ve never encountered such a thing . . .’

  ‘I understand this might sound odd, ma’am . . .’ Darkus persisted.

  ‘Please . . .’ She held up a bejewelled hand. ‘Call me Fifi.’

  Darkus continued. ‘Well, Fifi . . . From the creature’s specific path and the desperation of the howl, I can only deduce that it was making a personal appeal of some kind.’

  ‘To me?’ Fiona gasped in disbelief.

  Darkus nodded. ‘If we were able to access footage from over three weeks ago – which sadly we can’t because the hard drive will have deleted it by now – I’m willing to bet this creature visited you at the previous full moon too.’

  ‘For what reason?’ Fiona demanded. ‘I train dogs, not . . .’

  ‘Werewolves . . .’ said Tilly, using the word that everyone else had been avoiding. ‘Well, that is what it looks like, isn’t it?’

  ‘Young lady, there are many breeds of dog to suit many different functions and tastes. But there is no such thing as a werewolf. Of that I am sure,’ Fiona concluded petulantly.

  ‘What about trained attack dogs?’ Darkus asked her.

  ‘Certainly, they exist,’ she replied.

  ‘And could they, in theory, be made “smarter”, and faster than they would normally be?’

  ‘Anything is possible with a canine if the proper amount of time and effort is put in.’

  ‘What about the use of steroids or pharmaceutical drugs?’ Darkus went on. ‘Such as those used in illegal dog fights.’

  Fiona wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘I suppose it’s possible.’

  ‘Well, now the forum has been opened,’ Knightley carried on, ‘I think it’s entirely possible that this beast – whatever it is – was coming to you for assistance of some kind. In fact, I believe it has been inhabiting Hampstead Heath for several months at least. And it wouldn’t necessarily require a TV to know that a house full of four-legged friends is bordering its territory – or that one of the foremost dog-lovers in Britain is residing with them.’

  ‘You’re saying it’s a cry for help?’ said Tilly.

  ‘Exactly that,’ replied Darkus. ‘But we have to work out what it is that this creature wants.’

  Darkus and his dad traded a perplexed glance.

  ‘Miss Connelly,’ said Darkus, ‘might I suggest we examine your property for any further clues, at your earliest convenience? Time is short. The next full moon is due tomorrow night.’

  Fiona stared quizzically through her granny specs and pursed her lips. ‘Of course, though you’ll have to excuse the state of the house. I wasn’t expecting visitors.’

  ‘Let’s say 2 p.m. then,’ said Darkus. ‘My father and I need to have a little chat first.’

  ‘We do?’ asked Knightley, before responding: ‘Of course we do.’

  ‘Come, Romeo.’ Fiona summoned the retriever, who obediently followed her to the door, where she pulled on her clumping Hunter wellies and a raincoat. ‘See you anon,’ she announced and closed the door behind her.

  Knightley waited a few moments before asking Darkus, ‘Well, what d’you think?’

  ‘A most peculiar development,’ remarked Darkus.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ his father urged.

  ‘It’s too early to say,’ replied Darkus. ‘The video appears to be genuine.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Tilly. ‘There are no pixellation errors, the shadows and reflections look consistent.’

  ‘But we need to go behind the pixels,’ Darkus pointed out. ‘It’s not about what the footage shows, it’s about what it doesn’t show. A site visit may prove fruitful, even if the trail has been cold for so long it’s utterly corrupted.’

  Knightley harrumphed. ‘If I’d known Fiona’s case might be related, I would’ve handled it more promptly,’ he complained.

  ‘ “No clue is so small that it may not be relevant to the whole”,’ said Darkus. ‘I think you wrote that in the Knowledge once.’

  ‘It seems my powers have been greatly diminished since then,’ moaned his father.

  ‘Then I can assume, due to your recent “episode”, that you have no memory of who attacked you on the Heath?’ enquired Darkus.

  ‘None whatsoever,’ he sighed, tapping his head impatiently. ‘It’s locked up, up here in Fort Knox.’

  Darkus nodded. ‘Dad, I’m quite certain your attacker was none other than Barabas King.’

  ‘The crime boss?’ asked Knightley.

  ‘The very same. And it appears he’s behind the “smart” dog attacks across London.’

  ‘Then what was he doing roaming the Heath?’ Knightley demanded.

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m confident that between the two of us –’

  ‘The three of us,’ Tilly interrupted him.

  Darkus continued diplomatically. ‘That between us, a solution will present itself,’ he declared. ‘But first . . . I’m afraid I have a rather disturbing development of my own to impart.’

  Knightley and Tilly waited patiently as Darkus fetched The Cranston Star newspaper from upstairs and related the surprising events that had taken place in the early hours of the morning.

  Tilly stared at the inset picture of Alexis, whose blonde tresses rested on her shoulders, next to the word Exclusive.

  ‘That traitor –’

  ‘Let me see this,’ interjected Knightley, scanning down the front page, reading the account of their investigation on the Heath. ‘This is an unmitigated disaster,’ he whispered.

  Tilly wheeled on Darkus. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

  Darkus shrugged defensively.

  ‘I’ve got methods, you know. OK, international conventions may have been breached . . . but I get results.’

  ‘It’s already gone to press,’ said Darkus. ‘Which means it’s already in circulation. Which means we have even less time to contain the situation before the general public get involved.’

  ‘Well, what do you suggest?’ enquired Knightley.

  ‘We assemble the facts. Ascertain what was roaming Miss Connelly’s property and how we might track it. And hope it leads to King – before the next phase of the moon.’

  ‘We’re going to need back-up,’ added Tilly. ‘And I have a feeling I know just the person who can help.’

  Chapter 15

  Meanwhile back at the Lab

  Lunch break began and the classroom emptied itself in seconds, leaving the chairs scattered and a general sense of chaos in the pupils’ wake. Miss Khan couldn’t tell if she’d dismissed the class or they’d dismissed her. She noted the absence of Tilly and wondered what the reason was. It could be something as mundane as a case of influenza, or something as exotic as a far-reaching criminal investigation. She had also noted the absence of Darkus – which felt too coincidental by half. The final piece of the puzzle was the dreadful accident that had confined Brendan Doyle to a locked hospital room with as yet undisclosed injuries.

  Before she could let her mind wander any further, her mobile phone rang from the pocket of her lab coat. She lifted her square plastic specs and rested them on her jet-black, tied-back hair.

  ‘Hello?’ she answered the phone hesitantly.


  ‘Miss Khan?’

  ‘Tilly, is that you?’ she asked, surprised. ‘How did you get my mobile number?’

  ‘Never mind how I got it,’ replied Tilly. ‘We need your assistance with something.’

  ‘Who’s we?’ Miss Khan enquired, more than a little flustered. ‘Has this got something to do with why you weren’t in class?’

  ‘Have you read The Cranston Star this morning?’

  ‘No, I believe my copy’s waiting for me in the staffroom. Along with my lunch,’ she said impatiently.

  ‘I suggest you have a look at the front page. I might as well tell you: Darkus and I are on a case.’

  ‘Well . . .’ she faltered. ‘Have the police been informed?’

  ‘They called us.’

  ‘Well . . .’ She struggled to find a suitable response. ‘Has it got anything to do with what happened to poor Brendan Doyle?’

  The line went silent for a moment. ‘Yes,’ Tilly managed. ‘Yes, it has. Miss Khan, I’m going to cut to the chase. Are you able to come up with a device capable of generating a frequency that’s only audible to canines?’

  ‘You’re talking about a dog whistle.’

  ‘A high-tech version of a dog whistle, yes. Something that could theoretically disorient, or even incapacitate, a dog. Or a wolf.’

  ‘A wolf?’

  ‘Yes or no?’ insisted Tilly.

  ‘Why, yes of course, in theory.’

  ‘Can you come up with a functioning prototype by the next full moon?’

  ‘That’s tomorrow evening!’

  ‘Correct.’

  Miss Khan raised her eyebrows and her plastic specs inadvertently dropped back into place on the bridge of her nose. ‘Well, I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘You’re a lifesaver. Quite literally. And one more thing . . .’

  ‘Yes, Tilly?’ Miss Khan wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of orders, but she had to admit she found the whole thing strangely enthralling.

  ‘Do you have any idea about the relative velocity of silver bullets?’

  Miss Khan’s eyes went even wider behind her specs.