Free K-9 by Rohan Gavin Page A

Knightley’s ears pricked up.
    ‘It would appear so. The question is . . . what do they want with us?’
    ‘The question is . . .’ Knightley weighed in, ‘are we in fact dealing with more than one werewolf . . . ?’ He pondered a moment. ‘Think about the attacks on the police. The missing pets on the Heath.’
    Darkus shook his head. ‘I would prefer to stay in the realm of reality, not the supernatural. We don’t even know that the cases are linked.’
    ‘The evidence will determine which one of us is residing in reality, Doc,’ said Knightley, then sat back in his chair and massaged his brow, as if waiting for an answer to present itself. ‘Well, what are your theories?’ he submitted.
    ‘Based on the evidence, Dad,’ Darkus began, ‘the paw print we found at Hampstead Heath cannot be a match for the prints of the dogs that have been watching us. The print from the Heath was far larger in size and far more unusual in toe spread and angle of footfall. Therefore, I can conclude that these two lines of investigation are – so far – un related.’
    ‘It’s too early to make that assumption,’ Knightley reprimanded him. ‘The soil may have been corrupted. The Heath is three hundred and twenty hectares large. There must be more prints out there.’ Knightley’s eyes lit up wildly. ‘Given time and resources, we may be able to find them.’
    Darkus realised he was yet again engaged in the same old dispute with his father: namely, would the five senses account for every unexplained incident in the world; or, in some cases, does the occult provide the only solution, however improbable it might seem?
    ‘As you say,’ Darkus continued, ‘the Heath is the size of a small town. It would be like looking for a needle . . . in a small town. Besides, I see no reason to force the square peg of a mythical werewolf into the round hole of this investigation. So far, there is no empirical connection. Our immediate problem is that we appear to be under surveillance by a pair of very clever canines.’
    ‘So what d’you recommend we do about it?’
    ‘Simple. We use counter-surveillance,’ Darkus replied.
    ‘You mean cameras?’ Knightley remarked. Darkus shook his head in response. ‘Then what . . . ?’
    Wilbur trotted into the middle of the room and sat perfectly upright.
    ‘You’re looking at him,’ said Darkus, nodding to the dog. ‘Wilbur can tell us when they’re here,’ Darkus announced. ‘He can smell them.’
    ‘Your reasoning is sound,’ admitted Knightley.
    Darkus steepled his fingers and narrowed his gaze. ‘Once he has the scent, we might even be able to track them.’

Chapter 8
    An Early Morning Walk
    Later that evening, the Knightleys found their senses overpowered by the characteristically pungent aroma of Bogna’s traditional Polish cooking. After a meal of bigos (hunter’s stew) consisting of boiled cabbage, boiled sausage and boiled onions, which could have fed an army, and required several hours to digest (Darkus feared some ingredients would never be fully digested), Knightley ordered his son to set aside the case for the day.
    Darkus suspected his father was still holding something back from him, but he couldn’t work out what it was; and Darkus knew that if he confronted his dad, he would only clam up further.
    The Knightleys retired to their respective bedrooms – Darkus’s being the chaise longue in the office. Wilbur opted for the armchair opposite.
     
    Darkus and his dog both slept fitfully, with each of them flinching and emitting mumbled communications that were more the result of the unconscious than the conscious. At around five in the morning, Wilbur slipped off the armchair and leaped to his feet, causing Darkus to do the same. Darkus tuned his hearing to cover all possible frequencies, finding one wavelength that contained the rumbling, bronchial snores of Bogna; and another that appeared to contain muffled footsteps descending the stairs and