Kat Wolfe Investigates

by Lauren St. John

  Concerned that the spoodle and mongrel were getting stressed too soon after major operations, Dr Wolfe gave them both sedatives. They dozed off immediately.

  The baying dogs had upset the other animals. Dr Wolfe went into the aviary, where Bailey was kept at night, and soothed him with the aid of some Brazil nuts.

  ‘Tell Kat! Tell Kat! Tell Kat!’ screeched the parrot.

  She stroked his green feathers. ‘What would you like to tell Kat?’

  ‘Deuce testy it. DEUCE TESTY IT.’

  Dr Wolfe stared at him in surprise. ‘“As God is my witness”? What have you witnessed, Bailey dear?’

  The parrot was nibbling a nut and said no more, but his words had got Dr Wolfe’s attention. It was so unlike Kat to tell an untruth that ever since Sergeant Singh’s call she’d wondered where the truth lay. After seeing Avalon Heights for herself, she’d put the episode down to Kat being nervous in the fog. Now she wondered if her daughter’s suspicions had been justified.

  Was it possible that Ramon really had been abducted? Were rogues operating in idyllic Bluebell Bay?

  There was no time to mull it over further because the capuchin needed attention too. When the Monkey World staff had brought her in, Eva had been in a desperate state. Years of living on the wrong food in a flat in Poole had left her with diabetes. But her progress since Sunday had been remarkable. Capuchins were among the smartest animals on the planet, and Eva was no exception. She’d stolen the hearts of everyone at the practice.

  Dr Wolfe cuddled her on the cattery sofa. It was warm in the room, and the vet rested her eyes while she summoned the energy for more filing. She was soon asleep. The capuchin prodded her to get her to play, but she didn’t stir.

  Eva decided to entertain herself. She scampered along the passage and into the dark reception. That was fun for a while, because there were pens to scatter, brochures to rip, balls to juggle, and some catnip bananas to destroy. But, once that was done, it was boring again.

  The light was on in Dr Wolfe’s office. Eva climbed on to the chair and set it swinging. She tugged open a drawer. Thrillingly, it held a bag of dried mango. She popped a strip into her mouth and closed her eyes in bliss. As she reached for another, her ears caught a creak.

  Someone was coming.

  29

  Pistols and Piranhas

  Before breaking into Bluebell Bay Veterinary Surgery on Wednesday night, Darren Weebly crunched up some stale peanuts he’d found at the bottom of his bag. He’d missed dinner and could have eaten an ichthyosaurus if one had been passing.

  The first two nights of the Kat Wolfe assignment had been a cold, rainy, miserable waste of time. Bluebell Bay Veterinary Surgery advertised a twenty-four-hour emergency service, but, sadly, there’d been no hurt hamsters or pups with poorly paws in need of 3 a.m. care.

  That evening, Darren had been mightily relieved when the vet had emerged from her cottage at around 10 p.m. and made her way to the practice next-door. Not long afterwards, a lamp came on in her office.

  Darren’s plan of breaking into the kennels was foiled when the dogs barked their heads off. He’d had to wait ages for them to stop yammering. Now Darren stood and pulled a balaclava over his head. He was ready to neutralize the threat.

  He’d brought his lock-picking kit, but it wasn’t required. The front door of the practice was unlocked. Darren simply stepped in.

  A triangle of yellow light spilt from Dr Wolfe’s office, lending an eerie glow to the reception area. Darren was surprised at the state of the place. Shredded brochures, pet toys and pens were strewn from one end of the floor to the other. As he picked his way through the debris, he heard a faint scuffle. Good. The vet was still at work.

  Darren had always prided himself on his nifty footwork. He was in her office and sitting in the visitor’s chair before Dr Wolfe had time to move.

  Disconcertingly, her desk was piled high with files. All he could see were her eyebrows. They were quite astonishingly thick and furry – almost as bushy as his own. He didn’t remember them from her website photos, but then she’d mostly been obscured by various animals. Was she a fan of Miracle Sprout too?

  The eyebrows made an excellent target. He aimed his revolver right at them. It was a starting pistol, not a real gun, but it looked real, which was the main thing.

  ‘Do what I say and you’ll live to see tomorrow, Doc,’ he barked. ‘Try to get smart and your next breath will be your last.’

  Dr Wolfe’s eyebrows hopped up and down like caterpillars with fleas. She gibbered with terror. Darren was pleased. It showed that the decision to target the mother rather than the daughter was the right one.

  ‘They call me the Exterminator, Doc. Maybe you’ve heard of me. Anyone who crosses me gets vanquished. Now, I’ve got bad news for you. Your daughter has been poking her nose in business that doesn’t concern her. If you value Kat’s life, listen carefully. Tell her that if she doesn’t cease and desist asking questions about Mr Corazón, she won’t just be mincemeat – she’ll be soup.’

  Darren paused to allow the vet time to absorb the full horror of this threat. Slurping sounds emanated from behind the files. The vet was a blubbering wreck.

  He’d saved his best threat for last. ‘Put it this way, Doc: if your sprog doesn’t zip her trap and stick to bunny-hugging for the rest of her natural life, I’ll hunt her down and feed her and her pets to my piranhas.’

  Not that he had any piranhas, but she couldn’t know that.

  Throughout Darren’s tirade, Eva had reclined, unbothered, in Dr Wolfe’s chair, munching her way through the mango. For many years, she’d had to endure the angry bleatings and deafening television habits of the family who’d imprisoned her in the flat. She’d learned to tune them out.

  But as Darren rose from his chair, he glimpsed the packet of mango between the files. Famished, he seized it and turned to go.

  This final outrage was one too many for Eva.

  Using the ergonomic chair as a springboard, the capuchin flew at him and sank her teeth into his ear. Disorientated in the dark reception area, Darren whirled around in agony. Eva bit down harder. Only when he fired his starting pistol into the air did she let go.

  Darren burst out of the practice and lumbered into the trees. He expected lights to go on and sirens to come wailing up the street, but nothing happened. It seemed he’d terrified Dr Wolfe into silence. Even the dogs were quiet. Perhaps they’d barked themselves hoarse.

  As he swallowed two painkillers with a can of soda, Darren’s mood darkened. The vet had done nothing to save him when that unhinged creature – a cat probably – had leaped out of the darkness and tried to rip off his left ear. He could have rabies! Thankfully, he’d brought his first-aid kit. Inexpertly, he stemmed the bleeding and wound a bandage round his head.

  He glared up at the dormer window of 5 Summer Street. In his fury, he forgot his resolution about never harming those who were only a third of his size. He decided to shake Kat awake and be her worst nightmare come to life.

  This time, his lock-picking kit did come in handy. With a wicked smile, Darren let himself into the Wolfes’ kitchen.

  Upstairs, Tina was on a video call to her mother in Singapore. She had headphones on and was speaking softly so she didn’t wake Kat in her attic room.

  ‘You’d love Bluebell Bay, Mama. It’s so beautiful and safe. In ten years, they’ve had one crime here – a stolen pumpkin. That’s right: a pumpkin!’

  The conversation was interrupted by the arrival on the screen of some Malaysian relatives with a new baby. They crowded around her mum’s laptop to show off the child.

  In the attic above, Kat had fallen asleep with her headphones on, listening to music.

  Both were oblivious to the carnage unfolding in the kitchen.

  As Darren padded across the tiles, starting pistol in hand, Tiny ambushed him from the top of the kitchen cupboard, crash-landing on his shoulder and sinking his claws and teeth into Darren’s neck. For the second time that even
ing, Darren found himself being savaged by an enraged animal.

  This one, however, was infinitely more lethal. It seemed intent on going for his jugular. He caught glimpses of it during their struggle, and it looked like a small leopard.

  Just when a disembowelling seemed imminent, Darren managed to fend Tiny off with a chair. He slammed the door on the beast and staggered up the stairs.

  The bang penetrated Tina’s noise-cancelling headphones.

  ‘Hold on a sec, Mama. I heard an odd noise.’

  The nurse bounced off the bed, tripped over her power cable and fell heavily against the door, banging her knee.

  Out on the landing, Darren was leaning dizzily against the banister. A scratch had rendered one of his eyes useless. The other was swollen from a bite he’d incurred at the animal clinic.

  Half blind, he didn’t see the door swing open until it collided with his forehead. He did a backflip over the railing and was unconscious before he hit the ground.

  Tina, seeing nothing, returned to her bed to rub her sore knee. She started chatting to her mum again. Pretty soon, the bang she’d heard earlier went out of her mind altogether.

  When Dr Wolfe entered the kitchen shortly after 2 a.m., she found an upturned chair, a broken mug, a fistful of fur and a seething Tiny. It had been a night of wreckage. The capuchin too had left a trail of destruction at the practice.

  Dr Wolfe was unruffled. The antics of the many creatures that crossed her path rarely bothered her. Animals and children had minds of their own, and a mind of one’s own was a beautiful thing.

  ‘How did you end up stuck in the kitchen, Tiny?’ she asked. ‘Did you knock the door shut fighting with some other cat, or was it the wind?’

  The Savannah streaked past her and up the stairs to his mistress.

  Not wanting to wake anyone, Dr Wolfe made her way to bed in the dark. She missed treading on Darren’s unconscious form by millimetres.

  30

  The Owl Service

  The Exterminator was still lying comatose on the floor two storeys below when Kat surfaced from a dream. She found Tiny sleeping on her chest. He was purring so loudly that it took her a while to register that her phone was vibrating too. Freeing an arm with difficulty, she answered the call.

  ‘It’s 3 a.m., Harper,’ she croaked. ‘Can’t you sleep?’

  ‘No, and when I tell you what Jasper’s found, you won’t be able to either. The soldiers in Afghanistan were betrayed by a double agent. One of their comrades was a US spy who was also working for the Russians.’

  Kat struggled out from underneath her cat and sat up. ‘What soldiers?’

  ‘The soldiers in Ramon’s photo. In 1986, they were part of a top-secret CIA mission to destroy a Soviet bomb-making factory. But someone leaked the plans, and the Russians ambushed their unit. Mario was killed, and the other five soldiers were wounded.’

  Kat turned on her bedside lamp. ‘Remind me of their names again.’

  ‘There was Mario’s twin, Tony, then Evan Ross, Trey Taylor, Vaughan Carter and Javier Morgan, who we think might be Ramon.’

  ‘Who discovered that the mole was a double agent?’

  ‘There was an official investigation. The soldiers themselves were under suspicion for a while, but they’d been friends for years and were fiercely loyal to each other. All five left the army after that. Apparently, they were convinced that the mole was someone inside the CIA. Turned out they were right. The officer who planned the mission had a cardiac arrest a few months later. CIA investigators found documents in his home proving that he was a Russian spy.’

  Kat put an arm round Tiny. ‘I feel as if I’m dreaming. Are you sure you’re not making this up, Harper? It’s sounds a bit fanciful.’

  ‘Fact is always more fanciful than fiction,’ asserted Harper. ‘The only fanciful thing is that the Russian mole conveniently died.’

  Kat was startled. ‘You don’t believe he had a heart attack? Do you think he was murdered?’

  ‘Maybe. Dead men can’t answer questions,’ Harper said darkly.

  ‘Imagine how it would feel if someone on your own side knowingly led you and your friends into the line of fire,’ said Kat. ‘Tony’s brother died because of that monster. Tony must have been devastated. You can’t blame him and his friends for leaving the army.’

  ‘I’m sure they were broken-hearted, but they were also Green Berets,’ Harper reminded her.

  ‘What’s a Green Beret?’

  ‘In the US, our Special Forces are known as the Green Berets. They’re the best of the best. The fittest, the fastest, the toughest, the most skilled. What if Tony and the others quit the Special Forces not because they were broken men, but because they wanted to avenge Mario’s death?’

  ‘Why would they do that if the CIA officer who betrayed them was already dead?’

  ‘That’s what we have to find out,’ said Harper. ‘Urgently.’

  Kat caught sight of the clock and yawned. ‘Why urgently? The Afghanistan ambush was more than thirty years ago. Why do we have to investigate it now? What does it have to do with us anyway?’

  Tiny agreed. He yawned too.

  ‘Because while Jasper was trying to find something on our soldiers, he came across a post by a military blogger called Argonaut,’ said Harper. ‘After Tony died of a supposed cardiac arrest, Evan got in touch with the blogger. He claimed that Tony and Vaughan had been killed using an undetectable poison.’

  ‘If it was undetectable, what made Evan think they were poisoned?’

  ‘Because right before they died they were sent photos of themselves with a target over their heart.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harper. ‘Evan told Argonaut that he was sure someone was picking off members of the Owl Service one by one.’

  Kat was incredulous. ‘The Owl Service? As in the children’s fantasy novel?’

  ‘The very one.’

  ‘What does a children’s book set in Wales have to do with ex-Special Forces soldiers in the USA?’

  ‘Argonaut doesn’t say. He just describes them as a “legendary task force”. Jasper’s going to try to find out more for us. But get this. Evan told Argonaut, “We always believed that some ties go deeper than blood. I’m beginning to wonder if that’s true.” Kat, those were the words Ramon used in that podcast I heard.’

  ‘Remember that anonymous message we found in Vaughan’s local paper?’ Kat said. ‘“All for One. One for All. RIP brother.” Maybe the soldiers made a pact to be there for one another no matter what. Did Evan say anything else?’

  ‘He said, “Once we hunted ghost owls. Now we’re the hunted.” Kat, within weeks of that blog being posted, Evan died of a supposed stroke. Whoever or whatever these ghost owls are, it sounds as if they hunted him down.’

  Kat thought of the ghost owl picture in Ramon’s kitchen, and a chill shuddered through her. ‘Did Argonaut contact the police or the US Secret Service?’

  ‘They wouldn’t have paid any attention to him. Jasper said he was notorious for badgering the authorities with conspiracy theories. But it looks as if a ghost owl – a death owl – got to Argonaut too. The Owl Service story was his last ever post.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘’Fraid so,’ said Harper. ‘He’d been blogging for years, but he shut down his site the next week. Jasper found mentions of it on other blogs and websites.’

  Kat’s head swam. It was hard to take in.

  By contrast, Harper’s neurons seemed to be sparking like firecrackers. ‘Still think it’s a coincidence that Ramon has a ghost owl in his kitchen and an owl icon on his computer?’

  ‘He’s a bird watcher. White barn owls could be his speciality . . . No, wait. I’ve just thought of something. Ramon talked about owls in the note he left me.’

  Kat took it from her bedside drawer.

  See the framed photo of Tyto alba? That’s ornithologist for ‘white owl’, though some call it the ghost, silver or death owl. I’ve spent half my life in
pursuit of this silent hunter. Wrapped up in this one picture is my whole history.

  Harper said, ‘He’s practically telling you that his life story is in the white envelope you found hidden in the back of the photo. Kat, you have to open it.’

  ‘Why don’t we hold on to it for another few days? If he doesn’t turn up, I’ll post it to the strange address. It could be that whatever is in the envelope was an insurance policy in case something happened to him.’

  ‘Something has happened to him,’ insisted Harper. ‘He’s been gone for a week. Someone sent him a picture with a bullseye over his heart. His supposed email from Paraguay was a red herring. If he’s not already dead, he’s a marked man.’

  ‘OK, OK – but if it goes horribly wrong, YOU’RE taking responsibility.’

  Kat put her phone on the bed and turned on the speakerphone. ‘Here goes.’

  ‘Hurry, hurry,’ urged Harper from amid the folds of her duvet.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ whispered Kat. ‘I don’t want to wake up Mum or Tina.’

  The envelope contained a thick sheaf of documents. Each set was about a particular type of owl. There were pages and pages of scientific notes about the habits and migration patterns of the silent hunters.

  Kat picked up her phone and relayed the news to Harper.

  ‘They’re in code,’ said her friend. ‘Have to be.’

  Kat wasn’t sure. ‘They seem fairly ordinary to me. I’ll post them to the address on the envelope. If they really are about owls, maybe they’ll help another bird watcher with their research. If Ramon is in danger, someone, somewhere, might know how to help him.’

  ‘But what if you were right and it’s Ramon who’s the danger?’ demanded Harper. ‘Criminals and spies often fake their own deaths in crashes. If he really is Javier Morgan, then posting the envelope might help him pass on nuclear secrets or something. Why don’t you ask your granddad to look at Ramon’s papers? He probably knows a dozen code-breakers.’