There was no mistaking Oliver Merriweather.
A row broke out as the crew rounded on Professor Lamb’s assistant.
‘How could you betray us like that, Ollie?’
‘What sort of person lies about being innocent while his friends and colleagues are accused of stealing?’
‘How could you sell off something so priceless for profit?’
Ollie sank into his chair as if he wished a sinkhole would swallow him, all his bravado gone. With his fringe flopping over his pale face, he was like a toddler caught red-handed with a pocketful of sweets. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he half sobbed. ‘I didn’t steal the dragon’s teeth.’
‘Stop lying! It’s there in black and white.’
‘Harper,’ Ollie begged, ‘fast-forward the video to around 2 a.m.’
The crew watched as Ollie broke back into the hall about forty minutes after snatching the long chi and replaced the pouch in the drawer where he’d found it.
Professor Lamb threw up his hands. ‘Why take them if you were planning to return them?’
‘I wasn’t,’ Ollie admitted. ‘I intended to sell them to the highest bidder . . .’
‘The man who bought you lobster and champagne at the Grand Hotel Majestic?’ asked Harper.
He started guiltily. ‘How did you know?’
‘The same one you were rowing with on the high street yesterday?’ said Kat.
Ollie’s cheeks had taken on the hue of an overcooked beetroot. ‘Yes. I’m embarrassed to admit that he’s a bone trader. I know you all hate me now, but there are reasons for what I did. I grew up dirt poor—’
‘So did I,’ snapped Jamal, ‘but I didn’t turn to thieving to get out of it.’
Ollie pressed on. ‘It’s always been my dream to be a palaeontologist. I was really proud to be the first in my family to go to university, but right from the start, I struggled to manage. Soon, I was up to my ears in debt. Then I learned about the Bone Wars.’
‘Did you say “Bone Wars”?’ asked Amy.
‘Yup, otherwise known as the Great Dinosaur Rush. A hundred and fifty years ago, vast beds of dinosaur bones were discovered in the American West. Two famous palaeontologists dispatched rival teams to hunt down and claim as many dinosaurs as possible, for cash and glory. The resulting feud – involving sabotage, bribery, bodily harm and, well . . . theft – became the stuff of legend. Ultimately, it ruined them both.’
Harper and Kat exchanged glances, wondering, again, if Johnny Roswell had been murdered by a jealous fossil collector.
‘I don’t understand what the Bone Wars have to do with you stealing our Jurassic Dragon’s teeth, Ollie,’ said Samira.
All eyes were on the squirming student, and nobody apart from Kat noticed one of the other volunteers sneak into the passage.
Kat followed a minute later.
‘Reading about the Bone Wars gave me the notion to use dinosaurs to solve my own money problems,’ said Ollie. ‘I’d found a trunk full of unidentified fossils in the university archives. I nicked one and sold it on a bone collector website. It was easy, and I got away with it. So I did it again. And again.
‘When Professor Lamb and I discovered the Jurassic Dragon, I was contacted by an ex-customer who offered me enough cash to pay off my student loan. All he needed were the long chi – the dragon’s teeth. The temptation was too much to resist.’
‘Then why bring them back?’ asked Professor Lamb.
‘Because, once I had them, all I could think about was how good you’d been to me and how much you’d trusted me, even though I didn’t deserve it. I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll get my belongings and leave now. The career I love is over, and I’ve no one to blame but myself.’
‘I won’t hear of you quitting,’ said Theo Lamb. ‘If you promise to let this be a lesson learned, Oliver, I’ll keep you on. You’re clever, passionate and hardworking, and you’ll make a fine palaeontologist one day.’
When the rest of the crew protested, he hushed them. ‘Have you forgotten that Ollie returned the dragon’s teeth, and yet they’re still missing? Will the real thief step forward?’
No one moved. Harper played the CCTV footage again. This time they watched as Jemima – a volunteer who was later discovered to have given Bash a cupcake that upset his tummy – let herself in through the front door of the hall, using a key she’d had cut. Then she brazenly hurried into the night with the pouch that Ollie had returned less than an hour before.
The rest of the team gasped and looked around, searching for her.
‘Jemima’s gone,’ said Kat from the doorway. ‘I saw her nip to the bathroom while you were all yelling at Ollie. She picked up her jacket and crept out as if she was hoping no one would notice, which made me suspicious. Like maybe she had a guilty conscience about something. When she didn’t come back, I ran to look for her, but she’d used the bathroom window as an escape route. She must have had a car waiting. I heard an engine.’
As Professor Lamb and his crew tried to come to terms with the realisation that the thief was their trusted friend and colleague, Kat and Harper were looking at the photo of Jemima, still pinned on the noticeboard. She was grinning on the beach, holding a palmful of seashells. They’d been secretly hoping that if ever they did come across a fossil plunderer or murderer, they’d look like a dinosaur-trading villain and not like Jemima, who was bubbly, spoke with a posh accent and looked like everyone’s favourite sister, best friend or niece.
If Jemima was a dragon bone thief, anyone could be a dragon bone thief.
‘Three break-ins in one night,’ marvelled Harper, after Professor Lamb had sent the crew out for breakfast. ‘That must be some kind of record. What will happen to Jemima, Dad?’
‘I suspect she’s given me false contact details, so probably nothing,’ replied her father, who was whistling as he washed up the coffee cups. ‘I’ll give the police what I have, but I doubt they’ll track her down.’
‘Then why are you so cheerful?’ demanded Harper. ‘Aren’t you upset that the dracoraptor’s teeth are gone and will be sold on the black market?’
He dried his hands. ‘No, because they’re not. I asked a sculptor I know to create some realistic copies of them for me. Then I substituted the models for the ones in the pouch. The real long chi are in the last place anyone would ever think of looking. I’ll put the word out that an unidentified thief is still at large. Hopefully, the bone thieves will be too busy chasing after the fake teeth to bother with me and my team.’
Later, Harper and Kat walked down to the harbour for an emergency Wolfe & Lamb Detective Agency conference. They’d messaged Edith to ask her to join them.
‘The best thing about my dad and your mum is that they’re optimists,’ Harper said to Kat as they strolled between the windsurfers and speedboats and sat on the end of the jetty. ‘They’re always looking on the bright side of life and seeing the good in people. But that can be a problem too.’
‘Lucky we have Edith to balance things out, then,’ said Kat, as their librarian friend rattled across the boards on her mobility scooter.
‘I was about to call you when I got your text,’ said Edith, braking sharply. ‘I’ve found something that might be relevant – even more so, perhaps, now that the Jurassic Dragon’s teeth have been stolen. Ever since I sent you the rejection letter Harry received from the editor of Fossils Forever, I’ve been searching for information on the Order of Dragons. They’re elusive, to put it mildly. Finally, last night, I stumbled across a note about them in a self-published biography of Mary Anning.’
She took the book from her basket. ‘Harper, your eyes are better than mine. Read this passage for me, will you?’
Harper flicked over the pages and then started to read aloud:
‘The great English fossil hunter Mary Anning
survived a landslide and was known for her
fearlessness. Yet even she was said to have been
unnerved by the ruthless antics of the Order of
; Dragons. Once common grave robbers, turning
bones into snake oil, the secretive nineteenth-century
cult found fortune and infamy when they began
trading “dragon” bone (dinosaur fossil) tonics and
tinctures as cures for everything from depression to
brain tumours. Members of the Order of Dragons
were rumoured to be among the most illustrious
figures in the land: politicians, academics, writers
and musicians. Some claim that the sect still exists
today and has the same goal: immortality.’
‘Immortality?’ repeated Kat. ‘You’d think they’d have figured out that their tonics didn’t work when their members kept dying of old age. Nobody sane believes that potions made from dinosaur teeth will help them live forever.’
‘I disagree,’ said Edith. ‘A great many people would pay a lot for the chance to prolong life, especially if they’re gravely ill. For the rich and powerful, health is the only thing money can’t buy. If my arthritis gets any worse, I might be tempted to try a dragon tonic myself. Joke!’ she said, seeing Harper’s horrified face. ‘That was a joke, I promise.’
Harper stared across the water at the hall, thinking hard. What would happen when the bone collectors discovered they’d been cheated and had paid a fortune for fibreglass teeth? They’d be back, she was sure of it, only this time they’d be wanting revenge. What would happen to her father and his young team then?
There are no recorded cases of pythons demonstrating any gratitude towards their handlers, but it seemed to Kat that her absence had made Mr Bojangles’ cold heart grow fonder. For two whole days, he’d been on his best behaviour. At no time had he attempted to crush her, escape or dine on any small creatures, fresh or frozen.
While holding him, she was careful to keep him below her shoulders. As her mum had once warned, pythons couldn’t be expected to distinguish between a neck and a vine, and four seconds of pressure on a windpipe was all it took to cause a person to blackout.
As Kat refilled Mr B’s water bowl, Mario Rossi’s sound system lit up. A digital voice said blandly, ‘Message for Ninety-Nine. Spots spotted. Repeat: spots spotted. Immediate action required. SY 83412 79954. Repeat: SY 83412 79954. Over and out.’
Cycling home, Kat wondered what it could mean. She hadn’t managed to jot down the numbers, but she did recall the first part – SY 834 – and the spotted spots. Did everyone speak in code these days? She was more certain than ever that Mario and Mr B were in Bluebell Bay for something that had nothing whatsoever to do with coasteering.
‘Immediate action required,’ the message had said. What action? Her grandfather had told her that, these days, spies were everywhere. Was Mario in town to spy on a restaurant rival, or had he used the camouflage kayak in the photo to blow up the cliff so that he too could sell fossils to a bone collector?
First chance she got, she planned to ask him about the kayak. It would be interesting to see what he had to say.
However, Mario was forgotten the minute Kat reached her own home and saw that her bedroom window was open! Three times her mum had reminded her to tell the cleaner, who came once a week, to stay out of her room in case Tiny escaped. Three times, Kat had managed to forget.
She tore up to the attic, but it was too late. Tiny was missing.
Kat collapsed onto her bed in despair. If Tiny had been snatched and was on his way to Mr Bludger’s animal prison, she’d have no one to blame but herself.
Then she sat up again. There was no time for self-pity. Her mum and Tina had a full caseload. They’d be at the clinic for another three hours at least. Kat couldn’t wait till then. If Mr Bludger was lurking in the neighbourhood with his trap, every minute mattered.
Kat washed her face and went across to the veterinary surgery. Her best hope of finding Tiny fast was to take Pax with her to sniff out the Savannah.
As a precaution, she took the Pi-Craft pen out of the army briefcase that she kept concealed behind a bookcase. She’d examined it and found it was indeed a digital voice recorder. If she ran into the animal control officer, it would do no harm at all to record their conversation. Mr Bludger was a bully, and bullies had a habit of being extra mean if they thought there were no witnesses around.
The animal clinic reception was packed. Nurse Tina barely had a second to smile and say, ‘Come to take Pax for a wander? She’ll be ecstatic to see you.’
She was. After Kat had been thoroughly appreciated, she hoisted a cat transporter rucksack over her shoulders and put a lead on the collie. They left via the rear door of the kennels. Half of Bluebell Bay knew that Tiny was a Wanted Cat, suspected of sheep worrying. The last thing she needed was anyone to witness her searching for him in the fields around Wiley Evans’s farm.
Pax’s paw was healing beautifully. Her limp was hardly noticeable as she followed Kat up the wooded slope behind the practice. Kat tried to imagine which way she’d walk if she were a cat. At the back of her mind was the vague hope that if a rogue creature was killing sheep, Pax might flush them out.
Almost immediately, the collie picked up a thrilling scent. Kat had to jog to keep up with her. They crossed a field and a stream lined with willow trees. As they scrambled up a shaded bank, Pax began barking wildly. A man was scanning the farm buildings with binoculars. He had his back to them, but she recognized him before he swung round. He did not look pleased to see her.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Hi, Mario. Quiet, Pax. Sit. Good girl.’ Kat hoped Mario Rossi wouldn’t look too closely at the cat transporter rucksack. ‘I’m just walking my dog. What are you up to?’
‘Only fishing.’
He held up a wire basket. Kat made out a dull-eyed carp through the mesh. It smelt at least twenty-four-hours old. That was suspicious, but not nearly as fishy as the red mud caked on his boots or the rifle-shaped case slung over his shoulder. Had Pax not been at her side and bristling, Kat would have been worried.
What was Mario doing with a gun? Was he out hunting pheasant or deer? Her gaze went to the binoculars.
‘Birdwatching,’ he told her, before she could ask. ‘Great seeing you, Kat. I must be going. Thanks again for taking care of Mr B. He’s a rescue and can be tricky, so you’re obviously a brilliant pet-sitter.’ Vaulting over a stile, he was gone.
Kat shivered. His compliments meant nothing to her. He was lying about the fishing – she’d have to be careful. If he found out that she’d heard the radio message addressing him, or someone on the same radio frequency, as ‘Ninety-Nine’ before passing on a coded message, things could get ugly.
Infuriatingly, she’d put herself in jeopardy for no purpose. She’d been silly to think she could find Tiny out in the woods and fields. It would have been far better to wait for him at home. He was probably there now, meowing for treats. Kat suddenly felt despondent. ‘Come on, Pax. Let’s get home.’
Right then, a van came roaring along the nearby lane. Over the top of the hedgerows, Kat saw the animal control van speed by on its way to the farm.
What if it was after Tiny? She began to run.
Pax needed no encouragement to head for the farmyard. When they reached the gate, Kat crouched behind a thicket of brambles and put her hand over the collie’s muzzle. Mr Bludger was talking to the farmer’s wife. She pointed towards a barn in a pasture of sheep.
Mr Bludger lifted the trap from his van, and Kat’s heart almost stopped. Her Way of the Mongoose rehearsals now seemed ridiculous. What was she going to do – rush into the yard and attempt to stop the animal control officer with a ‘Butterfly Sweep’?
But, just then, the farmer’s wife gestured towards the farmhouse, perhaps to invite Mr Bludger in for tea. Rubbing his considerable stomach, he followed her inside.
Kat tied the collie to the fence. ‘Stay, Pax. I won’t be long. Stay!’
Stepping across a cattle grid, she sprinted to the barn. She was almost there when she heard barking.
&
nbsp; Pax had slipped her lead and was in among the sheep, trying to herd them into a corner. The farmer’s wife dashed from the house. Mr Bludger snatched up his trap and came in lumbering pursuit.
Kat darted into the barn. While they were distracted by Pax, there might still be time to save Tiny – if he were here. But, as she paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom, a blood-freezing snarl cut through the shadows.
‘Tiny?’ Kat said nervously. ‘Tiny, don’t be afraid. It’s me. I’ve come to take you home.’
Instinct made her glance up. Four green eyes stared down at her from a wooden beam. Kat blinked. She must be seeing double.
It was her last thought before a blur of spots and stripes came at her. In mid-pounce, Kat recognized one cat as a lynx. The second was Tiny. He launched himself at the lynx, knocking it aside. They hit the ground together. The wild cat twisted upright and was gone with a hiss.
Kat knelt and hugged Tiny, who was winded but unharmed. ‘You saved me! Who was that? Where did it come from?’
To Tiny’s horror, she bundled him into the rucksack. ‘Sorry, baby, but we have to get out of here.’ As she struggled to lift the cat transporter on to her back, the barn door was shoved aside. Behind the animal control officer, the farmer’s wife had Pax by the collar.
‘Well, whaddya know,’ crowed Mr Bludger. ‘We’ve got ourselves two scoundrels for the price of one.’
‘Harper, are you sure this is a good idea?’ fretted Kat two days later as they outpaced Tina Chung in a bid to reach the Natural History Museum by 10.45 a.m.
They’d planned to arrive earlier, but their train from Wool to Waterloo had been delayed. ‘We absolutely can’t be late,’ said Harper. ‘It’s critical we’re in position by eleven. Dragon Boy promised to wait five minutes and not a second more. We have to allow extra time in case anything goes wrong. Tina might want to browse the gift shop or linger over a cup of tea.’
Kat Wolfe Takes the Case Page 14
