Cat Sleuth (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 1)

by Nancy C. Davis

  “One day I’ll either officially re-open as a vet’s, or I’ll let you set up your cat treatment side-business!” he said with a chuckle, handing over a fresh bandage and some analgesic pet patches. “Cut the patches in half and pop it under the fur between her shoulders, where she can’t chew it off. Let’s take a photo so we can put up a poster, see if she has anyone out there looking for her.”

  “Thank you so much, Elliot,” said Pattie, relieved to know that Macy would be alright. The Doc took a photo with his smartphone, something that Pattie didn’t use and had little interest in. “I was wondering whether you’d paid a visit to young Miss Mosby; she looked very shocked yesterday after that horrible accident.”

  “Well, I gave her a call and she said she was coping alright. No need to force medication on the girl or anything. And that’s another thing – the police think it might not have been an accident. The way the van swerved onto the pavement, then disappeared so quickly … They’ve ruled out a drunk driver, so…”

  Pattie looked at him seriously over her spectacles. “You mean…?”

  “That’s right. I heard it from the Constable. It’s now a murder case.”

  Chapter 4

  ~ 4 ~

  Pattie dropped Macy off at home and let her dash into the living room, where some of the permanent residents were curled up sleeping. Most of the other cats were fairly friendly, with the odd exception, like Archie, a lifetime loner. Pattie continued on to Mr Mosby’s place, and his daughter greeted her at the door.

  “I just wanted to see how you are, dear,” Pattie said kindly.

  Rebecca invited her in. “I don’t have any tea, I’m afraid – would you like a coffee?”

  “Water will be fine, with a bit of lemon if you have it.”

  They sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, with weak Winter light filtering in through condensation on the windows. It had turned bitterly cold the last few days. In many ways, Winter was Pattie’s favourite season: she loved snow and the frozen dew in the morning, and the way the cold air thinned and invigorated an old body on a walk around the valley. Lately though she would rather be wrapped up indoors with Jasper or Simba on her lap.

  Still, she could hardly stay inside at Pat’s Whiskers when there was a neighbour who needed some company in a time of need. There had been plenty of peculiar occurrences around Little Hamilton – the Cat-napper, for instance, and that episode with the disappearing delicates – but not, to date, a murder.

  Pattie had never seen the Mosby’s house. It was fairly standard, organised, and clean. In fact, the whole place looked like it had been vacuumed to within in an inch of its life. And she could see why; Rebecca was vigorously washing some dishes in the sink, a stress reaction to Francine’s death.

  “Is there anything I can do to help, dear?” asked Pattie. “Go through your father’ address books for any of Francine’s relatives, maybe?”

  “Thanks, it’s okay. I already handed over the books to the police; they’ve been so helpful. I’m not sure what I would have done if they’d been difficult with me.”

  Just then, the doorbell rang. Rebecca rinsed her hands and went to answer the door, and came back with Constable Downey in tow.

  “Hello, Constable,” said Pattie, smiling to see the young man again. Tom Downey had been a good friend of her son. The two of them had grown up together and helped one another through the academy. Pattie had changed this particular policeman’s nappies once upon a time, and seen him grow up from a spotty, flabby teenager into a strapping and respectable young man.

  “Afternoon, Mrs Lansbury,” the Constable replied with a grin. “Good to see you again. How are the kids?”

  “Very well, thank you. I have a new addition as of yesterday, named Macy – if you hear of anyone missing a black-and-white, please give me a call.”

  “Will do, that’s no problem.”

  Constable Downey always asked after the cats, but never after his old friend, Pattie’s son. The reasons were obvious to them both, but they never talked about it. Some things were better off unsaid, if not forgotten.

  “Miss Mosby, I have some information about Mrs Battersby, but strictly speaking I shouldn’t discuss it in front of anyone else … No offence, Mrs Lansbury.”

  “None taken, of course.”

  “That’s okay, Constable,” said Rebecca sweetly. “If it’s alright with you, I’m happy for Patricia to stay. She’s been so supportive, I’m sure things would have been twice as hard without her. It’s an odd feeling, to be a stranger here when everybody knew Dad and Francine so well…”

  “A pillar of our community, is Patricia Lansbury,” agreed Constable Downey with a smile. “Alright, well, we’ve had some news about the van that hit Mrs Battersby. We found the van last night way out towards the county border, driven into the woods off the carriageway. We tracked down the owner of the van and have brought him to the station, but it’s a little difficult to communicate with him effectively.”

  “How so?” asked Pattie.

  “Well, he seems to have some sort of learning difficulty. We’ve asked him whether he has someone who takes care of him or a regular doctor, but he says not. He says he owns the van but he’s not quite sure why we’re holding him and has been getting a bit agitated. I don’t suppose you know of any connection to your father and his missus?”

  “Is it a young man? Arthur, something like that?”

  “Yes, that’s right, Arthur Hague. Have you heard of him?”

  “He was doing some work at the house for Dad just before I arrived. I think there was an argument over a broken ladder, but when I met the young man yesterday morning it seemed like that had all been sorted out. He’d already been paid for his work and was just wrapping up.”

  Rebecca seemed quite shocked. She sat down at the breakfast bar and Pattie got up to refill her coffee.

  “My God,” said Rebecca, “he must have hit Francine right after he left the house! This is awful … Do you think he had any idea what he was doing? He seemed a little simple, I suppose, but I never thought…”

  “We have something to go on, now,” said Constable Downey softly. “He’s difficult to manage but he’s not being totally uncooperative, we think. It’s a little difficult to know whether he’s telling the truth or not.”

  “I may be able to help with that,” said Pattie, washing her empty glass and putting it on the rack.

  As Rebecca went upstairs to see if there were any papers related to the handyman her father had hired, Pattie spoke quietly with the policeman. “Do you remember my cat, Jasper?”

  “The one that used to belong to that gypsy woman? Of course. He should be on Britain’s Got Talent or something. Oh, I see! You mean to use him as a lie detector?”

  Pattie’s eyes sparkled. “You catch my drift then, young man. I know it’s a little unorthodox, but perhaps it will give you a pointer as to whether you’re on the right track, at least.”

  Constable Downey scratched his bald head. “Yes, unorthodox is right, and I’m not sure the Serge would be happy about it, but to tell you the truth, we’re all pretty stumped. We don’t want to come down hard on the boy just because he has a little problem getting his point across, it just wouldn’t be fair. At the same time, we’d look like a right bunch of fools if he turned out to be faking.”

  “Let me handle that,” Pattie reassured him. “Why don’t you tell me about what’s happening with that argument you had with your wife?”

  “Oh, that…”

  By the time Rebecca came down from upstairs with the phone number of the suspect’s employer, they were already on the doorstep ready to head off. “It’s some firm out in Lancashire; Dad must have had a good reference or something. I’m not sure why anyone would send a worker out so far otherwise.”

  “Thanks,” said the Constable, tipping his hat. “Maybe someone at the business can fill in a few details for us.”

  Just as he turned on the doorstep to leave, he looked across the street and said, “Kn
ow him, do you?”

  A man stood on the opposite pavement, his hands in his jacket pockets, silently watching the house. His face and body were clothed in shadow.

  Rebecca gripped the policeman’s arm. “He’s been here before,” she rasped. “I don’t know who it is. He just stands there, staring at the house. I’m sure I heard someone moving near the windows last night. Oh God, could this week get any worse?”

  She began to sob and Pattie brought her into the doorway to console. She was holding Rebecca warmly, but she was keeping an eye on the chap across the road. Did he have something to do with Francine’s death? What kind of madman would return to house of the person he’d just murdered?

  Constable Downey called out, but the man took off running. Pattie noticed he was sprightly, so he was probably young, and the way the wind blew against his clothes showed that he was slender – possibly very thin. The Constable gave a fair chase, disappearing between two detached houses for a while, but eventually came back looking out of breath and aggravated.

  “Little git,” he puffed, hands on hips. “Chased him through four gardens … Climbed over a wall with a ladder and yanked it up with him … Couldn’t get over the wall myself … Had to come all the way back round, probably long gone by now … Phew, golly…”

  There was little more that the officer could do, so he headed back to the station on the understanding that Pattie would soon follow with her talented young cat.

  Just as Pattie had finished saying her goodbyes to Rebecca, who had now calmed down a little, Pattie nearly tripped and broke her neck on a cat by her feet. It was Macy, the ‘stray’, with her bandaged front paw.

  “Look, she must be attached to me already!” said Pattie with a smile, lifting up the mewing queen with a smile. “She followed me all the way from home.”

  “Well look at that,” said Rebecca, tickling Macy under the chin. “She ought to be careful on this road. It’s already proven fatal…”

  “I’m not sure how she got out. Perhaps she dashed through the door behind me before I closed it. It wouldn’t be the first time. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her. Doctor Knight is already searching for the owner, but if no-one steps forward, there’ll always be room at my Feline Retirement Home for one more!”

  Chapter 5

  ~ 5 ~

  At the police station, Pattie was escorted into a narrow corridor lined with steel doors. She remembered when her son worked here, the famous local detective. At one time or another Pattie must have seen every room and hallway of this little station. Imagine, a grown man still asking his mother to bring him a packed lunch every day. He was quirky, there was no doubt, but then Pattie had to admit that so was she.

  Pattie sat in a plastic chair and Jasper turned around and around inside his carrier. He hated to be caged up, but he was too independent to just be carried into a police station. He’d be out of her arms and at a mouse hole before anyone could say “What’s up, guv’nor”.

  “Just a few more minutes, my love,” she reassured him, and at the soothing sound of her voice he crouched and settled for peering through the bars with his large golden eyes.

  It wasn’t long before one of the steel doors opened and a familiar face peeked out.

  “This way, Mrs Lansbury,” said Juliette, the Constable’s junior officer.

  Pattie took off her gloves and put them in her coat pocket, adjusted her hat, and took the carrier into the interrogation room. It had been two years since she last entered an interrogation room, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience for anyone involved. She would admit to being a little nervous.

  Juliette knew the story. “Don’t worry, Mrs L. We’re all safe in here.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  The interrogation room was small and windowless. There was a table in the centre with three empty chairs facing the lone suspect, who was a young man in his twenties with close-shaved hair and a rather anxious look about him. He had his hands clasped together over the table and stooped his head, looking out of the corner of his eye as Pattie and Jasper entered. Harsh fluorescent lighting cast deep shadows across the table.

  Constable Downey stood in the corner with his arms crossed. “Master Hague, this is one of our professional consultants, Mrs Lansbury. She would like to discuss the incident again with you.”

  The Constable was using his serious voice, which Pattie always respected. He might have once peed himself on Pattie’s old couch twenty years ago, but now he was a consummate professional.

  Pattie sat down in the centre chair of the three. Juliette joined her on one side. The Constable remained standing, so Pattie put her carrier on the other chair and opened the door.

  “Please excuse Jasper,” Pattie said calmly to Alfred. “I was on my way to the vet’s next door when the Constable called.”

  “Okay,” said Alfred, staring at the cat warily. Jasper stretched and looked around, then sniffed Juliette and Alfred. Alfred reached out tentatively to stroke him, and Jasper obliged.

  “You aren’t allergic, I hope?” asked Pattie.

  “Nope.”

  “Do you like cats?”

  Alfred grinned as he watched Jasper butt his hand from the side.

  “Do you mind if I ask a few questions? I know that the Constable has already asked, but it’s important for me to know too, you see.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, you lost your van?”

  “It was taken, I think.”

  “Taken from your house?”

  “From Mister Mosby’s house.”

  “Were you working there?” asked Pattie.

  “Yes.”

  “What work were you doing at Mister Mosby’s house, Mister Hague?”

  “Fixing the window frame. Rotted at the corners and the bottom, probably from condensation and frost. Got new shims for it. Did good pilot holes and had the epoxy, but my spirit was down.”

  “Your spirit was down?” asked Pattie, frowning.

  “Spirit was down,” he said again, tickling Jasper under the chin.

  “You were upset?”

  “No, dropped it.”

  “You dropped your spirit level?” asked the Constable patiently.

  Alfred nodded. Pattie gave the Constable thanks by way of a smile. She said, “So, who took your van?”

  “Don’t know. Was at the DIY shop, buying new spirit.”

  “Were you driving when the lady was hit by the van?”

  Alfred shook his head. He was stroking Jasper and seemed to be quite happy doing so. Jasper was also quite content, having found a new friend with interesting smelling hands.

  Pattie had seen enough. She signalled to Constable Downey and then stepped out into the hallway, closing the door between them.

  “What do you think?” asked the Constable.

  Pattie cleaned her spectacles with a microfibre cloth she picked up from Boots with her prescriptions. “Firstly, I’m no expert but I’d guess he has a mild form of autism. He wasn’t lying when he told you earlier that he was from out of town. He has an alibi, and he was telling the truth when he said he wasn’t driving the van.”

  Constable Downey grinned. “Start with the autism thing.”

  “He knew his stuff about his job, but clearly he’s awkward in social situations. Again, I’m no expert, but it’s more than just being a ‘little simple’, like Rebecca said.”

  “Go on…?”

  “He’s not local. When I said I was at the vet’s next door, that wasn’t just an excuse to introduce Jasper. If he knew the village at all, he would have had some response to my lie about there being a veterinary practice. Even Jasper noticed and I wasn’t even near him. But Jasper didn’t react when the boy said he wasn’t driving the van when Francine was knocked down, so I don’t think he’s your man.”

  “You said he had an alibi. You mean the DIY shop? I doubt the muppets in there would be able to ID him, they don’t even look up when they serve you half the time.”

  “No, but if he pa
id for his spirit level with a debit or credit card, then you would have the exact time and date that he was in the shop, correct?”

  The Constable snapped his fingers. “You know, it’s no wonder Andy made Detective, with you as his Mum!”

  Pattie adjusted her glasses on her nose, and put her hand on the door handle. “Another thing. Don’t you think it’s suspicious that no-one has been able to reach Mister Mosby? Could he be involved in the murder somehow?”