Over by the window Jessie had gone very quiet. “It’s very frustrating,” she said, “Stan would have known all about those vaults. He lived round here all his life and knew all the local stories. We’d be so much further on if he was here. I do feel at a loss at times.”
“Can’t we use your computer to try and find out a bit more, Jessie?” asked Fergus tentatively.
Jessie seemed to snap back to her usual self once again. “Fergus, you are absolutely right,” she said. “There’s no point in sitting around and getting all maudlin.”
So, with Jock settled in a corner of the room chewing on an old toy of Jasper’s and with the boys sitting close by at either shoulder, Jessie switched on her computer and quickly went on to the internet. With her fingers in a flurry, she typed the words “Edinburgh Raeburn Place vaults local history” into the search box, and within seconds was scanning a list of results. The most promising one was a site describing itself as “Edinburgh’s Local History Archive.” Within that site there was an option to click on different areas of the city. Choosing “Comely Bank” led Jessie to say “Most revealing, most revealing,” for the second time that day. This time the boys could see why. There was silence as all three read what had appeared on the screen.
The website that Jessie had accessed provided old newspaper articles, and the one that had come up first had the headline, “Plans Agreed for Shops on Pond.” Dated 1895, the article noted that, “As part of the extension of the Comely Bank residential community this bold engineering project will involve draining the pond and building up the resulting hole to street level through the creation of a set of vaulted cellars. The final stage of construction will involve the building of a new street of shops above the vaults which will serve the growing community of Comely Bank. It will be named Raeburn Place, after the famous artist, Sir Henry Raeburn.”
“Well, who would have thought that I live on top of an old pond?” said Jessie.
“Just think,” said Murdo, “If they hadn’t built all this we would have had a great place to play!”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t have had any rock buns,” noted Jessie.
“Hmm, fair point,” said Murdo looking suddenly serious again.
Jessie clicked on another page, which read, “Council Leader Opens New Street.” The article was dated 1898 and had the sub-heading, “Vaults Hailed an Engineering Success.” There was a photo of a rather serious-looking group of bearded men in long coats beside a row of shops. The sign for Raeburn Place could just be seen above the line of their top hats. Fergus pointed out another familiar name to the others. One of the shops just visible in the corner of the picture was Crockett’s Watches and Clocks.
The article described the opening of the new shopping street and the “engineering success” of the headline was the creation of the underground vaults supporting the street and the shops above. Alongside the article and the photo there was even a diagram similar to one of Jessie’s plans, showing a side-on view of the street with its line of shops and then underneath the road, three tiers of archways, one on top of the other.
“It’s just amazing that we are on top of all that,” said Fergus.
“Does it say who owns those vaults?” asked Murdo leaning in so close to the screen that Fergus and Jessie were squeezed out.
“Well, according to the article,” read Jessie, “it looks like the shops each owned the vaults below their unit. I suppose whether they used it or not depended on their business and their need for storage space.”
“So why would there be manhole covers leading down to the vaults?” asked Fergus.
“There’s your explanation,” said Jessie, pointing to another paragraph in the article. Murdo read aloud, “Designers have responded to public concern that the draining of the pond would not be fully successful. The potential for the vaults filling with water and being a safety risk for anyone working below ground level has led to the creation of a series of quick access points to street level.”
“Now,” said Jessie, “what we need to find is something about the ownership of the vaults. Let’s see what else we have here.”
After a few more clicks of the mouse, the front page of the Edinburgh Evening News dated 14 August 1931 appeared on the screen. The article towards the bottom of the page had the headline, “Inventor Buys Underground Property.” Jessie read aloud, “Edinburgh saw one of its more unusual property sales last week as local businessman and inventor Charles Crockett purchased six of the shop vaults underneath Raeburn Place. Local residents were bemused by the sale. One stated that “It’s a bit of a white elephant,” while another said “He’s got more money than sense.” Crockett who owns the Watches and Clocks shop on Raeburn Place was said to want the extra space for the inventions that have led to his increasingly eccentric reputation.”
His face had been glued to the screen a matter of seconds before, but on reading this Murdo leapt up and disappeared. There was a loud rustling of paper from the hallway and moments later the plan from the kitchen table appeared with Murdo’s legs underneath it.
“I thought we should match up the latest findings with Jessie’s plan,” said Murdo.
“Yes, just where is Crockett’s in relation to here?” said Jessie helping Murdo to flatten out the plan on the coffee table. They found that Crockett’s was situated between the Copper Kettle Café and Stein’s Fish Shop. Although some way from the manhole cover, they concluded that it was possible that the six sets of vaults bought by Charles Crockett belonged to the shops between the Watches and Clocks shop and the manhole cover, including the one that now housed the cheery Warren and Capital Computing.
“Okay, so if the vaults below the manhole cover outside here belong to Mr. Crockett then why would standing above the cellar of a clock shop make your watch go backwards?” asked Fergus.
“Well,” said Murdo who had not been put off by his last explanation being cut short, “maybe the combined power of all the watches and clocks stored in Crockett’s shop generates some sort of powerful collective time-force that gets channelled through the vaults and surfaces at various points around the city, and grips each watch it meets in a vice-like stranglehold that squeezes seconds out of it and …”
Murdo looked up to find that he was alone in the living room. He could hear giggling from the hall and realized that Jessie and Fergus had sneaked out while he was in full flow. Murdo shook his head in exasperation at the fact that his good ideas seemed to be ignored so often. Fergus and Jessie then had to convince him that they were just having a bit of fun and that his idea was certainly one they would come back to, although they took care not to say when. The three then pondered on what to do next and it was Jessie who once again decided that a direct approach was the answer.
“I’ve been meaning to have this fixed for years,” she said pointing to the wall clock with its long motionless pendulum. “I could get Bob Crockett round to look at it and we can get chatting. That way there will be no interruption from customers.”
So the plan was set and Jessie made the call. She had been a customer at Crockett’s for many years and the boys could hear her chatting on the phone to someone at the shop.
“He’s coming tomorrow in his lunch hour,” said Jessie triumphantly as she came off the phone. “Right, I think we’ve done all we can on the watches until tomorrow so we should get back to the cats. Let’s not forget there are two mysteries to be solved here.”
“We could do some brainstorming,” said Murdo enthusiastically.
Fergus realized he was rolling his eyes again at the thought of more of Murdo’s “blue sky thinking.”
“Okay,” said Jessie, spotting Fergus’s reaction but forging ahead anyway. “I can’t believe that so many cats can be disappearing for any natural reason. It isn’t normal. I just have a hunch that someone, somewhere, is up to something.”
“But who would have a grudge against cats?” said Murdo.
Jock pricked up his ears.
“A demented dog lover?
” suggested Fergus.
“Someone who’s allergic to cats and wants to get rid of them all?” said Murdo.
“The Society for the Protection of Garden Birds?” said Fergus.
“I don’t know,” pondered Jessie. “I don’t think we’re on the right track here.”
“I suppose it depends what someone was doing with the cats,” said Fergus. “We’re assuming that something bad has happened to these cats.”
“Yeah,” said Murdo. “It could be someone who has a particular interest in cats.”
“Or maybe someone is pinching them to sell them on?” said Fergus.
“Yes, maybe someone is gaining by the fact that they are going missing,” said Jessie walking over to the window as if she was looking for inspiration.
“How do you mean?” said Murdo.
“Could someone profit from their disappearance?” she continued.
“Wait a minute, that’s the way we have to think — is there someone or something that would benefit from cats disappearing?” said Fergus.
They all fell silent for a while and Jessie sat back down as if the moment for bright ideas had slipped by.
“Well, I’m sure the many Cat Search Agencies out there are very busy,” said Murdo sarcastically. “Who on earth could profit from cats disappearing?”
“Someone trying to sell other kinds of pet?” suggested Fergus.
“That’s more like it,” said Jessie, “That’s the way we need to think.”
“So we need to find a pet shop that specializes in anything other than cats,” said Murdo, being less than helpful.
“It still doesn’t feel right,” said Jessie. “Maybe it’s not their disappearance that causes the profit. Maybe we need to think about where they are being taken, or what is happening to them when they get there.”
“It’s too vague … too many what’s and where’s,” said Murdo, getting increasingly irritated with the fact that the discussions seemed to be going nowhere.
“Well, we can’t think of a good reason why someone just keeps cats away from the rest of the world, so there must be a ‘what happens.’ Something must be happening to those cats … oh my poor Jasper,” said Jessie, momentarily distracted at the thought of what might be happening to her cat.
“But what could anyone be doing with dozens of cats?” asked Murdo, beginning to go red in the face with frustration. “Playing with a giant ball of wool?”
“Are you going to come up with any useful ideas today?” asked Fergus. Murdo looked like he might begin to sulk.
“Cats don’t do that much other than eat, sleep and play about a bit,” said Murdo defensively, “So what on earth can someone be doing with them that makes a profit?”
“Okay then,” said Fergus deciding to act as a peacemaker before Murdo’s impatience got the better of him. “Let’s agree with Murdo. Whoever is taking the cats isn’t doing it just to play with them, and you can’t make much money out of a sleeping cat, so that just leaves eating.”
“CAT FOOD!”
The boys jumped as Jessie shot to her feet far quicker than anyone of her age should try to do. “Cat food!” she shouted again, looking at the boys with a wild glint in her eyes and not seeming to have suffered any ill effects from her sudden movement.
“Jessie, have we ever told you that it’s a bad habit to shout out random words without explanation?” said Murdo, his pulse beginning to slow again after the shock of the shout.
Jessie ignored the comment and began to pace with a slight limp around the room, her cardigan flapping as she went. “You see, you’ve cracked it. Murdo’s right — all cats do is eat, sleep and play about a bit. Fergus is right too. No one can make any money from sleeping and playing cats. So the only thing left is “eating.” What do cats eat? Cat food! It must be big business judging by the number of adverts on the telly.”
“So what are you getting at?” said Murdo, liking Jessie’s train of thought so far, but not seeing quite what station it was about to arrive at.
“I don’t know, I don’t know, but this feels right,” said Jessie sinking back into her armchair again, frustrated that they had hit another dead end. “Someone must know what kind of food cats like. Maybe that would help us move this along a bit.”
“Wait a minute!” This time it was Fergus. He was sitting bolt upright on the settee with a fiery purpose in his eyes. The next second he leapt up, vaulted the coffee table and sat at the computer, clicking on the mouse.
“Jessie is right, someone does know what kind of food cats like,” said Fergus firmly as he clicked into an internet search engine.
7. Prime Suspect
“Here we are,” said Fergus.
Murdo and Jessie were standing behind him, looking at the computer screen. Fergus had run a search on “Cats and Edinburgh” to reveal the results they had looked at a few days before. He clicked on the fourth option and the screen changed.
“Well, well, well,” murmured Jessie, “that is a development. Well remembered, Fergus.”
Murdo read the screen aloud. “Study into the Formation of Feline Eating Habits, University of Edinburgh, 1995, Dissertation by Davidson Stein.”
“I knew we’d seen something about cats and eating before,” said Fergus. “Maybe this will tell us something about why cats like certain foods.”
Fergus went into the research project file and scrolled through the numerous pages of the document. It was solid text with the occasional graph or table of numbers. “Wow, this has nearly put me to sleep already it’s so boring,” said Fergus, disappointment creeping into his voice.
Headings like “Taste Formation in the Juvenile Cat” and “Personality and Preference Development in the Maturing Cat,” were highlighted in bold as Fergus scrolled through the document trying to find something that looked easy to read.
“Try going to the end to find the Conclusion,” suggested Jessie.
Fergus tried this but ended up in something called a bibliography.
“List of books,” explained Jessie.
“So I see,” said Fergus going back up the list of authors and journals to the top of a Conclusions paragraph.
“Right, what does our friend, Davidson, conclude?” asked Jessie leaning into the screen again.
“Cats are very particular about their choice of food,” read Murdo. “Blah, blah, blah. The preference for particular tastes is formed at a very young age, namely in the first three to six months.
“Well, I think we may be heading in the wrong direction. Cats form their eating habits young and it’s not kittens that are disappearing, it’s cats of all ages. According to this they would all have decided what food they like long ago.”
“My Jasper is certainly no spring chicken,” said Jessie, “But there’s something about this idea. I like it.”
“Just imagine if someone cornered the cat food market. How much would that be worth?” said Fergus.
“Millions?” speculated Murdo.
“Billions?” added Jessie.
“Gazillions,” said Fergus emphatically. “Imagine if someone could make sure that cats only liked one brand of cat food. They would be laughing all the way to the bank.”
“So,” said Murdo joining in on the act, “All you would have to do would be to kidnap loads of cats and somehow convince them that eating one brand of cat food was the thing to do. Maybe it’s hypnosis. Can animals be hypnotized?”
For the first time that day Murdo’s idea was taken seriously by Fergus and Jessie, who both nodded at the possibilities that his question had posed.
“So where do we go from here?” asked Murdo.
“Let’s find out if there are any cat food suppliers or manufacturers in Edinburgh,” said Jessie.
Fergus went back to the search screen and typed “cat food,” “Edinburgh” and “suppliers.”
Some of the same answers came up as before, but so did two company names, Kitty Kitchen and Petfood Products.
Fergus clicked on “Kitty Kitchen”
and Murdo read out, “‘Specialist food for your special friend.’ Pee-uke.” The wording on the website went on to be as pink and flowery as the site itself.
“I think we’ve got the gist of that,” said Jessie. “Try the other one.”
Petfood Products had a much more technical looking website. “Nine Lives: Cat Food for the 21st Century,” read Murdo. “A diet for the modern cat — Internet sales and delivery — Service to be launched this autumn.” There was only an email address for those wishing to receive an information mailing on the cat food. Jessie leaned over Fergus and quickly typed, “I am interested in further information on your products and services. Please send details by return. With thanks, Mrs. J. Jenkins.”
Their internet activity was interrupted by the phone ringing and Fergus suddenly realized that time had flown by with all of the morning’s activities. Sure enough his mum was checking that everything was okay and that the boys weren’t getting in Jessie’s way. “They are no problem at all, Fiona, although I’ll send them back up the hill shortly as I’ve promised a friend I’ll help her with something this afternoon,” said Jessie.
As Jessie hung up, two bleeps announced that messages had arrived in her inbox. Firstly there was a reply from Precision Customer Services noting that they had received no other reports of DataBoys going backwards and recommending returning the malfunctioning watch to the shop it was purchased from, as the first step towards diagnosis and repair. “Well, no great surprise there,” said Jessie deleting the response.
The other email was an automated response, which noted that Jessie had now been added to the customer mailing list for Nine Lives, which would be launched at the end of the month, when more details would follow.
The next morning the boys were once again at Jessie’s, this time finishing off inputting the information gathered by Murdo into the database. Murdo read out the details from his big folder of lost cat posters as Fergus typed them in. This gave them a welcome distraction from the eagerly anticipated appointment with Mr. Crockett. While they worked away, Jessie sat in her armchair reading Murdo’s diary of the investigation, although the boys soon spotted that she had not only fallen asleep while doing so but was snoring deeply.
Catscape Page 7