The Escapee and the Case of the Cat-Napper (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 3)

by Nancy C. Davis

  “You’d almost think I was staging all these burglaries and murders just to get your attention, Thomas,” Pattie replied slyly. “Come in, I’ve just made a fresh pot of tea … Doctor Knight is in the office.”

  “There’s someone else you see a lot of, hmmm?” said D.C. Downey with his eyebrows raised. He ducked around the corner before Pattie could feign indignant.

  Once they had explained what happened, and the D.C. had taken his notes, he said, “Well, it’s certainly fishy. I’ll check out this supposed vet’s practice on his forms, and see whether his personal contact details check out. If they do and he’s local, I’ll pay Mister Smith-or-whatever a visit and find out what the story is.”

  “Are you sure you have time for all this?” Pattie asked, wringing her hands together. “I feel like I’m wasting your precious time with something this minor.”

  “One never knows what comes of something minor, Mrs Lansbury,” D.C. Downey reminded her gravely. He took a peek under the scarf that covered the pet carrier. “Whoever this little guy really is, he looks quite scared. Maybe you should let him out for a while, so that he can choose his own place to hide? He might get some rest then.”

  “Good idea,” said Pattie. They opened the carrier and the black-and-white cat leapt out, then darted across the room trying to find a way out. The door was closed and so was the window, so he had to settle for crouching under Pattie’s desk, where she got a better look at him.

  “Wait – I know who this is! It’s Jonah, Mister Morris’ cat!”

  “Mister Morris, who owns the garage?” asked Elliott. “However can you tell?”

  “I never forget a kitty, Doctor. This is Jonah, alright. It’s only now I can see his white socks and crooked tail that I can tell, but I’m positive. I wonder if Mister Morris knows that he’s missing?”

  “Perhaps I can leave you now, Mrs Lansbury?” said the Detective Constable. “I’ll get back to you just as soon as I’ve heard anything.”

  “Of course. Take care, Thomas. Say hello to Juliette for me.”

  Was it Pattie’s imagination, or did D.C. Downey blush as he turned away to leave…?

  Chapter Six

  Halfway along Shepherd’s Street was the motor repair garage and petrol station run by Richie Morris. His house was across the road, where he lived with his wife, Vera. Pattie knocked and waited patiently on the front step, admiring their hydrangeas, until the door opened.

  “Ah, hello Patricia,” said Richie with a smile. “How are things?”

  “Things are rather strange at the moment, Richard,” Pattie replied. “I just had a visit from a man who wanted to register his new cat. Only the cat wasn’t his – it’s yours!”

  She lifted the pet carrier so that Richie could see through the grill at the black-and-white tom. His eyes went wide to see the cat again. “Is that Jonah? Oh, please come in, Pattie! I’ll put the kettle on! Do you like Assam?”

  They settled in Richie’s lounge, where Vera was ironing with the TV on. They settled on the suite with a pot of tea as Jonah was left to sniff around his home and finally relax in a place where he felt safe.

  “He was very anxious at first,” Pattie explained. “The man dropped the carrier as he ran, but I checked Jonah for injuries and he seems totally fine. Once I left him by himself in my office for a little while he seemed to settle down, although I can tell that he’s glad to be home!”

  “At first, we weren’t even sure that he was missing,” said Richie, stirring sugar into his tea. “It’s not too unusual for him to be out all night. But last night was the fourth night, and we were really getting worried, weren’t we, dear?”

  “I’m just so relieved to have him home!” Vera confessed. “Jonah is Richie’s first cat, but I’ve always had cats and I love Jonah to bits. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d never come home. We feared the worst.”

  Richie nodded. “With all these stories about missing cats in the valley, we were starting to wonder if Jonah had been snatched up. It’s not like he’s a valuable breed, but who knows what these people do with them…?”

  “What stories about missing cats in the valley?” asked Pattie.

  “Patricia, I would have thought you’d be the first to hear! It’s been going on for a few weeks now, constant reports as far out as Harrogate of cats just disappearing. A few people have seen vans with men inside prowling around. The North Yorkshire Police are onto it, but I doubt there’s much they can do. A bunch of cats is hardly high on their list of priorities, is it?”

  “Has anyone from Little Hamilton been affected?” asked Pattie, alarmed.

  Vera put down her teacup. “Pattie, I know at least three people whose cats have gone missing! Do you know Carmen Broderick? And Linda Atkinson?”

  “Mrs Atkinson’s Persian’s gone missing? But I only saw her at the practice with him two weeks ago! I’m shocked that I haven’t heard about this! This is much bigger than I thought…”

  Pattie left the house feeling rather stunned, and even felt shaky. Cats were going missing all across Little Hamilton and beyond? If she’d known, she would never let any of her furry babies go roaming outside, not when there could be cat-nappers driving around with nets or sacks waiting for them to appear.

  Intending to call Elliott, she dug around in her purse for the new mobile phone that he’d given her. She still wasn’t sure how it worked, but she couldn’t deny that it was often useful. When she pulled it out, she found that there were half a dozen voicemails waiting for her, some several days old. She must have put the phone on ‘silent’ mode by accident. She pressed the button and listened – to message after message from people around the village, calling to ask if they’d seen their cat; noticed any apparent strays; and had she heard about these cat-nappers…?

  Chapter Seven

  D.C. Downey was waiting for her when she got back.

  “Hello, Mrs Lansbury. I didn’t think you’d be long, so I stuck around. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Of course!”

  Pattie led him into the house, where they sat in her lounge with her cats around her. She anxiously looked from one to the next, privately counting them to make sure they were all there. Had any run out with her when she left the house? It was such a normal occurrence that she barely noticed it anymore … Archie and Tyson were the likely culprits for going wandering, but at least Tyson wasn’t likely to stray too far from home.

  “I looked into this Sunshine vet’s practice in Leeds,” said D.C. Downey, unfolding some papers and passing them to Pattie. “Apparently it existed at one time, but closed about ten years ago.”

  “Then the papers this man gave me were definitely a forgery. The dates on the papers don’t add up, and the first cat, which was supposedly registered there, was definitely under ten years old,” Pattie said. “I’ve no doubt about that. Did you learn anything about the man? I believe he might be connected to a recent spate of cat-nappings, have you heard about that?”

  “There were some bulletins, and a few people in the village have registered missing pets. One of them, Linda Atkinson I think, made a statement saying that she was sure her cat was stolen.”

  “Samson is a pedigree; pedigree owners are very protective. A purebred Persian isn’t as valuable as, say, a Bengal or a Savannah, but it will still fetch over a thousand pounds if they’re handsome enough. Samson was fine enough to be a show cat, and he’s still young enough to be an effective stud. He would be a prime target for the thieves if their intention is to sell the cats.”

  D.C. Downey leaned forward in his chair. “It turns out that there’s a Tony Townsend associated with the same address that he gave you. I’ve sent D.C. Palmer to see whether the address checks out. He’s registered as employed with this company: FelynePro. According to their website, they produce cat products like spot-on flea treatments, medicines, stuff like that – and they also have a pedigree breeding programme.”

  “I wonder if that’s it,” Pattie murmured.

  �
�Well, we can’t be sure about that, because FelynePro doesn’t actually exist. The registration numbers and head office address are bogus, but the phone and e-mail details connect – I got through to a messaging service, but no actual person yet. They’re screening all their calls. It’s all looking very dodgy indeed.”

  Pattie looked through the papers that the Detective had given her. She cleaned her spectacles before checking some of the details. “I recognise some of these names.”

  “Oh?”

  She stood and went to her office. She kept the door shut, to keep the cats out, but still found Archie asleep on top of her filing cabinet. How did they always manage to get into rooms that they are not supposed to be in? Well, at least he wasn’t tearing about outside where he could get cat-napped.

  There were some files in the top drawer of the cabinet. Opening the metal drawer woke up Archie, and he stretched with a long, wide yawn before jumping down. Pattie followed him back to the lounge with her file.

  She opened the file on the coffee table and used to magnifying glass to compare some of the names. “Here – These names are the same. Tony Townsend … Felix Fassbender … Simone Ballion … Phil Harris … They’re all employees at FelynePro, and they’ve all come to me in the last month to register cats. If this ‘Townsend’ hadn’t been silly enough to come to me twice, I might never have known!”

  “May I see?” asked the Detective.

  “Here … But I’ll save you the trouble of figuring it out. Isn’t it obvious? This is a kitty laundering operation!”

  Chapter Eight

  That evening, Pattie and Elliott sat at the dinner table eating a roast chicken dinner. Throughout the meal, six cats sat nearby watching them; because it was an open kitchen, there was no way to shut them out without barring them from the lounge too. Pattie was impressed that Elliott didn’t mind. The persistent, unblinking gaze of a cat whilst one was eating was off-putting for most people. Elliott, as usual, took it in his stride.

  “They’re rather patient, aren’t they?”

  “They know that if they’re good, they might get a little treat. Like chicken in gravy,” Pattie replied. “I’ve really had a problem with any of my little ones. Maybe they know I’m a master not to be trifled with?”

  Elliott chuckled. “Or maybe they just respond to your kind attitude with equal kindness, Patricia. If there’s one thing you’ve taught me about cats, it’s that they only give back as much as they get in the first place.”

  “Well, if they could learn to use the toilet instead of the litter tray, I’d be much obliged!”

  They ate in comfortable silence for a little while, mopping up their gravy and crunching down the last few roast potatoes between them. Elliott really was a marvellous cook, and had done especially well considering that he wasn’t in his own kitchen. Pattie found that it made a big difference – not that she’d cooked in a long time. Her husband, Charlie, had done all the cooking.

  “Elliott, I’ve heard of this company, FelynePro, before,” Pattie said, pushing the last few pieces of carrot around her plate.

  “Oh?”

  Pattie sighed. “Yes, it’s owned by Matthew Conrad.”

  “That rich entrepreneur who moved into the village from London? How do you happen to know that?”

  “Because he showed me some of his investment portfolio. He’s my investor at the practice.”

  Elliott stopped chewing. He put down his cutlery and swallowed, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I see. Isn’t he the slightly mad one you caught wandering around the village pretending to be a homeless person?”

  Pattie gave a thin smile. “Yes, that’s him. He approached me about the investment. He has all sorts of ideas about a veterinary practice, and a detective agency, and an animal shelter … All pie-in-the-sky nonsense, of course, but you eventually wore me down on the vet idea. So he invested a few thousand pounds in all that unnecessary technology, a stock of medicines etc., and has been doing some local advertising for me.”

  “And what does he get out of it?” Elliott asked. “I would have liked to see a contract before you signed it, just to make sure you weren’t getting screwed over…”

  “I’m not a simpleton, Elliott,” Pattie replied curtly, standing to clear the dishes. “I’m perfectly capable of reading through a simple contract. Mister Conrad went out of his way to keep the whole thing as straightforward as possible. As for his end of the bargain, I’m returning interest-free payments on fifty percent of the initial investment over the next three years, and he retains fifteen percent of my profits for the text ten years or until I drop dead, whichever is the sooner. Probably the latter, if you keep giving me that look, Doctor Knight!”

  Elliott held up his hands. “I’m sorry, Patricia. Of course, I know that you’re capable. I’m just very suspicious of his type of character. They’re far out of touch with regular people like you and me.”

  “ ‘You and I’, Elliott, and I agree – Mister Conrad is rather peculiar. But this isn’t what concerns me. What concerns me is that I’m quite sure that FelynePro is one of his companies, which means that he has a connection to this cat-napping business. I don’t like that idea at all.”

  “This is what I meant by ‘his type of character’, Patricia. All they’re interested in is money, no matter if it breaks a law or hurts someone. Money is King for them.”

  “I’m sure that this is a misunderstanding,” Pattie replied, staring into the frothy dishwater in her sink. The bubbles hissed and burst as she dumped in the two plates. “It must be…”

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, Pattie decided to find out for herself. She told Elliott that they would meet in the afternoon to visit Matthew Conrad at his renovated cottage at the edge of the village, but she had no intention of going with Elliott. He seemed to have a bee in his bonnet about such things, and had presuppositions about Mister Conrad’s character. Pattie had met with the man before, and although he had some peculiar ideas, he did not necessarily seem shady to her.

  As a precaution, she brought one of her cats in a carrier. Jasper was a friendly ginger tom, previously owned by a family of travelling Roma gypsies, and he was the perfect companion for this particular interview.

  At the edge of the village, where Shepherd’s Street dipped out of the valley and became the countryside highway, the old cottage stood proud on the hillside overlooking farmland and distant woods. When the super-rich magnate had secretly moved into the village, he’d renovated parts of the cottage and extended it. What was surprising was that none of the new portions were visible from any part of the road or village. He had expertly skirted any issue of interfering with village heritage bylaw, and even though the cottage was protected by a Grade II listing, he had found a loophole there as well, extending the building by using only the same natural stone found in the valley so that, from the outside, it appeared to be wholly original.

  “He didn’t get super-rich by being an idiot,” Pattie said to Jasper as she walked. “I just hope that he never sullied his honesty – especially where people and cats are concerned.”

  The cottage had changed in the last few months. A new garden was growing in the front, with delicate trellises festooned with honeysuckle and evergreen topiary. A sweet birdhouse, a clever miniature of the cottage, stood within view of the front doorstep.

  Pattie knocked. Angus, Mister Conrad’s young manservant, answered the door. “Ah, good morning. It’s Mrs Lansbury, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right, young man. And your name is Angus?”

  “Yes. It’s good to see you again, ma’am. Are you here to speak with Mister Conrad? He doesn’t usually take visitors before eleven.”

  “I’m sure he will make an exception for me,” said Pattie. “I’ve come to see him regarding FelynePro.”

  “Just a moment, please.”

  He was absent for one minute, then returned. “Mister Conrad would be happy to see you. Would you mind waiting in the drawing room?”

&nbs
p; Pattie allowed Angus to take her coat, but clutched tightly to the pet carrier with Jasper inside. She put the carrier down next to the leather armchair that she sat in, looking around the study. The room was filled with books, attractive and expensive-looking objects, and an impressive painting of a flat-topped mountain. Pattie thought she recognised it as a landmark in South Africa.

  “Mrs Lansbury. A pleasure to see you again.”

  Matthew Conrad entered the room, and Pattie stood to shake his hand. “And you, Mister Conrad.”

  “Matthew, please. After our last face-to-face meeting, I was worried that you thought little of me. I’m afraid I was in rather a sour mood. A recent business venture had fallen through, you see. Now that you’re in the world of businesses and investment too, I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Of course.” Pattie had forgotten what a devilishly handsome man Mister Conrad was. He was renowned in the press for being an insatiable ladies’ man, and seeing him it was no wonder that he managed to seduce girls half his age – not to mention the promises of gifts and luxurious living. “I’m glad to finally meet you again in person, so that I can thank you for the investment you made in my practice. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “And from your report last week, it seems to be rather a success,” he replied, taking a seat opposite her. Angus came to bring them tea and a rich, moist fruitcake. “I must urge you again, however, to increase your profit margin. You’re in a powerful position, where the demand far outweighs the supply in the area. We could both be making much more money.”

  “I’m not in the business of bankrupting country bumpkins, Mister Conrad,” Pattie reminded him. “As I said before, my prices will match the national average, and go no higher. People in Little Hamilton need to have their animals looked after, and that’s what I intend to do. Don’t you have a big enough fortune already?”