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

  Chapter 4

  Pattie and Simon walked up and down Shepherd’s Street, which ran the length of the little Yorkshire village. They passed the general shop and the town hall, then the bed and breakfast owned by Mister and Mrs Rosswell. Pattie thought she spotted Harlequin, but it turned out to Betty Partridge’s cat Lester.

  “People are giving me some strange looks…” Pattie said to Simon.

  “You’re just imagining it, Mum,” he replied, but she wasn’t sure that he believed his own words.

  “It’s because of this Crowley business. They’re remembering what Andrew did. The whole town of Little Hamilton was put under the spotlight because of him. I thought I’d finally put all their resentment behind me, but it’s still here, as strong as ever…”

  “Just ignore them,” Simon suggested lamely. “Look, is that…?”

  The three-legged silver tabby was crouched on a brick wall between the church and the graveyard. She saw Pattie and came bounding over, her missing limb hardly an impediment to her enthusiasm. Pattie echoed Harlequin’s little meow with a soft voice, then picked her up and cradled her in her arms.

  “Come on, little one, let’s get you back home and fed. All the scariness is over now.”

  “Another one of yours?” said a sharp voice. It was Carol Emerson, the plump little busybody who lived off Crook’s Hollow.

  Pattie nodded. “She doesn’t normally go out, so I came to look for her. How are you, Carol?”

  “Like you care,” hissed the other woman, and shuffled off down the street.

  “Now do you see?” said Pattie to Simon. “Soon the whole village will be against me, just like two years ago. Memories last a long time in the country; you know that.”

  Simon waved it off. “That’s Mrs Emerson, Mum. She’s as nutty as fruit cake. Didn’t she name her kids Chastity and Virtue? She’s batty; just ignore her.”

  They made their way back to Pattie’s house. They saw the police car outside of her home as they came down the road with Harlequin twitching her tail in Pattie’s arms. They also saw a shabby homeless man across the street, leaning against a stone wall scratching his beard.

  “You don’t see poor souls like that very often in Little Hamilton,” Pattie said sadly. “If he’s still there tonight, I’ll buy him a hot drink from the shop.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” said Simon. “You go inside, and I’ll go and have a word with him.”

  “Simon…!”

  As her son went to ask the homeless man to move along, Pattie pushed open the damaged door to the front of her house. Linsey had been kind enough to clean away the broken glass on the floor. Pattie could tell from the lines in the carpet that she’d vacuumed, too. Bless her soul!

  Linsey, little Claire, and Detective Constable Downey were in the lounge. Pattie greeted the Detective with a thin smile. The situation had tired her out already, even though it was barely two o’clock.

  But first thing’s first. As Simon returned and spoke with D.C. Downey, Pattie laid out thirteen bowls filled to the brims with tasty food and whistled. The residents of the Pat’s Whiskers home came at various speeds. Some of the more shell-shocked individuals looked around the door gingerly to make sure the coast was clear before coming in.

  It was only once she was sure that they were all settled in that she joined the others in the lounge.

  “Sorry for your bad luck, Mrs Lansbury,” said D.C. Thomas Downey. “We do get the odd break-in, and it’s almost always opportunistic out-of-towners driving through. They see a family going out for the day and presume the place is ripe for the picking.”

  “But they didn’t take anything,” said Simon.

  “Maybe they were frightened off? We have a pretty good neighbourhood watch around here – although the trees make this house a little more secluded than the others. Are you certain nothing small was taken – jewellery, cash, cards?”

  “Nothing,” Pattie replied with a shake of her head. “It didn’t take long to check. I don’t own much. And he didn’t go upstairs.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The muddy footprints stop at the stairs. Thomas, do you think this could be John Crowley?” Pattie asked.

  D.C. Downey held up his hands. “Mrs Lansbury, I’ll stop you there. I’ve no reason to think that Crowley has come anywhere near Little Hamilton. Not to mention that there’s currently a huge amount of resources being spent around Doncaster right now to keep him from getting out of the city. The man has no-one to help him and, if you don’t mind me being honest, Mrs Lansbury, no reason to come here. His issue was with Andrew, not you.”

  “Thank you,” said Simon pointedly.

  “Isn’t it silly not to at least consider—” Pattie started.

  “Patricia,” said the Detective quietly. “I know that you still think that you share responsibility for what Andrew did two years ago, but it’s simply not true. The only person who blames you for his actions is yourself. Now, I’ll send someone around to see if we can lift some prints – have a look around for any smooth surfaces they might have touched whilst they were here. In the meantime, please try to relax. Will someone be coming to replace the door?”

  “I’ve already called someone,” Simon told him.

  “What?” said Pattie. “Simon, you don’t have to be overprotective. I can manage all this by myself!”

  “We’re only trying to help, Mrs Lansbury,” said Linsey softly.

  “I’m not just an old lady who can’t do anything for herself anymore!” Pattie snapped, then turned her back to clean up the crockery.

  Chapter 5

  That night, Pattie left her bedroom door open so that the cats could wander in. Her regular bedroom guests were Simba and Mia, the fluffy Birman. The two of them came in and settled on the bed, curled into wheels, as Pattie tried not to think about the day’s events and what they might mean.

  The next morning she was up early. She put out thirteen bowls of food and then worked on breakfast for her human houseguests: bacon and eggs with French toast and a pot of tea. They joined her gladly at the kitchen table.

  “I’m going to have to head out on business today,” said Simon, slurping his Twinings. “I shouldn’t be back late. Why don’t you and Linsey take Claire to the park?”

  “We might just do that,” Pattie replied with a smile, and went to collect the morning post as little Claire bashed a boiled egg with a teaspoon.

  Pattie ticked Coconut under her milky chin as she stooped to gather the letters from the doormat. They had covered up the broken window with cardboard and tape, but it was still a little breezy there. She took the letters back to the table and began to open them.

  It was Simon who saw her expression change. “What is it, Mum?”

  Pattie was still holding the letter, its torn envelope having dropped onto her breakfast plate. She read it again – then again – before passing it to Simon.

  “Bloody hell,” he said.

  The letter was a blank piece of paper with five large words pieced together out of newspaper clippings. It read:

  I KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO ME.

  SOON EVERYONE WILL KNOW THE TRUTH.

  Chapter 6

  Simon called the police straight away.

  D.C. Downey was tied up with something, according to his partner, D.C. Juliette Palmer. She came over right away to examine the note and talk through the whole situation in more detail.

  “I’m starting to think I should have listened to my mother,” said Simon, crossing his arms as they all looked down at the threatening note on the table.

  “I’ve been telling you that for thirty years,” Pattie reminded him.

  “Could it be John Crowley?” asked Simon.

  “There’s no way to know for sure right now,” D.C. Palmer replied. “I don’t think it’s such a leap to say that the break-in and this letter might be connected. I’ll dust for prints in a minute. Do you still have the envelope?”

  “Yes.” Pattie passed it to her.
“There’s nothing written on it, so it must have been hand delivered.”

  “I’ll take the letter and envelope as evidence,” said the Detective, pulling out a plastic evidence bags from her jacket. “I’m also going to post an officer outside to watch the house for the next couple of nights.”

  Pattie nodded. “Okay. But I’d like to examine the letter before you take it.”

  “Mrs Lansbury, I know you always say ‘my son was a policeman’ and so you know all about these things, but we have people at the station who’ll—”

  “I’d like to examine it first,” Pattie interrupted flatly. “I can give it to the officer on watch when I’m finished.”

  “Alright,” relented the Detective. “Try not to alter it in any way.”

  Simon checked his watch. “I need to get off. I’ll just be a few hours, alright Mum? Maybe you should give the park a miss…”

  “We’ll be okay,” Linsey said. Pattie admired her confidence. She didn’t feel so sure right now. Someone had invaded her home, and they’d done it with the intent of getting to her. Why else would they post the letter? It didn’t have Pattie’s name on it, but it didn’t reference Andrew either, and everyone knew that Andrew no longer lived there. The front door had the sign for “Pat’s Whiskers Feline Retirement Home” on it, not “Safehouse of Disgraced Former Policeman”.

  For some reason, Pattie herself had been targeted – and she had no idea what to do about it.

  Chapter 7

  Pattie tried to let the lazy afternoon go by quickly and peacefully. Linsey and Claire read a few stories that they’d brought with them, and played with toys for a while with a Disney film on repeat on the television.

  Meanwhile, Pattie brewed herself a strong Assam tea and sat down alone in the kitchen to examine the letter. She took out her magnifying glass and a notepad and set to work.

  The paper was not standard white printer paper. It was actually a thicker, cream-coloured paper, more like the kind that people used for correspondence. The letters were cut from colour magazines – at least two magazines, because some of the letters were on glossier paper than others. From the way that the pieces were stuck to the paper, she guessed that a wet PVA-type glue had been used, rather than a dry glue stick. They were neatly arranged into the words. Some of the square cut-outs had slightly creased corners, but all on the left side.

  Pattie sniffed the paper and peered at it through the magnifying glass, but she deduced nothing useful from either of these efforts.

  Linsey came quietly into the kitchen. “How are you doing, Patricia?” she asked softly.

  Pattie leaned back in her chair. “Hello, my dear. This letter implies a few things. Based on the fact that this is quality correspondence paper, the person who made this was most likely about my age or older. People of your generation and younger don’t really write letters any more, do they? It was probably a woman, because these were cut from glossy magazines, and the colours suggest women’s magazines. She was not rushed for time: this is very neat work. And she was almost certainly left-handed.”

  Linsey grinned and looked at the letter wide-eyed. She hadn’t known Pattie long enough to be accustomed to her powerful skills of deduction.

  “Wow! That’s incredible. Are you sure about all these things?”

  “I’m not certain about any of it, except perhaps the left-handedness. I suspected the intruder might have been a woman, because the partial footprints seemed smaller than I would expect from a man. But I’ve not seen anything to make me totally sure about the gender.”

  “A woman? But why would a woman break in and do all this? This note had to come from that escaped male prisoner, right?”

  “Perhaps he had a lady friend produce it for him? Or maybe he just has small feet and ‘Heat’ was the only magazine he could find? We can’t rule anything out at this stage.”

  Linsey sat next to Pattie at the table and held her hand. “You’re an incredible woman, Pattie, but you can get a little too focused on these things. Why don’t you come and play with me and Claire? You’ve only seen ‘Frozen’ three times today, we can play it from the beginning for you!”

  Pattie smiled. “Alright. Let me bag up the evidence and put it out of the reach of small and curious children. Juliette will want it sooner rather than later.”

  Chapter 8

  D.C. Palmer was, in fact, parked in her police car across the road from the house. She had chosen to keep watch over Pattie herself. She and the consulting detective hadn’t known each other for more than a couple of years, and not well until recently, but she already had a lot of admiration for her. Pattie’s standing with D.C. Downey alone was enough for Juliette.

  A stakeout was not the most fun way for D.C. Palmer to earn her salary. Sitting in the car for hours made her back hurt, and she was too tempted to snack. She’d already powered through a 4-pack of Kit Kats and two bags of Ready Salted. Boredom was the enemy when it came to stakeouts, and the darkness made her drowsy.

  As though answering her prayers, she heard a commotion outside. She jerked to attention, anticipating trouble outside Pattie’s place, but it was unconnected: two drunks hassling each other.

  D.C. Palmer got out of the car and approached the young men. “Alright, lads, break it up! Haven’t you got better things to be doing…?”

  Chapter 9

  Pattie and Linsey had just finished getting Claire to sleep. The little girl was unsettled in the new environment, and it had taken longer than usual. Luckily Pattie considered herself a good storyteller, and Linsey had to agree: something in Pattie’s voice and manner relaxed Claire to the point that she finally fell asleep.

  They tidied away the story books and went back downstairs for a cup of tea.

  “You’re so good with her, Pattie,” Linsey said. “Remind me again what happened to your husband?”

  “Eric. He was such a lovely man. Very gentle and considerate – most of the time, at least. I used to wonder if he preferred his garden to me some days, but he was always as good a husband as I could have wished for.”

  “It’s no wonder Simon turned out so well,” Linsey beamed.

  Pattie said, “They’re both good boys, in their own way. What happened with Andrew was … out of his own desperation. I think about him all the time.”

  “I’m sure the other people in the village will come around, Pattie. They must know that you’re not to blame for what he did. It’s just a shame he felt he had to leave the country. Claire would have loved another Uncle to play with.”

  There was a rustle in the hallway, and both women heard the mailbox snap shut. They looked at each other for a second, a coldness settling over Pattie. She almost didn’t dare to see what must have fallen through.

  She didn’t even need to get up. Putz, her handsome tortoiseshell, wandered into the lounge with an envelope in his mouth. It was something he’d been doing for years, ever since Pattie got him and Mischief from an RSPCA rescue. Putz and Mischief were not siblings, strictly speaking, but as far as Pattie was concerned they were brother and sister. Putz was especially helpful – the mail-fetching a good example. He liked the attention he got from doing so.

  Putz dropped the envelope at Pattie’s feet and waited for his usual praise and scratch under the chin. Pattie tried not to disappoint him, but it was half-hearted. She was looking at the letter.

  “Do you want me to open it?” asked Linsey.

  “No, I’ll do it.”

  Pattie reached to pick up the envelope and tore it open. Inside was another sheet of the same thick correspondence paper. She unfolded it and saw more magazine-clipping letters stuck down to form a short sentence:

  I WILL GET MY HONOUR BACK.

  Just like the last letter, there was no address written on the envelope. It had been delivered in person.

  Chapter 10

  D.C. Palmer got back into her car after getting the drunks to go their separate ways. She had barely shut the door when she saw someone across the road that she hadn’t
noticed earlier. It was a man, slightly hunched over, with wild wiry black hair and fingerless gloves. He looked like he might be homeless. D.C. Palmer had never come across any homeless people in the little country village, so it struck her as unusual.

  At that moment, the porch light came on outside Pattie Lansbury’s house. The front door swung open and out came Pattie and her son’s wife, Linsey They seemed frightened half to death. They looked straight at the police car and Pattie raised her hand.

  She was holding an envelope.

  “Damn it,” D.C. Palmer hissed, and jumped out of the car to run towards them through the circles of street lights that softened the darkness. She shouted, “Is it another letter? Did it arrive just now?”

  Pattie nodded. “Yes!”

  D.C. Palmer didn’t stop running. She veered away from the lawn and took off down the street in pursuit of the homeless man. Who else had been close enough to the house to deliver the letter? It must have been him! But now she couldn’t see anyone down the length of the dark street.

  She kept running, looking down each of the paths and side-streets between the houses. At the second junction she thought she saw him: a running figure in a long flapping coat and wild hair.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “Stop! Police!”

  Of course, the man didn’t stop. For someone who had spent years sleeping rough, he was certainly sprightly. She chased him down the length of the road until she was twenty feet behind him; she could hear his hard footsteps and ragged breath.

  “Stop!” she yelled again, but it had no effect. The man turned suddenly down a narrow path between two houses. Past the houses two tall fences continued to shield the gardens from the path. At the far end was a gate between the two fences, and it was through this gate that the man ran.

  She caught up just as the gate slammed shut. A latch lock fell into place on the other side. She heard the man say gruffly, “Didn’t do anythin’!”, then his fading footsteps as he ran away.