Catscape (4 page)

Murdo was still urging Jock to be quiet, but the little dog was barking as if his life and the lives of the boys depended on it. The fox was beginning to move away, but the fact that he was taking his time about it was making Jock even angrier and Murdo could do nothing to quieten his normally obedient dog.

Fergus strained to shove the manhole cover back into place. He knew that the only thing to do now was to get away from the
scene as quickly as possible without a trace and without a noise.

“CLANG!” went the manhole cover as it dropped back into place. Fergus winced. He had added a fitting finale to the din of the last few minutes and had also closed the cover on the microphone lead chopping it in half, leaving him with the walkman and a cut wire and the rest lost below ground.

“What is going on? I’m going to call the police!” said a shrill voice behind him.

Fergus froze, sensing that the trouble was only just beginning. Looking around he saw that the old lady was now at her front door looking scared and angry at the same time.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said cautiously, beginning to come down her front path. Fergus looked around for support from Murdo and Jock but they were almost out of sight on the other side of the street. Jock’s barking was finally subsiding as the fox had merged back into the shadows, and so Fergus was left looking like the source of the chaos.

“We …” said Fergus feebly, beginning to explain and realizing that there wasn’t a “we.” There was only him.

“What were you doing at that manhole cover?” said the woman, before Fergus could go any further. “That’s breaking and entering.”

Fergus looked down, almost surprised to find a crowbar and a bulging rucksack at his feet.

“We were just trying to see if there was anything unusual underneath it,” he said, choosing his words carefully, but realizing that this vague answer was unsatisfactory.

“We? Who is we?” said the old lady glaring at him. “The only unusual thing is that you appear to be trying to get inside a manhole cover outside my flat. Now that is unusual, would you not agree?”

There was a horrible silence as Fergus shuffled his feet and struggled to know what to say. Before he could stop himself he suddenly blurted out, “I stood on this cover and my watch went
backwards and I want to know why!” As soon as he said it he knew it sounded ridiculous.

The woman’s loud, angry voice changed to a scarier, steelier, quieter one. “I might be old but I’m not stupid,” she said. “I recognize you, young man. I know where you live and I shall speak to your mother about this. Now kindly pick up all of your things and leave me in peace.”

She stood with her arms folded and an expression that said that she had heard and said enough.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Fergus mumbled. Struggling to close the rucksack, he picked up his bike and began to head back up Comely Bank Avenue, feeling more embarrassed than he had ever done in his life.

As he trudged up the hill, Murdo emerged from the shadows looking slightly sheepish, knowing that Fergus had taken the brunt of the old woman’s anger. Jock meanwhile trotted beside Murdo panting happily and looking up at the boys as if wanting to be congratulated on winning a famous victory.

“What did she say?” asked Murdo tentatively, but Fergus couldn’t speak. Right now he didn’t really care if his watch went forwards or backwards. He just wanted to go to bed, fall asleep and wake up thinking that this had all been a bad dream.

What should have been a fun sleepover at the caravan became a long and sleepless night for Fergus. It wasn’t the fact that he was in the unfamiliar surroundings of the caravan, it was the old lady’s words ringing in his head that kept him awake. “I know where you live and I shall speak to your mother about this.” He lay looking out at the full moon with his mind in turmoil. How much trouble could he get into, in one go? He decided that he would probably set a new record — being out at night without permission, trying to break into a manhole cover, disturbing the neighbours — he could hear it all now. He scrunched his eyes closed and squirmed in bed wishing he could turn the clock back. It seemed a bit ironic that the whole problem had arisen because his watch had gone backwards. Fergus was convinced without a shadow of a doubt that he would be grounded for months, and almost certainly banned from seeing Murdo again.

As if mirroring Fergus’s mood, the next day was wet and gloomy. After breakfast in the Fraser’s kitchen, the boys headed back to Comely Bank Avenue. Jock padded damply alongside.

“Did you have fun?” asked Mrs. Speight as the boys hung up their dripping jackets.

“Yeah it was great,” said Fergus sounding as upbeat as he could. “We saw a fox,” he added trying to inject some colour into the story. Jock licked his lips as if the word “fox” had reminded him of his dramatic encounter.

The boys made their excuses and spent the morning in Fergus’s room looking through old annuals that Fergus had
collected. Neither of them had the appetite to talk about cats and watches or anything remotely suggesting a mystery that needed to be solved. As the morning dragged on Murdo stood up, stretched and went to the window.

“Still wet,” he said peering out through the rain-spattered pane at a car swishing by with its windscreen wipers flapping. Fergus joined him at the window, grimacing at the soggy summer scene.

“Looks like you’ve got a visitor,” said Murdo nodding at a large flowery umbrella with a pair of legs sticking out from below. The figure stopped on the pavement before turning into number 81. Fergus peered more closely but couldn’t see enough to make out who it was. Then just before it reached the door, the umbrella was pulled to one side and given a brisk shake which sent off a shower of droplets.

“Oh no,” said Fergus turning pale. “We really are in trouble.”

Murdo looked more closely and saw the old lady from the previous night. The boys looked at each other and both swallowed hard.

“Maybe she’s just … collecting for something?” Murdo said trying to be positive.

“Like for her collection of small boys’ heads?” said Fergus, burying his head in his hands and groaning.

Before they could say any more, the doorbell rang. Fergus groaned again. Murdo moved to the bedroom door and opened it a crack to try and make out what was happening. He shrank back as Mrs. Speight came along the hall towards the front door. Fergus joined him, straining to hear what was said as the front door opened, but all that they could make out was a muffled exchange of voices. It was only as Mrs. Speight headed back into the hall that they were able to hear properly.

“Well, you’d better come in then,” was the first sentence that they both picked up clearly. At that, Fergus let out another groan. Murdo gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder.

The next moment, Mrs. Speight shouted, “Fergus, you’ve got a visitor.” Her voice seemed to echo and hang in the hallway like the first of many accusations. Fergus looked at Murdo, and then at the window as he weighed up whether there was any means of escape.

“Fergus …!” his mum called again more insistently. Knowing that there was nothing he could do but face the music, Fergus left his bedroom and trudged along the hall to the living room.

“I’ll hang these up,” Mrs Speight said as she came out of the living room carrying the woman’s coat and umbrella. She raised a single questioning eyebrow as Fergus approached looking forlorn.

“Fergus,” said his mum guiding him into the living room, “this is Mrs. Jenkins from down the road.” Fergus edged slowly round the living room door. The old lady was sitting up straight in the armchair by the fire in a voluminous knitted cardigan. She looked Fergus straight in the eye and said, “Oh yes, Fergus and I have already met.” Fergus began to go almost as pink as her cardigan.

Mrs. Speight looked a little confused by this exchange but politeness got the better of her and she didn’t immediately enquire any further. Fergus knew, however, that it wouldn’t be long before she found out just
how
he did know “Mrs. Jenkins from down the road.”

“Right, well, I’ll just put the kettle on,” said Fergus’s mum, giving Fergus a look that said, “I’ll know everything shortly and I can already guess most of it.”

“Tea with milk and two sugars would be just the ticket,” said Mrs. Jenkins.

“Right you are,” said Mrs. Speight with another piercing glance at Fergus as she left.

Fergus was finding it hard to look at Mrs. Jenkins. The last time he had seen her a few hours before, she was wagging her
finger at him accusingly and now here she was sitting in the middle of his own front room. When he did summon up the courage to look at her, the adjustments she was making to the cushions behind her, along with some repeated throat clearing, suggested to Fergus that she was composing herself before making the big speech which would expose him as the neighbourhood’s newest villain.

“So, Fergus,” she said finally breaking the silence, “you must think that you are in a spot of bother.”

“Aren’t I?” said Fergus quietly, thinking that a “spot of bother” was an understatement for his situation.

“Frankly, when you gave me that ridiculous explanation last night about your watch, I told myself that not only did I have a troublemaker for a neighbour, but also one with a vivid imagination.” Mrs. Jenkins adjusted herself to get more comfortable, and cleared her throat again as if she was about to say something that she was finding difficult.

“I now know,” she continued, “that you were in fact telling the truth and I want to apologize.”

There was a silence before Fergus could manage to blurt out just one word. “What …?!”

“You appear to be correct,” said Mrs. Jenkins, lowering her voice and looking at the door, as if not wanting anyone else to hear.

“Is your friend here at the moment?” she continued. “I presume the two of you are working together on this. Perhaps he should hear this too.”

A minute later Fergus and Murdo were side by side on the settee, still looking nervous but with the flickerings of relief on their faces.

Mrs. Speight appeared carrying a tray with tea, juice and biscuits. She couldn’t contain her anxiety and curiosity any longer as she put it down on the coffee table.

“Is everything all right?” she said to Mrs. Jenkins. “You’ve got me rather worried. Have the boys done something wrong?”

“I assure you that everything is fine,” said Mrs. Jenkins in a voice so kindly that the boys couldn’t quite believe that it came from the same person who had interrupted their investigations the night before.

“Your son was a good neighbour yesterday and I’m really just here to say thank you.”

Mrs. Speight looked baffled but slightly proud as she looked at Fergus and ruffled his hair. The boys both noticed that Mrs. Jenkins quickly winked at them out of the corner of her eye as Mrs. Speight was looking down at Fergus.

“Please don’t let me hold you back, my dear, I’m sure you have lots to keep you busy. The boys and I can entertain each other,” continued Mrs. Jenkins.

Fergus nearly choked on a biscuit as he saw his mother being asked to leave her own living room in such a gentle way that she seemed quite happy about it. Fergus’s admiration for Mrs. Jenkins shot up even further. He had been practising for years and he could never have pulled off that trick. Here was a woman he needed to get to know.

“Oh well, I’ll leave you to chat. Shout if you want a top-up,” Mrs. Speight said, pointing at the teapot, and with that she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mrs. Jenkins took a big slurp of her tea and a large chunk of biscuit, which she manoeuvred noisily around her mouth, clearly having a few problems with her teeth. The boys didn’t quite know what to expect.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” said Mrs. Jenkins breaking the silence again, putting her cup down and brushing her hands of biscuit crumbs. “All of that disturbance gave me a bit of a start I have to say. Anyway, this morning I went out with this.” She rummaged in the baggy pocket of her pink cardigan and produced an old watch on a chain.

“This belonged to my husband, Stan, and it hasn’t lost a minute in sixty years — until this morning when I stood on that manhole cover! What is going on down there?” She leaned towards the boys with a whisper.

“Well,” said Murdo speaking for the first time and realizing that the elderly lady was rapidly becoming an unexpected ally, “we might have had a better idea what’s going on if we hadn’t been interrupted last night!”

They all laughed at this and any remaining tension in the room disappeared. For the next few minutes the boys showed Jessie their DataBoys and explained about their watches going into reverse. They went on to describe their side of the story from the previous night, including the fact that the abrupt end to the investigations which Jessie had caused, had resulted in the microphone wire being chopped in half.

“Oh, I am sorry about that. I must insist that you let me replace it as soon as possible,” said Mrs. Jenkins. “I must say this is all very mysterious isn’t it? It definitely sounds like something we need to get to the bottom of. Why don’t you come down to my flat some time soon and we can get our heads together. I’ll pass it with your mother of course, Fergus,” she added.

“How about this afternoon?” said Murdo, his enthusiasm for mystery solving having reappeared dramatically in the last few minutes.

“Let me just see,” said Mrs. Jenkins, fishing a small diary out of her cardigan pocket. Fergus wondered what else the bulging knitted pockets contained. She licked a finger and paged through the battered black book.

“No, I’m sorry, boys. I have my karate class at 2pm, and this evening I’ve got my Local History discussion group,” she said matter-of-factly. “But this time tomorrow would be fine, if that suits you?”

The boys watched Mrs. Jenkins setting off down the front path.
She looked pleased to see the rain had stopped and was jauntily swinging her umbrella as she headed away, limping slightly.

“Don’t people usually learn karate when they’re younger?” asked Murdo.

“And when they’re able to jump around a bit?” added Fergus, wondering what other surprises were scheduled in Mrs. Jenkins’ diary.

Fergus was relieved that Mrs. Jenkins had had a big chat with his mum before she left but not one that involved any details of the night before. In fact Mrs. Speight had tried to insist that Mrs. Jenkins stay for lunch but she had left saying that she never ate much before karate.

“She’s great fun,” said Fergus’s mum. “I hope I’m like that when I’m that age.”

“I suppose we’ll find out in a couple of years,” said Fergus ducking as his mum aimed a tea towel at his head.

Mrs. Jenkins’ visit had left the boys in high spirits. As they made their way back to the Incident Room chatting about the value that some more help with the case might bring them, Murdo stopped in his tracks.

“The tape!” he shouted.

“What tape?” said Fergus.

“The tape from the walkman. We lost the microphone but we still have the tape and we haven’t checked it yet!” said Murdo, breaking into a puffing run.
Back at the caravan Murdo rummaged around and in no time had rewound the tape and set it to play in a small cassette recorder. The first noises that the boys could hear were their own muffled voices, recorded when they had switched the walkman on and lowered it through the gap and into the manhole. These quickly disappeared and Murdo turned up the volume to maximum to see if the tape could offer more than just a humming sound.

“What’s that?” said Fergus.

“What’s what?” asked Murdo.

“That bleeping noise,” said Fergus.

Both boys leaned into the cassette recorder to listen more carefully. Every so often there was a very distant single bleeping noise. Murdo got the stopwatch ready on his DataBoy and confirmed that thirty seconds passed between each bleep. Just before the tape cut off suddenly they heard more muffled noises but they were all from above ground with a hint of Jock’s crazed barking.

“Well, I’m not sure what we really learned there,” said Murdo.

“Other than the fact that something is bleeping under the pavement of Comely Bank Avenue,” said Fergus. “Why don’t we start thinking about the cats again. We seem to have hit a bit of a dead end with the watches for now.”

With that, the boys started looking through Murdo’s notes on the interviews that he had completed with all of the cat owners, to see if there were any common links between the disappearances. It seemed that most owners reported that their cats had been behaving normally in the time leading up to their disappearance. They had gone on to describe themselves as being baff led as to what might have happened to their cat, and that they thought it was very out of character for their pets to disappear in this fashion. The boys had read five or six sets of interview notes when Fergus spotted an emerging theme. “Don’t all of these people say that the first time they noticed their cat was missing was early in the morning?”

Murdo flicked back over the notes and nodded in agreement. Fergus continued with his line of reasoning, “So maybe it’s just the owners who allow their cats out at night whose pets go missing. What if something is happening at night to these cats?”

The boys worked hard during the afternoon looking through
every set of interview notes just to establish at what time each cat had gone missing. Sure enough, the pattern that Fergus had spotted proved to be true for every single cat.