Murder and a Song (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 2) (7 page)

            “What
are you talking about?”

            “One
of my sources says you were seen visiting his farm today, more than once.  It’s got to be related to the case, right?”

            “Firstly,”
Pattie said frostily, “we can’t be certain that this isn’t two separate cases
at the moment.”

            “Be
a bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

            “Secondly,
who exactly is your source, who keeps sticking her noise into other people’s
business?”

            “Why
are you so sure it’s a her?”

            “This
is a traditional countryside village, Miss Conrad.  There’s not much for a woman to do around
here but earwig and get involved where she’s not wanted.”

            Laura
pouted and gave her a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t that a little rich, coming from
Little Hamilton’s resident busybody wannabe sleuth?  It’s not like you have any formal
qualifications, is it?”

            “My
son was—”

            “—A
policeman, yeah, I know.  But, let’s face
it, being the mother of Detective Andrew Lansdale is hardly something you’d
want to shout about, is it?”

            Pattie
stood and smoothed down her coat. “Miss Conrad, you have a long way to go
before you figure out how to conduct a reasonable interview.  Good evening.”

            “Oh,
don’t huff!” Laura laughed, bringing out her recorder again. “How are you
finding the festival?  Who’s your
favourite band so far?”

            Pattie
left, clinging tightly to something her mother used to tell her: ‘If you can’t
say anything polite, don’t say anything at all’.

Elliott noticed that Pattie was in a
bad mood when she found him by the Beatles tribute stage.  She sank next to him on a flat wooden bench
and looked mournfully at the now-cold hotdog he offered to her.

            “Whatever’s
the matter?” he asked.

            “Every
time I think that I’ve put the past behind me, it rears up again,” she replied
sullenly. “Can’t I ever be rid of it? 
What’s happened has happened.”

            “Are
you talking about your son?”

            “Yes.  Andrew was a good man who got caught up in
bad circumstances, and he was driven out of town because of it.” Pattie
accepted the hotdog and bit down on it. 
She abhorred junk food but tonight could be an exception. “No sense in
it going to waste, I suppose…”

            Elliott
put his arm around her. “What happened with your son, anyway?  I don’t know any of the details.”

            “I’d
really rather not talk about it tonight. 
I just had a run-in with one of those news reporters who’s been sniffing
around, and I can’t take that kind of interrogation.  Did you know that I was interrogated for days
after the debacle with Andrew?”

            “No,
I didn’t.  You mustn’t let this get you
down, dear.  You’re just despondent
because you haven’t had a break in the case yet.  All you need to do is look on the brighter
side and keep striding onward!  Onward
and upward!”

            Pattie
looked into the Doctor’s grinning face and returned his smile. “You always know
how to cheer me up, Elliott.  We should
spend time together more often.”

            “I’d
like that.  Listen – they’re playing ‘Hey
Jude’!  That’s my favourite.”

            “Mine
too,” Pattie said quietly.

            “Hey
Pat, don’t carry the world upon your shoulders…”

            “Very
funny!  Stick to fixing skin conditions,
because you’re certainly not a singer…!”

They stayed and listened to the end of
the set.  The tribute band was very good;
they even had a lanky Lennon lookalike who gave a great performance.  When Pattie closed her eyes, she could almost
have been listening to a record.

            She
and Elliott took the walk back to the village. 
The path cut back through the edge of the woods, where the thin moon
cast its weak light between the trees. 
The river chuckled nearby, but the branches were quiet except for the
susurration of the wind through the leaves. 
All the birds and insects of the woods were asleep, and Pattie would
have liked to be the same. 

            An
urge had risen within her to reach out and hold Elliott’s hand as they walked
in silence.  She did not, of course.  It was so silly of her to have such an
impulse at her age.  Fifty-six years old
and post-menopause, what business did she have feeling like a teenager at the
start of a new romance?  Her life was
perfectly fine as it was, and there was no need to complicate things.  Besides, she still missed her husband, but
she had grown very accustomed to having her own space and all that free time,
and no-one to have to compromise with on a daily basis…

            Elliott
stopped dead in his tracks, as though he’d heard her thoughts. “Did you hear
that?”

            Pattie
looked up from the ground where she’d been walking. “Hear what?”

            “Shhh
… Listen…”

            The
woods were quiet.  Chuckling stream,
whispering leaves, no insects.  Pattie
could hear nothing out of the ordinary. 
She was about to say so when she heard it: a faint rustling in the
distance, and an echoing shout diffused amongst the trees.

            “Is
that someone…?” Pattie began, but didn’t finish.

            She
and Elliott strained their ears.

            The
noise got louder.  Someone was running
through the woods, crashing through branches and undergrowth.  Then they heard a shout, loud and clear:
“Help!”

            “Good
God!” Elliott whispered, and the two of them tried to pinpoint the direction
that the stranger was coming from.  They
didn’t need to wait long for their answer: a slim figure burst through a bush
from the direction of the festival and nearly tripped over his own feet.  His arms swung wildly as he ran, glancing
behind himself.  Pattie saw his wide eyes
shining wetly in the gloom.

            “Hello?”
called Elliott.

            “Hello?  Oh, thank you!  Help me!”

            The
young man stumbled and fell at their feet. 
Pattie was shocked to realise that she recognised him.

            “You’re
that boy Timothy, the friend of Harry Widmore and the others!” she gasped.

            “Help
me!” Timothy Jeffries said, picking himself up. 
He was covered in dirt and scrapes. “They’re after me…”

            “Who’s
after you, boy?” asked Elliott, trying to calm him. “What’s going on?  You look like you’re afraid for your life!”

            “Please,
help…” Timothy was looking behind him through the dark spaces between the
trees.  There was no-one following
him.  If there had been, they had stopped
and were hidden.  For now though, the
young man was safe and his breathing slowed.

            Pattie
touched his arm, startling him. “It’s alright. 
We can help you.”

            “It’s
you,” he said, recognising Pattie from when she’d visited the tent after Daryl
Hardy’s death. “I … I need your help. 
Please, take me to the police station. 
I need to be somewhere safe!”

They flagged down one of the local
taxis, who sped them to the police station. 
Outside, Elliott said his goodbyes. “You don’t need me in there,
Patricia.  I’ll wish you goodnight, and
good luck!”

            “Thank
you for the company, Elliott,” Pattie said softly. “I’m very grateful.”

            “Maybe
I’ll get a chance to see you tomorrow. 
Sunday’s my one day off, but I can’t say the same for consulting
detectives right now!  Goodnight,
Patricia.”

            “Goodnight.”

            Pattie
took Timothy Jeffries into the station and sat him down as they waited for D.C.
Downey to appear.  He arrived very soon,
not wearing his uniform jacket but with his shirt creased and his sleeves
rolled up.  The man looked fit to
collapse from exhaustion, but he greeted Pattie with a smile and signed in
their new guest.

            Once
they’d arranged some hot drinks and pulled some snacks out of the vending
machine, they sat Timothy down in the station’s break room.  It was a lot more comfortable than the
interview room, with soft couches and windows, which Pattie opened to let in
some cool air.

            “Okay,
Mister Jeffries,” said D.C. Downey. “Why don’t you tell us what this is all
about?”

            The
first time Pattie had seen Timothy had been at the tent, when he’d sat in the
back of the van by himself.  She’d had
the impression that he wasn’t fully part of the gang, but he’d soon come to
their defence when the questions turned to alibis.  He’d initially struck Pattie as timid, and
his display in the woods hadn’t changed her mind, but now that he was calmer
she wondered how terrorised he would have to be to change moods so drastically.

            “It’s
Toby and James,” he said, taking a gulp of tea to soothe his throat. “They’ve
gone mad.  I don’t know what’s gotten
into them.”

            “It
was they who were chasing you in the woods?” asked Pattie.

            Tim
nodded. “It’s all been so weird since Harry … Well, that was shock enough.  Then we had to go through the arrest and
questioning – I know that those two have been through it all before with other
problems, but it’s the first time I’ve ever been in a police station.  I’ve been pretty stressed out.  When we were let go this afternoon, I thought
we’d all just pack up and go home.  I
waited at the tent but the other two didn’t show up, so after a couple of hours
I went to look for them.”

            “And?”
prompted D.C. Downey.

            “I
couldn’t believe they’d gone to one of the stages.  None of us were hardly in a party mood.  Something made me think to look in the van,
so I opened it up and there they both were, sat in the back staring at this box
with a cat in it.  I saw its tail and
heard the meowing.  I could see that they
were shocked to see me; maybe they thought they’d locked the van, I don’t know
… I asked what they were up to, and they just flipped out.  Toby jumped out and grabbed me, and James
climbed down too and shut the van doors, maybe so the cat wouldn’t escape … But
I managed to get free from Toby and backed off. 
At first I couldn’t believe it; I thought it must have been some stupid
joke, but I saw the look in their eyes. 
They looked like they wanted to kill me, I swear!  They came for me and I just ran, and they
chased me through the campsite and didn’t let up for a second, and I ended up
in the woods … and that’s when I ran into you,” Tim said, nodding at Pattie.

            D.C.
Downey rubbed his unshaven cheek with one hand. “So, you don’t know what they
were doing, or why they were chasing you?”

            “No.”

            “So
this
could
have been a prank.  Or for any reason at all, not necessarily
anything to do with the murders.”

            Pattie
interjected. “What colour was the cat? 
Was it the same one that visited your tent those few times?”

            D.C.
Downey looked up wearily. “Mrs Lansbury, now’s not the time…”

            “It
was a ginger one, I think it was the same one,” said Timothy uncertainly.

            “What
makes you think that your own friends would want to hurt you?” asked D.C.
Downey. “Tell me why this is something I should get involved in.”

            “They
were trying to kill me!” Timothy shouted. “And it’s a bit shifty, isn’t
it?  Two guys turn up bloody dead and
then they’re looking daggers at
me
?  What am I supposed to think?  That they’re just playing around?”

            “Do
you know them well?” asked Pattie. “Toby and James?”

            “Not
really.  I met them through Harry, they
were his friends from back when they went to university together.  They’ve been at a few of his parties, but
that hardly ever happens nowadays.  These
festivals are the only times we really get together.  I never liked them much.”

            “Are
you telling us that you believe James Farrell and Toby Draper might have had
something to do with Harry Widmore’s drowning?” asked D.C. Downey. “I thought
they were all friends?”

            “I
don’t know, I don’t know!” cried Timothy. 
He balled up his fists and pressed them to his temples, as though trying
to push out his doubts and suspicions. “But I
saw
the look in their eyes when I found them in that van.  I
know
that they were serious.  They didn’t like
what I saw.  I don’t even know what it
means, but they were coming for me.  And
they were going to kill me.”

“Could he be on to something?” Pattie
asked D.C. Downey once they were alone. “If Farrell and Draper had killed
somebody and that cat’s somehow involved, they would have known that Tim could
spill the beans on them.  If they’ve
killed once, they might not think twice about doing it again to keep everything
covered up.”