Authors: Mike Nicholson
“What have you got planned for today, Fergus?” asked Mrs. Speight over breakfast the next morning.
Fergus shrugged as he put some buttery toast into his mouth. “Might catch up with Murdo,” he said, just as the phone rang.
“You get it,” said Mrs. Speight. “You’re more popular than me these days.”
“You’d better come,” Murdo’s voice said mournfully over the phone.
“What’s wrong?” said Fergus.
“Just come.”
Minutes later Fergus cycled round the corner into Murdo’s street to find a police car parked outside the Frasers’ house.
As Fergus wheeled his bike into the drive he found Mrs. Fraser standing over Murdo who was sitting on the front step of the house, his head propped gloomily in his hands.
“Well, there will be no more nights for you in there, young man,” said Mrs. Fraser. “You could have been murdered in your bed! What about Fergus?” she said, seeming to know he’d arrived without even seeing him. “How would I have explained that to his mother?”
Fergus looked at the Incident Room. The door to the caravan was swinging open and the window closest to it was broken. A curtain was fluttering pathetically like a surrender flag behind the smashed pane. From where he stood it looked as though every single piece of paper was scattered around inside. The books were off the shelf and the drawers in the filing cabinet were all open and ransacked. Any filing system that Murdo had ever spent hours inventing was long gone. A policewoman stepped out of the caravan.
“We’ll have to stop meeting like this,” she said brightly looking at the boys. Mrs. Fraser threw a hard and searching stare at Murdo. It was Gill.
“Was that all of your work in there? I see now why you were so interested in tracking cats. You’ve certainly been busy.”
She turned to Mrs. Fraser. “I’m sorry you’ve had all of this
inconvenience. I’m afraid to say that there are occasional breakins like this in the area. It’s usually just a random person looking for money. They make a terrible mess, trying every nook and cranny.
“Unless, that is, you think that there’s a rival looking for the cats,” she said turning to the boys and trying to inject some humour into the situation.
Fergus toyed with the idea of telling her everything that they had worked on to date.
“Well, what if someone was on to us?” said Fergus. Murdo shot him a glance as if to say he wanted to keep their work a secret, but then looked like he couldn’t really be bothered.
“Who would be ‘on to you’?” asked Gill.
“The people who have the cats,” said Fergus beginning to think that this was not going to be a helpful conversation. “Stein’s Fish Shop.”
“Why do you think that the fish shop is behind all these cats going missing?” said Gill.
“Well, they own lots of vaults and the guy who owns the shop knows a bit about cats, he did a research thing on what they like to eat and I think he has an interest in a new type of cat food and they have a guy who you never see who has a laptop …”
“And …?” said Gill.
Suddenly Fergus realized that the story was beginning to sound a bit thin. Surely they had produced a stronger case than this when they had all thought it through before.
“Buster was in there yesterday,” said Fergus playing his last card and knowing that it wasn’t enough.
“Sorry, Fergus, that won’t stand up in court,” said Gill.
Fergus couldn’t quite believe that their evidence suddenly sounded so unconvincing because he was so sure that they had the right answer. He went over the facts again and again in his mind as he helped to get the Incident Room tidied up.
Murdo of course knew where everything should be and
he directed Fergus precisely as they returned things to their rightful place. It was only as they got the last books onto shelves and papers into drawers that it dawned on Murdo what was missing.
“The file of cats and the Investigation Diary,” he said, looking crestfallen.
“What about them?” asked Fergus.
“They’re gone,” he said.
“Never mind,” said Fergus trying desperately to be positive. “We’ve entered everything on the database so we still have all of the information on every cat.”
Murdo perked up momentarily but then his shoulders slumped again. “But the diary … if they have that it means that they know everything that we know. They know exactly where we are in our investigation.”
Fergus couldn’t think of anything encouraging to say at that point because he had to admit that it did all seem a bit bleak. It was as if they had shown every card in their hand to their opponent.
That evening the boys managed to negotiate for Fergus to stay over, although this time it was on a Z-bed in Murdo’s bedroom. Mrs. Fraser had insisted on calling Fergus’s mum to explain what had happened with the caravan. The boys couldn’t understand why she felt she had to apologize for this and they shuffled about feeling awkward as they listened in to one side of the conversation.
The eventful day finished on a much brighter note, and memories of the break-in began to fade as Mrs. Peacock appeared during the evening with the reward money promised for the successful outcome with Buster.
“Just dropping off your £30,” she said cheerily, “and to take the opportunity to say ‘thanks’ again. You’ve made Gemma’s year.”
“How is your cat?” asked Mrs. Fraser.
“Buster seems fine,” said Mrs. Peacock. “He just seems to be off his food but the vet said it shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”
Fergus and Murdo looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. Was it just a coincidence that a cat that had spent at least some time in Stein’s Fish Shop should have lost its appetite?
The next morning, the doorbell rang and from the kitchen Fergus could make out his mum talking to someone else on the doorstep before asking them in.
“Hi, Fergus.” It was Narveen.
“Do you need a cat sitter again?” asked Fergus wondering if he trusted Sasha not to lead him into trouble again.
“Sasha has gone missing, Fergus,” said Narveen. “I’ve just come round to see if you’d seen her recently.”
“No … I’m sorry,” said Fergus, stunned to hear that a cat had gone missing so close to home. “When did you last see her?”
“The night before last, but then she wasn’t around yesterday and she’s not back this morning. It’s just not like her. I know she’s independent but she’s never been away this long before.”
“Hmmm,” said Fergus remembering just how independent Sasha had been when they were trying to keep up with her.
“We’ll certainly keep an eye open for you,” said Fergus’s mum. “Fergus found someone else’s cat the other day. In fact he was escorted back to the house by a policewoman. Very nice she was too, but I suspect the neighbours will be thinking I have a delinquent son. They could be right, of course.”
Fergus stuck his tongue out at his mum.
“See what I mean?” said his mum with a smile.
“Did anything unusual happen around the time she went missing?” asked Fergus, thinking through some of the questions that he knew Murdo would want to ask.
“No, I got back from work late-ish. Had trouble parking. It was even worse than usual, because there was one space right outside but it was blocked by a white van that was double-parked.
The guy was just sitting behind the wheel and he was quite rude when I asked him to move.”
“What did he look like?” asked Fergus, his interest rising.
He could almost predict Narveen’s answer. “Sort of skinny with a sharp nose,” she said.
Gill’s words, “That wouldn’t stand up in court,” rang in Fergus’s head.
“Oh, yes it would,” he thought as he pictured Narveen trying to get Beanface to move his white van. As she left their flat Fergus told her that he and Murdo would add Sasha’s details to the list of lost cats. It seemed that no sooner had they found one cat in the shape of Buster, than another went missing. The running total remained at forty-four.
In order to be thorough before reporting back to Murdo, Fergus decided to look out into the road where the double-parking incident had taken place. As he went to the edge of the pavement, he disturbed a scraggy seagull, which flew up from the road with a squawk. Comely Bank Avenue was quiet and Fergus went between the parked cars to look at where it had been pecking between the cobblestones. There on the road were a few scraps of what looked like flakes of fish.
“That must have been a high tide,” thought Fergus. “How did they get there?”
Fergus decided that Murdo and Jessie should hear about Sasha’s disappearance, Beanface’s double-parking and the fact that fish had landed on Comely Bank Avenue.
“Boys, this shows us that there is an important missing link,” said Jessie later, “and I’ve got some more interesting developments to add. We believe that the cats are in the shop, although if we try any harder to prove that they’re on the premises we’re going to get ourselves in big trouble. Now I’ve been running a few queries on all of the data that you entered … look.”
Jessie handed Fergus and Murdo a printout with lots of figures on. “Did you know that all of the cats from the same
streets disappeared on the same day? It’s like they are being gathered together somehow. It’s time we concentrated on how we think the cats are getting
to
the shop. The way I see it is that there can only be two options …”
Jumping up, Murdo interrupted. “The cats all go there because there’s a high pitched noise that only cats can hear that the white van plays and all the cats follow the van like something out of the Pied Piper, only it’s cats not rats and they end up in the vaults and …”
“Sorry, Murdo,” said Jessie, “I might almost have believed you this time, except that no one has reported seeing long lines of cats following a white van through the streets of Comely Bank. That might just be a bit obvious. I think the two options are that either the cats are
somehow
all making their way to the shop of their own accord or else they are being taken there forcibly.”
“I think there’s another option,” said Fergus. “What if they are quite happy to be taken there?”
“Mmm … interesting thought, Fergus,” Jessie nodded, “But surely, however it’s happening, we would see a lot of coming and going from the shop.”
“Well, the main thing coming and going is Beanface in his white van,” said Murdo flicking through his stakeout notebook. “Beanface came and went from the shop in the van an average of 7.3 times a day.”
“And that’s just during the day. Who knows what he’s up to at night?” added Fergus.
“It’s certainly suspicious that he was around when Sasha was last seen,” said Jessie, “and the fish on the road is almost like the leftovers of some bait that was put out to attract cats. I think that we need to find a way of checking the white van and finding out what our friend, Beanface, gets up to when he’s out and about.”
“How do we get a look at the van?” said Murdo.
“I don’t want any more late-night escapades,” said Jessie. “Ideally, we would want to look at it in broad daylight without anyone getting suspicious.”
“It needs to be away from the shop then,” said Fergus.
“Right here, in fact, if we could just distract Beanface for a while,” said Murdo.
“It can’t be us — he’d be very suspicious if we were involved. We need something where he gets held up for ages even though he thought he’d only be a few seconds,” said Jessie.
“Sounds like Beryl Scrimgeour,” joked Fergus. “Talking to her always means that you’re there longer than you planned.”
“That’s it!” Jessie exclaimed. “Beryl would be brilliant for this!”
It took Jessie a long time to explain to Beryl Scrimgeour why she had a part to play in the next stage of the investigation, but then that proved the point that any time spent with her was always a long time. When Jessie finally got back to the flat, after speaking to Mrs. Scrimgeour about her idea for a simple way to repay her for hanging her mirror, she told the boys that she was “One hundred per cent confident” that Mrs. Scrimgeour could play her part to the full.
The next plan that came out of Jessie’s dusty living room was that Beryl would order some fish from Stein’s by phone and ask to have it delivered. The success of the operation then hinged on three key factors. Firstly, that Beanface’s white van would appear for the delivery. Secondly, that Beanface would leave the van open thinking that he was dropping something off in a few seconds, and thirdly, that Beryl Scrimgeour could occupy him for at least fifteen minutes inside her f lat. There was little doubt about the last of these, so the first two would be left to chance.
It was agreed that while Beanface was occupied, the boys would have as good a look as they could around the van, and for
once, one of Murdo’s suggestions was actually quite a good one.
“Why don’t we play with a ball on the pavement and ‘accidentally’ lose it under the van in order to get a closer look?” His round face lit up as Jessie and Fergus agreed that this would give the boys more of a reason for being near the van.
The plan was set for the following morning, shortly before Jessie was due to be picked up for a long-standing two-day trip away. With her bags packed and standing in the hall, she and the boys positioned themselves in her front room with a plate of date and walnut muffins, ready for the action to begin. The boys had the same sense of excitement as the time they had headed out at night to try to look under the manhole cover. Jessie managed to persuade Murdo that he did not need a full rucksack of equipment in order to look at the van. He insisted that there were a few items that “just might come in useful” and had negotiated her down to a couple of bulging trouser pockets of paper clips, bits of string and assorted tools.
Jessie had once again given the boys her old mobile phone. This time Fergus had it attached to his belt with an earpiece in his ear. He found that the earpiece didn’t stay in very well, so Jessie and Murdo had enjoyed taping it to his ear. Fergus was not looking forward to taking it off at the end of the operation.
Jessie meanwhile was equipped with a large pair of
ancient-looking
binoculars from a brown leather case, which had belonged to Stan. “He’d be shocked if he thought I was using them to watch the neighbours,” said Jessie. “I’ve heard of curtain-twitching old ladies, but this is ridiculous,” she added, focusing the binoculars on Beryl’s flat. Finally the boys synchronized their DataBoys and both prepared their stopwatches and alarms for a period of fifteen minutes.
As they waited, Jessie remembered to tell the boys about her progress with her research. “I must admit I’ve struggled a bit with that book and I do wonder if Stein has it on his bookshelves just because MM is his girlfriend. Her research is all about
which bits of the brain do which things and she’s invented some scanner that shows where memory cells are in the brain. I can’t really see the connection with cats or fish shops. In fact it all seems like a bit of a red herring to me, if you’ll excuse the joke.”
“Well, the van is a good new line of enquiry,” said Murdo, “so let’s put our resources in that direction.”
They didn’t have to wait long as shortly after eleven o’clock the familiar white van pulled up outside Beryl’s flat.
“That’s it now,” said Jessie, the binoculars fixed firmly to her face. “It’s Beanface,” she confirmed as the lanky man hopped out of the van. “And he’s not locked it,” she said triumphantly as she watched him kick the driver’s door shut and head for Beryl’s front door carrying a low-sided box. “He’s ringing the bell. Okay, boys … on your marks …” said Jessie.
As if a blue light had been switched on, Beryl Scrimgeour appeared at the door and welcomed Beanface like a long lost son. Before he could say “forty-four cats” he seemed to have been sucked inside, and as Beryl closed the door she gave a deep nod which she knew would be seen by Jessie.
“Right boys, off to work.” said Jessie. “You’ve got fifteen minutes. And remember when I say ‘time up,’ I mean ‘time up.’”
The boys hit the stopwatches on their DataBoys and sped out of Jessie’s flat with Jock hot on their heels. They crossed the road bouncing the ball as they went. As they approached the van, Murdo let go of the ball, letting it roll towards the van and under the back bumper.
“Good shot,” said Fergus as the ball disappeared. He bent down to see where it had got to and found that he would have to lie down and stretch an arm or a leg under in order to get it out. Murdo meanwhile went to the driver’s door and peered in before cautiously opening it and climbing in with Jock nosing in behind him. Fergus tried to reach under the van with his leg to get the ball but found that he couldn’t quite stretch far enough.
“Is the handbrake on?” said Fergus.
“Yep it’s on,” said Murdo.
“Here goes!” he thought to himself as he went headfirst and began to crawl under the van. He hadn’t got very far when there was an excited shout from Murdo.
“I can see you!”
“What?” said Fergus seeing no sign of his friend.
“There’s a screen here and there must be wee cameras close to where you are!” Murdo’s voice bellowed.
“Keep your voice down a bit!” hissed Fergus spotting the tiny eye of a camera lens about two feet from his head.
“WHAT? SPEAK UP I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” shouted Murdo even louder.
“SSSSHHHHHH!” said Fergus.
“Oh, yeah, right enough, sorry.”
“Cameras under a van that delivers fish. Very strange,” thought Fergus although there was now little that would surprise him about Stein’s Fish Shop.
Buzzzzzz whirrrrrr.
Fergus edged his head around trying to locate the low purring mechanical sound.
A large flat metal plate on four rods like an upside-down table with extending telescopic legs was descending from the floor of the van and came to rest on the road beside where he lay.
“What did you do?” asked Fergus.
“Pressed a button,” said Murdo.
“Which one?”
“It’s called ‘Capture Plate,’” said Murdo.
Fergus thought for a moment, “So why would a cat step on to this?”
Sensing that they were near to an important discovery, he called out to Murdo, “Press some more buttons!”
A low soothing voice said “puss puss … puss puss,” close to his right ear. He eased his head round to find a tiny speaker on the
underside of the van. “What was that button?”
“‘Sound,’” said Murdo.
“Try another,” said Fergus. Seconds later with another low whirring noise, two panels descended from the underside of the van. They began to move in like bookends coming together and stopped to form walls along the side of the Capture Plate. Fergus noticed that the panels were vibrating slightly and as he tentatively put his hand out to touch them he found that this caused a ticklish sensation.
“Touch — another sense,” said Fergus to himself.
“Are there another three buttons?” asked Fergus beginning to realize why the van was so appealing to cats.
“Yes. How did you know?” said Murdo. “I’ll try them all,” he continued just as Fergus shouted, “Don’t press any more!”
“Yikes!” yelped Fergus as a mouse landed on the road right beside his head and disappeared again. Suddenly it was there again and he realized that it was a very effective imitation mouse on some very thin wire, released and then recaptured like the bird from a cuckoo clock from a tiny box on the underside of the van.
“Yeeuk!” cried Fergus as he got a faceful of fish odours blown out from a small vent above him.
Whoosh splat!
“Eeurgh!” choked Fergus as he was hit in the face by a spray of soggy fish flakes fired from a small dispensing pipe near to his head.
“That’ll be sight, smell and taste then,” he said pulling his hand around in the tight confines to wipe his face. “No cat could resist something that appealed to each of its senses. Beanface has every option covered.”