Sculpt a Murder

by Lily Ashton

  Nick Riley pulled on a pair of gloves and brushed leaves and moss away from the base. “Ah, here we go.”

  Nathan and Alice crouched down beside him. Nathan picked at a rusty clip attached to one of the dog’s toes. He traced his finger along the metal strip, stopping when it reached the ground. “See if there’s another one on the other foot.”

  Alice and DS Riley looked together. There was.

  “Hey,” came an angry voice. “Get away!” Bill Trevelyan hobbled towards them. When he saw Alice, he shook his walking stick at her. “Who are these people?”

  Nathan pulled his ID badge from his pocket. “I’m DI Nathan Salisbury and I’m leading the investigation into the recent murders at Renton Hall.”

  “Well they weren’t anything to do with me. So you’ve no need to be on my land.”

  “And who are you, sir?”

  “Trevelyan fom Barleyland. Next door. And what are you doing on my land?”

  Nathan folded his ID and put it back in his pocket, zipping it closed. Bill leant on his stick, slapping his other hand against his thigh in the manner of an agitated cat.

  “We have reason to believe that this sculpture is relevant to our enquiries. I’m taking it away for forensic examination.”

  “Forensic examination! For something that had nothing to do with what went on over there?” Bill poked his stick towards Renton Hall. “That’s my dog. You need my permission to take it away. And I’m not giving it.”

  “This sculpture could reveal a vital clue and we need to give it a thorough examination. We’ll only have it a few days.”

  “I’ll be on to your superiors. I know the chief inspector. He’ll vouch for me.”

  Nathan strode across to Bill. “This is a murder investigation, Mr Trevelyan. You can contact my boss if you wish. But time is running on and leads are getting cold. I would appreciate your cooperation.”

  Bill growled. He turned his back on Nathan and limped away.

  “Is the neighbour always that friendly?” said Nick Riley.

  Nathan smiled and looked around him. “We need some cutters if we’re to get this dog off the ground. Do you know where we can find some, Alice?”

  “Jeremy kept tools at the back of his snug.”

  Nathan sent Nick to the snug, and in the meantime he strolled around the cemetery reading the headstones. “Bit depressing having a graveyard on your property.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. Though I suppose somebody thought the children and perhaps the adults too, would like a proper resting place for their pets. And when you’ve got money to spend on these things, you can afford your own cemetery.”

  “Are you sure it’s only animals? There aren’t any of the family buried here?”

  “Not that I know of.” Alice wiped the bench and sat down. “I had assumed the family members are buried at St Edmunds.” Alice looked at the clip on the stone dog’s foot. “What do you make of it, Nathan?”

  “I think the fact that such a heavy stone sculpture was pinned to the ground, strengthens your theory that there’s something hidden inside. Let’s hope that’s the case when we see the base.”

  Steel clanking on steel sounded through the trees. Nick Riley was pushing a wheelbarrow with a selection of tools clattering inside.

  Nick picked up a steel bolt cutter. “I think this should do the job. Though I’ve brought a hammer and a cold chisel as back up.”

  Nathan snipped at the fastening with the cutters, sending rust flakes into the air. At the second attempt, the clip snapped. He despatched the bolt on the dog’s other foot and freed the sculpture from its shackles.

  “Right, let’s try again.” This time, when Nathan tugged the dog’s head, the sculpture tipped over. “Riley, we’ll lift it onto the bench. On my count …” When Nathan said three, the men picked up the dog and settled it on the seat.

  “It’s not as heavy as it looks,” said Riley.

  “It must be hollow.” Nathan turned to Alice. “Which is what we thought.” He rubbed earth from the sculpture’s bottom. “It’s too dirty to see anything. We’ll get it cleaned up, then we’ll be able to see what it’s hiding.”

  They lifted the dog onto the barrow and DS Riley wheeled it off, with instructions to take it to the police van at the front of the house. Alice crouched down beside the pale square on the ground left by the sculpture’s removal. She ran a hand over the stubby dead grass.

  “Nothing there?” said Nathan.

  “No.” Alice was about to stand up when she noticed a length of string caught in a tuft of grass on the edge of the patch. She held one end between finger and thumb and followed it through the weeds to the bench. The other end was tied around one of the seat’s metal legs.

  “I wonder how long this has been here?”

  Nathan ran a finger along the string. “It looks like nylon, so it could have been here ages.”

  “Forty-five years?”

  “Conceivably. Why? Do you know what it means?”

  “Maybe.” Alice combed the grass on the other side of the sculpture’s resting place and found more of the same string. She pulled it, but it was buried beneath the soil, a gentle tug insufficient to release it. “I don’t want to pull it any harder and risk breaking it.”

  “I’ll get it dug up.”

  “You might want to do that.” Alice rubbed soil from her hands.

  Nathan reached for his phone, turned away and spoke a few words. Alice meandered along the edge of the cemetery and into the heart of the wood. She patted the bark of an old oak tree and weaved around a skeletal ash. A couple of conifer trees reminded Alice of Christmas. She wondered whether the ring of stumps she found were trees that had been felled by the Carberrys for the festivities.

  There was another clump of conifers further on, these ones were reddish-brown instead of the rich green of their neighbours. Like the ash, they were succumbing or had succumbed to disease. And there were many others. Alice spun around. The trees were close to the Renton Hall side of the wood. She ran back to Nathan.

  “I’ve got it.” Alice gasped, catching her breath. “The agreement has to be about an exchange of land between the two men. Wilfred didn’t register the change of boundary officially, because he thought his agreement with Bill Trevelyan was good enough.”

  “And they used a piece of string to do that?”

  “Well it was a neighbourly arrangement! I think their agreement was that Bill would sell part of his land to Wilfred. And they marked the new border with string.”

  “Well they certainly didn’t execute a formal sale,” said Nathan. “We checked.”

  “But Wilfred Carberry either owned, or was about to own, more land. Though what he would have done with it, is hard to see.”

  Nathan looked around the area with its odd little cemetery. “I can’t begin to imagine.”

  “But we do know that his grandson wanted to build a swimming pool for his hotel using land close to the wood. Many of the conifers have died, so I wonder whether Nick planned to clear them away and do something useful with the land.”

  “And we’ll assume that his neighbour didn’t like that idea.”

  Bill had made those grumpy comments about noisy kids jumping into pools. “Probably not.”

  Nathan collected the cutters and they set off back down the path to Jeremy’s snug. “We’ll work on the dog and I’ll let you know what we find.”

  When they reached the building, Nathan headed off to help lift the sculpture into the police van. Alice pushed the door, creakier than she remembered and tidied the tools away. What would Eleanor do with the snug once the hotel was open? They would always need somewhere to keep tools, but Jeremy’s living area, still welcoming and comfy, would not serve any obvious purpose.

  And what of the string boundary? It made sense that the formal agreement between Wilfred and
Bill was about something important like land. It seemed likely that Nick Carberry had found out about it. Perhaps he confronted Bill and the ensuing argument might have ended with Bill killing Nick. It sounded plausible enough. But without that agreement it was only guesswork.

  Alice’s phone buzzed; a text from Emilio Gambi telling her that he had paid her fee for the photographs. Hurrah! Now she could pay Daisy’s rent. And she might even treat Joe to dinner. In a restaurant.

  Alice’s muddy fingers had left smudge marks on the phone’s screen, so she went to the sink to wash her hands. She used the rose-scented soap resting on a glass dish and wiped her hands on a fluffy towel. The Evans’ had really made this little hovel a home from home – no wonder the Carberry children had such fond memories of the place.

  Alice noticed the Walkers biscuit box on the shelf. There might still be some of Sarah Evans’ treats inside. She lifted the box down and took off the lid. Unfortunately, there were no baked goodies. But there was a brown envelope folded in half. And on the outside was one word.

  ‘Agreement’.

  Chapter 28

  Alice poked her head out of the door, looked right and left, then closed the door and went back inside. She was unlikely to have been followed, but after the shooting incident she could not be too careful. She sat at Jeremy’s table and opened the envelope. Unfolding a piece of cream parchment paper, she read:

  It is agreed that Bill Trevelyan will sell to Wilfred Carberry a section of land, approximately two-thirds of the wooded area between Renton Hall and Barleyland and as marked out in the wood. Cost: £1.00.

  The agreement was signed by both Wilfred and Bill and witnessed by Cookie Miller. It was dated 25 July 1972.

  There was no mention of the dog sculpture. Alice turned the paper over and double-checked the envelope, but there was nothing else. Two well-off men exchanging a relatively small piece of land in a peppercorn sale. The men had been neighbours and friends, presumably trusting each other. And yet. The wood enlarged the Renton Hall estate, inevitably increasing its value, and it had been acquired for next to nothing. Why?

  There were three people who knew. Wilfred was dead. Bill was … well, grumpy. He would not explain anything. That left Cookie Miller.

  Roddy was lounging in a deckchair on Daisy’s deck, with a sketchbook on his lap. His floppy straw hat was pushed to the back of his head, leaving his cheeks reddening in the sun.

  “My deck is being varnished, so I thought I’d stay here until they’ve finished.”

  “I didn’t know you had decorating plans?”

  “I didn’t. It was Stanley and Jen’s idea. Jen got a splinter in her foot the last time she visited, so they decided to pay for a new surface. It’s a very early Christmas present.”

  “Aren’t you worried that a pristine deck will damage your ‘go to hell’ attitude?”

  Roddy pulled off his hat, exposing grey hairs pasted against his head. His brow furrowed. “Dear girl, you are a terrible cynic.” His frown turned to a smile. “But a funny one.”

  Alice nodded at the sketchbook. “Hard at work I see. Exhibition on track?”

  “Yes, I’m pleased to say that it is. And a couple of the pieces are not at all bad.”

  Alice unlocked the hatch door. “I’m sure there’s more than a couple that are very good indeed. I’m looking forward to seeing the show.”

  Roddy followed Alice into the saloon. He threw his hat onto the sofa arm and sat down beside it. “What are you up to this morning?”

  Alice opened up her laptop. “Working out who Cookie Miller is.”

  “Well that shouldn’t take long, there can’t be many people with a name like that.”

  Alice read from the screen. “There’s an American baseball player and a South African actress … I don’t think I want either of them.”

  “And what is this Cookie Miller supposed to have done?”

  Alice told Roddy about Wilfred and Bill’s agreement and how Cookie would be the key to unlocking the mystery of the deal.

  “Sounds about right.” Roddy twirled a strand of beard. “But how does one find a needle in a haystack?”

  “Quite. These are the times when you realise the internet does not solve every problem.” Alice opened the box of Indian sweets and offered it to Roddy. “By the way, has your blond man turned up?”

  “Sadly not, but I’m not giving up. I’ll find him.” He ate a pistachio barfi. “That was delicious. I could get used to these.”

  “If I give you another one, do you think it will help you work out who Cookie Miller is?”

  Roddy rested his hands under his chin. “I think it probably would.” He took a delicate nip from a second barfi. “Wouldn’t it be funny if Cookie made cookies and that’s why he or she was called Cookie.”

  “Roddy, that’s genius. I thought Cookie might be short for a proper name, but it must be a nickname.” She returned to the screen. “To narrow it down, I just need a Miller who was living around Great Wheaton in 1972.”

  “And was someone that Wilfred Carberry trusted enough to witness the agreement.”

  “Yes. But I wonder why he didn’t ask George? Eleanor’s father would have been in his thirties then and they were all living together at Renton Hall.”

  “Men of Wilfred’s generation still treated their children like kids, even when they were adults. Though that’s true of most generations.”

  “I think you’re right. From what Eleanor told me, George never knew about the agreement. And Nick only discovered it by chance. Anyway, back to Mr Miller …”

  “Start at Renton Hall. Take out the immediate family and who’s left?”

  “From the photos I found in the attic, I know that in those days they had household and outdoor staff. Hold on, I’ve got one here.” Alice shuffled through a box of photographs that she planned to present to Eleanor in a scrapbook. “This one is family and staff taken in nineteen sixty-nine. Close enough.”

  Alice placed a black and white photograph on the coffee table. Two lines of people stared into the camera. “That’s Wilfred, George and his wife Mary. Eleanor and Nick.” Alice pointed out half of the group. “Then there’s Jeremy and that’s his wife, Sarah. This man” – Alice tapped a finger on the only unaccounted-for male – “must be the herdsman for the cattle. And that leaves these two ladies.” Alice turned over the photo. “On the back it says, ‘Joyce and Neve’.”

  Roddy picked up the photo. “Perhaps a cleaner and a cook. So that could be your Cookie.”

  “Hmm, let’s see if I can find them.” Alice tapped keys and searched variations of words and names. “I’ve got something on a Neve Blackburn. Look, there’s a picture.”

  Roddy leaned over and looked at the screen. “Let me see. Yes, she does look like an older version of the woman in your photo.”

  “She was cook for Lord Neasdon in the nineteen eighties.”

  Alice scrutinised the faces in the photo. She rubbed her thumb against her middle finger and looked at Roddy. He threw up his hands. Alice tapped the keyboard and scanned more pages. She looked back at the photo of the Carberry household and back at her screen. And then she knew which one of the group was Cookie Miller.

  The old lady peered sideways through the narrow gap between her front door and its frame.

  “Am I talking to Cookie Miller?” said Alice.

  The woman’s grey eyes glared. She closed the door and Alice heard metal sliding across metal followed by a thud, as the end of a chain hit wood. The woman opened the door and Alice stepped inside.

  “So, you found me out?” Bitty grey hair hung over the woman’s shoulders, but Alice had no difficulty recognising her as the woman from the photo. She brushed her hands over her checked dressing gown. “Excuse my pyjamas, I wasn’t expecting visitors this morning.”

  “I want to ask you about something from many years ago. It
concerns Wilfred Carberry and an agreement that you witnessed for him. Have you got time to talk?”

  The woman folded her arms and looked at the floor. “Well, I suppose it was going to come out sooner or later.” She nodded to the sofa. “Sit yourself down. I’ll make us some tea.”

  Alice waited as Sarah Evans stirred sugar in her tea and set the spoon on a tray.

  “So, you’re Sarah Miller. Or used to be. And you were nicknamed Cookie because of your talent for baking. Then you became Sarah Evans when you married Jeremy. Did I get that right?”

  “That’s me, though I haven’t heard that nickname in years. Wilfred Carberry came up with it as I used to bake cookies for him. But nobody else used it and after he died, everyone forgot I’d ever been called Cookie.”

  “How did you know Wilfred?”

  “My mother was a cook at the Hall back in the nineteen fifties. In those days the Carberrys did a lot of entertaining. Fancy dinner parties. My mum would go in and cook a big dinner for twelve or sixteen people nearly every weekend.”

  “And I’m guessing that you went with her?”

  “It was better than staying at home on my own, as my dad worked in a pub on Saturday evenings. Besides Mum needed the help. And the Carberrys were good to me.”

  “And when Wilfred wanted a witness for his agreement, you just happened to be around?”

  “Yes.” Sarah poured milk into her tea. “My mum had left by then and I’d taken over the cooking. Though they weren’t doing so many dinners by that stage. Mr Carberry came into the kitchen one evening and he asked me to witness an agreement between himself and Mr Trevelyan. They both signed the paper, then I did.”

  “Did you know what you were signing?”

  “Oh yes, Mr Carberry explained that the boundary between the Hall and Barleyland had changed. The agreement was confirmation of the new arrangement.”

  Alice crossed her legs, resting her hands on her knees. “And the dog sculpture? That just marked the boundary did it?”