A Brush with Death

by Ali Carter

  Inspector Grey spent a little time getting to the bottom of what I meant.

  Once that was all clarified, Toby went on. ‘Susie,’ Inspector Grey’s lip twitched at the mention of my name, ‘reminded me that Henry came upon Lord Greengrass’s body seconds before her and Ben. And so I’ve revisited the chest X-ray and can confirm we have concrete evidence that neither Asquintha nor Ronnie played any part in the murder.’

  ‘Show me the evidence,’ said Inspector Grey wearily.

  Toby explained. ‘When studying the X-ray under an astronomer’s mono zoom, I could make out the knuckle marks of the fist imprint around Lord Greengrass’s pectoral casing. The span between the first two knucklebones of a right hand measured 3.46 centimetres.’

  Inspector Grey shuffled a few papers and then nodded for Toby to continue.

  ‘We took it upon ourselves to carry out a few fist measurements. We wanted to gather as much evidence as we could before coming to you so as not to waste your time.’

  Inspector Grey nodded with thanks for our apparent consideration. The truth was that we had acted as we had because chasing down the evidence was fun.

  ‘So basically,’ I chipped in, ‘Ronnie’s fist is much too big and Asquintha’s much too small.’

  I put the glove on the table with a dramatic flourish. It was too good an opportunity to miss.

  ‘Asquintha’s glove gave an approximate measurement, but it’s clear her hands are small as I can barely fit mine in the glove, and so she couldn’t possibly have two knuckles which span nearly as large as 3.46 centimetres.’

  Inspector Grey stared at my undeniably petite hands and, even though he was murmuring something about none of this being admissible in court, his tone had softened somewhat.

  ‘In a notebook of Henry’s,’ prompted Toby, after he told the inspector how we had got Ronnie’s fist measurement, ‘Susie found record of a martial arts class in Eastbourne which we have confirmation that Henry attended.’

  ‘And of what relevance is this martial arts class?’

  I explained, ‘It tells us that, combined with his medical background, Henry Dunstan-Sherbet had all the knowledge and physical strength to perform Dim Mak.’

  Inspector Grey looked confused.

  ‘As I’m sure you know, Inspector, Dim Mak is also commonly known as the touch of death,’ said Toby. ‘It’s a very effective, silent manoeuvre that interrupts immediately the body’s electrical current and leads to sudden heart failure.’

  ‘Assuming for a moment that you two are correct in your assumptions, how can we prove it so?’ asked Inspector Grey.

  I thought the solution glaringly obvious, but Toby managed to say in a non-patronising manner that perhaps the best thing would be to measure Henry’s fist.

  ‘Nice work Susie,’ said Toby as we stood outside the police station a few minutes later, raising his hand for a high five. ‘I guess you’ll be heading back home to Sussex now?’

  ‘Yes. Back to painting. Time off from this detective malarkey,’ I joked.

  It was only after Toby and I had parted that I realised I still had his canvas bag hoiked over my shoulder. I was looking forward much more to finding an excuse to return this to Toby, than I had been over giving Henry his bag back.

  Three weeks later…

  ‘Oh Susie!’ Antonia gave me an all-encompassing hug. ‘We’ve been hugely looking forward to your arrival as you really are a hero in these parts now.’

  I withdrew from her embrace with just a little sense of pride.

  The thought of having been the one to bag up their friend didn’t outweigh the anticipation of unwrapping my drawing of Situp in front of them.

  It’s always a nervous prospect, being on the scene whilst delivering a work of art. I’m not sure I’d like to be the receiver either. It’s an impossible thing to show complete delight at something you are seeing for the first time.

  Gingerly, I followed Antonia in to her kitchen.

  ‘Susie!’ said Ben crossing the room and kissing me warmly on both cheeks. ‘You are a hero. But poor Henry.’

  On the drive over to the Codringtons I’d been thinking how I would feel if a childhood friend of mine had murdered my neighbour, and realised that I would feel sorry for the dreadful psychosis their damaged upbringing had bred in them.

  Nevertheless, Henry was a cold-blooded killer and so I was pretty certain that the Codringtons would be at least relieved that he was now in custody awaiting trial. I wondered what Henry himself felt about his actions, and whether he was experiencing any remorse.

  Situp rushed towards me, his claws slipping on the polished floor as he nuzzled me in welcome. Everyone smiled at his tail, which wagged frantically. I patted his head with my free hand as I greeted him, ‘Hello Situp, how are you boysies?’

  ‘Come on, Susie, let’s get your work of art out. I’ve dusted the table in preparation and we’re dying to see it,’ said Antonia, who was standing by my side.

  ‘I think champagne is in order,’ said Ben, who had the fridge door already open and glasses standing on the sideboard ready to be filled.

  ‘May,’ called Antonia. ‘Susie’s here. Bring Bella through.’

  Once everyone was there, I pulled the white stopper off one end of the cardboard tube and took out the drawing which was curled up in greaseproof paper.

  ‘We could do with something heavy to pin down the corners,’ I explained.

  Quickly, Ben handed four mugs to Antonia and she secured the corners as I unrolled the paper.

  ‘Oh my goodness, it is Situp!’ exclaimed Antonia.

  Ben put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘Anty, isn’t it excellent?’

  I tapped the little hand, which had shot out. ‘No, sorry Bella, this one doesn’t like to be touched.’

  Situp was looking up through the glass table, confused by all the attention.

  ‘It’s absolutely brilliant. It’s just brilliant,’ said Antonia unable to look away from my vast charcoal drawing of their dog.

  ‘Champagne,’ said Ben handing me a glass. ‘Congratulations, Susie.’

  ‘Thank you very much. I’m so pleased you like him.’

  Antonia took a glass from Ben and gently clinked it against mine, ‘We are going to hang him up right there.’ She gestured her hand towards a blank wall space above Situp’s basket. ‘It will be the first thing everyone sees when they walk into the house.’

  I felt happy to the core. One sip of champagne and my nerves settled completely.

  Antonia couldn’t stop staring at my drawing. ‘Oh look, you’ve even got the fleck of white under his right ear; it’s so tiny that I always think I’m the only one who’s ever noticed it.’

  Later, Ben and I were standing by the wood-burner when he reached into his pocket and handed me an envelope. ‘We knew we’d love your drawing Susie, and we’re sorry for the dreadful business we had to put you through.’ I held the envelope tight in my hand. It felt thick with cash.

  ‘Ben’s being Father Christmas,’ said Antonia happily. ‘The joys of village life.’ May was helping Bella into her best clothes as there was going to be a party for the little ones in the village. ‘We’ve been doing all we can to make local friends since Lord Greengrass died. We didn’t want Bella to be thought of only as the girl whose parents introduced a murderer into the village. Thankfully everyone’s been very forgiving. The best of the bunch are a couple called Yard, they’re our favourites, aren’t they Ben.’

  I pointed out that Henry had been exceptionally charming, and that he certainly hadn’t seemed like a man on a murderous mission.

  Antonia smiled at me, and added, ‘I know Ronnie would love to see you. He found that whole punching the Plasticine game very amusing.’

  Ben smiled at Antonia. He looked well. He must have handed in his manuscript. But who on earth was going to buy a definitive history of private banking? Not me, that was for certain.

  ‘How’s the book?’ I asked.

  ‘Done,’ said Ben, wit
h a huge smile.

  ‘Tell her Benji,’ said Antonia, with anticipation.

  ‘I’ve already begun the next one. It’s a family biography I suppose, but a novel and with a crime angle inspired by recent events...’

  ‘So who solves the crime?’ I asked.

  ‘That’ll spoil the ending,’ said Ben. ‘But if you really want to know it’s the best friend of the murderer.’

  ‘Have you seen Alexander’s headstone?’ Antonia changed the subject.

  ‘Yes, I walked through the graveyard to here. It’s a nice touch, the engraved cocker spaniel under his name.’

  ‘Isn’t it? It reminds me of Greyfriars Bobby. That was my favourite book growing up.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said, remembering the sadness I felt when I first read it.

  I gathered my things to go and Antonia smiled at me. ‘We’ll be sure to spread the word about the brilliant Susie Mahl amongst all our friends.’

  As I walked across the frozen grass in the graveyard to my car, I was filled with nostalgia. It felt as if in the few days I’d spent here in November more drama had occurred than ever before in my entire life.

  Toby and I agreed to meet high on the cliffs at the ruins of Sweetheart Abbey. It had been arranged in an exchange of letters. We hadn’t spoken in the last two weeks, which I found very romantic.

  As I waited for Toby it was absolutely freezing, but a serenely beautiful day. The sea was calm and the sky clear blue, with not a cloud in sight, other than a wisp of white scrolled along the horizon.

  I knew that he would recognise my car when he arrived at the lay-by and so I decided to walk the short path over to the ruin.

  The chalk was soft underfoot. There was a pale red stone at my feet and I bent down and picked it up. It felt smooth in my hand and fitted snug in the cup. I slipped it into my pocket. I almost always pick up a stone that catches my eye when I go to a place I want to remember. They line the shelf around my bathroom, where the wall joins the slope of the ceiling.

  When I reached the ruins of the abbey I looked back towards the car park and could see him coming my way. I pretended not to notice, and stared out at sea. I timed perfectly turning around again just as he was about to reach me.

  ‘Toby!’ I said, as if surprised. Of course I wasn’t but the coil of excitement inside me made it come out like that. I suddenly felt very hot.

  ‘Susie,’ he said placing the two bursting canvas bags from his shoulders on the ground and walking towards me with his arms open. ‘It’s great to see you,’ he said, as he held my shoulders and lent in to kiss me on both cheeks.

  The sun shone a golden glow over us as Toby unwrapped our picnic.

  ‘How did Situp’s portrait go down?’ he asked, handing me a cup of steaming parsnip soup.

  ‘Couldn’t have been better. I think they loved it.’

  ‘I was telling a friend of mine about you the other day, and he asked if you drew horses. I said if you didn’t I bet you could.’

  ‘Very loyal.’

  ‘So you don’t want to give up and become a detective?’

  ‘I don’t see why I can’t do both. Us pet detectives like to multi-task.’

  Toby had drizzled the centre of a sourdough loaf with oil, layered green olives, sundried tomatoes, tomatoes, spring onions, chopped parsley, crushed capers, artichoke hearts, emmenthal, beetroot and grilled pancetta, and put the loaf between two chopping blocks under a stack of books to compress overnight. It was delicious.

  Toby put his hand in his bag and produced two small water bottles. ‘I mixed up some lime and soda for old time’s sake, but I’ve also got some sloe gin to warm us up. I knew you’d be driving otherwise I would have bought a bottle.’

  He fished out from the side pocket of his bag a little jam jar of purple gin.

  As Toby looked out to sea and told me something about the curvature of the earth I couldn’t help but hope we would meet again. I liked him and he’d been such a great help with uncovering the murderer. I thought that it was hard to beat a doctor like him as a sleuthing partner in crime. I hoped he felt likewise.

  Later Diana and her new puppy greeted me as I knocked on the door to her new home.

  ‘Susie dear, meet Ferdinand Humphrey Cuthbert Daniel John the Seventeenth. I’ve nicknamed him Alex for everyday.’

  I bent down and picked the little spaniel up in my arms. ‘He’s so soft, what a cutie.’

  ‘Look, here’s that sketch of him that you did.’ Diana was already through the next door, where I could see above the roaring fire my framed picture, looking surprisingly good for an off-the-cuff sketch.

  ‘I never thought it would be the case but I’m very happy living off the estate. And you know what, a small house isn’t as bad as I imagined it would be,’ said Diana as she jiggled a poker about in the log fire.

  Small!

  Diana’s new abode, the Manse, was at least three times bigger than my cottage.

  ‘It’s a lovely house,’ I agreed as I continued to stroke Alex, now happily dozing in my arms. ‘How are Arthur, Asquintha and the boys?’

  ‘They’re very well. They are now fully settled in the main house and have left the annex free for the future generation. We all wanted a fresh start and to put what was said and done behind us. I was able to move in here as soon as the estate had arranged my things. Two days after Alexander’s funeral in fact. It was so kind of you to be here for that.’

  Of course, I had returned to Spire for the funeral, even though it was very soon after Henry’s arrest. It was a long journey to go all the way there and back in a day but I hadn’t wanted to stay over.

  I was given a reserved seat in the church next to Diana, who held my hand throughout, only flinching once with disapproval at the stand-in organist. Diana didn’t shed a tear, and was almost cheerful that finally Alexander’s body could be laid to rest.

  Asquintha had looked stunning in a pillbox black hat with a veil. Her eyes were glassy as she held the hands of her smartly dressed boys tightly. When it came to the eulogy they all glued their eyes to Arthur, and while he spoke about his father, Lord Greengrass, I felt very, very sad.

  The staff lined the balcony tier of the village church, and when Diana and I left our pew at the end of the service, Nanny, Mary, Shepherd and Sid were there. I looked up with great fondness for them all. It seemed as if everybody was where they should be.

  Acknowledgements

  With special thanks to my brilliant editor, Jenny Parrott, for conceiving the idea and believing in me as the one to write it. Great thanks also to my parents for the upbringing they’ve given me; and Susan Bacon, for introducing me to barrister, Thomas Seymour, whose advice was unconditionally given and which enabled me to tackle the complexities of a will. Emily Carter, and all my family, for casting an eye over hidden truths. Richard Cohen, Gordon Hopkinson and many friends for their support and encouragement. To my husband Sam, for letting me laugh at my own jokes. To all at Oneworld, for their help and hard work every step of the way, and to Fr Edward Corbould, for being a loyal friend.

  Ali Carter was born in Scotland and read art history at St Andrews. She first followed an eclectic career in investment management; then in 2011 she had a catastrophic bicycling accident. After major brain surgery and a long recovery, she set herself a challenge to walk alone from Canterbury to Rome, a three-month pilgrimage she wrote about in a book, An Accidental Jubilee by Alice Warrender. From then she decided to follow her passion and become a fine artist. She specialises in oil paintings from life with an emphasis on colour. Ali also draws pet portraits to commission and works from her studio in East Sussex. A Brush with Death is her first novel.

  A Point Blank Book

  First published by Point Blank, an imprint of Oneworld Publications, 2018

  This ebook published 2018

  Copyright © Ali Carter 2018

  The moral right of Ali Carter to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design
s, and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved

  Copyright under Berne Convention

  A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-78607-276-4

  ISBN 978-1-78607-277-1(ebook)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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