“Then put her down in the basket, will you, and come with me. There’s something I need to speak to you about before the day gets away from me.”
What passed between Mrs. Turner and Becky Baker in the good parlor after breakfast would become a matter of some interest to investigating officers in the immediate aftermath of the Turner family tragedy—specifically, the provenance of a small ornament that was found in Becky’s possession in the days following.
The ornament in question was a miniature Japanese carving, known as a netsuke. Mrs. Turner had a modest but valuable collection, which had come to her in the trunk after her mother’s death. The antique ivory pieces were kept in a petite mirrored display cabinet in the good parlor, from which they were taken out only once a week, on Wednesday mornings, when Mrs. Pike dusted the glass shelves. The cabinet was not locked (Evie had lost the key when, as a two-year-old, she’d developed a fascination for shiny pointed objects), but it didn’t need to be. Everybody who lived within the Turner house knew the rules when it came to the netsukes.
The netsuke in question had been Mrs. Turner’s favorite. Although not as elaborate as the others, there was something beautiful about the white rabbit. Human beings are drawn to symmetry, and the small figure crouched on all four haunches was a deeply satisfying creation. “She used to say it fit perfectly in one’s palm,” Mrs. Pike remembered to police. “She got me to hold it once, very gently, and wrap my fingers around its smooth back, and I’ll be darned if she wasn’t right.”
Evidently, Becky Baker found a similar satisfaction in holding the rabbit, for that is precisely what she was doing on the Monday after Christmas, when young Matthew McKenzie spotted her sitting on a stool in the outbuilding behind Betty Diamond’s tea shop. Matthew, who had moved only recently to live with his grandparents on their farm next door to the Turners, mentioned the sighting during his interview with Mounted Constable Doyle, who was going door to door along Willner Road in the days following the tragedy.
Since becoming friendly with John Turner, Matthew had spent a fair bit of time inside the Turner house, and he’d recognized theglass cabinet in the good parlor immediately as a repository for small treasures, the way a certain type of eagle-eyed thirteen-year-old boy is wont to do. Street smart, with a good memory and a young person’s innate fascination with miniature items, he had familiarized himself with the contents of the cabinet almost by osmosis and had known at once, therefore, what it was in Becky Baker’s hand.
“I saw her by her aunt’s teahouse,” he was to tell police. “She didn’t know I was watching, because I was all the way across the street using my new binoculars. My mum sent them to me for Christmas. She lives in Sydney now. The binoculars are from West Germany, Carl Zeiss. Mum thought I’d like to have them for birdwatching.” He had the good grace to look sheepish at that point, but only briefly. “That’s when I noticed the rabbit. I saw her passing it from one hand to the other, and I saw her tuck it in her pocket, really quickly, when someone called for her to come inside.”
“Are you sure it was Mrs. Turner’s rabbit?”
“Positive.”
After Mrs. Pike confirmed that there had indeed been a white rabbit netsuke in the cabinet and Sergeant Kelly verified that there was no longer any such object among the small carved figures in the good parlor of the Turner house, a pair of officers turned up at the old brewery to have a word with Becky Baker. Her father and younger sister, Fay, insisted on sitting with her, which was agreed because, although Becky was over eighteen and therefore an adult under the law, the Bakers were an old family and the rules of courtesy in a small community were clear.
Becky’s cheeks flooded with color when she was asked about the rabbit and she stammered as she said, “Mrs. Turner g-g-gave it to me.”
She hesitated when requested to produce the item.
“Don’t worry, love,” her father said, with gruff encouragement. “They’re not going to take it off you. They just want to have a look.”
“Mrs. Turner gave it to me,” Becky repeated more confidentlywhen she returned. She was rubbing her thumb against the smooth curved back of the ivory animal. “She said it was a gift.”
“A gift? For Christmas, do you mean?” said the older policeman.
“And for all the work I’ve done since I started.”
“Did Mrs. Turner often give you gifts, Becky?” The officer doing the questioning was Sergeant Liam Kelly, a large man with sun-reddened skin who was new to Tambilla, having transferred across from the larger Hills township of Mount Barker. His rugged, man-of-the-people exterior belied a fastidious nature and a penchant for puzzles, both in his work life and leisure. The weight of his focus made Becky nervous. She wasn’t used to new people.
Kelly’s offsider, Probationary Constable Eric Jerosch, had been known to Becky since they were both young children, however. He was a few years ahead of her at school and had once doubled her home on his bicycle after she’d fallen and twisted her ankle and was crying by the roadside. Now, when Becky glanced his way, he nodded reassurance. She returned her attention to Sergeant Kelly and shook her head.
“She’d never given you a gift before?”
“No.”
The older policeman made a note and then, without looking up from his writing pad: “Did she say anything else?”
“She’d told me before that it was a family treasure. It came to her when her mother died.”
“A family treasure?”
Becky nodded.
“It must have been very important to her.”
“One of the most precious things she owned.”
Sergeant Kelly held out his hand. “May I?”
Becky placed the rabbit in his wide, callused palm, and the policeman held the small carving up to the light, turning it this way and that as he took in its details. “Well, there’s some fine work in that. My wife’s father and his before him were woodturners, andI can tell you this is a very elegant piece indeed.” He set the rabbit down on the table between them and regarded it for a little while longer before turning his gaze back to the girl.
“You like your job up at the house, don’t you, Becky?”
“Yes, sir.”
