Case 207: Tree Thieves

It was a cold December afternoon in Peebles. The church clock was chiming random numbers every half-hour. The wind blew snowflakes against the grimy panes of my office windows. I was thinking about heading down the stairs and over the road to Greggs for a coffee and a sausage roll, but I still owed them for yesterday’s toasted cheese and pickle and my credit was wearing thin.

I needed a new case to replenish my dwindling cash reserves before my landlady decided to send in the bailiffs. I was reading over the deaths column in the Peeblesshire News when I heard the sound of high heels coming up the stairs and across the landing towards my office, followed by a knock on the door.

I stubbed out my cigarette and dropped the Peeblesshire News back in the waste bin.

Come in; the door’s open!

 Mr Barr?  The private detective?

She was tall, she was blonde, and she was wearing a red silky dress that seemed to go all the way down and all the way up at the same time. It was so tight I could read the name on the credit card in her breast pocket. It said “Miss Sylvia Cardale” and it expired in May 2023.

Mr Barr? I’m Sylvia Cardale..

Er.. yes, I know. Sit down Miss Cardale.

You knew my name already? They said you were good, but..

Tricks of the trade, Miss Cardale. Now, what can I do for you?

She sat down, lifting her elegant red leather handbag and taking out a photograph, which she slid across the desk towards me. 

 It’s my cherry, Mr Barr.

Your .. cherry?

That’s right; my cherry. I’ve lost it.

You’ve lost your..

Yes; it’s missing. One day it was there and the next it wasn’t. I’ve had it since I was very young but I woke up this morning and it was gone. 

I see..

 There’s a photograph of it right here, when it was in full bloom.

I picked up the photograph with some trepidation and stared at it for a long time.

It’s magnificent, isn’t it Mr Barr?

 It’s a tree, Miss Cardale. 

A cherry tree, Mr Barr. A beautiful Japanese flowering cherry tree, right in the centre of my front lawn. That was it last Spring in full bloom, but on Friday it was completely gone. There isn’t even a stump.

No stump? I see..

Can you help me, Mr Barr?

Er.. the thing is, trees are not really my area Miss Cardale. I’m more your missing husbands and petty corruption kind of detective. Have you thought of consulting, say, a landscaping expert or a tree surgeon?

Look Mr Barr, I lost my job recently and seeing the tree every day out of my front window has kept my spirits up. I would have dismissed it as some sort of cruel practical joke, except that my mother’s ashes have also disappeared.

Your mother’s ashes? I’m sorry to hear that. Were they stolen from inside your house?

Of course not; they were in her garden in March Street. 

Were they in a container of some sort?

No, they were growing up the garden path. Three of them.

Up the garden path? Ah! Ash trees!

Ash trees, that’s what I said. And they disappeared on the same night as my cherry.

I feel I’ve been up that garden path myself..

And there’s one more thing, Mr Barr.

Oh yes? Something else missing?

Not much gets past you, does it Mr Barr. Yes; my neighbour’s yew.

Me?

No, yew. My neighbour’s yew.

Your neighbour’s sheep is missing?

No, the sheep is still there, but his yew tree has disappeared.

I’m beginning to see a pattern here.

I thought you would. That’s why I need a detective. I need to know what’s happened to all these trees.

I don’t usually deal with missing trees, Miss Cardale, but I’m prepared to branch out.

Thank you so much, Mr Barr. Can you start right away?

 Yes, I can. It’s cash up front, and expenses are extra. 

Of course

She slowly lifted the hem of her red silky dress and twisted her fingers into the black silk suspender belt just below her silky thigh. She extracted a tight roll of twenty pound notes, peeled off half a dozen and pressed them into my hand. They were still warm.

Will this do for the moment, Mr Barr?

It’s more than enough thanks, Miss Cardale. I’ll make some enquiries and see if we can find out what happened to your missing trees.

Thank you. Call me when you have some news, won’t you? Here’s my card.

And with that, she was gone. I looked out the window and saw that a few dozen Peebles High School students were queuing outside Greggs’ steamed up windows. Despite the sub-zero temperatures most of them were shivering in shirtsleeves. No sausage roll for me today.

I headed out down the street to visit a lawyer friend of mine. Hamish has his ear to the ground and if someone was stealing trees from gardens in Peebles, he’d know about it.