Day 814

There's this miniature model town place hidden away in the countryside just out of the city. It's in one of those overgrown turnoffs that nobody seems to take, with one of those faded old signposts that's barely legible yet somehow the business turns over enough profit to keep it running "for seventy years and more!" as it boasted.

It has the usual sights - mini London, mini Paris, mini coal town complete with real coal etcetera, etcetera. It was all outdated and fairly grimy, despite the caretaker living on the grounds. He'd always be prodding something around the site, fiddling with a tree or trying to unclog the Loch Ness so it flowed properly into the mock Thames.

He introduced himself simply as "Cal" and made sure everyone knew he didn't build the original place but every building there had a little piece of its creator inside it. It wasn't until the grand 100th year celebration that people found out just how literal this was.

As it generally happens, some small child was where they shouldn't have been doing something they were explicitly told not to when they broke a wall and bones came tumbling out. In this case it was a pair of legs and the blood soaked trousers they'd been propped up in.

With no prints and no suspect other than Cal, who hadn't been born at the estimated time of death, it was deemed inconclusive. The remains were cleared out, though some parts where still missing, found in none of the buildings and the place thrived from the infamy of the unsolved murder.

They never thought to check the soon-to-be-added models in the shed where the rest of the creator sat and continued his work.