Falafel Jones - The Kewpie Killer

by

Another broken Kewpie Doll marked another carnival killing. Fresh from college, I covered the show’s opening for the local paper, when Brenda, the Bearded Lady found the dead body.

She ran at me, grabbed, screamed, and just about knocked me over as I looked up from my camera. A slim umm, girl with a strong grip, we swayed a moment and my tripod teetered.

“He’s dead,” she shrieked. “He’s dead. He’s dead. Deaaaadddd.” She let me go and her hands shook in front of her chest. Her breasts were too large for such a slim woman.

Her left hand fluttered to her neck. “Calm down,” I gripped her arms to hold her still. “Who’s dead?” We stood close and she looked like she had an Adam’s apple.

“This man. I went to… hook up with one of the local boys in the woods, on my break and instead tripped on the dead guy… ” she shuddered, “almost fell on him. Eewww,” then shivered.

“Where is he?”

Brenda pointed into the dark in the direction of an empty field beyond the carnival. “There, near the bottom of that second hill.”

By now, a small crowd gathered in response to her screams and a few men started to walk to where she pointed. A muscular man in his mid-fifties drove up in a golf cart and ran to the Bearded Lady. “Brenda,” he said and put his arms around her, “you all right?”

After she sobbed, nodded and repeated her story, the man said, “Shit” and pulled out a cell phone. “Got to call the cops.” Then he yelled out to one of the approaching men, “Hey, Leonardo, do something with this crowd,” and walked off to make his call.

Leonardo, a good-looking guy in his early twenties, whistled shrilly through his teeth. Then he raised his hands causing the loose sleeves on what looked like a puffy, white, pirate shirt to reveal muscular forearms and scarred wrists. He yelled, “Folks, there’s nothing to see here. Please leave the area.”

Only one or two folks moved. Then Leonardo added, “For the next hour, the Midway entrance fee is waived. It’s on us.”

More started to leave. “…and free cotton candy for the next 20 customers.”

Most of the remaining crowd broke up, and the carnival staff dispersed the rest. Only a few other folks stood around and waited to see what else might happen. Leonardo turned to me offered his hand and said, “Leonardo. Who are you?”

“Raquel Flanagan, with the Chronicle, covering your opening. I was taking some photos when, er, Brenda came running over.” Leonardo had a beautiful smile with teeth like an actor’s… nice eyes too… and about my age. We shook hands and it felt too nice holding his to let go but the man with the cell phone joined us. Leonardo released me and asked him, “Pops, what’d they say?”

“They’re coming. Don’t touch anything. You know. Geez, kid, did you have to give away the store? We’re on a shoestring to begin with… going to go broke here. This death is going to kill me.”

Leonardo clapped him on the back, and then smiled. Boy, that kid had lips. “C’mon, Pops. Don’t worry. We’ll make out ok. We always do.”

When Pops rolled his eyes and walked away, Leonardo turned to me, “So, Raquel, what did you see?”

“Nothing. I just finished shooting my wide shot of the Midway lighting, again, when Brenda bumped my tripod.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago, some guy in a white shirt ran in front of the camera, so, I came back after the crowd thinned out.”

“You could tell it was a man that ruined your first shot?”

“No, it’s a figure of speech. He… or she was too far to see.”

“You made both shots from here?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“From your tripod position, aimed towards the field, you might have caught something could help the cops.”

The sound of sirens grew and soon headlights lit people and booths as emergency vehicles pulled onto the grass where the carnival set up. Police parked their cruisers at odd angles with colored lights flashing and when the doors opened, officers piled out. With the carnival music playing, they reminded me of the circus cars, which always hold more clowns than they should. Two of the officers went off with Brenda, Leonardo and Pops.

Breaking news doesn’t usually break when a reporter’s there to witness it so I called my editor at home, filled him in and begged for the story. He said, “Hmmm… don’t know Raquel, you’re still kind of new at this.”

“Nonsense, I’ve been at this since birth. The only difference now is the paycheck.”

“Well, it’s not to say you can’t handle it. You can. It’s that there are other reporters… can’t show favoritism… got to be fair with assignments.”

“OK, Uncle Bill. Tell me this. You have anybody else who can get here fast?”

“Well, ah, no.” He paused. “Looks like you’ve got it. Break a leg Kid.”

We hung up and I tried to tell myself I didn’t have this job just because Mom owned the paper. I tried to tell myself many things but mostly never listened.

My story called for a closer look at the body but the police had already blocked off the area. Dad used to tell me, “When you don’t belong someplace, it’s best to just act as if you do.” So, I waved my Press credentials at the cop at the barricade and started to walk past him.

He stuck out an arm. “Whoa, Lady. Just because you’re Press, doesn’t mean you have access to an active crime scene. Wait a minute. Let me see that ID.”

He took it from me, shined his light on it, and then gave it back. “Whadya know? You’re Isobel’s little girl?”

He flinched under my well-practiced scowl honed on guys with bad pick up lines.

“Sorry, darling. No offense… knew your dad… and your mom’s one of the W.P.D.’s biggest supporters. Always get a fair shake in the Chronicle… but can’t let you pass. The detectives are still working the scene.”

Arguing wouldn’t help. He already turned to stop another interloper. Instead, I watched from the barricade and peered into the field. It was too dark to see, but that meant no one should be able to see me out there either. I walked back towards the tents, skirting the police barricade until it was was no longer in sight, then in what should be the direction of the dead body.

I had to go slow in the dark and the uneven ground made me stumble a few times. Mom’s nag about “comfortable shoes” came to mind. After a few minutes, I saw police lights in the distance illuminating the body. Turning left brought me closer.

Periodic flashlight beams bounced in the dark and danced around the scene like fireflies. Maybe the Police were looking for evidence near the body or maybe a killer hiding in the dark. One light moved in my direction. I stopped still, hoping no one would see me. The light continued to come closer. I held my breath and tried not to move. The beam landed on my feet and then moved up my body. When it reached my eyes, I had no idea who held the light. Maybe the police. Maybe not. Maybe staying at the barricade would have been safer.

The light blinded me. I squinted and held up my hand to block it, a familiar voice asked, “Raquel?”

The man holding the light lowered it and my vision cleared to reveal a smiling police officer.

“Robby?”

“Officer Carlyle now. What are you doing out here?”

“Just trying to find out what’s going on.”

“Sorry, Raquel. This area’s restricted now. Police business, but boy, you look great. How long’s it been?”

“Thank you. You’re looking well, yourself. It’s been since graduation. How long you been with W.P.D?”

“Few years now, played minor league ball until I washed out, did a Criminal Justice degree downstate, got into the W.P.D. academy and been on patrol ever since.”

“Don’t they ever let you go home?”

“What? Oh. You’re kidding me. I missed that. You were always fun. Where you been? What’ve you been doing?”

“Got my Master’s in Journalism and now a job at the Chronicle… covering this death. Can you get me in?” My Press credentials got another showing. So what if my assignment was only the carnival opening. Opportunity was knocking here.

“Oh. Well, no. Patrol officers got no clout. Detectives are running the case.”

“Can you tell me anything? Who’s dead? What happened to them?”

Robby glanced around and said, “Body was still warm. Looks like one of the patrons got drunk, went to take a leak, tripped in a gully and banged his head on the rocks… broke his Kewpie Doll too.”

“Kewpie Doll?”

“Yeah. One of those prizes you win at the carny games. This one had a straw hat and overalls.”

“How do they know he went out there to ah, pee?”

“Puddle near the body. The lab will check DNA. Make sure it’s his.”

“Have an ID yet?”

“Tentative, they’re waiting for next of kin.”

“Anybody we know?”

“Boy, you’re good at this. You know that’s confidential until we contact the family.”

“Sorry, Robby, wasn’t trying to trick you. Let me make it up… buy you coffee.”

“No sweat, Raquel. Understood… love to catch up, but I’m on the job now. Maybe later. Meantime, sorry but you got to leave the area. C’mon, walk you back so you don’t trip in the dark.”

We walked back to the officer who barred me access at the barricade. He stood in front of a man who held a pen and an open notebook. At first, I thought the man was a detective, then I recognized him as Jim Farrell, a reporter from the Tribune. Despite his involvement with Farrell, the cop smirked at me and wiggled a finger at me as if to say, “Bad girl.” I stood there quietly and watched Robby walk away, back to the body, where reporters could not go, where my story waited without me.