Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (10 page)

Strapping on her helmet
and slipping on her gloves, she took a deep breath. Straddling the
bike, she pushed hard with her legs, the bikes momentum picking up
as she moved out into the alleyway beside her workplace. The bikes
gearing was set on the largest cog, granny gears were for wimps. It
would only be a quick ride up through the Octagon and then onto
Princess Street. From there, barring traffic lights, it was a
straight ride down towards south Dunedin and home. She increased
her pace as she cleared the last set of traffic lights, where five
roads met in one tangle of directions, at the southern end of the
central business district. Up ahead she could see the yellow of the
Big Top come into view as she closed in on the Oval. As she
continued to ride, legs pumping strongly, Maria’s smiling face came
to mind; she remembered it staring up at her from within the lens
of the camera that had captured her image. The image haunted her
thoughts, what was she trying to say with that look…? She almost
collided with a bus pulling from the curb and had to brake sharply,
the shot of adrenalin focusing her mind once again. As she got
closer still, an aroma of fresh straw and animals found its way
into her senses, the smell of exotic cooking floated just below.
Without thinking, she dismounted her bike as she got alongside the
encampment, and walked it slowly along the footpath. She could hear
the occasional grunt, or snort, as well as more human noises coming
from behind the canvas of the tents as she progressed. There were
caravans that she could see towards the rear, behind the big yellow
main tent. That was where she would be. One of those caravans would
house Maria Staverly. Jo felt something unseen tugging at her,
trying to make her deviate from her path. She went with the feeling
and placed her bike against the tree, not bothering to lock it. Her
body felt like it was moving of its own accord but the feeling did
not worry her. This was the right thing to do and Maria would know
why she was there.

Too any casual observer
it probably looked as if she chose the caravan at random, maybe she
had, but something had drawn her too this one. She knocked on the
thin metal door, and felt the metal frame flex, even under her
minimal pressure. The door did not open. Listening, she could not
detect any movement from inside. A flash of doubt crossed her mind,
why was she actually here? She could not think of a single reason
other than the face she had seen in the camera.

“
Are you
looking for me?”

Jo spun around, stepping
backwards as the body behind the voice came into view. Maria
Staverly stood a few feet away with a quizzical look on her face.
She was wearing black tights and sports top and there was a slight
sheen of sweat on her forehead. The only thing out of place was the
coloured cast on her wrist. She looked beautiful, like a porcelain
doll, but the eyes where what captivated her. They were the eyes
she had seen in the CCTV footage, dark, brooding, knowing, and full
of secrets.

“
That’s my
door you were knocking on…”

Jo did not know what to
say, she had not thought this through. She knew from the file that
she and Maria were about the same age, but the sight of Maria in
person made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She could see in
Maria’s eyes a lifetime of experience that far outweighed anything
that she had done.

“
Well?”

She could feel Maria’s
eyes appraising her, and realised she would not look remotely like
a police officer. She was wearing cycle shorts and a T-shirt, and
had an ungainly helmet on her head. She did not need to know what
she did for a job; she just wanted to talk to her.

“
Can we
talk?”

Maria shrugged her
shoulders and reached for her door, as if she did not care either
way. “Please yourself.” her bare arm brushed against Jo’s as she
stepped up and into the caravan. “I’m going to take a quick shower,
make yourself comfortable.”

Jo stepped up into the
caravan in time to see Maria disappear into a tiny room at the
rear, leaving the door slightly ajar. She could see a flurry of
movement in the gap as Maria took off her clothes. She looked away,
slightly embarrassed. Taking a seat on one of the chairs next to a
small table, she stared back at the door. The angle she was sitting
now hid any more view into the gap. Maria had not shown any
curiosity as too why she was there, but strangely, that did not
bother her. She felt herself relaxing as she heard the water start
running, watching as the steam started to play around the edges of
the door. She did not know what came next, but whatever it was, it
felt right.

Bridger looked at his
wristwatch and knocked again, he was starting to get a little
irritated, and he did not have time for this, he needed to see
Laura as well tonight. It had taken him a good half an hour to
drive out to Portobello towards the northern end of the peninsula.
The coast road was narrow and hugged the shoreline of the harbour
as it wound its way out to the little village making for a slow
trip. It was a nice enough drive, but only if the final destination
for the night was Portobello. Something that was obviously true for
the occupants of the cars that he had to follow slowly around the
bays, stressed workers inside winding down after a hard day’s
work.

He knocked again. John
had acknowledged the text message that he had sent him earlier; he
knew he was going to be coming too see him this evening. He had
seen John’s flashy yellow motorcycle in the garage as he had come
on to the property, not that he could have used it in his current
state. The door to the garage was open in John’s typical ‘look at
me’ style, so that everyone could see the bike when passing by.
Alternatively, it may have been just poor security, either way, it
gave the impression that John was actually home and just not
answering his door. An uneasy feeling in his stomach replaced the
irritation he had felt.

Bridger tried the door
handle but found it locked. Knocking one more time, but this time
louder, he waited for a couple of seconds before moving to the side
of the house, looking for a way around the back. There was a small
gate with no lock, opening that, he saw a concrete path leading to
the rear, which he followed cautiously.

John’s state of mind had
not been evident the last time he had seen him. He did not think
that he was the type to do anything like harming himself, but who
could be sure these days. You never really knew what went on inside
someone else’s head until it was too late. He had seen numerous
colleagues go down that path in the years he had been in the job.
Each one of them had just reached the end of their own paths, and
could not see their rights from their lefts. No one had seen those
decisions coming, but the decision was always final, there was no
coming back from it.

John had been through a
lot in the last few months and the prospect of not being able to do
this job anymore would be hard to take. Bridger hated too think how
he would feel if he could not do his job. As he continued to the
rear he was hoping that John would be in the shower and just not
have heard the knock, but as he passed under what looked like the
bathroom window he could not hear any noise.

Reaching the back, he saw
a large glass sliding door, but a net curtain obscured the view
into the house. Trying this door, he found it locked as well and
tried peering through the glass into the murky interior. He saw a
square of light flickering, but could not quite make out what it
was, possibly a television, or computer monitor. As his eyes
adjusted, he saw a dark bulky mass beside the flickering light. It
was not moving but had the unmistakable shape of a person sitting
down. Straining his eyes, he realised with a start that it was more
slumped than sitting. It had to be John.

Dread replaced his uneasy
feeling; he banged hard on the glass panel, and called out, trying
to get John’s attention. There was no movement. He shook the door
desperately, trying to dislodge the lock. Sliding doors were
notoriously bad for security, the locks tended to give way with a
little persuasion. John was obviously well aware of this though.
Bridger saw a piece of wood jammed into the lower rail on the
inside, too stop the door sliding, even if it became unlocked. He
called out again, vainly, but John did not move. He cannot be that
stupid, he would not have harmed himself. His injuries were severe,
but he would recover, he had too. Bridger knew he needed to find a
way in. He could not see any insecure windows at the rear, so he
jogged to the side of the house. Breaking a window was his last
resort, but he would if he had too.

Half way down the side
path, he saw a small window, which was slightly ajar. It was higher
up than he would have hoped, but it would do. Grabbing a small
planter box, which was nearby, he pushed it over, emptying the
contents onto the path in a mess of soil and weeds. Dragging it
under the window, he used it as a step to gain the height needed to
access the window. Pulling himself up, his feet scrabbled against
the old weatherboards for purchase, as first one shoulder, then
another, levered inside the window frame. Pushing his head all the
way through, he knocked something off the ledge. It clattered, and
then splashed, as it ended up inside the toilet bowl below him. He
did not want to end up in the same position as the air freshener he
could now see bobbing around in the blue water, so placed one hand
on the cistern and the other above him, gripping the small
overhanging ledge of the window frame. He would pull himself inside
then spin around and sit up on the windowsill, which would make it
easier to bring his legs inside under control, and then lower
himself to the floor.

He braced himself for the
movement and pulled himself as far up the wall as he could. His
finger strength gave way before he could complete the movement and
he let go of the ledge above. The weight of his head and upper
torso falling forward pulled him half inside the window. His chest
collided with the edge of the cistern, knocking the wind out of
him, just before his chin and head hit the toilet seat. Breathing
heavily, with the salty taste of blood on his lips, he took stock
of his situation. It would be almost comical, if it had not been as
serious. He was stuck with his head inches above the blue water in
the bowl. He could not move backwards and could not pull himself
all the way inside. At least John had flushed the toilet
recently.

“
Mike? What
the hell are you doing?”

Bridger pulled his head
up and twisted it sideways too see John standing there holding onto
a baseball bat.

“
I thought
someone was trying to break in… What are you doing?”

“
John…? I
thought… Never mind, help me down would you.”

Bridger was standing
behind John, who was sitting at the table in the dining room, the
same place he had seen him slumped through the haze of the lace
curtains. He was feeling a little bruised and battered after his
encounter with the window frame, and he rubbed at his hips trying
to get the blood flowing again. “What have you found
John?”

The flickering light he
had seen had been a computer monitor, glowing in the slightly dim
room. John claimed not too have heard when Bridger knocked at the
doors, as he had on a pair of earphones that was noise cancelling.
He had been doing a ‘bit of surfing’ on the net and always wore his
headphones. Apparently, it gave him a more immersive experience.
Bridger did not care either way, as he took in the voyeuristic
action displayed on the screen before them.

John was oblivious to his
question. “This high definition screen is pretty good aye boss; you
can almost see the sweat drops on their bodies.”

“
How did you
come across this John? Is this what you were watching when I came
in…?”

John sunk a little lower
in his chair and shrugged his shoulders slightly. “I have been
doing a bit of follow up on P.A.A.I.N…, you know… just too keep my
hand in. Grant has been keeping me informed of developments at
work. I just thought I could help out in some way.”

John looked slightly
embarrassed, but Bridger could not tell whether it was because of
the content they were now viewing or the fact he was working at
home while on sick leave.

Bridger had
completely forgotten Reece Coster’s words from his earlier
interview.
If you want to know more, Look
at the P.A.A.I.N website later…
Staring
them in the face was an ugly Zebra mask; the ill-fitting rubber
contorted around the wearers face, obscuring half of the eyes, as
the head moved back and forth in a rhythmic motion. The body
attached to the mask was on all fours, the only thing marking it as
female was the shape of small breasts moving visibly behind a tight
top. An upright naked torso was behind the body, head just out of
view above the camera lens, hips below. It was moving in time with
the zebra, small gasps and guttural breathing providing the
soundtrack. It was obscene and slightly enthralling at the same
time, the camera angle capturing just the right image to show the
domination of the fake Zebra.

The mask was
the same as the one worn by Coster that morning. The clothing of
the Zebra looked familiar as well, but Bridger could not quite
place it. A male’s voice spoke over the heavy breathing
‘If you support the Circus, you may as well be
screwing the animals… Make your choice”
The torso behind the Zebra leaned too one side, lowering its
head. A wicked red smile on a white painted face grinned at the
camera, the false red nose fell off onto the floor and the wearer
picked it up quickly, putting it back in place, before continuing
his dominant thrusts. Bridger and John watched silently as the
movements became more urgent. The psychotic looking clown gripped
the zebra around the throat, and then pulled her onto her knees as
he gave a final thrust. The noise coming from his throat making
both Bridger and John cringe inwardly. The clowns arm then came
across the screen and flicked a switch out of sight, and then the
screen went blank.