Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (4 page)

Ant… he would be taking
it hard, she thought about going too him, he would need comfort,
but then again it might be a bit difficult… A knocking on the thin
metal door made her jump.

“
Who’s
there?” She did not want any more well meaning Carnies offering her
comfort or sympathy.

“
Police”

Shit, she looked down at
her costume with the specks of blood clearly visible against the
white of the material. An unnerving feeling of guilt washed over
her… bloody pills messing with her emotions again. Grabbing her
silk gown from the side of her bed, she covered herself before
opening the door.

“
Can I help
you?”

“
Police, can
I have a word Miss…?”

The police officer in
front of her was wearing plain clothes; he was holding his
identification out in front of him. It looked like he had not slept
recently and there was a dark growth starting on his cheeks. It
made him look quite sexy; she liked that sort of thing, even though
he may have been a little older than she was. Standing aside, Maria
tried to breathe in his essence as he stepped inside the door. He
felt fatherly, strong, and confident. She liked this man, she felt
safe. Wrapping the gown tighter around herself, she tried for a
smile.

Chapter Five

Detective Sergeant Mike
Bridger stood in front of the restless group; he was dressed in the
cleanest shirt and tie he could find in his fast depleting clothing
closet. Living alone for the last few months had taken a toll on
his appearance, and with last night’s interruption, it looked like
it may stay that way for the near future. Looking at the young and
snappily dressed gaggle of reporters, he realised he hated this
part of the job. The vultures in front of him were just waiting to
pick at any dead piece of information he tripped over, bugger the
facts, and just make the Police look incompetent. They had all been
at the scene this morning as well, when he had returned in the cold
light. Thankfully, the night shift Constables had put the cordon in
the right place, obscuring any view of even the longest telephoto
lenses. Press photographers had a habit of taking the most gruesome
photos they could these days. They fed on the worst of human
endeavour, mashing it up and reproducing it in an even more
gruesome light. They fed this concoction to the public, but instead
of nourishing them with informative life and death stories, they
only created more anaesthetic for the perverse that needed a harder
and harder fix of the gruesome. It was a vicious circle.

At the scene, the
deceased was still dead and had looked even worse than the night
before. The blood had become even more thick and sticky, and
Bridger had noticed a couple of brave flies hanging around, waiting
for a free meal. He had needed to get things moving before there
was any unwanted contamination of the body. Becky Wright had
replaced Grant at the scene and so he nominated her officer in
charge of the body. She would have to oversee its removal, and any
evidence found under or around it. Then she would have to make
herself available for the subsequent autopsy and again collect any
relevant evidence. Not a pleasant job, one that Bridger was glad to
delegate. The rules of evidence dictated that there is a clear
chain of evidence between locating it and presenting it in court.
It was always easier if there were less people involved in that
process. Looking at his wristwatch, he noted the time. The scene
should almost be clear by now, hopefully cleansed of the bloody
remnants of the unfortunate victim. In the last 12 hours, they
would have taken more photographs of that one particular area of
the alleyway than any time in its history, a bloody snapshot in
time.

It was time to get on
with things. Taking a deep breath, he faced the microphone on the
lectern in front of him. “The deceased’s name is Michael James
Wilson; he is fifty seven years old and is part owner of Wilson’s
circus, which is currently in occupation at the Oval in Princess
Street. He was found dead in the alleyway behind the Hercus
building in Great King Street at about eleven thirty last night.
The reason for the deceased’s presence in this location has not yet
been established. At this stage, the police are treating this as a
suspicious death and will be following all possible avenues of
enquiry. That is all I have for you at the moment.” Bridger did not
want to let on anything about the injuries received by the victim
just yet. There was no need to cause any undue panic until they
ascertained whether this was a random attack or something more
intimate. He turned to leave and the vultures swooped.

“
What about
the girl that was injured on the trapeze last night, is that
connected somehow…?”

“
How was he
killed…?”

“
Do you have
any suspects…?”

“
What are the
police doing about the growing violence in the north
end…?”

“
Was Michael
Wilson gay? Is this a homophobic attack…?

The last question gave
him pause as he went to close the door on the squawking wake. Was
Michael Wilson gay? He had not considered that angle. Then what
difference did that make anyway. Looking back, he saw the question
had come from an attractive blonde reporter, dressed very
businesslike. She had a serious look on her face and was staring in
his direction, she actually expected him to answer. Not likely, it
was always best not to tie yourself to one piece of speculation. He
closed the door and filed the thought away just in case. Any piece
of information, no matter how small, could be the key to finding
the killer.

“
My office…”
The order barked from the end of the hallway. Bridger cringed and
raised his head in the direction of the call, just in time to see
Acting Detective Inspector Amanda Allison disappearing into the
elevator without waiting for him.

‘
Ma’am’, as
he was told she insisted on being called even though she had not
been officially promoted, was three years younger than he was, and
had graced them with her presence from Christchurch where she was
on the fast track too greatness. He had no issues with females in
the police service normally, everyone was equal in his eyes,
promote on ability alone, no matter what gender. What got him upset
was using her gender to further her career. He had not known her
long, so her work ethic was untested, but what he did know was she
had very little experience as a Detective before shooting up the
ranks, giving rise to his doubts. However, that would not be an
issue hopefully; she was just plugging a hole until Inspector Gregg
Matthews returned to work, when she would then hopefully slither
back too Christchurch for another promotion.

Bridger yawned and rubbed
his eyes; he was dog-tired, only having had a couple of hours sleep
before returning to work. He knew it was unfair for him too think
this way, and was overly grumpy due to the unwanted interruption to
his love life last night; maybe he was just jealous of her
ambitious nature, he did not really have one himself. The old
saying he had heard somewhere just kept popping into his head every
time he saw her though, ‘Never trust a person with two first
names’. He smiled at his little joke as he stepped into the
elevator and pressed the button for the third floor.

“
Now, as you
know I have been charged with overseeing Inspector Matthews’s
workload while he is on gardening leave, and as part of that I am
in turn responsible for his staff and their welfare.” Inspector
Allyson’s voice was soft and non-judgemental.

Bridger stood on the
opposite side of the desk in the small stuffy office that used to
belong to his former boss. It smelt better than it used too, with a
subtle scent of flowers instead of musty and stale cigarette smoke.
He did not quite know where this was going, so remained
silent.

“
Sit down
Sergeant, I don’t normally defer to formalities.”

What about the Ma’am
thing then - Bridger sat on the chair opposite and saw a slight
smile on his boss’s lips, and her body language seemed to relax
slightly. He did not think he was that sort of person to make
someone feel uncomfortable in his presence, especially not a senior
officer, but felt better about the interaction now he had the upper
hand.

“
I have been
going through the Inspectors files and I came across this one…” She
laid the file out on the table in front of him. “It was buried in
the bottom of the filing cabinet.”

The name on the brown
cardboard folder containing various papers was clearly marked in
large red letters. Jonas Clifton. Shit. The name hit him like a
sledgehammer. He knew where this was going now and he no longer had
the upper hand.

“
Do you
recognise the name Sergeant?”

“
Yes
Ma’am.”

“
Then you
know what this file relates to…”

“
Yes
Ma’am.”

“
Stop calling
me Ma’am, you make me sound like my mother, Amanda will
do.”

“
Yes Ma’…
Amanda.”

Bridger had lost all
train of thought, was she playing with him? He knew this skeleton
would come back to haunt him one day, but had managed to push it to
the back of his mind, the longer nothing had been done about it.
Now he knew why. Matthews had buried it, literally, in the bottom
of the filing cabinet.

“
I thought
that had been dealt with”

The inspector shook her
head in reply. “I have read through the file, from what I see there
is not a lot too it. But it does need to be dealt with Mike.” She
was using his first name now. “You cannot just assault someone in
your custody and not expect it to come back on you in some way. And
from what I read, it does not look like just a slap either, by the
way”

Bridger just nodded,
slightly embarrassed that she had uncovered some of his dirty
washing. He was also slightly thankful that this was the only thing
she had dug up.

“
I have
spoken with Jonas, and he has reiterated that he does not want it
taken any further, as he told us at the time. The circumstances
surrounding that incident speak for themselves though. You were
under a lot of pressure to recover Marion Watson, which you did
manage to do. There is also the fact that Jonas had a sizable
indoor cannabis operation in his warehouse when you arrested him…
Overall, you are probably going to get away with a note on your
personal file. However, that is not my decision… I have arranged
for you to be interviewed by the Independent Police Conduct
Authority. We have to air this Mike, just so we are transparent
about it. If this came out any other way, it would be another piece
of ammunition for our detractors sitting comfortably at home with
their pens, or computer keyboards at the ready, to take another
shot at us.”

“
I
understand.”

“
I knew you
would Mike…, you have a lot of support in Dunedin from what I can
see, I have been told you are a good Detective. I will put in a
recommendation before the interview; hopefully it will not be too
drawn out. You do have another murder too solve unfortunately.
Speaking of which, let’s hear where you are at with that
enquiry…”

Bridger left the
Inspectors office with a little bit of guilt at his earlier
thoughts about her lack of experience. After putting his mind at
rest in relation to the Jonas Clifton incident, ‘Ma’am’ or Amanda
as he was now aloud to call her, had been quite open to a civilised
discussion on the progress of their inquiry, a marked improvement
on the dictatorial style of Gregg Matthews. He was surprised at
some of the suggestions she had put forward and found himself
slightly impressed with her interpersonal skills, making him feel
relaxed in her presence was never going to be an easy task after
the Jonas Clifton thing. Although he was now expecting a call from
the IPCA, he actually felt quite upbeat as he entered the small
office area housing his team.

Jo Williamson looked up
from her desk and smiled as he entered the room. Although she was
on light-duties, and office bound, she still managed to keep up the
impression of being engaged in her work, and that impressed him. Jo
was on an attachment too his squad from the uniform branch, but one
he was reluctant to let go of, even in her fragile state. The
reasons were very sharp in his mind. It had been an ugly run in
with some local gang members and no one really spoke about what had
happened, preferring not too relive those moments, but he knew it
would be going through Jo’s mind every day.

The other glaring
reminder of that time was the obvious empty desk at which Detective
John Mouller used to sit. He had not been so lucky that day, as a
result he had not been able to return to work yet due to some
debilitating injuries. During a visit too John’s flat recently he
had let it slip too Bridger that he was thinking of getting out of
the job and trying something new. John had confessed that he felt
like he had let Jo down by putting her in a bad situation and then
not protecting her. He had told him he could not help questioning
his ability as a police officer and even a man. Bridger did not
blame him for thinking this way but told him that his job was
waiting for him when he felt ready to return; he just had to heal
first. In the mean time the rest of the team had begun to use his
desk as a file tray and it was littered with paperwork and other
assorted items. The sight of his empty desk reminded Bridger that
Inspector Allyson had asked him to visit John this evening and nail
down a more definite timeline for his return to work. He was sure
the answer would still be the same, but he had to follow procedure.
He was also a little worried about John’s state of mind; it was
more of what he did not say when he spoke to him last that had he
was worried. Males, by nature, needed to feel effective, to be in
control, the hunter and provider. John’s confidence was at an all
time low, he was questioning himself and his ability. It was a dark
path to tread for anyone, let alone an injured police officer, who
blames himself for his and his colleague’s injuries. Bridger got
his cellphone out sand sent a quick text too Johns mobile letting
him know he would call in on the way home.