Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (8 page)

“
Okay
Sergeant, we can use my caravan.” Anthony turned and retreated
towards his caravan without bothering to wait for a
reply.

Jo Williamson shuffled in
her chair while the phone rang in her ear; she hated being stuck in
the office, with its daily reminders of what she was missing. The
job was her life; she had enjoyed every bit of it…, until it had
happened. She just sat there now, day after day, watching her
colleagues go about their lives, oblivious of her thoughts and
fears, while she was stuck at a desk clearing someone else’s files.
Bloody light duties. Of course, she could not blame them, she had
not told anyone of how she felt. She was scared, scared of contact
with anyone out in the real world, of herself, but most of all, she
was scared of her dreams. Her dreams showed her the truth that her
mind would not let her remember. That ugly tattooed face, framed
with dreadlocked hair, came too her every night and smiled at her.
The smile told her everything she needed to know, and now she was
an emotional cripple. The face had started to make her despise men,
how was she too trust a man if what this face showed her was true.
Not knowing just made it all the more difficult.

She had not slept
properly since that day and she was only just managing too hold
herself together, but she could not let go of the job. She would
disappear over the edge of sanity and never return if she could not
come into work every day, it was her lifeline. She forced herself
to concentrate on the task. A brisk sounding Scottish female
answered the phone just as Jo was getting impatient.

Five minutes of forced
banter with the nurse, while pretending to be efficient and
together, and Jo had all the information she was going to get. She
even managed to get the Nurse to email her an electronic copy of
the CCTV footage she needed, thank god for modern technology. She
clicked open on the file folder and a surprisingly clear image
appeared on the screen in front of her. The front door of the
Hospital and out into the car park were in plain view, every few
seconds someone would enter or leave through the automatic doors.
The nurse had told her that Maria Staverly had left the hospital at
around ten o’clock on Thursday night; twenty two hundred hours in
Police speak. She found the curser and scrolled forward to that
time. Maria Staverly walked through the doors on the screen, still
wearing her costume, slightly unsteady on her feet, and sporting a
large cast on her left arm. Jo watched her recorded image as it
stopped just outside the doors and then look up towards the camera
as if she knew it was watching her. Maria Staverly smiled directly
into the camera, a strange haunted smile that put a slight chill in
Jo’s spine. Something behind the smile touched her, like a kindred
spirit who could share her burden. She watched as Maria pulled what
looked like rolls of bandages out of her pockets and dump them in
the rubbish bin beside her, before walking away out of view. Less
than thirty seconds of footage.

She moved the curser
again and replayed the scene repeatedly, each time trying to read
the smile on her face as Maria paraded herself for the camera.
There was something there; she knew she needed to talk too Maria.
She needed to know what it was that she saw in her
smile.

Chapter
Eight

Bridger and Grant stood
awkwardly in the cramped interior of Anthony’s caravan; it smelt of
stale whisky and sweat, with an undertone of recently smoked
Cannabis. Anthony looked only slightly less uncomfortable in his
own surroundings, his eyes darting around the small living space.
Bridger noticed them linger a bit longer on the small table sitting
beside a small leather sofa. He followed his gaze and saw the
remnants of a Cannabis cigarette stubbed out in a dirty ashtray.
Not something, he could be bothered with, but he looked back at
Anthony, catching his eye, raising his eyebrows in question.
Anthony opened his mouth as if to say something but decided better
of it and looked at the floor instead. It was not a very fair thing
to do, Anthony was not a suspect at this point, but Bridger had
found it was better to put someone on the back foot before starting
an interview; they were less likely to try to pull one over
him.

“
Please, sit
down…” Anthony had regained some of his composure and was
indicating two of the small chairs next to a very small dining
table. He took a deep breath as if he was trying too steady
himself. “You will have to forgive me Sergeant; it’s not been a
very nice couple of days and I’m not sure how I can be of much
help… I feel so useless…” he sniffed and turned his head away
again.

Bridger was not sure he
believed Anthony’s depreciation of himself, his voice sounded too
mechanical and practised. The man was a performer, he would know
how to play to a crowd, it made sense he could pretend to be
anything he wanted, in anyone’s company. “Mr Gonzales, if you could
go over the events last night leading up to the last time you saw
Michael Wilson.”

Anthony sat down opposite
them, put his hands on the table in between, and spoke quietly. “We
set up for the performance last night as usual, the Clowns do most
of the labouring, it leaves me able to get in a few practice swings
before the show. Mick was in his caravan warming up; he needs a bit
of quiet time to get himself in the right headspace...” Anthony’s
voice caught in his throat, “He needed space… I still cannot
believe he is gone…” A tear glistened on his cheek and he sniffed
loudly.

This time his emotions
were not for Bridger’s benefit, they would not get very far if he
broke down. A bottle caught Bridger’s eye, the amber liquid a very
familiar sight. Without thinking, he reached over and picked it up,
along with a small tumbler sitting next to it. It just seemed a
natural thing to do. He poured a generous two fingers with a
practiced hand as Anthony watched over with the subtle eye of a
drinker, nodding his approval when the tumbler was almost three
quarters full. Bridger pushed it towards Anthony without speaking
and he grabbed it up with both hands, imbibing deeply. He watched
as Anthony’s shoulders visibly relaxed and calmness descended over
his features. Bridger felt everything Anthony did in his head, as
only a fellow drinker could. He felt the pull of the bottle,
tugging at his senses, and he had to screw the cap on quickly too
stop himself taking a pull. His own sobriety was something he had
control over now, which was more than he could say for other parts
of his personal life.

Bridger noticed that
Grant did not say anything, as he no doubt watched the interaction
between the two of them. Instead, he saw that he had taken out his
notebook and pen, waiting for Anthony to speak, his features not
giving anything away about whether he approved of this action or
not. Good man, he was glad of the support. He looked back at
Anthony.

“
Thank you
Sergeant.” Anthony looked at the tumbler in his hands. “Mick was a
very important part of our lives here at the Circus, as well as
being the owner he was also our friend… a very proud man… proud of
the legacy of this Circus. He does not have any children; he was
the last Wilson in a very long line. I’m not sure where we go from
here.” He took another smaller sip of the whisky. “Mick’s great,
great, Grandfather Cyril Wilson started this Circus, with just a
few animals and some Clowns… quite a small affair it was back then.
Then I guess travelling with a big operation in those days would
have been too difficult. It was not until my own great grandfather
arrived from the old country that they could really offer a good
show though. He was only seventeen years old and a gifted athlete;
he practically pioneered the acrobatic styles we have today. He put
Wilsons Circus on the map; he was the one they all came to see. The
Clowns had nothing on him…” A pride was evident in his voice. “The
crowds grew bigger and bigger, my great grandfather’s performance
got better with each show. Soon he was a household name; no one
came to see the Clowns anymore. They wanted thrills and that is
what he gave them, it is what we Gonzales’s have been giving them
ever since.”

Bridger saw Grant shuffle
in his chair impatiently as did Anthony who stopped talking and
looked at his lap. They probably did not need any of the back-story
Anthony was providing, but he knew by letting him talk he would
relax, and then they were more likely to get the information they
needed. “Go on Mr Gonzales, any bit of information you can provide
may be helpful.

Anthony looked up again;
his expression had changed slightly, taken on a harder edge. “After
one of the performances here in Dunedin, an errant newspaper
article surfaced. I forget who wrote it, but in essence, it laid
waste to everything about the circus, calling it an ‘average
circus’ going on to say it contained ‘nothing striking’. In
particular, it portrayed the Clowns in a poor light. My great
grandfather got a glowing mention for his skills though, which
incensed the Clowns no end. It caused a real shit-storm within the
Circus, the Clowns rallied against him. They had been part of the
troupe longer than he had, so they made up stories about him and
went too Cyril. He had to side with the Clowns out of a misplaced
loyalty and so my great grandfather left the troupe after that…
Listen to me… I should not be going on about that, it is all
ancient history now. You want to know about last night, not any
ancient grievance…”

Grant looked up from his
notebook, which Bridger noticed had not seen a single entry. “That
would be good Mr Gonzales; you were telling us about what you were
doing before the show last night?”

Anthony looked at the now
empty tumbler in his hands and Bridger took the unspoken cue.
Pouring another two fingers into the glass, he watched as Anthony
added a splash of water from a decanter sitting on the table. His
taste buds tingled slightly, and he swallowed an imaginary dram. It
was the closest he wanted to come to the nectar he had been so fond
of, but he still missed the burn. Anthony continued
speaking.

“
The show
went as it always did, starting with those dreary Clowns, followed
by Maria and I. We always do a couple of easy jump and catch
routines at the beginning, sort of a teaser for what was too come.
Get the audience in the mood. Except last night…, Maria fell, as
you already know, and that ended the show.

I stayed with Maria until
the ambulance arrived, Michael looked after the audience, and the
handlers went back to the animals. After Maria went to the
hospital, I went and confronted the Clowns.” Anthony touched the
bruise on his eye “They were the ones who set up the ropes… they
were too short, I know it. We have done that jump hundreds of times
and never had an accident. It’s just like all those years ago… the
Clowns aren’t happy with their lot and they feel
threatened...”

“
Why would
they feel threatened Mr Gonzales?” Grant butted in.

“
Look, the
Circus is losing money… it’s a tough world out there now. We have
to compete for attention. It is hard to drag the kids away from
their computers and games. You can see all sorts of things on the
internet for free, why would you want to pay for the same
stuff.”

“
I still
don’t see what that has to do with the Clowns feeling
threatened.”

“
The Clowns
know that they would be the first to go… no one comes to the Circus
too see Clowns anymore. What is a Clown going to do in the real
world? Michael had already spoken too us about possible
redundancies and that has them scared. It makes sense they would
tamper with our act.”

Bridger did not really
follow his logic. “We will look into what you have told us about
the Clowns when we speak with them, but for now we have to
concentrate on Michael Wilson’s murder. Can you tell us what you
did after confronting the Clowns?”

“
The Clowns
did not take too kindly too me accusing them of tampering with the
ropes.” Anthony touched his eye again. “But that is for another
time… I returned too Michael’s caravan, I wanted to call the
police, he told me not too. We argued about the reasons…, he said
it was not worth it, that Maria was okay. He did not want to stir
up any trouble. I think the Clowns have something on him; he lets
them get away with so much. I called the Police anyway, but when
they arrived the female Sergeant told us it was not a Police issue
and left it at that.”

“
She was
right Mr Gonzales, unless we can prove anyone tampered with your
ropes then it is just that, an accident. Did you check the ropes
yourself before you jumped? I would have thought it’s the first
thing you would do…” Bridger did not want Maria’s accident too bog
them down.

“
Well… no, no
I didn’t, but we don’t usually have too. I check them when we first
put them up, then periodically through the week’s performances. I
see we will have to review that policy in light of what
happened.”

“
Ok, Mr
Gonzales, let’s move on to what you did next.” Bridger could not
tell whether Anthony was deliberately trying to steer them away
from what happened last night or that he just felt strongly about
his assumptions of Maria’s accident.

“
The Police
left and Michael said he would go into town… too see if Maria was
alright.”

“
Did you go
with him?”

“
No…,”
Anthony shifted slightly in his seat. “He said he wanted to go on
his own, he said that he needed some space. He said he had things
to think about… He wouldn’t tell me what they were… he… he didn’t
come home… that was the last time I saw him and we argued…” A
single tear ran down Anthony’s cheek and he quickly brushed it
away, downing the rest of his whisky in one gulp. His voice took on
a hard edge “Michael is dead… now I am in charge. I have to be
strong… making this work, for him. The Circus needs to go
on.”