Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (9 page)

Bridger looked at the man
in front of him. His demeanour had changed dramatically throughout
their brief conversation; it had gone from grief stricken through
all range of emotion until what he saw before him. He was an actor,
but one with a motive? He could not see one. “Thank you Mr
Gonzales, we will be in touch.”

The white board in the
office was almost full. Michael Wilson, the man they called Irish
Mick, in all his chiffon glory, was staring out from a promotional
picture placed at the top of the board. No one at the Circus could
come up with a proper picture of him and Bridger hated using crime
scene photographs so had procured the small poster as a substitute.
Beneath the poster, a tangle of lines drawn with marker pen, spread
downwards like cobwebs, and at the end of each line was an enquiry.
Each enquiry had a name or heading and whether it had been
completed or not. The entire team had gathered in the small office
and were staring at the board, trying to decipher any potential
clues that might magically jump out. The elephant in the room was
the word ‘Motive?’ written in the centre of the board and circled
in red marker pen. Bridger was staring at the word.

“
What motive
would anyone have to kill a Circus Ringmaster, aren’t they supposed
to bring people happiness?”

The rest of the room
remained silent as if waiting for Bridger too answer his own
question.

“
Putting
aside a random attack, what do we know about those at the Circus?
Could any of them be involved?”

Becky spoke up from the
back of the room. “Maria Staverly was, by her own admission, in the
area, but I don’t see her being able to do something like that. She
told Gill, and me, that after she left the hospital she went into
town. She cannot remember much after that, but I cannot see her
wanting to walk through the alleyway behind the Hercus building too
get too George Street, not even the students walk through there at
night, drunk or not. She told us that she returned home early the
next morning to find the Police at the Circus enclosure, which was
when she heard about Mr Wilson.”

“
Good Becky.”
Bridger looked over at Jo but she did not hold his gaze “Jo did you
manage to nail down the timings for when Maria or Wilson left the
hospital?”

Jo made a show of
consulting her notebook. “It was twenty two thirty hours Sergeant,
she came out the door on her own, still wearing her costume, looked
around, and then walked out of view.”

“
You said
‘She’? Jo, what about Wilson.”

“
No sign of
Wilson entering or leaving the Hospital while Maria was there, but
you can check, in case I missed him.” Jo clicked a button on her
computer and sent the file up to the projector. The file started
playing on the white screen to the side of the room.

Everyone’s eyes were on
the screen as Maria walked out of the front door, on her own, and
dressed in her crisp white spandex circus outfit. There were
sparkly bits all over it and the tightness accentuated her shapely
figure. She paused, threw something in the bin and then looked up
at the camera briefly, before walking from view. There was no sign
of Wilson.

The sight of her circus
costume brought back the memory of Wilson’s corpse, lying in the
alleyway, dressed in an equally flamboyant way. Bridger shuddered
with the memory. Maria showed no embarrassment about wearing her
revealing costume in public; Wilson had been equally as comfortable
in his costume, not taking it off before ending up in the alleyway,
a long way from the big top.

“
Thanks
Jo…So, Wilson didn’t make it to the Hospital after all.” Bridger
filed the small fact in his mind and carried on “Grant and I spoke
with Anthony Gonzales. He is part owner of the Circus and last saw
Wilson when he went into town, apparently going to see Maria… from
what we have just seen, we can infer that he never made it to the
hospital. Wilson and Gonzales had argued, but it was over a trivial
matter… not enough to kill over.” As Bridger spoke the words, he
thought about all the trivial matters that people actually did kill
over; he decided to defer his own judgment on that point. He looked
at Brian who took his cue.

“
The Clowns
were a pretty strange bunch; it was almost as if they had forgotten
how to be anything but Clowns. They kept finishing each other’s
sentences, slapping each other on the backs, slapping themselves,
that sort of thing. They did not seem too upset about Wilson’s
death though, but I guess that even in a place as close knit as a
Circus, you would not be close to everyone. They did let on that
they had a heavy drinking session after they cancelled the show.
The night was a blur too them after that. They do not remember
seeing Wilson after the show, but they did say they had a visit
from Gonzales. Apparently, he tried to blame them for the accident.
One of them pointed to his purple size fifteens and made a kicking
motion before laughing silently. I took that too mean they did not
receive the allegation well.” Brian shook his head and sucked in a
breath. “They may be drinkers, and a bit violent too boot, but I
can’t see them as our killer or killers. They all had copies of the
Holy Bible placed beside their camp beds. Besides, they don’t go
anywhere without each other, so for them it would have to be all of
them…, or none.”

Bridger looked around the
room; he saw that all eyes were on him. “Reece Coster is the only
other name that comes close to a motive, stretched as it would be.
He has an implied angst against the Circus, in that it keeps
animals in captivity. For those that do not know, Reece Coster is a
member of P.A.A.I.N, a university action group. People against
animals in captivity network. P.A.A.I.N, or Coster working on his
own, will be behind that little incident this morning at the
Circus, no one else has anything too gain. He denied any
involvement in that and in Wilson’s death when we put it to him.
Putting that aside, his alibi is weak. He may have had a run in
with Wilson at some point. He saw him in the alleyway and settled a
score. Things got out of hand and he ended up killing
him.”

“
He does not
strike me as that radical though Mike” Becky spoke up, “He pretends
he cares, but all he likes is the action, not the cause. It is a
long bow to draw, for us too think he would kill over
it.”

“
I agree on
that point, but it’s worth keeping in mind. There is more too this,
something we are missing.” Bridger looked at his watch. He was
dog-tired and could feel his head getting thick and sluggish. He
wanted to be able to look like he was interested in saving his
relationship when he saw Laura that evening. They had done what
they could for the day; they would gain nothing by rehashing what
they already knew. He made a decision “Let’s sleep on it, come back
in the morning with a fresh pair of eyes. We will revisit the crime
scene and see if we can dig up any more CCTV footage from the
surrounding area. I hope that our killer will show up on that. We
need to find out how everyone fits together in the puzzle.” He
looked around the room for any questions, but saw that no one
disagreed, as each started to gather things on their desks and put
them in piles. Everyone likes an early day, even when there was a
murder too solve. Bridger noted the time in his notebook, twenty
hours since he attended the scene in the alleyway and he had been
on duty ever since. Walking out into the hallway, he saw Inspector
Allison coming out of the lift. He ignored her questioning look as
he made his way towards the stairs. Murder or not, he needed sleep,
and time with his soon to be ex wife.

As he crossed the
threshold into the stairwell the air temperature changed slightly,
there was a slight chill, which he attributed to the onset of
autumn, with winter fast approaching behind it, or it may have just
been tiredness. Bridger thought about the whisky from earlier. It
was his favourite winter tipple, it ‘was’ his favourite tipple,
full stop. He missed the warm lethargic feeling it gave him, but
did not miss the angry, self-loathing low it gave him the next day.
He had not touched a drop for over six months and wanted to keep it
that way if he could. He took the steps one at a time, hand
touching the handrail for support. The thought of seeing his wife
was fighting for space in his head alongside the details of the
investigation. He knew he had too clear his head if he was too give
Laura his full attention; she deserved to see him, not someone who
was distracted.

As Bridger left the
stairwell on the ground floor, he almost collided with the slender
frame of Jane Little.

“
Hi Mike.” A
smile radiated from her lips. Bridger noticed to his annoyance that
they were devoid of any lipstick but still managed to look bloody
inviting. Jane noticed what he was looking at and gave them a
cheeky little pout. “How did you get on with Coster the imposter
this morning?”

Bridger lifted his eyes
to meet hers. “Coster who?” The question had thrown him a little;
he had not seen Jane since he and Laura had sat in her office and
agreed to defer divorce proceedings and see how things worked out.
It had been an uncomfortable meeting. One that Jane, who was acting
as Laura’s lawyer at the time, looked like she had actually
enjoyed. Bridger had sat through the whole thing praying she would
not let on that they had been seeing each other behind her back.
Jane was Bridger’s only addiction that he had not managed to give
up.

“
Reece
Coster, the animal activist… A friend of mine from the office knows
him from around the university. They call him Coster the imposter
because he is not a real student anymore. He just hangs around,
making himself known to all the new female first year students.
Bigging himself up too be some sort of activist, but it’s all just
a front to impress the girls.”

“
Coster…
Right, we did not get very far with him. He denied involvement in
both inquiries we questioned him on.”

“
Look at you
and your ‘Cop speak’ Mike. Both inquiries… you are forgetting that
I am a defence lawyer and already know more about ‘Both enquiries’
than the Police. You do not need to hold anything back from me. In
fact, P.A.A.I.N has secured our services to represent Coster, and
the group as a whole. They are afraid the police will try to pin
something on them in relation to the animals, or even the death of
Wilson.” The playful smile had disappeared from her lips and she
was back too being all business. She was a good lawyer, with a
sharp and devious mind. It almost scared him, except he had seen
her naked. He had been on the receiving end of her deviousness in
the past though, despite that fact.

Bridger toyed with the
idea of asking Jane for some advice in relation to his upcoming
interview with the independent police complaints authority, but
quickly dismissed the idea, partly in embarrassment for his
actions, and partly because it would be just more thing she would
have on him. “So I guess I will be seeing a bit more of you then.”
He could not think of anything else to say as he looked into the
eyes that had shown him so many different depths. This was just
another layer of tape that bound him into her confused world of
passion and indifference, yet he still felt that slight tug of
arousal she always drew out of him.

“
I guess you
will Mike…” The smile returned to her lips and she gave him a wink,
before turning her back on him and walking away. Bridger stared at
her backside as she disappeared around the corner, left standing in
a cloud of her scent. He closed his eyes and saw an image of Laura
in his head, and she was crying.

Chapter Nine

Jo Williamson left the
Police station and retrieved her bicycle from the basement garage.
She lived on the flat area of south Dunedin, built on an ancient
swamp and wetlands; the water table was so close to the surface you
did not have to dig very far to find yourself back in the salty
mess. The area was a miss mash of dilapidated workers cottages and
fine homes, the rich and the poor alike. The lower socio economic
tended to gravitate towards the cheaper rentals offered in the
area, and so her house was very close to some of her less social
clients. It was something she normally did not worry about too
much, but since it had happened, she had lost a lot of her naive
trust in the sacred line that most people did not cross. The police
were supposed to be out of bounds.

She knew different now
though, however her financial circumstances at this point in her
life would make it difficult to move anywhere else. At least the
flatness of the reclaimed land made it an easy ride. She enjoyed
the luxury of a quick cycle too work with then had the added bonus
of no parking trouble.

She was younger than most
of her colleagues in the office, not even a proper Detective yet,
just a uniform attachment gaining some experience. John Mouller was
the closest to her in age, but even so, she still saw him join in
with their funny looks when she walked into the office in her cycle
gear every morning. That was when he was at work, before it had
happened. The image of his broken body strapped to a chair flashed
in front of her, another memory she could not shake. Pushing her
bike out of the garage, she pushed her electronic key tag up
against the gate release. She wondered if she would grow out of her
fitness routine in time, as her colleagues obviously had. She hoped
not, it was the only thing keeping her sane now. It was a way of
releasing the stress of her life, if only for a short time. The
fresh air would clear her head, making room for more positive happy
thoughts.