A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals) (15 page)

That was the best course of action,
he knew. You didn't talk, even if they hadn't read your rights to you. In
movies that sort of thing carried weight, but in real life, not so much. Almost
no one had been read their rights when he'd lived in Vegas, and things always
managed to magically hold up in court.

He wondered what the issue here
was, however. Had his leaving for that long with the tracking device been a
crime? Had it been counted as theft, even though he hadn't known that it was
there? That seemed like a bit much, even for the people there. Even the FBI was
probably not that far gone yet. Jay wasn't a terrorist or anything either, so
he couldn't imagine what the deal really was. Covering up what had happened
with Sidney and Ginger? That might be it. Still, wouldn't they have picked him
up at the casino, if that was the case?

His mind spun theories, but most
of them were pretty implausible. Things like Max framing him for embezzlement,
to get back at him for that punch, to the FBI wanting to take down Moretti, the
mob boss. Not that the man was anything of the kind, but the idea did come to
mind, as he rode for an hour to the Sheriff's station. He probably would have
been beaten, just because Richmond was that kind of person, except for the fact
that there was a Sedan following them, which probably meant both of the FBI
guys were back there, making certain he got to be questioned. That was nice of
them, unless the plan was to railroad him for something.

He didn't have to be processed,
which was telling. If you were under arrest, you were. Finger printed and the
whole thing. A mug shot taken and all that. Instead he was taken to a white
room with a large two way mirror, his hands still cuffed behind his back. Richmond
made him walk bent almost in half, kicking his feet every third step or so,
trying to make him stumble. It was a fight to keep his balance, but the idea
was clear. If he fell, the man could claim he was resisting. It wasn't kosher,
but that didn't mean it wouldn't happen. It was part of the provocation
techniques that police everywhere learned. They engage in tricks like that, to
cause a reaction. Even doing things like poking a person in the eye, lightly.
It wouldn't damage them much, but hurt enough that most people would grab their
face, or push the officer away. If they did, it was either resisting arrest, or
assault.

The only thing that worked was
sitting back and taking the abuse, no matter what happened. Yes, they could
still
lie
about things, but there were enough cameras around that they
couldn't count on that working. The thing there was that most law abiding
people didn't know about things like that, not seeing it on television most
nights, so they fell into the trap, almost every time.

His hands were numb and cold, but
probably not really injured yet. He could still move his fingers a little, and
had been, trying to keep circulation going. In the room there was a chair,
which Richmond practically thrust him into, making it scoot back, the metal
legs making noise on the smooth white tiled floor. Not really tile, he noticed,
but linoleum. The smooth kind. There was a single line, off to his left, where
the large piece had to be joined with another one. It ran at a ninety degree
angle to the mirror. There was a camera in the corner, near the ceiling, and if
the red light on the front meant anything, it was already on.

Jason tried not to move much, and
forced a cooperative and pleasant look on his face. That tried to fall off,
when Carl came in, wearing a uniform that was all tan and brown, his face hard
looking. Bullish. Clean shaved, and presentable, but not really better looking
than Jason was. He was a bit fat, compared to what he used to be. Not
blubbering or even chubby, but it was clear that middle age spread was setting
in, and that the man hadn't exactly missed a lot of meals.

"Jason Hadley." He
looked at the clipboard in his hand, as if he didn't recognize the name or
face. When he looked up he sneered, giving the lie to that. "Do you know
why you're here?"

He didn't, and knew that Carl
probably understood that. So he didn't answer. Not at all. Instead he waited,
which paid off, given that the FBI agents both came through the door about ten
seconds later.

"Am I under arrest? If not,
I'd like to leave. Handcuffing me for this long, assault with a vehicle, this
has to be both false arrest and kidnapping by this time.
If
I'm not
under arrest. It's still
false
arrest at any rate, since I haven't done
anything." Well, except cover up those felonies, which was probably one in
and of itself, but if they had him on that, they just did.

Carl looked shocked for some
reason, then pissed. It showed in the sudden popping out of the veins on his
head, at the temples. That, and the screaming.

"Shut up! You don't ask the
questions here, and I can arrest anyone I damn well feel like! I'm the Sheriff
here and my word is law!"

That got both Agents to look at
the man like he was on drugs. Jay looked up at the camera, and tilted his head
at it with a smile that he hoped didn't seem scared. He didn't feel that, but
it would be nice if it showed.

"Can I get a copy of this?
For the lawsuit? Make sure it doesn't vanish, Carl, because if it does, you'll
look even guiltier than you are. Now, am I under arrest? If so, for what? If
not, get my hands free, and let me call for a ride." His voice was sharp,
but at this point in things they couldn't claim he was resisting arrest just
because he spoke or asked questions. Turn off the camera and beat him,
possibly, but that was all.

Agent Daniels looked at Carl's
not insubstantial back, and spoke softly.

"We'd just like to ask you a
few questions. I think we can get those cuffs off. It would really help if
you'd do this for us? I'm really sorry about how this is being handled, but
like I mentioned at the house, we don't actually control that part of things.
We do control
this
portion however. Sheriff." It wasn't a question,
and Jay really expected an argument to break out, but Carl just frowned and
tossed a key ring on the small white table in front of Jason.

"Knock yourselves out. This
is him though. The only clown in town."

That... Didn't make a lot of
sense. What would him being a clown have to do with anything? He was, Jay was
nearly certain, the only one that worked in the area, that was true, but so
what? Were they going to accuse him of pedophilia or something? For a second he
nearly panicked, because that really seemed like the kind of thing that Carl
and his brave crew of deputies would do. Make something like that up to
sabotage him, just when he started to get his feet under himself again.

Luckily the other Agent just took
the keys, found the right one and got his hands free. The blood rushed into
them, but they stayed white for a while, the red rings around them throbbing as
feeling came back. He didn't react. Carl Morse had caused him enough pain in
life. Giving the man the satisfaction of seeing him in more wasn't in his
personal plans. Jason didn't even rub at them, looking at Daniels instead,
avoiding Carl totally.

"I'm sure that, after the
treatment I've received this evening, which has been pretty illegal, I might
add, that you've seen me get here, you'll understand that I'm not going to
stay. No one is treated like this unless the police are planning to frame them.
Since Carl and I have a history, and he regularly uses state resources to spy
on me, as well as sending his goons after me, I'm pretty sure that you can
understand that?"

Carl surged toward him, grabbing
him by the front of his t-shirt and using his much greater weight to slam Jay
back into the wall behind him.

"Sheriff Morse! Get your
hands off him. What the hell? He's just in here for questioning. Like we told
you, he isn't even a real suspect. Get off him!" The agent that didn't
have a name yet pulled the man off, and then pushed him toward the door.

"Crap, is this how you run
your county? No wonder a serial killer would come here to hide." The door
got shut in the man's face, leaving only three people inside the room.

Jay looked at the men, and
winced.

"I'm not a killer at all,
and have never hurt anyone. I'm innocent of whatever it is you're trying to
frame me for." He wasn't saying it that way to be mean, since for all he
knew the two FBI men were really what they'd claimed. It was that the first
rule of the Reid technique, which most police forces and official agencies used
to work confessions out of innocent people, was to never let the person
proclaim themselves not guilty. It made it harder to coerce a confession from them
later. That meant, given his innocence, that he was best off proclaiming that
as soon as possible. They should have tried to stop him from doing it,
interrupting him, so he rushed the words, getting them out before they could.

Jason had the internet, and a lot
of spare time over the last year. Given his adversarial relationship with law
enforcement, it had made sense to learn things like that.

Daniels shook his head.

"I don't suppose that you
have an alibi for the fourteenth of this month?"

He had to count back, but then
nodded.

"Yeah, I do. I was on my
fourth day at the Placemont, in Las Vegas? I didn't leave the building at all
that day, and was on camera the whole time. What's this about? You said serial
killer. Carl said that I was the only clown..." It was all the information
that he had, but the two men looked at each other, then nodded.

"Mr. Hadley, our records
show that you were in contact with a Margaret Winthrop, earlier in the month. I
don't suppose you can explain why?"

It took him a second, since she'd
given him a slightly different name. "Maggie Winthrop? She hired me to
perform at her son's birthday. Seth, he turned sixteen... Oh, crap." He
felt his face fall. "Maggie? She's so nice. What... Happened?"
Really, he wasn't certain he wanted to know.

The other agent took a breath, glanced
at the wall, then fixed him dead on, looking him in the eyes and not blinking.

"She was last seen on the
fourteenth. Being shoved into a late model American car. Color blue. The gas
station cameras show what appear to be a thin man dressed as a clown doing it.
When we asked for a list of names of people in this area, yours was the only
one we were given."

Shock ran through him, and his
mind raced, but he really did have a good alibi. An almost perfect one in fact.
He couldn't even have snuck out unseen if he'd wanted to. Not from a casino. It
got worse when Daniels spoke, his voice tired and a bit rough.

"Yesterday morning, at about
eleven a.m. a jogger found her body in a ravine, near Prole park. She..."
He went silent. Then the agent fixed him with a dark gaze too. "We'll
check out that alibi. Do you have numbers we can call?"

He did. That had become
important, dealing with new acts, so he'd memorized the ones he needed, wanting
to have them always right there in his head, ready to go.

It paid off, because Greg
Michelson had him cleared about ten minutes later, and even had the video
footage separated out, showing that he was, well and truly, there the whole time.

Both the agents seemed a bit
upset to hear it, Jason noticed.

Because
that
was a
comforting thing to see.

Jason really would have thought
that having an alibi would get him free of the interrogation chamber almost
immediately, but it didn't work that way. Even given that he didn't know
anything and was out of town at the time, the two men grilled him about what
he'd done, and why. Over and over again, for hours. Looking for loopholes in
his story, or inconsistencies.

Luckily for him, that didn't
happen. It was the kind of thing that worked pretty well, if a person wasn't
very bright, or had spun a complicated lie. The bread and butter of police work
required a certain low I.Q. level from the people they went after. The very
intelligent most often weren't caught at all. Then again,
they
committed
different crimes, didn't they? Things that were so close to legal that they
generally got away with it for a long time, until hubris caught up with them.
That was what took most of the really big white collar criminals down,
eventually. They grabbed for too much, or pushed the boundaries of whatever it
was they were doing, and eventually someone would figure it out.

Since he was innocent, it made it
pretty easy to keep on top of his story.

"And again, gentlemen. I got
the call at about four in the morning. I'd gotten up to go to the bathroom, and
picked up. It was Carlos Nevaro, who goes by the stage name The Great Mantooth.
A friend of his, Max, desperately needed people to fill in at the casino, so
was willing to take me, even if I am a clown. I did well enough that he kept me
on as an assistant. Making schedules and handing out coupons and fliers on the
main floor during the day. Some small organizational things with the big stage
acts too. So I was there through the entire time window you mentioned, in the
very well monitored hotel, the entire time. Well, except once or twice, when I
took the trash out, since it was needed and there were no janitors around. That
was it. Even at that, I doubt I was ever off camera, outside of my room, which
is on the seventh floor." He'd said it about twenty times before, but
didn't let himself get bored with it. The whole thing was a trick. It was meant
to trap him into saying the wrong thing, so they could hold him, letting Richmond
have another crack at him, he bet.

Or possibly not. It was, after
all, just that the two men were desperate and had been chasing a serial killer
across the country for long enough that anyone they talked too would be a good
enough person to suspect. Except that Greg, who he decided he loved, actually
sent the files to the men, so they could see that Jay was well and truly
cleared.