Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (12 page)

Glancing over at the
promotional picture of Michael Wilson, dressed in his over the top
finery, pasted onto the whiteboard on the far side of the room, he
drew a breath and held it. Even from where he was sitting, he could
see something in the practiced smile on Wilson's face, which echoed
the pictures he saw on the screen. He looked like a man who
commanded obedience in every living thing. Would that be enough to
drive someone to commit murder? Did the pictures stir enough
passion for that? He could see Coster’s reason for being involved,
but why would Maria join in? She was part of the problem, if you
believed the website. An inkling of doubt spread into his
reasoning, but he quickly squashed it. He had seen many people do
extreme things for little or no reason. Maria was probably no
different. He clicked play on the little icon in the middle of the
screen and the Zebra began its torment once more.

“
Hi Mike,
what is the big mystery?” Brian said, as he walked into the office
followed by the rest of the team. “You sounded pretty rushed on the
phone…”

Bridger jumped at the
interruption, releasing the breath he had held unconsciously. He
looked up to see Brian standing behind him staring at the screen;
Becky and Grant were on either side of him and had their eyes fixed
too the screen as well. The action was only half way through but
there was enough displayed too see what was going on in vivid
detail. Bridger scrolled onto the volume slide and increased the
sound. The Zebra was making little mewing noises, which seemed
somehow out of place with its species but fitted nicely within the
context. The Clown’s voice overlaid the Zebra soundtrack and kept
repeating in a deep breathy voice, ‘Get some, you dirty little
Zebra slut, get some”, with every thrust. Bridger had not heard
that during his first viewing back at John’s house. It was starting
to make him feel a little dirty, sullied by someone else’s
perversions.

“
Geezuz Mike,
where did you dig this up from?” Grants voice was slightly higher
than normal. “Who are those two?”

“
That’s Maria
Staverly behind the Zebra mask, I recognise the sparkly top she is
wearing, and I can see the top of her cast in the bottom of the
shot.” Becky spoke up, obviously analysing what was in the scene,
and not what it portrayed. “But who is the dodgy clown behind
her?”

Bridger stopped the
action on the screen just as the Zebra reared up and the Clown
revealed his arm. “That’s Reece Coster…,” he said, pointing to the
P.A.A.I.N tattoo on his forearm.

“
And that’s
blood on Maria’s top…” Brian said, nodding his head, the answer to
his question of Bridger given in that moment.

Bridger looked at his
three colleagues, they had all reached the same conclusion as he
had, and he did not need to explain it any further.

Grant spoke up “I’ll
start typing out the search warrant application…”

Chapter
Eleven

Reece Coster stood in the
shadows, just outside of the big yellow tent. His breath was making
small white puffs as he breathed as slowly as he could while trying
to make as little noise as possible. He had watched the Clowns file
into the tent a few minutes earlier. If he was honest with himself,
it had freaked him out a little, seeing the Clowns sneaking about
in the darkness. They looked just like Clowns, did they not have
days off? Their normally jolly painted faces certainly looked more
sinister at night, but those big oversize shoes, feet the size of
elephants, moved with the deftness of mice.

Each too thy own, he
thought. Crazy Fuckers.

For his part, he was
dressed from head to toe in his ‘Mission Gear’. A pair of plain
black tracksuit pants, a plain black long sleeve top, and a black
balaclava on his head, rolled up onto his forehead. Although it
would be much cooler to have the mask cover his face, just like the
movies, he hated to have his mouth covered by the wool. The animal
masks were fine but the balaclava always made him feel
claustrophobic.

Looking down at himself
in the darkness, he admired his covertness. He really did love
these clothes, it added a bit of realism to his missions, making
his fantasy come to life. He was like some clandestine freedom
fighter, a man with floors, but able to get the job done. He loved
the missions. The mission’s were all part of the bigger fight, and
he was the only one taking the fight too them in any meaningful
way.

An animalistic snort came
out of the blackness behind him, making him jump. Standing still in
the darkness, he could feel his heart rate increasing with the
excitement. An image of an angry Lion popped into his head.
Muscular and fierce, waiting in the darkness behind him, waiting
for any sign of fear, fear he would not show. He remembered another
animal, Maria Staverly; her supple but strong body came to mind,
making him smile. Last night had been fun… it… no she, had been so
easy, and now the world knew how easy she was as well. Of course,
it had been bloody, at first, but then it had become easier. She
had relaxed into it, letting her inhibitions go, putting everything
she had into it, putting on a real performance. Somebody had to do
the hard yards.

He gripped the tin he was
holding in his left hand a bit tighter and shook the contents for
the umpteenth time that night. The liquid sloshed around inside,
and he smiled some more. He imagined the surprise of his cautious
colleagues, his supposed ‘brothers and sisters in arms’. For all
their big talk, they did not really do ‘direct action’. He was sick
of that; his kudos relied on the stories of daring-do he always
brought out when the time was right. Hell, he would tell them too
anyone that would listen, whatever the time. Women wanted him and
men wanted to be him, when he told them about how cool he was. Fuck
yeah… he was getting amped now. If the mountain will not come to
Mohamed, then Mohamed will go to the mountain, or some shit like
that, he could never quite remember quotes. It did not matter
though; he was doing well, and tonight would put the final nail in
the box he was constructing around the evils of the Circus. He was
going to burn it all down. Did he care about the animals…? Did he
fuck, but it helped him get laid, and after tonight he would 'get
laid', ad-infinitum. He just had to wait for those stupid clowns
too leave the tent.

He crouched down behind a
wooden barrel filled with some sort of animal feed, the stench
making him gag slightly, and waited in the darkness. He was
prepared to wait all night for this. It would only make things
sweeter. As it was, he only had to wait a few minutes before
movement caught his eye, over where he knew the tent entrance to
be. Shuffling his position, he peered around the barrel
cautiously…he did not want to be seen. Not now, it was so close. He
counted the shadows as they moved away from the tent. Four, he had
seen four go in and now he had seen four come out…, it was
time.

Maria lay on the ground
next to the girl called Jo, a police officer no less… Despite her
mistrust of the cops, this girl was different. She very much
doubted that she was here on official business, not now she had
taken the pill so easily. What was her story? Did it really matter?
There was a connection she had felt almost instantly when she had
seen her standing at the door to her caravan. It was something in
her eyes, unspoken, but very descriptive. The same as it had been
with the first girl she had ever been with, all those years ago. It
had scared her back then, the new feelings she was having. Girls
were supposed to be just friends, not that she had ever had many.
It was the travelling lifestyle not lending itself too long-term
liaisons with anyone. This girl had been slightly older; she was
more confident in herself than Maria had been back then, lived a
different life. It was an intoxicating combination. She had been
with many girls since and many boys as well. She felt the muscles
tighten in her cheeks, smiling in the semi darkness. There was no
point in limiting her options.

It was nice though,
laying here with the police officer named Jo, a comfortable easy
feeling flowing through her body. Helped no doubt by the pill… she
needed this. Mick’s death had affected her more than she wanted it
too. She needed the escape, and this was about the only way she
knew how. Emotions did not come easy too her, she knew she was a
cold person, and lately she had been finding out that she was
capable of things that normal people may find abhorrent. Then what
really was normal these days?

Mick… poor Mick, he did
not deserve to die as he did. She knew things had been getting
worse between them recently; he had started to get demanding of
her. Acting more like the father she never had. She had never met
her real parents; she was a child of the circus. It was an accepted
fact that her parents had died and left her an orphan when she was
just a baby. They had been circus performers, just as she had
eventually become, and so the circus took care of their own, but no
one spoke of them… ever.

She remembered the
Clowns, how they used to be; they had apparently taken her in,
raised her into her teens. They had shown her love and nurturing,
what a child would not give to live with a bunch of Clowns. It had
been a blissful childhood, but then they discarded her like a used
ticket stub left on the bleachers. She remembered it vividly; it
was just after she started performing with Ant. She remembered
being lost, an empty feeling she could not shake. She wasn’t a
clown; she wasn’t anything, just a girl with no history. She had
found herself drawn to Ant, his act looked so exciting, and the way
he had looked at her…, like a father.

They had not really
spoken to her since. She hated the Clowns for that.

The circus was her family
though, and Mick was… had been… the head of the circus, and now he
was dead. She had been searching her memory for any glimpse of what
happened the night Mick had died, but the pill had made sure
nothing came back. She was not stupid though, she knew she had left
the hospital and gone into town. She would have gone to the Robbie
Burns Hotel, as she always did when they were in Dunedin. She also
knew the fastest way to the hotel from the hospital was through the
alleyway that Mick had died in. The blood was what worried her
most, where did that come from? She could not remember seeing it
after she fell, but then she could not remember much else of that
night either. The pill gave her another kick of pleasure, muddling
her thoughts, as if it was reminding her why.

The girl called Jo,
stirred beside her. She had been willing at first, but the pill had
taken a bigger effect on her than normal. She was obviously not a
big user. Looking at the girl beside her, eyes closed, slight smile
on her face, she wondered if Jo thought about sexuality in the same
way as she did. Maybe Jo was experimenting with something inside of
her that needed to be fed, just as she herself had done all those
years ago. Either way it was probably for the best that it went
only as far as it had. Jo would be well aware of a woman’s monthly
cycle, not a pleasant introduction to the fairer sex for anyone,
and if this was an experiment, she did not want her period to
affect any of her conclusions. She wanted to see this girl again. A
Cop and an acrobat, it was not the most likely combination, but
stranger things had happened in her life.

The tail end of the pills
pleasure was waiting in the periphery to invade her again, so she
let go and sank into the happy place she always went too, beside
her newfound companion.

Both girls lying on the
sawdust covered ring, curious in thought, safe in each other, but
totally oblivious to the black smoke that had started to curl and
climb up the sides of the tent choking the already dark
ringside.

It was not very far by
car from the police station to the Oval. The time of night was
making it even faster with the lack of traffic, and the fact the
blue and red blinking lights in the grill of the car pushed what
vehicles there were too the side of the road, giving them a clear
run. Bridger looked into the rear vision mirror, out of habit; just
too make sure Brian was not falling behind. He was not expecting
any trouble, but it always helped, the more people you had to rely
on, if things started to deteriorate. Desperate people could do
stupid things and so he wanted boots on the ground as soon as they
arrived on scene.

As he accelerated down
the very gradual decline of Princess Street, the blue and red
lights reflecting off the surrounding buildings, Bridger had too
force himself too slow his breathing, as the adrenalin started to
build in his system. An early arrest, another killer off the
streets, this is what it was all about, catching the bad guys. His
earlier misgiving on Maria’s motive properly quelled the more the
team had discussed the apparent physical evidence. He was already
planning the direction of the interview he was going to conduct
with Maria once they picked her up.

Up ahead, he saw a Police
vehicle arrive on the south side of the Oval, although it was a
clear night, its flashing roof lights seemed obscured somehow in a
thin dark fog. That would be Gillian Holler and Steve Kirkland, who
had been at another job nearby and had put their hands up too help
when Bridger had asked. Anything to get them away from the faux
suicidal ramblings of an intoxicated and lonely old man, according
to what Steve had told him over the phone; leave that to the junior
members of the team.