Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (3 page)

“
Is that some
sort of Circus costume?”

“
I’m not sure
Mike, fancy dress maybe?”

Whatever it was, it added
a slightly macabre feeling too the cold corpse lying in front of
them. The sound of someone clearing his throat turned Bridger
around. He was still dizzy from the sight of all the blood and it
looked like the smiling face of the portly Simon West was floating
above a white cloud in the darkness behind them, or it could have
been a snowman. In the frontal lobe of his frustrated brain,
nothing was making sense for Bridger tonight. He rubbed his tired
eyes and looked again.

Simon West was one of the
scenes of crime officers in Dunedin and was dressed in his
customary white coveralls. His large girth gave Bridger the cloud
impression when contrasted against the dark background.

“
Mike, it’s
good to see you again.” Simon held out his gloved hand.

Bridger looked down at
the hand shrouded in off-white latex. There was no way he was going
to shake that. Knowing Simons taste for the gruesome, he knew that
he would have already been ferreting around the body looking for
his trophies, so those gloves could be contagious. His distaste
must have shown on his face as Simon also looked at his glove and
withdrew the offer.

“
Quite right…
I wouldn’t shake it either.” There was no offence in his voice.
“Anyway, I would say death was caused by the blow to the
head…”

“
Let’s leave
that decision to the Pathologist shall we.” As much as Bridger
respected the job that Simon did, he was still upset at the
disruption of his plans for the evening, and he needed to take it
out on someone.

Simons face fell. “I was
just saying… never mind…” He turned back towards the body and
Bridger almost felt ashamed at his treatment of him. Simon was a
simple man with simple needs, give him a gruesome death scene too
deal with and he was in his element. He would also work all the
hours needed and would not complain, unlike some of Bridger’s other
colleagues who had not answered their phones tonight. That problem
had left him standing here in the cold alleyway between the body
and the now unhappy snowman. Bridger relented a little.

“
Sorry Simon,
I do value your opinion… What have you found so far?”

Simons face lit up and
the excited little boy returned to his voice. “If you would care to
step this way…” He indicated towards the corpse, pale under the
cold glow of the lights. It was in a half sitting position with its
back against the bricks. What was left of the face was staring out
from within a crushed mask of red. The expression cemented on the
ruined face for eternity was one of fear and shock.

Simon crouched down next
to the body. “I had a quick look and can’t find any identification
on the body…, so that’s no real help… I have collected a few
cigarette butts from the immediate area, I cannot say at this stage
how long they have been there though.” Simon showed them a small
evidence bag before he turned his attention back to the body. “As
you can see, the victim was assaulted with what looks too be a
blunt instrument around the head and face. There was a fair amount
of force put into the attack, resulting in what looks too be
multiple fractures of the face and scull…” Simon looked up from his
lecture and smiled, before turning to one side and lifting
something off the ground next to him with his gloved hand. “I would
say that this is the weapon used in the attack…”

Bridger looked at the
innocuous piece of timber in Simon’s hand. It was a rough sawn
piece of four by two, around half a metre long and covered in
blood, matted with patches of dark hair, which had stuck in the
bloodied splinters on the end. Simon was looking up at him,
obviously pleased with his find, like a puppy looking for
praise.

Bridger took a breath
“Well done Simon, I would say that you are probably right…” He was
trying his best to sound neutral about hearing something as obvious
as Simon’s conclusion. Looking around for anything else that was
obvious he noticed a pile of similar pieces of timber off to the
right of them, obscured slightly in the dark. “It looks like our
assailant found this piece of wood here though, so it was more
likely a weapon of opportunity, rather than
premeditated.”

“
So we might
be looking at someone trying to protect themselves and then getting
a little carried away in the process… a lovers tiff maybe.” Grant
said, standing behind them and sounding like he had no issues with
obvious conclusions.

Bridger looked at Grant
and wondered if he was serious, it was unlikely a female had the
strength to subdue and beat to death the male before them, which
gave him pause as to the probable sex of the offender. A strong
female maybe…, but most likely it would be a male. “Maybe Grant,
but we won’t know until we find the offender, and to do that we
need to know who this gentleman is, lying here, very dead, and
dressed in his finest clothes.”

Bridger looked at his
watch; it would be another eight hours before the rest of the team
started in the morning. Thursday night in Dunedin, no one was going
to be sober, the pubs would be full of people, hundreds of
potential witnesses, but nowhere to start. He saw an opportunity to
sneak back to his own evening and salvage what was left of her good
will. Motioning to a uniformed officer that was hovering in the
background looking nervous and slightly sickly, he quickly
formulated a plan in his head.

“
Lock down
the scene, let Simon and his crew finish up and then get
photography too record it all. Keep a scene guard on this until
morning. That body does not move until we can get a better look
when its light.” That ought to do it; he felt his night coming back
to him with his quick thinking. His mood lifted
slightly.

The uniform nodded
gravely with the importance of it all. “No problems Sergeant…”
Looking like he wanted to say something else, Bridger gestured with
his hands for him too spit it out.

“
Gill Holler
and Steve Kirkland made an enquiry earlier tonight, at the Circus
over on the Oval. There was an accident and the trapeze girl fell
from her swing. She was not seriously hurt, luckily…”

Bridger wondered where
all this was going, nodding along as the uniform spoke, but half
thinking about whether she would still be awake. The uniform
continued.

“
They said
there were a couple of men from the Circus who were arguing about
whether the girl fell by accident or by design. Steve said they
were the owners, but he thought they were dressed a bit like the
Village People… this guy might be from there…” he could see the
uniforms cheeks reddening in the darkness as he indicated the
clothing worn by the corpse.

Damn it to hell, why did
every Constable want to be a Detective these days. He could not
ignore this though, keeping his voice even, so as not to give away
his frustration, he replied. “I wasn’t aware there was a Circus in
town…, that was a good call Constable, and it’s worth looking
into.” Bridger just saw his plans evaporating before his eyes as he
looked at the grateful smile on the uniforms lips, but they were
not the lips he wanted to be seeing right now though.

He glanced back at Grant,
who by the look on his face had also worked out he would not be
going home just yet either. “Fancy a trip to the
Circus…?”

Chapter Four

Struggling with the mind
crash that she always experienced after a heavy night, Maria was
finding it hard to walk in a straight line. Stumbling and nearly
falling she had to stop on a number of occasions to regain her
balance. It was not the drink, nor the drugs; she just did not
react well to either, especially when they mixed. Last night she
had to mix, she wanted to forget, and that was the only way she
knew how. The heavy cast on her wrist was a sharp reminder though.
She desperately needed the toilet, and some food, but did not know
which order would be best. Hearing birdsong in the trees as she
walked told her that it must be early morning; she had not eaten
since yesterday afternoon, just before her performance. The trees
that were lining up along the road which she had been using for
balance were sprouting green foliage which obscured the last
efforts of the streetlights, giving a slightly dimmer path too her
intended destination. However, there was a small glow glinting
through the leaves, from the emerging sun. It was rising slowly,
over by the raised railway tracks. They were visible on the other
side of the motorway at the rear of the Oval. She knew them well,
the noise of the passing trains kept her awake every time they set
up in Dunedin. The sun was trying its best to dissipate the
darkness around her, but it had not built up enough power yet and
the cold air was getting colder with the dawn. As a result, her
breath was causing a little condensation in the slight
chill.

As she got nearer to the
southern end of the Oval, she could see the top of the main tent
through the trees. A horrid yellow, it had always made her slightly
ill too look at it. This morning her churning stomach made it even
worse. Looking at her wrist, trussed up in its protective cast, she
knew she remembered that happening, but realised little else of
last night was clear in her mind. It had been dark in the room she
had woken in; she had sensed a presence lying next to her, male or
female? She could not tell. The fragrance suggested female but she
knew that was a stereotype these days with what some of the men she
knew wore on their wrists. Not one for the morning after niceties,
she had quietly climbed out of the bed and gathered her skirt off
the floor. She had still been dressed from the waist up.

It must have been a male;
the rye thought crossed her mind. Very romantic… but needs
must.

It had taken her a couple
of hours to find her way back here, she had no money on her for a
taxi and she hadn’t been able to find any back in that house before
she left. Feeling cold and tired, she just wanted her bed.
Something caught her eye near the road… As she got closer, she saw
there was a number of darkened police cars parked against the
curb.

Shit, the Clowns must
have been fighting again.

She thought about turning
around and finding a place that was open, maybe get a coffee, the
last thing she wanted to do was speak to the police, but the draw
of her bed was overpowering and she found herself walking into the
surrounds of her makeshift temporary home anyway. She was only a
few yards from her caravan. The police were probably just here to
deal with the silent animal rights protesters that followed them
around wherever they went. She could not see any of the usual lot,
standing silently, hiding behind there animal masks. Maybe the
police chased them off…

“
Maria…,
Maria it’s awful… He’s dead Maria” The short fat woman that did
most of the cooking had stepped into her view. She was looking at
her and crying. Maria could not remember her name but knew she
always had the smell of boiled cabbage about her. She did not keep
track of the help normally, only her rivals.

“
Who? Who’s
dead?”

“
Irish Mick….
Michael, he’s been murdered.” The woman sank further into her tears
and tried to give her a hug. Maria brushed her off in
shock.

“
Micks dead?
How?”

“
He got
bashed in the head last night in some alleyway, left for dead…
well, left dead anyway…He was on his way to the hospital too see
you… did you not see him?”

A cold chill ran down her
spine, Mick had come for her; maybe she was wrong about him. An
image of a cold dark alleyway fought its way into her mind, there
was something familiar about the picture but she could not place
it. She could remember nothing after stepping into the colder air
outside the hospital last night. That was the pill, one of the
downsides. She knew what she was doing when she was flying but she
did not always remember it in the morning. She realised that the
fat woman was staring at her in a funny way, staring at her
costume. Looking down at her midriff, she saw spots of red blood
scattered around in random places on the white spandex.

Shit, where in the hell
did that come from? Her mind drew a blank, anything could have
happened to explain the blood, but the pill always hid the truth
from her. Maria’s first reaction was denial, a sort of
self-preservation. It was something she had learned at a very young
age. Attack the suspicion that she could see in the fat woman’s
eyes.

“
Its blood
from my nose, you nosey slag, from when I fell last night. I
haven’t been able to clean myself up yet…” She turned and walked
away before the fat woman could say anything in reply, but she
could feel her eyes on her back as she closed the door on her small
metal quarters. The space was small and comfortable, but it did not
block a lot of noise from outside. She could hear the sound of
sobbing, angry voices, disbelief… and a clown’s laugh.

“
What the
hell have I done?” Maria screamed at the wall, her fingers running
down the front of her bloodied top.

Mick is dead. The
realisation hit her and she sank down on her small bed and fought
back the tears. Had he actually come for her last night? Did he
really care that much…? She did not think so. All he was interested
in was the bottom line. He was always playing everyone off against
the other, who made more money for the show, who did not. Comparing
the Clowns with the artists like her and Ant…, Jesus, even a
bearded lady would be funnier than those dreary mime artists. No
one found Clowns funny anymore. It was danger and excitement they
craved, and that was what she and Ant provided.