by Conrad Jones
‘No. She wasn’t drunk for god’s sake.’ Tiff shook her head. Wayne nudged her with his elbow. ‘What’s your problem?’
‘Calm down, Tiff,’ he said. ‘She’s trying to help.’
‘Okay. I’m sorry,’ Tiff said. ‘She might have had a few but she wasn’t drunk. Do not write on your form that she was drunk.’
‘Do you think she might have felt unwell and gone home without telling you?’ Greta asked in a slightly patronising manner. ‘Maybe she had her period or something?’
‘Oh my god,’ Tiff said. ‘She’s twenty-one, not twelve.’
‘Exactly my point,’ Greta said, smiling. ‘She’s an adult and she may have decided to go home and forgot her bag and phone in the toilet. It happens every day here. These lockers are full of people’s belongings. They leave them and go home. People celebrate too much and feel unwell after the rides.’
‘Without her handbag, her purse and her phone, not to mention me,’ Tiff said, irritated. ‘Not a chance. She would not leave her bag and phone in the toilet. Something must have happened to her.’
‘We can put calls out for her and tell her to come to meet you. That’s all we can do I’m afraid.’
‘You can call the police.’
‘And tell them what?’ Greta said, shrugging. ‘They don’t like us calling them and wasting their time.’ She shrugged. ‘I would have to tell them we found a handbag and phone in the toilet block, which belongs to a twenty-one-year-old woman who has been drinking all day?’
‘That sounds a bit shit when you put it like that, to be honest,’ Tiff sighed. ‘I know what you’re thinking but she wasn’t drunk and I’m worried about her.’
‘We’ll make a few more announcements for you to make sure she has the chance to hear them but it’s not our responsibility to report missing adults to the police, especially if they’ve been drinking.’ Greta moved away to greet another customer, who had actually lost her children. ‘Feel free to wait here. I shouldn’t really do this but if you show me some ID to prove you’re her sister you can take her belongings with you.’ Tiff showed her driving licence and Greta gave her the bag and phone. ‘Excuse me but I’ll have to deal with another customer. I suggest you call home to see if she’s there. You never know, she might be there sleeping it off.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ Tiff said, begrudgingly. She typed the password into Chelle’s phone and scrolled through her activity. ‘She hasn’t had any calls or texts since earlier. Where is she?’
‘Give your mum a call,’ Wayne said. ‘The woman is right. She might have gone home.’
‘Without her stuff and her little sister?’ Tiff said. ‘You know her as well as I do. Never in a million years.’
‘You were in a right state. You didn’t know what day it was,’ Wayne said. ‘What if someone dropped something in her drink too?’
‘Don’t say that,’ Tiff said. She stifled a tear. ‘I didn’t think of that.’
‘Did you see her drink anything?’
‘Yes. She downed her gin and tonic before she left,’ Tiff said, remembering through the fog. ‘She did it one.’ The implications struck home. ‘What if there was something in her gin?’
‘Let’s not think negatively. What time did you say she went for food?’
‘Half past four.’
‘That’s at least two and half hours before I found you in the beer tent,’ Wayne said. ‘The lady said her handbag was handed in about five o’clock. She’s been parted from her stuff for over two hours. That’s a long time.’
‘Oh shit,’ Tiff said. She took out her phone and scrolled to her home number. ‘What if she’s not there?’ Tiff waited to press send. ‘Mum will have a heart attack if I tell her she’s missing and her bag and phone have been handed in. You know what mum is like. She thinks everyone with a cock is a serial killer. I don’t want to panic her.’ She had an idea. ‘You call my house and ask mum if Chelle is in.’
‘Your mum doesn’t like me,’ Wayne said.
‘That’s because you shagged Hayley Barnes behind Chelle’s back,’ Tiff said. Wayne shook his head and blushed. ‘Sorry. Now isn’t the time. Just say you’re calling to ask her if she wants to go out to the circus.’
‘Okay,’ Wayne said. He scrolled through his contacts. Chelle home. The number rang and Frances Branning answered. Wayne asked if Chelle was home and Frances told him she had gone to the fair on the Newry with Tiff and she wasn’t expecting them home until after the pubs were closed. He hung up and shook his head. ‘She’s not gone home,’ Wayne said.
‘Something bad has happened,’ Tiff said. ‘I can feel it in my bones.’
Chapter 12
Lottie finished putting on her makeup. Her hair was down, ringmaster outfit on. Top hat brushed and ready. Just her boots to put on, which could be a mission. They zipped up to above the knee and needed a decent range of flexibility to fasten. Taking charge of the show took practice. Timing was everything. Each illusion paved the way for the next. One mistake and it could all turn to dust. The ringmaster was essential but merely the host. Her communication with the crowd was the key to getting them involved and their involvement was essential to building the atmosphere. Getting into the role was second nature to her. She had been part of the circus since she was a child. It was all she had known. Her father, Ben and mother, Juliet had run it before her, and her grandfather and grandmother before them. It ran in her blood. Travelling was all she knew. It was a challenging life but rewarding too. There had been good times, shit times and terrible times and times when she wished she had gone to a proper school and had a career, partner and children, although they were rare. Lottie was a free spirit. Life on the road kept her young at heart. She had a thirst to explore and experience the world.
It was Lottie who plotted the change of course for the business years before. She saw the writing on the wall a long time before her parents did. If it had been left to them, the circus would have folded. Leaving the traditional show behind and moving into the digital world was her idea and without it, the circus would have remained in the mundane. If you’ve seen one circus, you’ve seen them all, she used to say. The circuses of old were designed to shock and stun audiences with the bizarre. Bearded ladies, two-headed animals, strong men who could bend metal with their bare hands, exotic animals and deformities were new to the majority of people in those days. Curiosity drew the crowds and Lottie knew they had to break the mould. She sought out the best tricks, mind-blowing illusions and shock-horror scenes and they mastered them. The Circus of Nightmares became a sensation with millions of views on social media and sell out shows across Europe. She was contacted daily by performers wanting to be a part of the show. Being able to select only the best acts was a great position to be in. The money was ridiculously good and because it was an international act, taxes avoidable. Lottie was a rich woman and she paid her employees what they were worth. Her troop had been hired from all over the world.
Her grandfather, Sidney had won the circus from his employer during a game of cards. It was shortly after World War II and Sidney was just one of millions of servicemen who returned from Europe to a broken society, poverty and rationing. Sidney had no trade and no work and unless you had a skill, it was impossible to get work. Even manual work was hard to find. Sidney had the skills he had learned in the army. His skills were with blades and a rifle. Following a conversation in a pub with a travelling magician, Sidney saw an opportunity. He joined a circus to earn a crust and developed an act, shooting apples from his wife’s head and throwing knifes dangerously close to her. Miriam soon became skilled at feigning fear, pretending Sidney was pushing his luck, landing the knives too close to her. The crowds loved the danger aspect. It made the blood pump faster. What started as an experiment fast became the highlight of the show. Lion tamers were old hat. People wanted danger and Sidney could give that to them in bucket loads.
Three years flew by as society rebuilt. Sidney became friendly with the owner, Billy and the men often s
tayed up at night drinking and playing cards. The card games could be brutal. Grown men would go back to their caravans broke, a wage packet lost on the turn of a card. Travelling men’s card games were organised by a strict code of conduct. You could only lose what you owned; there was absolutely no borrowing allowed. If you won, you won no matter what the bet, likewise, if you lost, you lost, no matter what the bet. One night, Billy was holding an ace flush but he’d run out of money. Sidney had a good hand and refused to fold. It was up to Billy to call his bet. He gambled the papers for the big top and the wagon which carried it, which was essentially all the circus consisted of. It was the performers that gravitated to it which made it a success or failure. Sidney accepted the bet and laid down a straight flush, ten to ace. Lottie had heard the story a million times. Billy lost everything he owned in one night of madness and despite their friendship, her grandfather showed no mercy. He took the big top and the truck and control of the circus.
Billy and his wife had no performance skills and were surplus to requirements. Sidney took everything and sent Billy, his wife and three children packing. Edwards’ Circus was born. Rumour had it, Billy followed the circus for a while, demanding the chance to pay his debt another way but Sidney refused to budge and he took the show on the road, paying top wages for top performers. He even bought an elephant. One day, Billy Hart was found with his throat cut. His wife and children were taken in by elderly relatives down south and never heard of again.
Grandfather Sidney made a huge success of the circus, in demand all over the country, all year around. The Edwards family became travellers and entertainers from that point onwards. Lottie didn’t embellish the past with sentimental nonsense about her ancestry. Sidney was a tyrant, a misogynist bully, liar, thief and murderer. They were his best qualities. Her memories of him were crystal clear. She was frightened of him. Her father hated him with a vengeance and there was a toxic history between them, yet the circus kept them together and passed from generation to generation. When Lottie began managing things from behind the scenes, her father was reluctant to embrace the change but while most circuses were folding and going out of business, the Circus of Nightmares was growing beyond all expectations. Their online presence and venture into the darker side of magic and illusion had made it a million pound a year business. Lottie was the driving force behind it and it was her life. She was the gel which held everything together. Getting ready for the next performance was as exciting now as it had always been. A knock on her trailer door disturbed her thoughts.
‘Lottie. Are you in there?’ It was Liz. Liz was the administrator and right-hand woman. She dealt with payroll, licences, MOT’s, insurances and all the other crappy necessaries that Lottie hated. Lottie wouldn’t be able to run the circus without her. Not legally. Even a circus had to play by the rules sometimes. ‘Lottie. Are you there?’
‘Of course, I am, Liz,’ Lottie said. Then to herself. ‘Where else would I be?’
‘There are some police officers here,’ Liz said, lowering her voice.
‘Are they there with you?’ Lottie called, teasing.
‘Pardon?’
‘Are the police there with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why are you talking really quietly?’ Lottie laughed. ‘I’m sure they can hear you.’
‘They can. Bugger off, Lottie,’ Liz said. ‘They want to talk to you.’
‘Oh god,’ Lottie said. It was a familiar scene played out at almost every venue. Park up, set up, make a cup of tea and wait for the police to arrive. ‘The police want to talk to you, Lottie,’ she mouthed to the mirror. She checked her appearance again. ‘Here we go again.’
She applied her lip gloss and opened the door. Liz was standing next to two police sergeants. One male, one female. Despite the hour, it was dark now and the fairground was illuminated. It was beautiful.
‘Thanks Liz,’ Lottie said. ‘Have you eaten yet?’
‘Not yet. I’ve been busy,’ Liz said.
‘Get something to eat before you fall over with exhaustion,’ Lottie said, grinning. She turned to the officers. ‘Good afternoon, officers,’ she said, beaming. Her smile disarmed most people. It had broken hearts too. ‘How can I help you?’
‘We’re investigating a serious assault, which took place around lunchtime,’ Bob said. ‘Would you mind answering a few questions for us please?’
‘Not at all. Come in,’ Lottie said. She stood back from the door. Bob and April climbed the four steps into her trailer. They were taken aback by the interior. One end of it was fitted out with digital screens, which showed the interior of the circus and fairground from multiple angles.
‘That’s an impressive set up,’ Bob said.
‘It streams onto the internet,’ Lottie said. ‘Every show is streamed live. This is the build-up. Thousands tune in to watch the crowds take their seats. It’s beyond me what the attraction is but they love it and we give them what they want.’
‘I love your trailer,’ April said. ‘It’s amazing what you can do.’
The furniture was leather and expensive and the floor was carpeted and covered in sheepskin rugs and goatskins. The fittings were high-gloss, glass and chrome, like a display from Ideal Homes. It was unlike any mobile home they had seen.
‘I’m forgetting my manners. I’m Lottie Edwards. I own the operation and this is where I live. Take a seat.’ She gestured to the living area.
‘We’ll stand, thank you,’ Bob said, taking out a tablet. ‘I’m sergeant Dewhurst and this is sergeant Byfelt.’ He showed Lottie a picture on his tablet. ‘This is Malcolm Orange. Do you recognise him?’
‘Yes. I met him this morning. Lovely chap. How is he?’ Lottie asked. The police officers looked surprised by the question. ‘He didn’t look very well when he left.’
‘What time did you see him?’ April asked.
‘Sometime before we opened,’ Lottie said. ‘Sorry. I can’t be more specific but I don’t wear a watch. We work to a tight schedule. I know what time it is by what I’m doing.’ She paused. The officers didn’t look satisfied by her answer. ‘It was before twelve, if that helps.’
‘Can you tell us what happened?’ Bob asked.
‘Yes. No problem.’ Lottie sat down on a tall stool next to a breakfast bar. She opened a bottle of water and took a sip. ‘I was walking to the big top when I noticed a stranger chatting to one of our trapeze artists. He’d called in at the big top this morning for a chat about the operating licence for this week. There was a miscommunication with the chairman of the planning committee and he was unaware we would be trading this week.’
‘A miscommunication?’ Bob said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Yes. I spoke to a lovely gentleman called Charles Milburn months ago about setting up here this week because we had a date in London cancelled. We try to minimise downtime. Our performers need to be paid regardless of how many shows we put on or how many people buy tickets. I don’t like blanks in the diary. We had a blank and Charles helped me to fill it.’
‘I can appreciate that. Charles Milburn died a while back,’ Bob said.
‘I was unaware of that. We made a verbal agreement that a percentage of the gate takings would be donated to St David’s hospice in return for five days trading. It’s a bribe in every sense of the word but Charles suggested it and I was happy to make a donation to a good cause in exchange for a permit. Money makes the world go around.’ Bob didn’t look convinced. Lottie held up her phone. ‘Do you want to take a look?’
‘No. It’s not important,’ Bob said. ‘Not in this instance.’
‘Really?’ Lottie frowned. ‘Malcolm thought it was important enough to come here and challenge us. I have all the calls to Charles on my phone and a couple of emails to back it up. Should we need them, which is unlikely. We sail for Ireland on Friday.’
‘I’m sure someone might want to see them but that’s not why we’re here,’ April said.
‘No. Of course, it isn’t.’ Lottie supped from her w
ater. ‘You mentioned an assault?’
‘Yes. A serious assault,’ Bob said.
‘Who was assaulted?’ Lottie asked. She looked genuinely concerned. ‘How terrible.’
‘Malcolm Orange was assaulted,’ Bob said, rolling his eyes.
‘Oh no. The poor man.’ Lottie bit her bottom lip. ‘When?’
‘When he was here,’ Bob said, shaking his head. ‘Malcolm Orange is in hospital. He has a bleed on the brain. He says he was punched in the back of his head by one of your employees.’
‘That’s terrible news but incorrect,’ Lottie said. ‘I hope he recovers but he’s clearly suffering from concussion. He didn’t look well when he left here. I asked some of the staff to escort him to the gate, which they did. They left him near the toilets at the bottom of Newry Street and gave him a cup of tea. He was out of breath but safe when they left him. And at no point was he punched.’
‘They left him with a cup of tea?’ Bob said, shaking his head.
‘Yes. From the tea wagon. It’s for employees only and is open most of the time. We start early and finish late.’ Lottie smiled. ‘We can always get a cup of tea.’ Bob flushed red, frustrated. ‘Would you like tea?’
‘No thank you. You said he was escorted from the site?’ April asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Escorted sounds like he was removed, forcibly?’
‘Does it?’ Lottie asked. ‘I suppose it does. I did ask him to leave as we were getting ready to open but he refused, so I asked some of my staff to escort him off the pitch. Then he started sweating and holding his chest. He should have stayed at home.’
‘Why was he asked to leave?’
‘It was for his own safety.’
‘Can you expand please?’
‘Yes. He called me a liar,’ Lottie said. She put her hands on her hips. ‘He called me a liar in front of my staff. Twice actually. A lot of my employees are incredibly grateful to work here and they’re fiercely loyal and Malcolm was quite rude. It was best for everyone that he left.’
