Circus of Nightmares: Death is the Ultimate Illusion (The Anglesey Mysteries Book 2)

by Conrad Jones

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They were found in the toilets by the cleaners?’

  ‘Yes. Something must have happened to her. There’s no way she would leave them,’ Tiff said. ‘She wasn’t drunk, honest she wasn’t.’

  ‘But you had been drinking?’

  ‘Yes. Chelle thought I had been spiked,’ Tiff said. ‘I was talking to three blokes in the pub and told them it was my birthday and they bought me shots.’ Tiff choked back a sob. ‘I was beyond drunk. There was something in those shots. I swear there was. Chelle said I’d been spiked so she went to get some coffee and food and never came back.’

  ‘Did you know the men who bought you shots?’

  ‘No but they were in a van with the circus on the side of it.’

  ‘Have you seen them since?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has anyone messaged her phone since she went missing?’ April asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I need you to check her Facebook page to make sure she hasn’t posted from a different device,’ April said.

  ‘Why would she do that?’ Tiff asked confused.

  ‘She may be with a friend and used their device,’ Tiff said. ‘We need to know if she’s been active on social media. Do that now, please.’

  ‘Okay,’ Tiff said, fumbling through the pages. ‘Oh fudge, my fingers aren’t working properly. Sorry.’

  ‘Take your time.’ April said. She was aware Wayne was nearby. ‘Can you talk to this guy,’ April asked Bob.

  ‘Who are you?’ Bob asked Wayne. He took him to one side.

  ‘Wayne,’ he answered. ‘I’m just a friend. I’ve been helping Tiff to look for Chelle.’

  ‘What’s your surname?’

  ‘Best.’

  ‘I’ll need a statement from you,’ Bob said. He guided him away from Tiff. A constable approached them and Bob asked him to interview Wayne. The first patrol car arrived with two officers in it. Another four arrived on foot from the station.

  ‘Gather around,’ Bob said. ‘We’re looking for a twenty-one-year-old. Michelle Branning. She’s been missing for about four hours. Her sister has scoured the fairground and she’s not here and she’s not at home. So, we need to begin the search beyond the perimeter of the fairground. If you can start a search down near the Boathouse at the bottom of Porth-y-felin and work around the marina towards McKenzie pier, please.’

  ‘Is it likely she’s in a pub in town, sarge?’

  ‘We’re not ruling anything out, yet,’ Bob said. ‘I’ll be sending a team through town next. I want the water’s edge checked first.’

  ‘What about the quarry park and the breakwater?’

  ‘I want to concentrate on the immediate area first,’ Bob said. ‘It’s dark and there’s no light down there. There’s too much ground to cover and not enough of us to venture down the quarry road.’

  ‘Okay Sarge.’

  ‘Let’s get to it. Too much time has gone by for my liking.’

  The officers trudged off the grassed areas towards the sea. The promenade was well lit and there were plenty of people about but it was darker near the shore. The tide was in and the stony beach was covered. The waves were lapping over the sea wall. Bob looked at the yachts anchored in the marina. The masts were still, which was a bonus. He walked back to where April was taking all the details from Tiffany. The misper report was four pages long but it covered most of the bases. Chelle had been missing too long. Most abductions go badly unless the victim is recovered in the first hour. The golden hour was long gone. They were against the clock and they knew it.

  **************************************************

  Anne Parry and Gill Robinson waited in Lottie’s trailer, out of the rain. Her admin, Liz had checked with Lottie between acts and explained detectives from Liverpool were here to talk to her. Lottie was understandably flustered but told her to let them into her trailer, make them a coffee and stay with them. She was both irritated and baffled by their arrival. Uniformed police officers didn’t call late in the evening unless there was something serious happening but these were detectives. Senior detectives. A superintendent and an inspector, no less. The detectives were given coffee and told that Lottie would be there as soon as she could be. They watched the show on the screens in Lottie’s trailer. Cameras covered different angles of the arena. It was being streamed by thousands. Neither of them had seen the Circus of Nightmares and they were fixed to it with increasing curiosity. There was no doubt, the performers and stage crew were expert at what they did. It was an impressive show but not for the fainthearted. Whether it was something they would pay to see again was debatable, neither were fans of horror and gore. They saw enough of that at work. Whatever their personal taste, it was undeniably professional. There was a pattern to each performance. A stunt or illusion was performed flawlessly but the big clown would appear and insist it be repeated with a few tweaks. Tweaks which led to accidents. The show was plagued by accidents, usually created by an interfering clown, who appeared to have the ability to be in two places at once. One second he was at one side of the arena, the next second he was across the opposite side causing havoc. Each time the big clown appeared, the crowd would shout, ‘Oh no, not Hugo!’

  The anticipation of something horrible happening combined with the audience participation created the exciting atmosphere. The accidents and unfortunate mishaps became more catastrophic as the show progressed. The effects were so convincing that the crowd questioned their reality each time. The expression of shock and horror was permanently fixed to some of the faces in the audience, unable to comprehend if what was happening was real or illusion. Several of the women in the audience were in tears. Some were clearly losing their grip on reality. When the finale began, clowns came on and began juggling chainsaws and power tools, tossing them high in the air. It was obvious the show was set to have a sticky ending. Arterial spray flowed like crimson aerosols, limbs were severed and the lovely Helen was put into a box and sawn in half with a chainsaw. Of course, the trick went horribly wrong and despite the best efforts of the clowns and several rolls of duct tape and some staples, they couldn’t put her back together. The skill involved was only rivalled by the reality of the magic and special effects. Anne and Gill had to turn away at least a dozen times during the final show. Most of the cast were dead. Death, the greatest illusion. The lights came on for the final time at ten o’clock, with the entire cast in good health and one piece. Lottie came back to her trailer at twenty past the hour. She looked hot and her skin was glowing with perspiration.

  ‘Good evening, detectives. I’m Lottie Edwards. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,’ Lottie said, sitting down to unzip her boots. She didn’t look to be in a hospitable frame of mind. There was an edge to her. ‘This is the second time I’ve had a visit from the law this evening. I’m very tired and my patience is running low. So, what do you want?’

  ‘I’m Detective Superintendent Anne Parry and this is Detective Inspector Gill Robinson,’ Anne said. ‘We’re from the Matrix unit at Liverpool.’

  ‘Liverpool?’ Lottie asked, surprised. She thought Liz had made a mistake. ‘You’re a long way from home. This must be something of the upmost importance for you to come this far so late in the day.’ Lottie took a packet of Golden Virginia and rolled a cigarette.

  ‘Yes, it’s urgent or we wouldn’t be bothering you,’ Anne said. ‘We want to talk to you about a visit your circus made to the Speke area of the city some years back.’

  ‘We haven’t been on Merseyside for many years,’ Lottie said. She lit her cigarette. ‘I’m sure you can remind me when it was?’

  ‘Five years ago,’ Anne said. Lottie looked blank. ‘I know it’s late and it’s a long time ago but you might be able to help us with a murder enquiry.’

  ‘A murder enquiry from five years ago. Is this a joke?’ Lottie asked, smiling. Her smile was infectious. ‘Are you pissed off because I sent your uniformed officers packing?’

  ‘What uniformed offi
cers?’

  ‘A couple of sergeants were here earlier,’ Lottie said, leaving the details to their imagination.

  ‘We haven’t sent any uniformed officers here,’ Anne said. ‘As I said, we’re from the Merseyside force.’ Lottie took off her boots and rubbed her feet. She remained silent and pulled on the cigarette, inhaling the soothing smoke deeply. ‘This afternoon we were called out to the discovery of two bodies. The bodies belong to a young couple who were last seen in the beer tent at your fair in Speke, five years ago.’

  ‘Okay. I’m sorry to hear two young people lost their lives,’ Lottie said. ‘You have my attention, although I’m totally baffled why you are here bothering me at this time of night. How on Earth do you think I can help you after all this time?’

  ‘We have a couple of questions, that’s all,’ Anne said.

  ‘Ask away please,’ Lottie said. ‘It’s getting late.’

  ‘The couple were recovered from a metal barrel. The type of barrel which would have contained axle grease,’ Anne said. She stood up and showed Lottie a picture of the product. Pamela Stone had identified it while they were driving to the island and sent her a link to the image. Anne leaned over and could smell Chanel Mademoiselle on her. ‘The drum is a fifty-five-gallon barrel of Super Red Grease made by Miles lubricants. This is what it would have looked like when it was new.’

  ‘So, the couple were killed and disposed of in that drum?’ Lottie remained blank. She sighed and puffed on her cigarette, shaking her head. ‘How awful. It must be dreadful for their parents knowing that is where their children ended up. How incredibly sad. I’m still not sure how I can help.’

  ‘Do you recognise the drum?’ Anne asked. ‘Would that be a product you use on your mechanical equipment?’

  ‘Ah, I see where you are coming from,’ Lottie said, nodding as the penny dropped. ‘You think the drum may have come from the fairground.’ Anne nodded. ‘Where was this drum recovered from?’

  ‘A pond was drained as part of a building project on the outskirts of the city,’ Anne said. ‘It’s not far from where you were camped. Do you use that product?’

  ‘I don’t recall that product or buying anything from Miles lubricants,’ Lottie said, shaking her head. She went to her computer and logged in. ‘Let me check. Miles lubricants,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Miles, Miles, Miles.’

  ‘Do you have a maintenance team we could ask?’ Gill asked. ‘Maybe they will know what they use.’

  ‘I know what they use. I do have a maintenance team but they just fix things. I don’t need them to run the business side of things, like ordering,’ Lottie said, without looking at Gill. Anne and Gill exchanged glances. Gill looked annoyed. Lottie caught her expression in the mirror. ‘Don’t be pissed off.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not being arsey with you but they don’t buy anything. All spending is centralised. It makes it so much easier than chasing invoices and receipts and it limits the opportunity for theft. We run a cashless operation. All tickets are purchased online or with a card. No cash transactions, means no cash goes missing.’ Lottie tapped on her keyboard. ‘All purchases for equipment and machinery, chemicals and sundries are bought through my admin. Liz orders everything we use, from right here on this computer.’ She scrolled through several spreadsheets and shook her head. ‘We have only used Timken grease products since the late nineties, which is when we centralised all our purchasing and began storing it on computer. We have never purchased a Miles product. Sorry, I can’t help with your barrel.’

  ‘That answers the question for us. Thank you for looking,’ Anne said, nodding her head. She couldn’t help but be disappointed. It was the only lead of any real value. ‘I know we’re asking a lot from you here but if you cast your mind back five years ago, can you think of any employees you may have had concerns about?’ Lottie moved away from the computer. She poured herself a glass of rioja and rolled another cigarette. She sat on the settee and lit it. ‘Does anyone stand out in your memory.’

  ‘Stand out how?’ Lottie asked. She sipped her wine and blew smoke rings. ‘I’m not sure what you’re looking for. I don’t recall anyone with a penchant for putting people in barrels. What exactly are you asking me?’

  ‘Someone who may have had convictions for violence or sexual assault?’

  ‘Wow,’ Lottie said, smiling. She nodded as if she had suddenly understood. ‘Do you think we would employ someone with a criminal record for either of those offences when we work directly with the public?’

  ‘I’m just asking the question,’ Anne said. ‘Not every employer checks every reference and people tell lies. Could anyone have slipped through the net?’

  ‘Most of our employees come into direct contact with children, adolescents and young mothers every time we open the gates,’ Lottie said, sipping her wine. ‘The days of fairground lads fuelled with testosterone trying to shag everything in a skirt are long gone. This is my business and my reputation is everything. The last thing I need is a paedo or a psycho sex offender working on the waltzers or the magic roundabout. We don’t hire criminals.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting you would willingly put people in danger,’ Anne said. ‘Predators are skilled at camouflaging themselves. They’re good at fitting in.’

  ‘This isn’t just a circus and fairground. It’s the way we live our lives,’ Lottie said. ‘We travel as a big family. This circus is our home and we travel as a community. There are close to two hundred people working with each other on a daily basis. Violent tendencies, aggressive personalities and sexual deviants are spotted quickly and dealt with accordingly. Sex offenders are no more welcome here in our community than they would be in yours.’ Lottie gestured to her wine. ‘Would you like a glass?’ she asked, holding up the bottle. ‘Faustino five. It’s amazing.’

  ‘No, thank you. We have to go back to Liverpool tonight. As much as I would love one,’ Anne said. She steepled her fingers and looked Lottie in the eye. ‘I haven’t come to make accusations or offend you. Yet, I feel like I have probably done both of those things.’ She ran her fingers through her hair, and sighed, deflated. ‘It was a long shot but we had to ask.’

  ‘I understand,’ Lottie said. ‘What you need to understand about the circus, is it’s the heart of this operation. It always has been. Everything else comes after the circus.’ Lottie finished her wine and refilled it. ‘Everything else is an addition to enhance people’s experience of coming to see the circus show. Not the other way around. I own the circus and most of the main attractions but there are dozens of satellites. There always are on any fairground. They feed off the circus and bigger rides.’

  ‘Sorry. I don’t understand,’ Anne said. ‘Satellites are what exactly?’

  ‘Self employed traders who we allow to tag along. Most of the smaller food vendors and smaller stalls are owned by other families. Hook a duck, hoopla, darts, airguns, skittles, cans, basketball hoops and those type of attractions. They come and go as the business requires and they bring their own employees. Sometimes, they get a better offer at a Sunday market or a music festival or another travelling outfit may need some satellites to make their fairground look more attractive and we may part company with those families for a while, especially when we tour abroad. Not everyone can commit to a year away. Longer sometimes,’ Lottie added. ‘I try to only use satellites I know and trust but every now and again, bad eggs turn up.’

  ‘I see,’ Anne said. ‘And when you came to Speke, did you know all the satellites that were with you?’

  ‘I would need to think about that and go through my records,’ Lottie said. ‘I remember that was about the time there was a difference of opinion and we parted company with a large part of the operation. The community was split up. Some went to Ireland. Some went to Scotland and we went to France and Belgium. I would have to check who went where. That might take a few hours.’

  ‘What was the difference of opinion?’ Anne asked, curious as to why it had been mentioned. She could tell Lottie was holding back. ‘If you
can remember that far back.’

  ‘I remember it.’ Lottie stubbed out her cigarette and rolled another. ‘Excuse me but I like to smoke when I finish for the day.’ She lit it, inhaled and blew out the smoke. Blue strands made patterns in the air. ‘The ghost train owner had tagged along with our operation for over a year. We had our own train but our machine had terminal mechanical issues and was very dated. It was a health and safety nightmare, so we scrapped ours and contracted the satellite to plug the gap for a while. Financially, it was a sound decision at the time.’ Lottie paused to think. ‘We became concerned the owner was mimicking the circus act and the illusions we performed. He was copying them inside the ghost train and he began streaming them online.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Anne asked, confused. She wanted to keep Lottie talking.

  ‘Money, of course,’ Lottie said. ‘People love to watch other people being frightened. It’s hilarious. Filming people inside a ghost train is a licence to print money on Youtube but he was copying our acts. We couldn’t allow that. We wanted the ghost train to compliment the circus, not become a smaller version of it. There was talk of copyright infringement and they parted company with us and took half a dozen or so family-owned attractions with them. It was a tough time for my father especially. He’d known the owner all his life.’

  ‘I see,’ Anne said. ‘Why do you mention this specifically?’

  ‘Because the breakup sticks in my mind. It reminded me of what was going on back then. You asked me about people I had concerns with,’ Lottie said, thinking. ‘There were issues with some of the younger members of that family.’

  ‘The family who owned the ghost train?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What type of issues?’

  ‘Issues with young women.’

  ‘Issues like what?’ Anne asked. She felt encouraged. ‘Can you be specific?’

  ‘The eldest son couldn’t keep his dick in his pants,’ Lottie said. ‘He seemed to impregnate a girl in every town we visited. God only knows how many children he sired. There were always angry parents turning up looking for him with a baby in a pram. It was a weekly event. He spent more time hiding inside the ghost train than he did working outside of it. His younger sister was pregnant at twelve and there were rumours he was the father. He denied it and said his father was responsible, which really put the cat amongst the pigeons. His wife left and took the daughter with her.’ Lottie shook her head at the memories. ‘I’m being a gossip and I choose not to be a gossip. I remember nasty rumours about that family at the time and it’s not my place to repeat it. The men in that family made me feel uncomfortable when they were around. I can tell you I was glad to see the back of them. We purchased our own ghost train and never looked back.’