by Alex P. Berg
I lifted an eyebrow. “You want me to fetch you coffee?”
The smile Moss responded with was more playful than malicious. “Dean might’ve brought you on to help with investigations, but you’re still a rookie. We can’t let you get too comfortable.”
“Don’t listen to her,” said Dean as his phone rang. “You report to me, not to Detective Moss. You don’t have to fetch her anything. Me, on the other hand…” He smiled as he pulled the receiver to his ear. “Dean speaking.”
I lowered my voice as I turned to Moss. “Did he just crack a joke?”
“He breaks them out when you least expect them,” said Moss. “Though to be fair, I think that one puts him over his monthly quota. I’ll have to check my ledger.”
I shook my head as I sat back down. Switching from a toxic work environment to one full of good-natured ribbing was a positive change but one I’d still have to get used to. “Just go easy on me. Might take me a while before I’m fully adapted to your comic stylings.”
“I’ll say,” said Moss. “You still haven’t fetched Dean his coffee.”
I glanced at the dapper dark elf. “You said he was joking.”
Once again Moss’s eyes twinkled. “Well, it’s so hard to know, isn’t it? He’s so deadpan on his delivery. Better safe than sorry, I always say.”
“Oh, for crying out loud…”
I got out of my chair as Dean set the receiver back on its base with a clack. “No time for that. That was Captain Ellison. Seems like there may have been a murder at the Vernon and Daly Circus. We’ve been assigned the case.”
Moss stood and grabbed her jacket. “May have been? Did someone find a body or not?”
Dean stood, too. “From what I heard, a bystander found something, but to call it a body might be a stretch. Guess we’ll find out when we get there.” Dean nodded at me as he slipped back into his coat. “Ready for your first assignment, Phair?”
Nervous excitement tingled in my fingertips. “You bet I am. But to be clear… were you angling for a coffee or weren’t you?”
Dean laughed and nodded toward the stairs. “Come on. I’ll drive.”
Chapter Two
The last time I’d visited the circus, I’d been nine. That was before my parents divorced but not before their feelings of resentment, bitterness, and spite drove a stake between them. My dad had taken me, probably as much to get away from my mother as a bonding opportunity for the two of us. I vaguely remembered snacking on cotton candy and peanuts as I watched the floor show: the jumping acrobats in their multi-colored jumpsuits, the brave trapeze artists spinning from their suspended bars, and of course, I remembered the lion tamer, hopping from platform to platform in his silver and red leotard, cracking his whip and goading his enormous cats into following him. More than anything, I remembered the glamor and spectacle of it all: fire breathers and jugglers at every crook and corner, the tall tents and dense crowds, and the brightly painted sign at the entrance, proudly proclaiming the Vernon and Daly Circus as the “World’s Greatest Spectacle!”
As Dean pulled his emerald green Howardson Viper into the Vernon and Daly lot, a few things struck me. For one, the circus didn’t seem as gigantic as I remembered it. With the lot included, the grounds stretched a full city block, but the whitewashed fence that surrounded it was six feet high at most. Even the billowing triangular flags atop the main tent couldn’t have reached more than five stories in the air. None of that surprised me—vistas observed as a child always seem smaller when viewed from an adult vantage—but the state of the circus did. The aforementioned fencing had worn over time, resulting in as much wood showing as whitewash, and the “World’s Greatest Spectacle!” sign that hung over the entrance had faded, so much so that the colors barely popped against the sky’s clouded backdrop.
Dean parked his Viper next to a trio of police cruisers by the entrance, and we all hopped out. The gates to the grounds were open, and though not a carnie was in sight, a lone cop stood at their side, smoking a cigarette. Other than swilling coffee, smoking seemed to be tied with drinking for the most common addiction of choice among officers and was, as far as I could tell, Detective Dean’s only real vice. Then again, if I had as much weight of responsibility on my shoulders as he did, I too might need the occasional chemical pick-me-up to take the edge off.
The officer at the gate tossed his butt to the dirt and ground it out under his shoe as we approached, the smell of the smoke still hanging around him. “Morning, Detectives. You’re going to want to head left. Take a right at the covered wagon and follow the trailers that are painted green. You’ll find the bird enclosure past the big cat pens.”
The officer didn’t specify what we’d find there, just as Dean hadn’t. Moss asked him on the ride over, but all he’d said was that some remains had been found and it would be up to us to determine whether a crime had been committed. The mention of remains had brought to mind grisly images of bodies torn limb from limb, but neither Dean nor Moss seemed concerned by it, so I figured I should do my best to follow their lead. After all, if I was going to be working homicide cases from now on, it would only be a matter of time until we chanced across something so vile and disgusting that it made me deposit my breakfast across the floor. If fate determined today was that day, at least I’d be vomiting outdoors.
As we passed through the entrance and hooked a left, I found the circus wasn’t as deserted as it appeared. To the right of the main tent, laborers stacked poles and coiled guy-wire. On a platform before canvas print advertising the circus’s side shows, a shirtless, well-muscled man with a bushy beard practiced lifting an oversized dumbbell over his head in one smooth motion, and not far from him, a pair of dwarves—the tiny human kind, not the race of bearded mountain dwellers—spoke to one of the police officers on the scene. The workers’ presence didn’t do anything to brighten the circus’s appearance, however. If anything, the side show banners were even more faded than the sign over the entrance, the candy apple reds and forest greens long since turned to pink and sea foam. A thin layer of rust coated the chain links of an empty animal enclosure, and weeds grew to knee height to the side of every beaten path.
Not everything visible to the eye had been tarnished by age, though. Posters with ink still glossy from the printer hung between every third set of fence posts, each of them showing the same image of a middle-aged man with a waxed mustache, thick eyebrows, and a bulbous nose. A broad smile graced his lips, and the words “Vote Prosperity, Vote Vernon!” jumped from the bottom of each poster in a bold font.
I pointed to one of them as we reached the covered wagon mentioned by the officer at the entrance. “Is that the same Vernon who owns the circus?”
Dean glanced at me over his shoulder. “The one and only. You didn’t know he was running for office?”
“To be honest, I don’t pay much attention to politics.”
Dean shrugged. “That’s for the best, if you can avoid it. I wouldn’t either if my position didn’t call for me to do the occasional round of glad-handing. But yes, the greatest showman himself is taking on the fourth district’s old incumbent, Maximillian Bumblefoot. I haven’t seen any polling, but I’d have to assume Vernon has a shot. He’s got name recognition, if nothing else, and he can lay claim to having built a booming entertainment empire from scratch. The rags to riches story always plays well with low-information voters.”
“Booming empire?” I stared at the peeling paint on the trailers at our side. “Are we looking at the same circus?”
“He owns more than one,” said Moss. “As far as I know, there are Vernon and Daly circuses in Eastport, Ravensworth, Port Norell, and Buckhaven, not to mention one that travels internationally. This place might not look like much, but it draws big crowds. I’ve heard Vernon is a shrewd businessman.”
“I think ruthless might be a better word than shrewd,” said Dean. “Have you heard the story about how he bought out his former partner Daly? According to Daly, Vernon hired a seductress to bre
ak up his marriage, then the home-wrecker in question convinced Daly to sell his half of the company to pay for his divorce and subsequent lavish elopement—after which the mistress immediately ditched him. Of course, it’s possible he just got conned by a beautiful young woman and thought his story would play better if he blamed Vernon, but given Vernon’s other business ventures, it’s plausible.”
A pen forged of thick iron bars rose up beyond the trailers to our right. Inside them, behind a large rock and some foliage, I caught a hint of movement. Something orange and striped. “You sure know a lot about this Vernon. Have you crossed paths before?”
Dean shook his head. “Nothing like that. I read in my free time, same as everyone else. History and biographies, more often than not, but I enjoy science and engineering as well. Why? Are you more into fiction?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him most of my free time was wasted nurturing relationships that fizzled out after a few months, at least those that didn’t end in spectacular explosions like when I beat up my ex-boyfriend Mick after finding a mostly nude gnome in our closet. I just nodded instead. “Uh… yeah. Mostly fiction.”
I saw another flash of orange and black out of the corner of my eyes, so I wasn’t completely caught off guard when the beast growled. I may not have jumped, but I nonetheless spun, quickly enough to catch the tiger pawing around the edge of its cage toward us. The animal was huge, with powerful muscles that rippled under its fur. Its teeth flashed in the morning sun as it fought off a debilitating yawn.
Moss shook her head. “Poor thing. I hate seeing animals locked up.”
The beast stared at me the same way I might eye a juicy tenderloin filet. “You’d rather that thing be running loose?”
“Not in the city, smarty-pants,” said Moss. “But in its natural habitat, sure. Makes me sad to see such a majestic creature locked in a box.”
A voice called out from further ahead. “You’ll be happy to hear what happened here, then.”
Past the edge of the tiger pen, another uniformed officer stood outside a cylindrical cage. This one was fabricated of simple chain links, and instead of a roof, a woven net hung over it from a high pole in the center. In addition, whereas the tiger pen contained a few large rocks, a wooden shack, and had straw strewn across the dirt, this pen was full of foliage. Trees thick with dark green leaves stretched as high as they could underneath the netting. Vines wrapped around the chain links and support beams while bushes pushed past them, their thin branches stretching into the free space beyond in search of sun. Something inside called out with a trill, an undulating avian warble that I couldn’t recall ever hearing before. Then again, I’d only ever left New Welwic on day trips. My extent of birdsong knowledge was being able to identify a pigeon's coo.
Dean nodded to the officer standing at the edge of the fencing, a pudgy guy with a weatherbeaten face whose name tag read Wormwood. “Morning, Officer. The remains are inside?”
Wormwood tilted his head toward the entrance, a two-stage thing with a fenced door on the outside and a heavy drape on the innermost gap to keep the birds from flying into the intervening space. “That’s right, Detective. My partner, Coldwell, is inside. He can show you where they are if you have any issues finding them.”
“What do we know so far?” asked Dean.
Wormwood shrugged. “Not much. Supposedly, the carnies woke this morning to find the outer gate to the enclosure left open. Not sure if it was broken into or what. Either way, some of the animals inside got loose. Nothing dangerous. As I understand it, the only things that live in there are monkeys, birds, and some rodents. The carnies are trying to wrangle up the monkeys, but I guess the birds that got out are gone for good. Anyway, as one of the crew was returning escaped monkeys to the enclosure, he found the remains and called it in.”
I felt that queasy sensation in my stomach again. I glanced into the thick foliage, imagining what lay beyond. “And when you say remains…?”
Wormwood shook his head. “It’s the damnedest thing. I can’t make sense of it, to be honest. You’ll have to see for yourself.”
That didn’t assuage my fears, but if Dean noticed my trepidation, he didn’t show it. He nodded toward the entrance. “Time for us to see what we’re up against. After you.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat and opened the outer gate.
Chapter Three
Another bird trilled as I pushed past the heavy drape into the dark embrace of the enclosure. The air cooled by several degrees as I passed into the shadow of the trees, but beyond that it smelled cleaner, as if the trees at the perimeter had formed a barrier against the city’s soot and fumes. An earthy aroma hung in my nostrils, thankfully free of the distinctive funk of large animal droppings, and I heard the burble of running water, though it must’ve been from a fountain rather than a stream.
Dean and Moss followed me inside. As they let the drape fall behind them, a small bird with brilliant blue plumage flitted from the low-hanging boughs of a tree in front of us into thicker foliage.
I grunted. “So maybe not all the parts of this circus are as run down as they first appear.”
“I guess one of the benefits of not having a traveling attraction is that you can put together permanent exhibits.” Moss peered into the vaguely tropical environs around us. “Though I still think the animals would be better off elsewhere.”
A path snaked through the enclosure. Past a bend, seated on a bench, was the aforementioned Officer Coldwell. Dean nodded and we headed forth. My stomach clenched as I anticipated the grisly scene awaiting me, but I didn’t hear the buzzing of flies, nor did I detect the metallic tang of blood or the sour stench of decay in the air. Coldwell stood as he heard us, and then as we rounded a bush, I saw it: not a wrecked mass of human flesh but a disordered pile of bones sticking out from a mound of ash.
Dean stopped a few paces from the pile, his brow furrowed. “Well… that is odd.”
Dean knelt to get a closer look. I moved around to the other side and did the same, as did Moss. The bones were clearly human. The skull alone made it obvious, but the ribcage was also easily identifiable, as were the femurs and hip. Rather than being an even, bleached white, the bones were varying shades of gray, seemingly covered by a thin layer of soot. That wasn’t surprising given the pile of ash in which they sat, but what was surprising was how clean they were. To my eye, not a single bit of gristle or meat was attached to any of them. Not that I had any training in forensics, but the bones looked as if they belonged in a catacomb or a mausoleum rather than a crime scene.
“This is a joke, right?” said Moss.
Dean looked up from the burnt remains. “What do you mean?”
“Clearly nobody was murdered here,” said Moss. “Look at this. A neat pile of bones stuck in a mound of ash. It’s almost comical. As if someone left this here as a prank. People don’t spontaneously combust, you know, not even in a circus.”
Detective Dean pulled a glove from his coat pocket and drew it onto his right hand. He drew the tip of his index finger along the length of one of the exposed femurs. The soot stuck to the fabric, accumulating on the tip and leaving a trail of clean, white bone behind. “While I won’t dismiss your initial hunch, I’d have to disagree. First of all, if you were to prank a coworker, you wouldn’t wait until after the police arrived to reveal everything was a joke.”
“Unless you were worried about getting busted for something illegal,” said Moss. “Or you’re a huge ass.”
Dean lifted an eyebrow. “More importantly, these bones are the real deal, not porcelain fakes. A prank with fake bones, I could see, but one with real bones? That requires a bigger stretch of the imagination. First you have to get your hands on human remains, which are usually buried or put places where people with sticky fingers aren’t likely to slip them into their coats. Even assuming you did find an old set of human remains, they wouldn’t be covered with a fine layer of soot like these are. These remains have been freshly cremated, Moss.
”
Moss rubbed her temple. “So you’re suggesting someone cremated a body and dumped the remains in a wild bird enclosure at the circus? That makes more sense than this being a prank?”
“I’m not suggesting anything at this point. I don’t have enough data to make an educated guess.” Dean turned his ice blue eyes on me. “You’re quiet, Phair. What do you think?”
I blinked. The reason I’d been quiet was because I had two brilliant detectives discussing a crime scene that made zero sense to me. Also because I had all the investigative experience of one of the birds trilling above me. “You want my opinion?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Dean’s eyes didn’t have any malice in them. It didn’t seem as if he was trying to reveal me as a no talent hack, but he must’ve known I’d defer to him and Moss. Then again, the man seemed to have an overabundance of confidence, all of it of the rational kind. Maybe the thought never crossed his mind that others could be insecure.
I shook my head, trying to banish my feelings of doubt and focus on the evidence. “Well, I don’t know how these remains got here, but there was clearly a fire. Look.”
I pointed at the ground surrounding the pile of ash. Apart from the mulch on the path, the ground cover in the aviary was a mix of grass and dead leaves, but there was nothing but scorched earth underneath the remains. The blackened soil stretched about a foot and a half from the edge of the ash pile in any given direction, and at the edges where it transitioned into forest ground cover, there were blades of grass and leaves with wispy, ashen edges, as if they’d been exposed to a fire that had fizzled and died.
Dean nodded. “Indeed. There’s no question there was a fire. Curious that it didn’t spread…”
“It didn’t spread because it was a baby fire set to make it look as if someone had been burned at the stake,” said Moss. “Seriously. There’s no way a fire could’ve burned anyone here.”
