by David Haynes
She had considered the very same thing, and even thought about her grounds for arresting him when she was at his house. They were flimsy at best. If they brought him in, the media circus would be incredible. Above all, having spent an hour with him, she knew someone else was behind the killings. She might be wrong but her gut told her Ben Night didn’t have it in him to punch anyone, let alone mutilate someone like that.
“Yes there’s a link, but that link is going to identify the killer.” She paused then added “It’s not him.”
He undid his top button and loosened his tie. “We need to get someone in and soon.”
“I appreciate that but it needs to be the right person.” She wouldn’t be pressured into an arrest just for the sake if it. “Look boss, it’s not like the trail has gone cold, is it? We’ve got three scenes now, three chances to get something from forensics.” She could see this didn’t appease him. “If Night’s car doesn’t show on the CCTV trawl then maybe we can think again about fetching him in.”
“You’ve got someone on it?”
“Bilby and Morris are both on it. Should be finished before end of play today.”
“Good. What do you need from me? I’ve got to ring him back in half and hour.”
Stu’s murder was still with the other team but her squad had now picked up Crawley’s murder as well as Newman’s. She was running out of staff.
“Bodies. I need more bodies. As many as you can get.”
He jotted it down. “Anything else? What about surveillance on Night?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. We will need him though. He’s our key and he probably knows more than he thinks he does.”
“Okay.” He dropped his pen. “What about you?”
This was it, the dreaded welfare check. “I’m fine. It’s frantic but that’s how I like it. Keeps me out of trouble.”
He nodded and stifled a yawn. “Frantic isn’t the word.”
Jane smiled and stood up. “I’ll let you know how the CCTV goes.”
“Please.”
She walked back to her desk and sat down. This was White’s first murder investigation and he looked dreadful. Maybe she should have asked him how he was. But it wasn’t her place, that was Hargreaves’s job. She doubted any of them were doing very well.
She got comfortable and started working through the new tasks generated by HOLMES. The system was supposed to be foolproof, wouldn’t miss a trick. She had to agree it was superb for recording all enquiries, the officers assigned to them and the results. But sometimes it was too prescriptive, too regimented and removed the good old-fashioned gut feeling. Nevertheless it was the system she had to use and it generated hundreds of tasks which had to be allocated.
She looked around the office. It was more or less empty. Jane felt bad at having to dish out yet more jobs to them all. She needed bodies, lots and lots of bodies.
At just after ten o’clock that night, her phone rang. It was Nicky Morris, one of the officers on the CCTV trawl.
“We’ve got him driving through Matlock at six-fifty this morning. The cameras follow him all the way through.”
So Night’s story checked out. Jane felt vindicated by her decision not to arrest him.
Morris continued “No sign of him last night either. The circus finished at ten and the roads were busy then but by half-past it was dead again. Typical Thursday night in the sticks.”
That news further justified her feelings about him. Morris sounded excited, as if she were bursting to reveal something she had been holding back.
“But...” She paused. “You might be interested in this.”
A box at the bottom of Jane’s screen told her an email had just arrived from Nicky Morris, who was now whistling the creepy circus music she hated. It sounded eerie and distorted down the telephone line, making her wince.
“You can’t hold a tune, Nicky.”
Jane opened the message. A grainy image opened up on the screen and below it were four others. Together they formed a sequence showing the movement of a vehicle across the front of a petrol station. Jane stared at the screen and felt her heart rate increase two-fold. Although the image was poor in quality, she knew what it was immediately.
Bingo The Clown was on the move again.
The images showed him from the side. As she looked at them the screen flickered, making his smile seem to move, to twitch in front of her and grow in size. She would have to check but on the image she found after Stu had been killed, she was sure his distorted grin was just under his cheeks. Now it looked as if it was an inch or two higher. Maybe it was an optical illusion or her tired mind giving it properties it didn’t possess. His face was so white too, ghostly white, which she shouldn’t be surprised about since this was the driving, murdering ghost of Harvey Newman. Perhaps...
“Have you seen the window?” Morris asked.
Jane had been staring so intensely at the driver that she hadn’t seen anything else. She shifted her focus to the front passenger window which was closest to the camera. Just under his head and in dark letters was a single word. One they had all seen too many times in the last week.
“Boo!” she said. “He knows we can see him. He knows and he’s enjoying it.” The letters weren’t all recognisable and the exclamation mark ran down the inside like it was wet. She knew it was blood. Jim Crawley’s blood.
Morris sounded deflated as she gave the next update. “We’ve gone through all the footage but the number plate is unreadable on all of them. It’s probably nicked anyway. Looks another old one though.”
It was an old car shape, Eighties or Nineties at a push. They were easy to steal. They rarely had alarms or immobilisers, and the old-style ignitions were easy to bypass.
“Thanks, Nicky. Listen, you and Andy get off home. Fast-track has all been done so we’ll start again in the morning.”
She examined the images again, looking for something that would give him away. There was nothing. She called White over to look at it but he couldn’t see anything that would help them either.
All he said was, “He’s driving in the direction of Night’s house.”
And he was, but that road also linked up with any number of major routes as well as the M1.
They walked across the car park together. White looked even worse than he had earlier. He was hunched over, twisted, limping on his left leg.
“You okay?” she asked despite not wanting to earlier. She couldn’t ignore how bad he looked now they were walking together.
“My back’s killing me.” He added quickly “I’ll be fine, I just need to lie down.” His car indicators flashed twice in the darkness.
“Goodnight.” Jane started walking to her own car but was stopped by a hand on her arm.
“We’re not missing anything, are we?” White asked.
She looked into his eyes. He looked stressed and tired. It was a bad combination, particularly when that tiredness would be relentless for several more weeks.
“Nothing. HOLMES won’t let us miss anything. We’ll get him, boss. It’s just a matter of time.”
“We will, I know we will but how many more will he... will he do what he did to Crawley. That was sickening.” He paused and seemed to consider his words carefully. “Depraved that a human being would do that to...”
He let go of her arm and smiled. “Time for a beer I think, a beer and a lie down.”bursting
Jane laughed but it felt uneasy, like laughing at a funeral. White was struggling, both physically and mentally, that much was clear. He looked lost just then, completely lost at sea. He would have seen some grim sights in Social Services but nothing could prepare anyone for the bloodbath in Crawley’s caravan. What could ever prepare a person for that?
*
She opened a bottle of beer and climbed into bed. It was too late to lie in the bath for hours getting all wrinkly, so she had showered and put her pyjamas on. She stared at the cover of her paperback book. It was a piece of Regency romanticism that was about as far
away from police work as you could hope to get. It was also crap of the highest order.
She put her iPad on and opened the Kindle app. The Ben Night books she downloaded earlier appeared on the carousel, so she turned them one at a time to look at the covers. She knew which one she wanted to read, it was the obvious choice, but needed to see what the others were like.
A vampire, a werewolf, a zombie, a demon, a man and finally a clown were all placed carefully against a plain black background. That gave Night his brand. The most effective one by far was Clownz. Maybe it was because the clown looked a lot like Harvey Newman’s clown. No, it was more likely Newman had made his clown look like the character in Night’s book. With a few subtle changes like removing the sharpened teeth and the crazy eyes, that would just scare the kids before he had a chance to take away their innocence. The make-up was similar though, particularly the diamonds around the eyes and the smile. She supposed most clowns had enormous smiles, but both the cover and the CCTV footage showed a clown with a grotesquely proportioned grimace.
She opened the book and started reading. The sight of Crawley’s caravan had obviously disturbed White. To a lesser extent, she had also been affected by it. If you weren’t then you had no place in society, or the job, but how was Night coping with it? Did his writing or his research prepare him for a horrific sight like that?
After the first chapter, reading his blood-curdling descriptions, she knew he either had an extremely vivid imagination or had seen a human getting butchered. She was also hooked.
*
The following morning, just as she was getting dressed, her mobile rang.
“DS Brady.” She used her shoulder to hold it to her ear while she continued buttoning up her blouse. She had woken up feeling groggy, as if she had drunk more than just the two bottles of beer. It could easily have been more if she hadn’t put the brakes on. She hadn’t wanted to stop reading, but at gone one o’clock knew she needed to get some sleep.
She recognised White’s voice. “We’ve found the car, or at least what’s left of it.”
Her spirits sank. “Burnt out?”
“Afraid so. I got a call about fifteen minutes ago. Meet me there?”
“Where?” She picked up her car keys and walked quickly downstairs.
“The flats on High-Bank.”
White ended the call just as Jane reached the front door. She paused for a moment, turned and walked back to the kitchen. She would need some medication if she was going to be on top of her game today. Plenty of it too.
Had she caught flu from Night? She hoped not, she hadn’t even had the pay-off of kissing him to get it.
13
Maldon heard the sirens long before the pulsing blue light whirled across the ceiling above his bed. It could only mean they’d found his car.
He had travelled around the country in stolen cars before. The trick was never to keep one for too long, keep changing them every few days. He knew not to leave any evidence at all. Cigarette butts, chewing gum, hair fibres and fingerprints were all likely to get you arrested. The only sure way to avoid leaving anything was to burn the car after you’d finished with it.
Torching it behind the flats had been risky, but he knew there was no CCTV covering either the car park or the street. And all the other residents were either drugged up, pissed up, or out burgling houses. It was either that or walk around the streets having Sparkles screaming at him to hide every few seconds. Sparkles was probably right though. Just looking as he did was apt to get him arrested.
Sparkles had told him to write ‘Boo!’ on the car window in blood. That had been a good idea too. He didn’t half go on sometimes but he also had some brilliant ideas, particularly when it came to killing people. Especially when it came to the clown living in the caravan.
In the darkness, the fire had burned so bright that it hurt his eyes to look at it. Sparkles had squealed in delight as the flames reached out and licked the air.
“Look what we’ve done. It’s like all the Guy Fawkes bonfires you missed, all rolled into one!”
And Sparkles was right about that too. He was sure his parents must have had fireworks when he was little, he was just too young to remember them. But this made up for all the missed parties. There was even a mini-explosion at one point, making him step back from the window.
“Don’t be such a scaredy-cat, Mouldy! Just enjoy it!”
He had enjoyed it, right up to the point where the fire engine arrived and put the fire out. Of course, by then the car was just a charred skeleton and the fire was dying down, but it had been disappointing just the same.
“Rotters!” Sparkles shrieked at them through the window.
“Shh, they’ll hear you!” Maldon took a step away from the window. Sparkles laughed then, like he always did.
“I wonder if his head reaches right to the top of that helmet? If we cut it off we could have a look.” Sparkles really laughed then, and Maldon had to admit it was an infectious and pleasant sound. Relaxed, he went back to the window to watch the display for a while; to slip into a daydream about a lost childhood and listen to the carnival music.
He got up from the bed as the police arrived, in cars with flashing blue lights. He didn’t understand that. There was no emergency, the car was just a scorched skeleton, so what was the rush? Then an unmarked car arrived and a woman with hair the same colour as the flames got out. She put her hands on her hips and started talking to the fireman with the white helmet. Maldon watched two of the other firemen nudge each other, looking her up and down. Another man appeared, a tall man with a bald head. They all talked to each other as if they were discussing some conspiracy.
There was something about that tall man. Something he... They all started looking around at the houses and flats. He stepped back before they saw him.
“You’re just a face at the window, Maldon, they won’t recognise you. Stick two fingers up at them, go on!”
Maldon wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. Police officers were usually pretty good at recognising people, especially clowns.
That was the entertainment over for the day and he fell onto his bed feeling disappointed. The little record player in the back of his brain was only halfway through the carnival tune but he moved the needle to the start and tuned into it. The music played all the time, on a constant loop. It was beautiful in an off-key, creepy way.
When he had trouble sleeping he started the music from the beginning, because that was his favourite part, and turned it up. It didn’t disturb him, quite the contrary, it was like the lullabies he imagined he might have listened to as a child. Within a few seconds of the music starting, he was immediately transported to a world where he was that child again.
There was the most enormous red and white striped big top ever. It was decorated in a million golden light bulbs which threw a warming glow all over his little face. He pushed through the great flapping canvas door, saw the huge sawdust-covered circle and rows of seats stretching into the darkness at the top of the tent. The seats were completely empty, not another single person was allowed inside. It was for him and him alone.
The ring was covered in fresh, untouched sawdust. This was where all the acts would perform. The fierce lions and their trainers, the powerful strongman, the majestic acrobats and maybe a single white horse with a beautiful lady standing on its back. Then of course there would be the clowns, his absolute favourite!
The tent was so vast that he could barely see what act had already come out, but he could hear the wonderful music, the wonderful Entry of the Gladiators being played perfectly on an organ. He walked toward it, the sweet smells of candyfloss and popcorn tickling his nostrils. Then there was the delicious aroma of hotdogs and fried onions which made his mouth water. Oh, how he wished he could have enjoyed this moment with his mum and dad.
But this was no time for melancholy thoughts, this was a time to be happy, to enjoy the circus! He ran toward the ring, toward the enormous organ that was somehow playing itself
in the centre. What sort of an instrument could do that? Was it magic? The music was more delicious than the candyfloss, hotdogs and popcorn together. It was magic.
His legs started to tire but he wasn’t going to give up before he got there, no matter how out of breath he was. Louder and louder it grew, and he could almost see the pretty little notes floating into the air. The clowns would be there, the clowns with their funny shoes, red noses and lovely wide smiles, would transport him to another place. A happier place.
As he skidded in the sawdust and stopped at the barrier, he saw that the organ stretched into the darkness above his head. The pipes were not shiny and golden as he had imagined they would be. No, they were covered in thick, black oil and some of the enormous keys were missing. And now he knew why it was so badly out of tune.
Where were the clowns? They should be here to welcome him, they should be...
A hot and sour breath whispered down the back of his neck. “Boo!”
*
Maldon jerked into life and sat upright.
“They’re here. They’ve come to get us,” Sparkles whispered.
The room was light now, but he had no idea how long he had been asleep.
“Who?” he whispered back.
“You’ll see,” Sparkles replied.
Maldon lay still for a minute but there was nothing. Maybe Sparkles was wrong this time. He was about to get up when there was a loud banging on the door.
“Told you!”
“Should I answer it?” he whispered.
“Doh! Who do you think it is?”
He didn’t need to answer that. It was the police, it had to be.
“Hello!” He heard a voice shout from outside.
“Just lie still and they’ll go away,” Sparkles instructed him.
He did as he was told and held his breath too, just for good measure. He could hear doors being knocked all the way up the road. They were checking house-to-house to see if anyone had seen the car getting torched. They wouldn’t get much joy down here and even less luck in the flats. He heard his letter box open and close. It would be a note asking him to ring in.
