by David Haynes
“I think we need to have another chat then.”
Ben told her about the first night Sparkles came to his room. How he had been ill and assumed the clown standing in the doorway was a dream or a hallucination, so he waved at it. In the morning he had found a few pages of manuscript which he assumed he had written while in the grips of a fever. He had seen the story about the paedophile clown’s murder and thought that was where his inspiration came from.
On the second occasion, Sparkles had stood in his room and written ‘Boo!’ in the frosted mirror. It all sounded so ridiculous, so utterly stupid that he could feel his face growing redder by the second. He had allowed a clown to come into his house and leave manuscripts on his desk and now he was telling a rational, logical detective why he hadn’t reported it. He could barely stand to hear his own voice.
“But the second one wasn’t connected to a real event, not like the first one. It was about a copper being killed. I don’t...”
Brady interrupted for the first time. “Where are they?”
Ben pointed at the office. “In there, in the bin. Shall I fetch them?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. Can you remember how the police officer was killed?”
He nodded. “The clown tied him to a chair in front of a mirror and made the cop... policeman watch his own disfigurement and death. It was extreme, far more extreme than anything I would ever...”
“When was the last time you saw the news, Mr Night?”
He shrugged. “Couple of days ago, I suppose. Why?” The question seemed irrelevant to him.
“Because that is exactly how my colleague, DC Kelly, was found murdered. In front of a mirror. You met him, didn’t you? He came here to ask you some questions about Sparkles.”
Ben felt sick.
“And I bet if we look at that pile of papers in the hallway, that story will be about a circus worker murdered in his caravan.”
He looked down at the table. Why was this all happening to him?
“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t report this to us. I don’t get it.”
Ben clenched his teeth together and looked up. “I’m lost.” It wasn’t the right moment to say it but it was a relief. “I’m utterly, totally and royally lost. I couldn’t tell you which way was up at the moment and making the right decision has never been in my skill set.”
He paused and enjoyed the slightly bewildered look in her usually cold eyes.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever read my books, but I used to be able to write half-decent stories. I wrote Clownz when I was twenty. That’s twenty-seven years ago. I can’t believe it sometimes. It doesn’t seem so long ago but it is, it’s a very, very long time ago and I’ve been chasing it ever since. People liked my stories so I wrote some more but nothing has ever come close to Clownz. Nothing.”
He paused, searching for the right words. “To be honest, it’s the only thing I’ve ever known how to do properly. I’m shit at life but good at making up stories. Sounds pretty messed up, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, he didn’t need or want one, just looked down at the table again. “So imagine losing that part of you. Imagine losing half of your mind, half of your sense. How would you be then? You’d be a disaster zone, that’s what. And that’s what you’re looking at here. I kept those manuscripts because I thought I could use them, I could write again. Sparkles’s words would inspire me to write about him again. To bring him back to life. To make him real in here.” Ben tapped the side of his head. These were things he should be talking about to a doctor, not a police officer.
“I can’t write any more. I’ve no idea if I’ll ever be able to again.” He looked up and into her eyes again. “I’m sorry about your colleague and I’m sorry you’ve just had to listen to all that self-pity rubbish.”
Brady dropped her pen. “Mr Night, I read Clownz last night and it scared the hell out of me. I’ve downloaded all of your books and I’m going to read them all. There’s more stories in you yet. I’m sure of that.”
Ben couldn’t help himself and smiled. “You enjoyed it? Even after what you saw yesterday?”
“I did.” Brady sighed and stood up again. “We just need to work out how we’re going to catch Sparkles.” She paused, picking up her book and pen. “And we need to work out why you’re still alive.”
She turned and walked toward the office. “Now, show me these manuscripts and we’ll see if we can shake Sparkles’s mask off.”
He opened the office door for her. “This is where the magic happens,” he said with a half-arsed smile and stepped aside.
“The bin’s over there beside the desk.” He pointed but the room was so small she couldn’t miss it.
She nodded and walked across the little room.
“It’s empty,” she said, picking it up to show him. “There’s nothing in here.”
Ben walked to her. “What? I put the whole lot in there yesterday.” He scanned the desk, the bookcase and even knelt to look under the computer table. There was nothing there. He rubbed his chin and remembered that he hadn’t shaved again; how much like a tramp he must look.
“I don’t get it.” And then again to emphasise his point, “I don’t understand.”
“You’re sure you dropped them in here?” Brady asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Well they’re not here now, so that means they are in the house somewhere or he took them with him for some reason. Anywhere else they could be?”
“No,” he answered and turned out of the room. “But if he took them, why leave another manuscript for me? It doesn’t make sense.”
She walked past him and he followed. Stan followed close behind. All the strange people in the house was making him more anxious than normal.
Brady knelt by the bundle of papers in the hallway. “Have the papers been photographed?” she called to nobody in particular.
“Done!” someone shouted from upstairs.
He watched Brady take a pair of blue latex gloves from her pocket and put them on. He hadn’t touched them, not even to look under the top sheet, but he could see that they hadn’t been dropped there. The papers had been placed neatly down about two inches away from where his head was just a few hours ago. It made him feel sick to think how vulnerable he had been.
Brady lifted the top blank sheet with her fingertips, then the next one down, and carried on until she had gone through ten pages or more.
“They’re all the same,” she whispered but it was loud enough for Ben to hear.
He crouched down beside her. “Boo!” he said. It was typed on every page that she had turned and he had no doubt it would be the same all the way down. A cold chill ran along his spine, making him shiver.
“He wrote that on the mirror. In the vapour from his breath,” he muttered.
“And in blood at all the scenes.” She stood up. “It’s what your creation says, isn’t it? It’s what Sparkles says to his victims just before he mutilates them.”
Ben looked up at her and nodded. “Every time.” He got to his feet and felt the hallway tilt slightly to the left. It took a moment to level off again.
“Perhaps you’d better sit down again. The paramedic should be here in a minute or two.”
She took his arm and led him into the lounge. He flopped onto the sofa, Stan at his feet.
“I know DC Kelly asked you if you remembered Harvey Newman and you said you didn’t, but is there anyone else you recall meeting, who struck you as being... odd? Any fans, someone you’ve corresponded with maybe?”
Ben shook his head. “In the last two years, apart from my agent, you’re the only person I’ve spoken to for more than thirty seconds.” He paused. “Well, there was one person but...” He immediately regretted bringing this up. It wasn’t relevant, except to show her what sort of a person he was. If she didn’t know already.
“Go on.” Brady opened her book again and sat in the armchair.
“It was a girl I met at a signing l
ast week. But she wasn’t strange, apart from the fact that she slept with me. I suppose that makes her...”
“And what was her name?” Brady interrupted.
“Fleur something or other.” This was deeply embarrassing. Brady’s opinion of him must have been low but this would make it sink even further. “I don’t recall her last name but you can find it easily enough.”
“Yes?”
Ben grimaced and exhaled through his teeth with a hiss. “She’s got some pictures of me on her Facebook page. They’re not the best.”
“Drunk or something?”
He looked for a sign that she was teasing him but her expression gave nothing away.
“Or something.” There was no use in being delicate about it. Brady would see the photographs anyway. “If you type in my name and put ‘naked’ next to it, you’ll see what I mean. But she tricked me, she left...” There was no use in trying to explain it, he would just dig himself deeper into the hole.
“Oh. Right.”
Was that the trace of a smirk on her mouth? It was gone so quickly that he couldn’t be sure.
“But as I said, she wasn’t the sort of person to do something like... like what was done to Jim Crawley or DC Kelly.” He shrugged. “But then again, as you can see, I’m no judge of character.”
Brady finished writing and clipped her pen to the top of her book. “Have you got anywhere else you can stay for a while?”
Ben shook his head. “No, but I’m not leaving anyway.” It was all well and good saying that now, when the house was full of people and it was still daylight. He was trying to regain some semblance of credibility in front of Brady. Would he feel the same way at midnight?
Brady stood up and looked out of the window. “Looks like the paramedic’s turned up.”
What Ben needed was a bucket of painkillers and some sleep.
She looked at him again. “If you’re going to stay, you might want to make sure the back door is locked as well as the windows. I’ll see what I can do to add to your security.”
She walked away leaving that cryptic comment hanging in the air, and opened the door for the paramedic.
16
Jane made it all the way back to the station before she realised she was actually driving a car. Ninety per cent of her brain was engaged in the investigation; going over and over possibilities and enquiries, trying to keep tabs on everything that was going on. The other ten per cent was trying to keep her alive; completing the tasks which took less thought, like telling her when to brake and change gear. She had engaged autopilot. It was a dangerous line to tread but entirely necessary. If she wanted to stay focused on her job, it was the only way.
She was pleased that Night had chosen to stay in his house, although she doubted his courage would be quite so muscular later tonight when it was dark. She was happy with his decision because he was the only link they had to ‘Sparkles’. Keeping that link alive was what mattered. He was the key to all this, she just had to work out why and how. If she could do that, she would catch the clown.
Surveillance on Night and his house wouldn’t be difficult to obtain, given the circumstances. No doubt about it, someone would probably still want Night arresting; someone high up and detached from the investigation. Her resolve that he was not responsible had not wavered in the slightest, in fact after last night it was stronger than ever. Night’s decision-making capabilities were offline, if they had ever been online in the first place, but he wasn’t a killer.
Judging by his writing he had a very vivid, some might say sick, imagination but he wasn’t who they were after. That didn’t mean she hadn’t told the officers to have a good look around while they were there. Police officers didn’t need much encouragement to go snooping about in people’s drawers and wardrobes. When those cupboards belonged to a minor celebrity, the urge was doubly strong. They just had to be subtle about it.
Night was a strange one. On the surface, and to people on the outside, he had everything a person could ask for. A great career he loved, a huge house, clearly plenty of money and he was handsome, in a dishevelled sort of way. But if you scratched away the polish, you found a confused and lonely individual. In trying to reach out for someone or something to help him regain his magic touch, he had plunged deeper into the hole he was already inhabiting.
Nevertheless, he had that ‘chaotic artist’ thing going on which she found oddly attractive. She smiled to herself. She had teased him about the photograph of his arse. She saw it the day before when she was conducting research on him. The picture was everywhere, linked to his name hundreds of times. There were even articles discussing the shape of it.
Her stomach gurgled in protest at lack of food. She turned off the main road away from the station toward the city centre. There was a shop which sold the best BLTs in the world. A BLT, a Snickers bar and a can of Tango were what she needed. She would worry about her gym schedule when this was all over but for now that’s what she wanted.
Her phone rang just as she pulled up outside the deli. The display said DI White, his name flashing with each vibrating ring. She stared at it until it was silent and then opened her door. Her mouth started watering at the smell of freshly baked bread and fried bacon. She could almost taste it. Missing meals was usual but she couldn’t remember when she had last eaten some real food.
The phone rang before she had a chance to close the door. White again. She looked at the shop then climbed back into the car.
“Boss?”
“Where are you, Jane?” He sounded excited.
“I was just about to grab something to eat.” She looked at the deli again. The smell of bread and bacon had already gone.
“You might want to come back in.”
“What have you got?” She could feel her taste buds closing up.
“Crawley’s DNA. You need to see this. It’s good.”
“I’ll be back in two minutes.” She started the car and drove back toward the station. As good as White thought Crawley’s DNA was, she knew it wouldn’t compare to a freshly made BLT. Nowhere near.
*
She walked straight into White’s office. He was sitting at his desk and didn’t acknowledge her presence. By the look of him, he wouldn’t notice if King Kong was sitting on his desk taking a crap.
“Boss?”
He looked up and rubbed his face. The dark circles under his eyes had grown over the last twenty-four hours and his skin had a yellowy, waxy tint to it. He sat in his chair awkwardly, putting all his weight on one cheek.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just my back giving me some grief again. Pass me that box would you, please?”
He didn’t look fine at all and she felt bad for him. She passed him the box of paracetamol tablets. He dry-swallowed four in one go and tapped one of his screens. “Have a look at this.”
Jane walked around the desk and crouched down beside him. She scanned over the screens quickly to get an idea of what she was supposed to be looking at. On one side was Jim Crawley’s DNA profile, gathered from his destroyed body, and on the other side was a list of hits on that DNA. Twelve hits, twelve unsolved rapes from around the country.
“Shit,” she whispered.
“Indeed,” White replied. “Some might say our clown is doing a public service taking people like this out of circulation. A dead paedophile and a dead rapist is hardly a great loss to society. Where does that leave Stu Kelly, I wonder?”
Jane ignored the comment. “Any local ones?” She grabbed the mouse and moved it down the list.
“Not yet but two came in during the last five minutes. There’s going to be more, I reckon.”
She read the women’s names silently. “How is this possible? Crawley must’ve been known to us.”
White moved in his chair and Jane heard him emit a grunt. It sounded like pain.
“No trace of him. If he’s ever been in trouble, it was a long time ago. Before we started using DNA.”
; She stood up. “Anyone else seen this yet?”
“Not yet. I’m going up to brief Hargreaves in a minute. I’m emailing it to you now. Can you get someone to start phoning the other forces? Get them to speak to the victims and see if we’ve got anything we can use?”
Jane was still thinking about how best to use Ben Night but she nodded.
“How was it this morning? Hargreaves will want to know.” White got slowly to his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut as he did so.
She walked around the other side of the desk. “It looks legitimate. Unsecure back door, clown comes in and gives Night a scare, sending him down the stairs. I’ll write it up and put it through HOLMES but that’s the essence of it.”
White nodded and took a clumsy step forward. “Anything else?”
Jane nodded. “Now here’s where it gets interesting.” She told him about the other visits from the clown and about the manuscripts. White let out a long sigh.
“If I can get the surveillance paperwork finished tonight, will you sign it?” she asked.
White winced. “Of course but you might have to bring it to me at home.”
He hobbled around the desk and Brady made way for him to get through the door. “I’ll text you my address,” he added, then put his hand on her shoulder. “Everything they told me about you was true, Jane. You’re incredible.”
She smiled back, embarrassed at the compliment. “Thank you.”
White shuffled down the corridor like an old man. However bad he looked sitting down, he looked ten times worse trying to walk. She walked across the empty office and sat at her desk. There was nobody to phone around the other police forces. As much as she detested it, she was the only one she trusted to complete the surveillance paperwork properly. It was going to be a long night again.
She opened White’s spreadsheet and started working through it. Within half an hour, she was becoming frustrated with the lack of progress. In a time when information was supposed to flow freely between forces, she was met with restrictions, demands for authorisation and additional form-filling before she would be given access to the rape files.
