by David Haynes
The lounge was empty and silent. He walked quickly to the kitchen. He knew where Night would be. Where else would a writer spend his days? He stopped halfway across the kitchen and stopped.
“Just turn the music off for five minutes,” he whispered. “Please.”
“Boring, boring, boring!”
“Now!” he hissed.
“Temper, temper!”
The music didn’t go off completely but the volume decreased enough for Maldon to be able to think properly. He knew what he wanted to say and he wanted to get it right.
He continued across the kitchen and stopped outside the closed office door. Inside he could hear the sound of fingers rattling across keys; of words and worlds being created. It filled him with excitement.
There was also the sound of a dog growling. It was deep, low and threatening, And then the fingers stopped moving across the keys and he could stand at the threshold no longer. He hoped he wouldn’t have to hurt the dog.
He opened the door and forced a smile across the mask.
“Boo!” he shouted.
21
Jane learned more about DI White in the next two hours than she had in the previous ten years. Hargreaves’s reputation as being efficient was shown perfectly by the history he had already started building about White. He emailed it over without being asked. White had been married twice before and had two children. Thankfully, neither of the children lived with him.
It had taken yet more paperwork and several phone calls to get Social Services to release his career history to her. The manager she spoke to sounded close to tears when Jane told her the news about White. She had seen the report on the news and worked with him for several years before he left. She said their department was in shock. They all were.
Jane opened the electronic document and started reading. Now she had been given the time and space to work on her own, she wasn’t going to miss a thing. Everything was there to be scrutinised. Everything.
White had worked in social care since leaving college. His case notes were meticulous, as she expected, but there were so many it was impossible to go through them all. After reading a small cross-section, she grew morose. Not only was it like looking for a needle in a haystack but the subject matter was grim reading. Nevertheless she knew the needle was in there somewhere, she might just have to prick her finger to find it.
“How’re you getting on?” Hargreaves was standing beside her.
She looked up at him. “So-so. Has Crawley’s file been uploaded yet?”
“Should be on there.” He paused and crouched down. “What links a paedophile clown, two coppers and a circus rapist? Sounds like it should be a riddle or a sick joke, doesn’t it?”
Jane shook her head. “Before yesterday, it was Ben Night. But that link stops with White. They never met.”
They talked about White and Stu without thinking about either of them too deeply. They couldn’t afford to.
“He’s still our best shot though. Just keep going, you’re off the radar so to speak so make the most of it. Now, I’ve got some news that might interest you.” Hargreaves stood up again.
“Go on.”
“They might have found something on your suit. Well, inside a pocket to be specific.”
“Pocket?”
“Who has access to your clothes, to the suit you had on yesterday?”
“Nobody. Just me. It’s new so it’s not even been dry-cleaned yet,” she answered.
“There’s a trace in there. Small but hopefully something.”
“My phone was in my pocket, but he was wearing gloves. Latex gloves.”
“Looks like he took them off and he’s got a bad case of eczema.”
Jane grimaced. She had been unconscious and completely vulnerable. He could have done anything to her and she would have been powerless to stop him, so why take his glove off to take the phone? She thought about his face again. The way his smile crept up toward his ears was almost child-like; the way a young child might try to draw a clown. A very creepy clown.
“When will we know?” she asked.
“It’s at the top of the list so hopefully not too long. As soon as I know, you’ll know.”
Hargreaves walked back to his office, leaving Jane to her thoughts. Against her will, her mind created an image of the clown, dripping with White’s blood, reaching into her pocket, touching her thigh, caressing it and...
She banged her fist on the desk to shake it off. The noise caused several officers to look over at her. “Tea anyone?” she shouted and walked over to the kettle.
*
It was dark outside and Jane was still going through White’s file. She knew she was on borrowed time with Hargreaves. The next time he came out of the office he would tell someone to take her home, whether she liked it or not. She couldn’t go, though. Not until the DNA results were back.
It had taken her longer to read the documents than it would normally. She still felt tired and reading with only one eye took some getting used to.
Hargreaves’s door opened. She hunched down in an attempt to hide but it didn’t work.
“Jane, don’t worry, you’ll want to see this.”
She straightened. “DNA?”
Hargreaves nodded and went back inside the office to answer a call. Jane jumped up and walked as quickly as she could across the office.
Hargreaves was talking on the telephone as she walked in and closed the door.
“I’ve got the Met doing a door knock now but I’m pretty sure he won’t be there. Can I call you back in five, Steve?”
He said goodbye and hung up.
“We’ve got a name.” He slid a sheet of paper across to her.
“Maldon Williams. Not a name I’ve heard of. Have we got an address?”
Hargreaves took the paper back. “Last known address is in London. I’ve got the Met looking at it but he isn’t going to be there. Might find something useful in his flat though.”
“What have we got on him?” she asked.
“Intel are producing a pack on him now.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Are you up for it?”
“For what?” What was he asking her?
“A long night. I need you to find that link. I need to know where he’s going next. I need to know why he’s doing this. We need to stop this bastard, Jane.”
She nodded. “I’ll find it.” She walked out of the office. She was going to find that link tonight, even if it meant staring at the computer monitor until the morning.
22
For a second, Ben was so shocked he froze. And then he thawed in a hurry and tried to jump up. The clown stopped him by stabbing the knife into the air an inch away from his face.
Stan growled and trembled. He put his hand down to soothe him. However unlikely, he didn’t want Stan jumping up trying to attack the man. In this confined space, the dog would come off worse.
He stared at the clown and a minute passed in complete silence. He was able to take in what he was looking at. He stifled a scream. The clown’s face was a patchwork of withered skin, gristle and dried blood. He reeked. Decay was floating off him like a festering miasma.
Their eyes were locked together as if they had both been hypnotised. Ben wanted to look away, to divert his gaze away from the beady lumps of coal that scrutinised him, but was completely transfixed by the monster. A real monster, not something he’d created with words.
At any moment, Ben thought he would be stabbed. Options were running through his mind. None of them were promising.
“What… do you want?” he finally uttered.
His words broke the spell.
“What do you want?” he shouted although he didn’t feel as strong as his voice suggested. Stan whined.
“I am Sparkles.”
“What?”
The clown was dressed in dirty brown overalls with splashes of white paint. A grim realisation struck him. The white splashes were the colour of the overalls. It wasn’t brown, it was dried blood
.
“Don’t you think I look like him?”
Ben started to shake his head but he saw the change in the clown’s eyes so he kept quiet.
“You threw my story in the bin.” He took a step closer and Ben flinched. “Not good enough?”
He wanted credit for the story?
Ben felt sick. The inside of Crawley’s caravan jumped into his mind. “Look, I know what you did to those others and...”
“This one will be better though because I’ll be here with you.”
Stan growled again and lurched forward. His jaws gripped the clown’s bloody overalls at the ankle. Ben was so shocked all he could do was stare as Stan tried to pull the clown over. The moment was on him. Act! he thought and started to climb out of his chair. Sparkles raised his knife above his head. He was going to stab Stan in the head.
“Please, no!” he shouted and dropped on top of the dog, covering him. He heard the dog grunt and closed his eyes. There were no humans he would protect like this but Stan was more than that. He was better than any human he knew.
“Put him outside!” Sparkles shouted. His breath reeked, filling the room with a malodorous stench that was stomach-churning.
Ben opened his eyes. Stan was breathing beneath him. He kissed the dog’s fur and gripped his collar. “I’ll take him.”
Sparkles allowed him past and Ben opened the door. “Go and have a wee, Stan,” he said but the dog wouldn’t go. He wanted to stay inside, with him. Maybe they could both make a run for it? Run across the fields and shout for help. But who would hear him? There was nobody for miles around. Ben got behind the dog and shoved him out. He would be safe out there.
“Back to the computer. Back to the story. To my story,” Sparkles said softly.
He sat down and opened a new document. His hands were shaking as they waited for the first word.
“There was a boy...” the clown began.
Ben started typing. He used his skills to transcribe what Maldon said into a recognisable form. Into a story.
“Maldon, come inside and get changed, everyone will be here in a minute!” Mum called from the kitchen window.
He sprinted toward the house and jumped the two steps onto the patio. He was excited, really excited. Last night seemed to go on forever as he waited for the first sign of morning to filter through his curtains.
He bounded into the kitchen. “How long have I got?” he asked.
Mum was getting everything ready. He could see the sandwiches, the lemonade, and the crisps all laid out on the worktop.
She smiled at him. “Five minutes.”
“I’ll do it in three,” he said and skidded off down the hall.
“Your clothes are out on the bed,” he heard her call after him but he was already bolting up the stairs to his bedroom.
There were fifteen of his friends coming to the party. He had wanted the whole class but Dad said it was too many so he’d chosen his favourite fifteen. That was fifteen more presents to open!
He looked at the clothes Mum had put out. A shirt and a pair of jeans was not what he felt like wearing. He picked up the shirt and pushed it back inside the wardrobe. No chance he was putting that on.
The new England football shirt Dad had chosen was at the foot of his bed. That was what he was going to wear on his ninth birthday. He touched the embroidered badge. One day he was going to play for England and score the winning goal in the World Cup final.
Maldon pulled the shirt over his head and raced downstairs.
Mum and Dad were both in the kitchen. Dad had a can of beer in one hand and his other hand was on Mum’s waist.
“What time is he coming?” Maldon asked.
Dad took a drink and smiled. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”
Maldon nodded. “What time is it now?”
“Three o’clock.” Mum turned around. “That’s not what I put out for you. I wanted you to wear the shirt Nana bought you.”
“It’s his birthday, he can wear what he wants.” Dad winked at him and Mum sighed.
The doorbell rang to stop any further discussion on the matter. “Looks like the first guest is here. Go and open the door, Maldon,” Mum said.
He ran down the hallway and opened the door. His best friend, Mark, was standing with his mum. Mark had his England football shirt on too but it was last year’s strip.
“Happy birthday!” Mark shouted and pushed a present at him. “Shall we go and play football?” he asked.
“I’ll take that.” Mum reached down and took the present off him. “See you at six,” she said to Mark’s mum.
Maldon led Mark toward the kitchen. “I’ve had a new football and goalposts,” he said, “and when the others get here, we’ll split into two teams. I want to be England.”
Mark was always England when they played but now Maldon had the newest kit, he deserved to be them. Besides, it was his birthday.
“Okayyyy,” Mark said and they ran onto the grass.
Twenty minutes later the garden was full of people, children and adults alike. Everyone who said they were coming was there, but the only irritation was that he had to keep on breaking away from the match to say hello to relatives. They were all laughing and enjoying themselves too and it was so loud with everyone shouting, screaming and laughing that he didn’t want it to end. He even managed to score two goals. It was perfect.
“Maldon, time for something to eat!” Mum’s voice rose above the crowd.
Mum laid three large blankets on the grass and placed paper cups and plates down for everyone. Dad then brought out the food. There was an enormous tray of sandwiches, fives bowls of crisps, sausage rolls, cheese and pineapples on a stick, and peanuts. It was amazing.
“That should keep you quiet for a bit,” Dad said as he left them to pour the lemonade themselves. It went everywhere, as was expected, but nobody cared. It was his birthday, the second-best day of the year. Christmas was number one and always would be.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Maldon...”
His entire family came down the garden toward them and in the front Mum was carrying an enormous birthday cake. The breeze was only gentle but Dad was trying to shield the candles from it.
Mum put the cake in the middle of the blanket. “Blow them out and make a wish!” she said.
Maldon closed his eyes and wished that he was in the school football team, playing alongside Mark.
He opened his eyes and blew the candles out. The cake was a white square and in the middle was a replica of his new England shirt. The shirt had a number nine and his name on it.
“Nana made it,” Dad said.
Maldon jumped up and kissed Nana. For a brief moment, he wished he had worn the shirt she bought him.
Then from nowhere there was music. Maldon recognised it straight away and his excitement levels went up another notch. He could hardly breathe and his hands started shaking. It was circus music. It was the sound of clowns!
The crowd parted, and down the garden came a clown on a small bicycle. It was tiny compared to the clown and his knees banged into his chin with each pedal. He was incredible and for a moment, time stood still. The clown had silly, red flappy shoes, dazzling red trousers and a yellow top with bright red bobbles all the way down the front. His nose matched the bobbles for size but it caught the sun and shone like a ruby. His orange frizzy hair wobbled about on his head like a huge jelly. Maldon could feel laughter bubbling in his belly.
The clown went from side to side, seemingly out of control, and he laughed all the way past them until he drove into the apple tree at the bottom of the garden and fell off in a heap.
Everyone erupted into laughter.
“Did you see him? He went straight into the tree!” Mark shouted next to him.
Maldon had seen him, of course he had, but he couldn’t speak. Some of the other kids thought clowns were for babies but he didn’t.
The clown jumped up immediately and dusted himself o
ff. He walked toward them. His smile was almost from ear to ear and just looking at him made Maldon want to laugh.
“Now then, who’s the birthday boy?” The clown’s nose was sunk in on one side. It had obviously been damaged in the collision.
Everyone laughed again because the clown’s voice was squeaky and high-pitched. He sounded like a cartoon character.
“Oh, I am sorry.” He put his hand to his mouth and coughed. When he lowered his hand again, he was holding a small mouse. “I don’t know how that got in there!” He threw the mouse at the group of boys and one of them shrieked. Maldon picked it up and laughed. It was rubber.
“Where was I? Ah yes, the birthday boy.”
Maldon put his hand up and stepped forward. He was nervous but actually meeting a clown was something he would not miss for anything.
The clown crouched down so their eyes were on the same level.
“Your nose,” said Maldon, “it’s all squashed.”
“It is? Can you fix it for me?”
Maldon smiled and nodded. He could feel his heart hammering away in his chest.
“I want you to hold my nose, close your eyes and wish as hard as you can for it to grow back. Can you do that?”
Maldon nodded, closed his eyes and put his finger on the shiny, red nose.
“Okay, everyone count with me. One... two... three!”
On the count of three there was a loud honking sound, which made Maldon jump back and open his eyes. Everyone was laughing and the clown was lying flat on his back.
For a second he was scared that he had hurt him but the clown sat up. This time his nose was three times bigger than it had ever been. It was enormous and it showed no sign of being damaged.
“Wow! You’ve got some powerful wishes there, Maldon!” The clown jumped up and walked toward him.
He offered his hand. “Happy birthday, Maldon. My name is Bingo and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
