Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel

by Mark Bredenbeck

  Bridger heard Jo draw in a deep breath beside him. “As you can see, the top you were wearing does not have any blood on it when you leave the hospital, but it is plainly visible in this shot, can you explain that?” Jo’s voice was sharp and she looked embarrassed, or it may have been a slight anger in her expression, having watched the clip for the first time in front Maria.

  “Are you Jealous?” Maria’s smile had a cold edge to it. “I didn’t ask you to come over last night, you just turned up.”

  “Answer the question please.”

  It sounded like things were about to get heated between the two younger females in the room. He saw Jane was biting her bottom lip. It was something they needed to clarify for the record so Bridger waited for her answer.

  “If it makes you feel any better Jo, I’m seeing this for the first time myself, and I don’t remember anything about that night. I don’t even know who that is…” Maria looked at Jo and Bridger in turn, then at Jane. Jane’s expression did not give anything away; she just nodded at her client and Maria continued. “I don’t know how the blood got onto my top. You have it there, test it and see whose blood is on it, I have no idea. I cannot explain it.”

  Bridger believed her that she did not remember, but ignorance or incapacitation is never an easy alibi to sell. She would have a hard time explaining to a jury why it was she did not recall, especially as, if the blood belonged to Wilson then the evidence clearly pointed to her being at the scene of his death. Bridger just had to work out what her involvement in it would have been. He looked at Jane. “Can I speak with you outside a moment, Ms Little.”

  Jane nodded and they both stepped out of the room, Jane brushing close to him as she went through the door. Bridger closed it behind them, leaving Maria with Jo. “Jane, would your client be open to revisiting the scene? Maybe walk through the area from the hospital to where it happened. It may jog her memory a little, she may remember something she saw or heard.”

  Jane looked back at the door to the interview room and pursed her lips. “I don’t see a problem with that; it would be good to get out of that stuffy little room. You still smell faintly of smoke and its playing up with my sinuses. Maybe you should have changed your clothes this morning.” She smiled conspiratorially “When do you want to do it?”

  “Now would be good.”

  It did not take long to drive from the central police station a couple of blocks north to the entrance to the accident and emergency clinic at the Dunedin hospital. Bridger parked just inside the ambulance entrance, in what was normally reserved for staff, there were no free spaces on the roadside anywhere near the hospital at this time of the day, and he had seen a parking warden prowling nearby on his motor scooter. Jane had followed him in with Maria and parked a few spaces along. Bridger and Jo got out of the car and stood beside it, waiting for Jane and Maria to make their way over. Jo hadn’t said anything on the short journey, she may have been still slightly embarrassed about their earlier talk, either way it suited Bridger as he was at a loss as to her behaviour and would not know what to say to her at this point anyway.

  “Are you sure this is okay Mike” Jane said as she approached, indicating their parking choice.

  “It won’t take long Jane, we just need as quick walk through, by the time they realise we are parked here and arrange for someone to do something about it, we will be gone again.”

  Jane grinned. “That’s what I like about you Mike, your devilish attitude to rules.”

  Maria stood off to one side; she was glancing around the place, as if she was a little nervous. Jo had stayed on her side of the car, as if using it as some sort of barrier between her and Maria, very odd behaviour.

  Bridger addressed Maria, making her jump a little, as he interrupted her nervous glancing. “Right Maria, we need to walk you through what happened the other night. The purpose of this is to see if it will stir a memory, you may see something that may help.” Maria just nodded. “Let’s start over by the door of the hospital shall we?”

  Jo had taken out her notebook as she joined them by the door and began writing, Bridger had not thought to bring his, and not one for note taking normally he tried to rely on his memory. He would sometimes miss things if he spent too much time trying to record every detail, so had given the practice away. He was still glad Jo was taking some notes.

  “Maria… Maria, look over here please.” Bridger recognised the lilt in the voice and looked behind them to see Kate Atkinson standing with her camera. How did she know what they were doing? He looked at Jane who would not catch his eye, preferring to look at Maria.

  Maria stood in the doorway of the hospital, except for the clothes it was almost like watching the CCTV footage, and Kate was clicking away on her camera capturing a similar scene to that of the other night. Maria had noticed the camera and her demeanour had changed slightly, the performer taking centre stage once more. Her movements became almost practiced, more precise, as if she was following a script. Bridger watched as she looked up at the CCTV camera and smiled, exactly as she had the other night. Maria began to move, almost trance like, placing an imaginary item in the bins before walking slowly out towards the road. Kate followed close behind, her camera working overtime. All Bridger could do was to follow the performance a short distance behind, along with Jane and Jo. Whatever affect Kate’s camera was having on the young acrobat, he did not want to break the moment.

  Maria moved onto the road, not caring too much about the passing cars, deftly weaving between them as she crossed too the other side. Every so often, she would glance up, appearing to gaze into the sky for no reason. Bridger followed her line of sight and saw what she was looking at. Tiny CCTV cameras were looking back at them; he had not seen these before. There was one on a pole at the entrance to the car park, and another on the old Hercus Building across the road. Positioned to view the street outside, it would look directly at the entrance to the alleyway.

  “Jo, do you know who these cameras are controlled by?”

  “I’m not sure; maybe the council for the one looking at the gate area, but the Medical school may have something to do with the camera on the building. Wouldn’t we have retrieved all the footage from the cameras in the immediate area already?”

  “I’m sure I haven’t seen anything come across my desk relating to anything outside of the hospital.” Kicking himself silently, he made a mental note to retrieve the footage as soon as he could.

  Maria had moved into the alleyway, she was working on autopilot now. She had already told them she did not remember anything outside of the hospital, but being here now, it looked like she had practiced this route before. Maybe she had walked this route before. Bridger had no idea how many times she had visited Dunedin in the past. If she had, a girl of her age would have sampled the nightlife. It made sense. Many students used the alleyway as a short cut to reach the Robbie Burns Hotel; her peer group would have included those students. They were the ones who would have offered the good times she wanted. She would have been through here before. If she had done it before, she could have walked this way into town in any state of sobriety. Her story of not being involved seemed to be unravelling the more she walked.

  Maria stopped suddenly and looked blankly at the brick wall to her left, lifting a hand to it and stroking it downwards. Bridger looked at what she saw and the same Clowns face that he had reacted to earlier with Kate stared back at him. There were a lot more of them this time, lined up side by side on the wall, like a ramshackle army of false smiles and laughs. They were nothing more than advertising posters - Wilsons Circus gives back, come and see the life of a travelling carnival as we march down George Street – for some sort of parade. Maria started moving again, taking his attention from the small print.

  He felt himself tense up a little as they reached the area where Michael Wilson’s cold pale body had lain in a pool of bodily fluids less than a few days ago. There was no sign of him now though, not even a stain. The cleanup crew had sanitised the pla
ce well, well enough for the hordes of students to walk through oblivious, telling each other the ghost stories that would now have a ring of truth. Life goes on.

  It looked as if Maria’s subconscious had given her pause, Bridger watched her stop and look around. Watching her eyes as she looked at her upturned palms as if reading something, and then as she turned and looked towards the fence behind her. Her eyes became confused for a second before she turned and looked at one spot in particular. Her eyes did not move and her body began to tremble slightly. Bridger realised that she was staring at the empty space against the brick where Wilson had been. The pavement was slightly cleaner in that area, not surprising with the scrubbing it would have had, but still it would not have been immediately obvious…, unless you knew where to look. Maria knew where to look, she had not been shown any photographs, and she looked directly at it without prompting. Maria had been involved.

  Sometimes the most obvious answer was the right one. You did not have to be too clever about things, or over think them, it just complicated a simple answer.

  “I have seen enough…” Bridger addressed Jane. “Maria will be coming back to the police station with us Jane.” He heard Jo suck in a breath beside him. He spoke again before Jane could reply. “Jo, will you conduct the arrest please.”

  Jo moved towards Maria and placed a hand on her shoulder. She spoke quietly “Maria Staverly, I’m arresting you in connection with the death of Michael Wilson.”

  Maria did not reply, instead she stared back defiantly, with a fire behind her eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maria had said nothing to the police throughout the procedure she had just undergone. It was so demeaning, almost intrusive. They had even taken her DNA by mouth swab. She had half expected to be strip-searched and have her cavities inspected as well. Although she would not have minded so much if Jo Williamson had been the one to do that. She quickly scolded herself for having such a thought while confined in the little concrete room they had put her.

  Jo had been so forceful in her voice when she arrested her, but she could see the uncertainty in her eyes and the slight pinkness of her cheeks. She knew Jo did not have the conviction of her actions. It was plain to see. Sitting on the edge of the small bed, she looked at the concrete wall a few feet from her eyes. Thoughts of denial kept bouncing around in her head. Did she deserve this? Had she actually done something? Had she hurt the only man who was like a father figure to her? A single tear ran down her cheek, wiping it with her hand she licked the salty taste off her fingers. Crying was an emotional response that she found strange, not one prone to the more girly side of her gender. Were they Crocodile tears, or tears of guilt? She had no idea. Her little blue friend had seen to that, just as it had seen to most of her life, shielding her from reality. Irish Mick was murdered, and they arrested her, there had to be some truth in that. She felt her stomach tighten as a sob forced its way upwards making her body heave as she let herself go. Floods of tears came now, real tears, tears only for herself, for her life. She had to cling on to the thought of Jo; she would sort this whole thing out. Jo would know what to do. She would cling to that.

  “There is an actual Clown standing outside in the alleyway, beside the back gate.” Brian said, as he entered the office. He walked over to the window and looked down towards the street; Bridger moved over and stood beside him. “He is just standing there. I asked him what he wanted but he did not say anything, he just looked back at me with that silly painted smile they have. His eyes looked fiery though, it was unnerving. Don’t they ever get out of character?”

  Bridger had no idea, so just shrugged his shoulders.

  “I guess they have heard about Maria… Do you think she did it Mike?”

  “I’m not sure Brian, but my gut says she did.” Bridger was looking out towards the alleyway but could not see the clown. “She knew exactly where Michael Wilson’s body was on the night. She has unexplained blood on her top. She has convenient amnesia of that time. It all adds up.”

  “Well, I have tasked Grant and Becky to sort out the forensics on the top. The person I spoke too at the lab said they would fast track the testing. We should have the results in the morning.”

  “Thanks Brian. I think it is certain to be Wilson’s blood; there are not too many other explanations that I can think of. All said and done, I think we have a strong case against Maria. ”

  As he said this, something was bugging Bridger. The arrest had not brought the feeling of satisfaction that he normally got when turning the key on a killer. Looking at Brian’s calm features, there did not seem any doubt in his expression. He just hoped he had made the right decision.

  “What about our friend Reece Coster?”

  “We have to find him first Brian, he has gone to ground. Possibly because of the tent fire, but it may be more than that, given his interaction with Maria on the night of Wilsons death.”

  Grant and Becky entered the office behind them interrupting the conversation; Bridger turned around and caught a strange look on Grant’s face.

  “Did you know there is a Clown standing in the alleyway outside the rear gate boss?”

  “Yeah, I did Grant, Brian told me he was there when he came in.” Looking out of the window again, he tried to catch a glimpse of the strange sight. The strangely elusive colourful figure must have been standing in the shadow of the building, just out of sight. “He would be harmless enough though wouldn’t he? He’s just a clown after all…”

  Part Two-

  -The Clown

  Chapter Sixteen

  The stares just kept coming, but he was used to it. He had been stared at most of his life. The stares of wonderment and joy radiating from life’s audience had danced before his eyes for as long as he could remember. It was a look of fun and innocent trust, given so easily. He loved it, the adulation of the children, but he knew those stares were something that would always be the domain of the very young. The stares grew more mistrust in them the older they got. When you were older, a Clown outside of the big tent was an anomaly. Trust always diminished in the perceived lack of reality that Clowns displayed openly to the safe little worlds of the old. He blamed the fiction spewed from the minds of Authors trying to scare their audience with outlandish bullshit that never aligned with reality.

  It was reality to him though, even if it was make believe to others. He lived the life. It was all he knew. Others knew nothing about him; they just saw the painted smile. However, it always seemed that something different was a threat to them, it made them scared, he knew that. They had all believed once, bloody hypocrites.

  The horridness of some of the people in the world that the old inhabited, gave them their mistrust in the same something different that always bought them back to the tent. They mistrusted it, but they would always flock to it in a bid to escape their own reality for a while. Theirs was a reality fed to them by the media. His was just reality. When life turned to shit for them, they turned to the Clown for some harmless make believe; and the Clowns ruled that make-believe world. The ones that stared at him could laugh at inside the tent what they were scared of on the outside. It was a bit of a paradox really, but one that kept him going, and kept the audience coming back for more.

  Right now, he saw his existence as it was. He watched as every little worker ant that entered into their concrete lair to hide behind the huge walls throw him a funny look as they passed. Had these Police officers not ever seen a Circus Clown before? Did they not have childhoods? Then he thought they had probably been born into their uniforms just as he had been born into his own. They must look at him with a certain amount of mistrust, not believing in anything outside of the blue they always wore, hidden behind their mask of authority. It always took a certain type of person to do certain things; they could not help who they were.

  Those that had discarded their uniforms for the shirt and ties were the ones you had to watch out for though, they thought differently. These ones had made a choice within their own
worlds, which made them dangerous. It did not happen in his world, once a Clown always a Clown. To shed the painted smile was to shun one’s own family. You could no longer trust someone who no longer wanted to smile and jest. The police without the uniforms were the same, they did not smile any more, and he saw more mistrust in them. They made out they were open to others lifestyle choices, but he knew differently. They did not always play by the rigid rules of those in blue, but they still did not believe. They were a Judas to their own.

  He watched the news on television just like everyone else. He was not backwards. Time after time, he watched the suited Judas’s make their assumptions and then act upon them, blindly. Yesterday when the animals got out, he had seen that one man in the suit standing next to the other one dressed in black. The one in black looked like a killer ant with a gun, but the man in the suit looked like he was the one who wanted to shoot any of the animals that came near him. It was the way he stood, stupidly brave and scared at the same time. It was not the animals fault; they did not want to hurt anyone. They were just doing what came naturally. This man looked like he would rather that they be back in their cages. Police had a thing about cages.

  This man was the one who held her in the cage now. He knew that. He also knew that one man’s belief, bolstered by subordinates trained to mould the evidence to fit, could ruin another’s life.

  His fingers bunched into his palms, sharp fingernails biting at the skin. The arrogance that one’s assumption is correct without looking at the bigger picture made him angry. Behind the thick concrete wall in front of him was this man’s assumption, held in a cage, displayed like an animal. She was no killer, she was Circus, and she had loved Irish Mick, as they all had.