The first article mentioned a pair of Kewpie Dolls and a murder-suicide at an unnamed carnival around twenty years ago. I dismissed it, as that killer was obviously dead.
The other story took place two years ago. Police found a murdered clown but the article said nothing about a doll. This killing was different as the New York victims were patrons not employees and the Clown didn’t have a Kewpie… or did he?
My story didn’t mention a Kewpie either. Just because the Florida story didn’t mention a doll didn’t mean there wasn’t one. A few keystrokes on the computer located the Achalaca County Police Department and their phone number. I dialed and after a few transfers, a man said, “Homicide.”
“Hi, I’d like to speak with the detective who handled the death of that clown two years ago.”
“Ma’am. That’s no way to talk about the dead.”
“No. I mean yes, but I’m asking about a real clown. He died at a carnival.”
“Oh, just a minute.” I heard a slight pause, a muffled laugh and then a different voice spoke, “Detective Franklin. To whom am I speaking?”
“Raquel Flanagan, a reporter with the Waalbroek Chronicle.”
“Waalbroek? Where the heck is that?”
“Central New York. Where the heck is Achalaca?”
“Central Florida. Is there something else or did you call for a geography lesson?”
“Do you know of a case two years ago where a clown was killed at a carnival?”
“Yes.”
“Was a Kewpie Doll found at the scene? Perhaps a clown doll?”
The line went quiet. Then, “Who is this?”
“Raquel Flanagan from the Chronicle. Well, was there one?”
“We can’t discuss the case. It’s still an open investigation. Good bye.”
So much for police cooperation, if I wanted information, I’d have to get it elsewhere. The carnival seemed like a good place to start. I could also stop to see that apartment on the way.
* * *
When I arrived at the Brookview Gardens management office, I asked to see the advertised apartment. A young blonde woman got up from a desk and handed me a business card.
“Thanks for coming by. I’m Suzy Weston, the rental agent.”
I looked at the card, “I think you’re the only business in Waalbroek that doesn’t spell ‘brook’ ‘b-r-o-e-k’.”
“Used to, before construction started. We spelled it ‘B-r-o-e-k-ville’ but when somebody mispronounced it as ‘Brokeville’ at an investors meeting, well… ”
Suzy showed me a huge one-bedroom unit with a washerdryer. Freshly painted, it included a modern kitchen, a dining area large enough to seat eight people and a six by ten foot balcony off the plushy carpeted living room. It came with a reserved indoor parking space and utilities for a rent that I could just afford. I was thrilled and said, “I’ll take it.”
Suzy said, “Oh, I’m sorry. This one’s taken. The cutest newlywed couple signed the lease this morning, but we’re taking names in case there’s a problem with their credit check. We also expect to have another unit available soon.”
“Soon?”
“Oh, yes, we have a couple of leases expiring over the next few months.”
“Few months?”
“We can place your name on a waiting list. Give me your number and I can call you when the next one is available. These go fast.”
I left my name, waved good-bye to what could have been and dragged myself away to my car.
* * *
The carnival must have been doing big business. When I arrived, I couldn’t find any place to park until I drove around the lot a few times. After my second loop, I noticed a yellow and red camper van also looking for a spot. I thought that maybe I saw that van at Brookview Gardens. It looked like everyone was going to the show today.
As I traipsed across the grounds, I saw the carnival showed no signs of last night’s death. Folks wandered the walkways, fed food into mouths, gathered at games and waited for rides. I followed the mob until I came to a group of trailers and campers behind the biggest tent. It seemed like a good spot to look for the owner.
I heard a sound, something like “Pfffhht.” Then, a few seconds later, heard it again, and after a bit, again. Next, there was silence followed by angry voices. The voices led past a trailer to my left into a circle of motor homes and campers. Inside the circle, a large wooden rectangle covered with gaudy red and yellow paint leaned against a post. Knives stuck out of the wood and a couple stood in front of them. The man held a fist full of fierce looking blades and argued with the woman facing him. They stopped fighting when they saw me.
The woman asked me, “What do you want?”
“I’m looking for the owner.”
The man pointed to one of the trailers, “The silver one with the red flag on the roof.”
I thanked him and walked away, but could hear the woman yelling, “Why did you answer her. She spoke to me. You have to flirt with every good-looking woman you see. You bastard.”
The man yelled something and then they went back and forth. When the trailer with the red flag came into view, it was good to be out of earshot. I knocked on the door and a moment later, Leonardo opened it.
“Hi, remember me? Is the owner here?”
“Yeah, Raquel, right? You were here taking pictures when that drunk farmer fell in the dark, then we met at the coffee shop. It’s good to see you again.” He showed me that fantastic smile.
“And you’re Leonardo. Are you the owner?”
“No, Pops owns the carnival, but he’s out now. Maybe I can help you?”
“Hope so. I’m working on an additional story for the Chronicle and wanted to ask some questions.”
“Sure. C’mon in.”
I climbed up into the trailer and Leonardo led me to a dining area where we sat at a table covered with a pile of papers and a laptop computer. “I’m just working on the invoices. What do you need to know?”
“When I started to write up the follow up story about that Farmer, I discovered that it was the second death at this carnival in two years. Did you know that?”
“I heard some loan shark died on the fairgrounds but I didn’t know it happened near our lot. I read Police suspected somebody preferred killing the guy to paying him.”
“Police found a broken Kewpie Doll near his body, just like they did near the farmer’s.”
“Kewpies are first tier prizes at all our joints. For example, knock down three pins for a doll. Do that twice or knock down five in one game for a second tier prize like a plush.”
“A plush?”
“Stuffed animal, but we give away Kewpies mostly. I have trouble keeping them in stock.”
“Ceramic ones?”
“No, no one’s used those in years. Kewpies are all plastic now. Why are you so interested in the dolls?”
“I think there may be a connection between these two deaths.”
“Because of a Kewpie Doll? What did the Police say?” He grinned at me and I felt a little foolish that I said what I did.
“Yes. I haven’t discussed it with them yet. I hoped I could get a comment from you first.”
Leonardo shook his head, “Oh, well I’m just the geek here. Pops would have to speak to that. You can ask him when he comes back.”
“Geek? You’re a carnival geek?” I didn’t mean to recoil when I said that but it was horrible imagining those beautiful teeth biting off animal heads.
Leonardo laughed and with a big grin showed me those teeth again. “No. No, I’m a Computer Geek. I do all of the tech support and networking here. Carnivals may have been around forever, but to survive these days, you need to be modern.”
“Boy, am I embarrassed?” My face felt red. I think I started to blush.
Leonardo made a dismissive wave. “Actually, I’m second generation carny. I handle the business end. Two years ago, I earned my business degree with a minor in Information Technology.”
“I’m in the family business too. M
y mom owns the paper. It’s a blessing and a curse.” After embarrassing myself by announcing my serial killer theory, I was glad to find common ground. I didn’t want Leonardo to think I was a nut job.
Just as quickly as Leonardo laughed a moment ago, his mood changed to somber. He looked down and said, “Sometimes having folks in the business can be a burden.” A beat later and he was grinning at me again. “Anything else you need? Ask away.”
His sudden mood changes surprised me. So did his comment about folks in the business. In the short time I saw him and Pops together, they seemed to work well together. “Well, my research revealed some carnival deaths in Florida and I was wondering if there was any connection. I was hoping you could check personnel records and see if anyone at Kelly’s –“
“—worked in Florida? There are two answers. First, many employees don’t use their real names or even the same fake names more than once. A lot of the booth agents and ride jockeys we use are drifters who come and go. For instance, if a guy meets a girl, he might stay after we leave and work local farms. Second, we’ve all worked in Florida…and Georgia, the Carolinas, Virginia and Pennsylvania. We pretty much follow I95 down to Florida to spend the winter and work our way back up to summer in New York.”
“Well, I guess that’s all then.” I started to get up and Leonardo did too. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a business card and offered it to me.
“Raquel, if you need anything else… or if you’d just like to see the show, give me a call.”
I took the card. On top of a graphic of a red and whited striped carnival tent, it read, “Kelly’s Carnival Inc., Leonardo, Business Manager”. It also displayed a phone number. “That’s my cell. Call me anytime.”
I put the card in my shoulder bag, thanked him and left the trailer.
“Oh, Raquel?”
“Hmm?”
“You should be careful. Tracking a killer can be dangerous. Maybe you should just let this story go.”
“Part of the job, but thanks for the concern.”
When I left to go back to the Kara-mobile, I saw Pops. He nodded at me, “Ma’am” and started to climb the trailer stairs.
I called out, “Mr. Kelly?” and he stopped to look at me. “I’m Raquel Flanagan with the Chronicle. Have a moment sir?”
“There’s no Mr. Kelly. Never was. I’m Viktor Popslowski. Can you imagine calling this Popslowski’s Carnival? I’d have to get bigger signs, too much money. Call me Pops. What’s on your mind?” He turned and sat on the trailer stairs.
“I’ve already got most of what I needed from Leonardo. He was very helpful.”
“Yeah, he’s a good kid. Been like a son to me.”
“You mean he’s not your son?”
“No, why would you think he was? Have you looked at him? Looked at me?” He shook his head in apparent disbelief.
“He calls you Pops.”
“Lady, everybody calls me Pops. I just told you to call me Pops. You think we’d get anything done around here with folks calling me Mr. Popslowski every time we speak?”
“Sorry, do you remember seeing that Farmer the other night – before he died.”
“No, not that I remember. Weather was nice… we had a good crowd.”
“Anything unusual happen?”
“Yeah, a man died.”
I had that one coming. Ask the wrong question and you get the wrong answer. “That man had a ticket stub from a complimentary ticket. Can you tell me how those are distributed?”
Pops sighed as if he was losing patience with me. “Lady, we mail a bunch out every season. Didn’t you get one? Isn’t that how you got in that night?”
“Is there is a list of recipients?”
“Of course, Leonardo keeps one. How else would we know where to send them?”
“Sorry, just have one more question.”
“You apologize a lot. Shoot.”
“The death last night was the second at the carnival in two years. Do you have anything to say about that?”
He stood up, put his hand on the trailer doorknob and paused. Then he said, “Yes. No comment,” and went inside.
I turned to walk away and saw Brenda, the Bearded Lady outside the trailer. She sat at a collapsible picnic table under a nearby canopy. When she caught my eye, she waved me over.
“I hope you don’t mind me waiting for you to finish with Pops. I want to talk to you… need to tell someone – and you were nice to me the other night.”
I sat across from her at the table. “Tell me what?”
“I lied to you.”
She came this far on her own, so I sat and waited for her to continue.
“I didn’t leave the grounds to meet a local boy. That Farmer was my Dad. I was out in the field looking for him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I left home at 15. It was just Dad and me. He didn’t approve of… certain decisions I made… or the life I chose. I ran away to be the person I have to be but couldn’t find a place to fit in. Couldn’t go forward and couldn’t go back. Then, I found the carnival. No one here treated me like a freak. They took me in and I became the bearded lady. I found happiness here and could be myself.”
“So why was your father here? Did he come looking for you?”
“No. He wanted nothing to do with me. When Leonardo found out my father lived nearby, he said family was very important and suggested reaching out. I refused. Leonardo must have put my father’s name on the comp list and sent him a ticket.”
Brenda paused to wipe her eyes. “I saw him at the gate and went to talk with him. When he realized it was me, he got mad and walked away. Then I found him drinking and tried to talk to him again. He ran off. I did my show, went to look for him and found him dead. I couldn’t tell anyone who he was or they’d know about me. I’m a different person now and want my privacy, but couldn’t keep this to myself.”
Brenda lay her face down on the table and covered her head with her hands. Her body shook as she cried. She didn’t seem like she was going to stop anytime soon but I needed to know one more thing.
I reached across the table and put my hand on her shoulder. “Brenda… Brenda? Did you give your father a Kewpie Doll?”
The question seemed to have jarred her. She stopped crying and lifted her head from the table to look at me. She wiped her eyes with her hand, smearing her make-up. “No. He would never want a Kewpie Doll. Why?”
“The police found a farmer Kewpie Doll next to the …him. Do you know where he might have gotten it?”
Brenda sat up and faced me. “We give out Kewpies as game prizes but if he won a game, he’d have selected something else - like a beer mug. I don’t know why he’d have a doll.”
“Would he wear a gold tractor on a necklace?”
“That would be too girly for him. Why? Did you find one?”
“Brenda, you’ve got to tell the police that man was your father. If they find out on their own, it’ll look bad for you.” As I said it, I wondered, did Brenda kill her father or was she simply a kid with a sad story?
She stood and stared at me with wide tear filled eyes. “No. No. I can’t.” Then she turned and ran off, crying. “I can’t. I can’t.”
I didn’t know what else I could do so I got up and left. I tried to follow my route here to get back to Kara’s car and found myself back in the circle with the knife thrower. This time the woman and the man were kissing in a tight embrace. The woman pushed the man away and started towards me. The man called after her, “Zena!” but she ignored him and advanced on me.
“You,” she said to me. “You people see things and you don’t understand.
She was right. I had no idea what she was talking about.
“You see us yelling and you think we don’t love each other.”
“I’m sorry I intruded. I was lost.”
“Hmmph. Do you know the level of trust needed to stand still and smile while someone throws knives at you? Have you ever loved or trusted anyone
enough to do that?”
“Uh, no.”
“That’s the kind of love and trust that Federico and I have. And do you know why we have that trust? Do you?”
“Uh, no.”
“Because we hold nothing back. Nothing! We speak to each other always what is in our minds and hearts. No matter what it is. There are no secrets between us, and once spoken, all is forgiven and forgotten. That is how we have that trust. That is how I can stand there while he throws knives at me. Hmmph.” She snorted and stomped away.
I turned to go but didn’t get ten feet before hearing that “Pfffhht” sound again. This time, a “thunk” noise followed it as a knife stuck into the trailer next to my head.
Chapter Four – Phone Princess
Too scared and angry to think clearly, I pulled the knife from the trailer and ran back into the circle where Zena and Federico practiced. They were gone but left the knife-covered board with protruding handles outlining the shape of a body. I stabbed the knife into the body’s center, swore and left.
Back in the office, sitting at my desk, out of harm’s way, I started to tremble. The connection between the deaths and the dolls eluded me and I didn’t think I’d be safe again until I found it. I reread the articles we printed about the bookie’s murder but found nothing to tie in with the farmer. Well, except both men had carnival prizes. Heck, they probably both had cotton candy and funnel cakes too.
Since my best source of information… and safety might be the police, I phoned Robby Carlyle. He was out on patrol but Dispatch promised to tell him I called.
Deep in thought, plotting my next move, I was startled when my phone rang and fumbled to pick it up.
“Ah, Raquel Flanagan. Chronicle.”
“I know who you are and I damn well know the name of my newspaper.”
“Oh, hello, Mother.”
“At home, it’s Mother. Here’s it’s ‘Yes, Chief’ or ‘Yes, Boss’. Come to my office. I want to know why our newest probationary reporter is covering our biggest story… and don’t try to blame your Uncle Bill. You know he can’t refuse you.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Be right there.”
I took a moment to check my face in my desk mirror. When meeting Mom, it would be good to look composed and not have lipstick on my teeth.
Falafel Jones - The Kewpie Killer Page 3
