by Vanda Symon
‘God,’ she sighed. ‘It’s been so long I’d settle for anyone with a pulse.’
‘Surely there must be some earnest, brooding student types that take your fancy?’ I asked. ‘All foppish hair and piercing, intelligent eyes.’
‘Yes, the campus is littered with them. But the psych ones take themselves so damned seriously. And they’re a bit skinny and pasty looking – too many Dunedin suntans. I need to find me some bronzed Grecian God with buns of steel.’
‘Can’t say I’ve seen many of those around here, and if I did, I’d race you for him.’
‘Well, you can’t be looking that hard, then. Haven’t you checked out the butt attached to your Detective Frost?’
‘Firstly, he’s not my Detective Frost, and secondly, I wasn’t looking at his butt.’ I had actually noted its merits, but I was never going to admit it to Maggie, or him for that matter. ‘If he does it for you, you’re most welcome to him. I don’t think he’s attached. I could set you up on a date, if you like.’
‘Like I said, I don’t do cops, and I believe his gaze falls elsewhere.’
If I had any sense, I thought, I’d walk down to work. It would only take twenty minutes or so. It would also save the usual parking drama at the other end. But, damn it, I owned my own car for the first time in my life and by God I was going to use it. My zippy black Honda Hatch was parked a block away and around the corner from the house, due to the usual scrum for parking and the heap of crap still hogging the space out the front, despite my best efforts. I hopped in the driver’s seat and was putting the keys in the ignition when I spotted the piece of paper tucked under the windscreen wiper. Driving with it wedged there, flapping in the breeze, would annoy the crap out of me, so I got out and grabbed it from under the wiper. I unfolded it, curious as to what vacuum cleaner, Dunedin band or home beauty product was being peddled this time.
Fuck you bitch.
I was so taken aback I almost dropped it. I checked over my shoulder, pulse racing, and then screwed the note up and tossed it into the gutter before jumping back into the safety of the car. Who on earth would write something that awful? Then I remembered the little note I had left under someone else’s wiper blade. Surely not? I’d been very polite and signed it from the general household, not specifically from me. It was carefully non-confrontational, so as not to offend. This was personal. Besides, my car was parked around the corner from the house, so the owner of the crap-heap wouldn’t know it was mine. Maybe it was random?
Or not.
This was stupid; it was just a note, someone having a sick joke. The way my heart was thumping away in my chest was plain ridiculous. Maybe I should tell someone? Nah, this was small fry in light of the murders and everything else going on around here. Some idiot’s idea of fun wasn’t worth a mention. In fact, the guys at work would probably just laugh and tell me not to be such a sissy. That logic didn’t do anything to quell my hyperactive nervous system though.
I got out of the car, and with slightly shaky hands, went over to the gutter and retrieved the screwed-up note. Maybe it would pay to keep hold of it, just in case.
23
There was something about Zarvo the clown that set my crap-o-meter jangling. He was hiding something. A lot of them had been hiding something, you could tell that by the overt signs of nervousness, sweating, hand rubbing, strained laughter. It was to be expected of people, many foreign, caught up in a large police investigation. I’d be feeling edgy too. But with him there was something else. He was a clown in the show, but didn’t look very clown-like today, a clean-shaven (over his entire head except for the eyebrows), unremarkable-looking man dressed in a clean white T-shirt and blue jeans. Like all the circus people we’d encountered so far, with the exception of Terry Bennett and the fat lady, he had a fit and muscular physique. He was probably accustomed to hiding under half an inch of make-up and an absurd wig, so maybe conversation undisguised made him uncomfortable. But he still seemed too measured, too careful in his choice of words. I didn’t think it could be put down entirely to language difficulties. He hadn’t requested a translator and his Slavic accent was pretty broad, which the others didn’t seem to have noticed.
I listened as Smithy asked the now familiar string of questions about his whereabouts.
‘I was at rehearsals in afternoon, then I was doing dogs. My job is look after dogs. They part of my act. Then we eat, then do show.’
The dogs in question came into the way-too-cute category. White balls of charming fluff Bichon Frise. I recalled seeing three of the little blighters attired in hats and waistcoats rehearsing some pretty slick moves. I was sure they’d be a hit with the crowd.
‘Is there anyone else who could vouch for your whereabouts?’
‘Serge with me the whole time. He do dogs too. We in same caravan.’
It had been pretty much the same for all of the interviews. The circus was a close-knit place and it was all business. I’d often fantasised about running off to the circus when I was a girl, anything to get me out of helping with the milking and the inhumane early-morning starts, or my worst of the worst, docking the lambs. Seeing these guys in action had changed my mind about it being the great romantic adventure. They worked bloody hard. There were constant rehearsals, cleaning, looking after the grounds and maintenance. Terry Bennett ran a tight ship and kept them busy. Which was a good thing for most of them, as they were busy together. Constant companionship meant rock-solid alibis. There wasn’t much time for privacy, rest and relaxation, let alone slipping off to kill young women.
The other thing that had been bugging me, apart from Zarvo, was that Rose-Marie’s body had been found in a place that seemed carefully chosen. I ran past there at least once a week, and I had never taken any notice of the path down to the river, which suggested a bit of local knowledge on the part of the killer. The circus had only been in town two days when she was murdered. Those two days would have been full on with setting up camp and preparing for the first show on the Friday night. It had been a busy night in Dunedin: rugby at the stadium, circus at the Oval, body in the Leith. The walk from the circus to the Botanic Garden would easily take half an hour at least, probably closer to forty minutes. When would one of them have had the time? And how would they know to take her there in the first place? I made a note to myself to check out each person for previous visits or knowledge of Dunedin. Or even friends or relatives here. Perhaps they had help. Perhaps they drove or biked.
Zarvo’s interview was over. His photograph was taken and then he was exchanged for yet another member of the company.
Why did I feel like this was getting us nowhere, fast?
24
‘So, when are you going to realise this is all a bloody great waste of time?’ Terry Bennett had come over to watch as I finished giving Cassie the elephant a rub down, under the wary supervision of Jamal, her keeper. He’d been rather surprised at my request to get so up close and personal, but, after consulting with the boss, had consented. It was good public relations, after all. And for my part, after having my hand cramped around a pen and my brain cramped around mind-numbing tedium, it felt good to stretch my fingers and tune out with the rhythm of rubbing.
‘Cassie doesn’t think it’s a waste. I think she’s enjoying it, Mr Bennett. Aren’t you, Cassie?’ I knew she was enjoying it. She was leaning into the brushstrokes and I could feel a deep vibration coming from her body that reminded me of a cat purring. She seemed a lot more relaxed. So was I. It was mutually beneficial. It wasn’t quite the same as rubbing down a horse and admittedly, seeing as I wasn’t the tallest of people and she was fairly sizeable, I was only reaching the lower half of her body for now. But I loved the feel of Cassie’s skin, dry, rough and with the texture of cabbage-tree bark. She smelled kind of warm and earthy.
Terry Bennett managed a smile before continuing on his purpose. He wasn’t easily deflected. ‘I told you I keep a tight watch on my crew, there are no shirkers. We’ve nothing to do with these murders. You
haven’t found anything, have you? You’re on the wrong trail here and you know it.’
I put down the brush, patted Cassie on the rump and moved over to where he was standing. ‘Well, Mr Bennett, even you would have to admit some in your company are not entirely blameless. There’s been a fair amount of narcotics and banned substances found and some very unsavoury behaviour towards some of your animals.’
His face creased into a scowl and I noted his fists clenching and reclenching. I was expecting a tirade back when I felt a soft thump on my shoulder. I turned my head to the left and saw a slightly bristly, mottled-looking proboscis parked there. I laughed. I didn’t know elephants could sneak up. When I turned right around to look, Cassie had stretched out to the full extent of her chain to reach me.
‘You feeling left out, old girl?’ I gave her trunk a wee tickle.
‘Looks like you’ve made a friend,’ Bennett said. He cocked his head. ‘Maybe I underestimated you. Elephants aren’t too bad a judge of character.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ I said, ridiculously pleased with Cassie’s gesture. ‘Look, the bottom line is a young woman is dead, as are several other people that could be related to this case. We will follow every lead to its conclusion to find the killer or killers. We would be doing the victim a huge wrong if we didn’t. This isn’t about you or your circus, and you know it. It’s about accountability. Whoever did this has to be brought to justice. Surely you must understand that.’
‘Of course I do. Someone’s got to pay. My concern is that my circus gets trampled on in the process. Public image is a fickle thing. You’ve seen it yourself with the protesters and stupid bloody pranksters. The circus gets a bum enough rap anyway. We don’t need to give them any more ammunition. I just want to make sure we get the same courtesy as any other group of people in this situation. You know, innocent until proven guilty, which we won’t be. The last thing we need is any more bloody media attention to fuel the fire.’
25
‘The thick and smelly stuff has truly hit the fan this morning,’ Smithy said as I arrived in the squad room ready for another funfilled day at the office. It remained to be seen whether the office in question would be here or in a tent. ‘Your Mr Bennett’s going to be a bit pissed off.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’ I asked.
Smithy held up the front page of the Otago Daily Times and there, splattered across it, was the headline: ‘Circus makes a killing’.
‘Oh crap, that can’t be good.’ We had the paper delivered at home and I usually checked the headlines and laid claim to the cryptic crossword puzzle before heading off to work, but I’d been late back from my run this morning and missed the juicy bits.
I went over and grabbed the proffered paper to read some more. ‘Jesus, they’ve even said that the murder may be related to the string of unsolveds up the country. How the hell did they find out about that? I thought that information was top secret.’ This added to the twisting sensation in my gut that hadn’t resolved itself since I’d found a second note under my windscreen this morning. This one was the same paper, but blank. Somehow, that felt worse than being sworn at. I was considering having a quiet word to Smithy about it if the opportunity arose, but it still felt a bit wimpy to feel so fazed by such a little thing.
‘It was supposed to be,’ Smithy said. ‘Someone’s going to be very unhap—’
‘Meeting, first floor, now.’ DI Johns’ manner gave no room for discussion as he leaned around our doorway and roared. Even the big boys flinched. ‘Move it.’ That was all the instruction we got – and all we needed.
‘I’d guess that was the unhappy someone,’ I said, after I’d scraped myself off the ceiling.
We followed the stream of obedient CIB folk down the stairwell to the first-floor briefing room. The chairs were already taken, so we stood around the side. Looked as though everyone in the building had been summoned for this one. The lights, which were usually dimmed in here for presentations, glared relentlessly.
DI Johns stormed up to the front, then, with great drama, unfurled his copy of the newspaper with a whip-like crack and held it up for all to see. ‘Now what the bloody hell is this?’
Even I was shocked to hear him use that kind of language in front of the whole staff. He looked as though he could blow a vein.
‘How the hell did the press find out about this?’
Silence.
‘Someone has been talking and I want to know who.’
I had a flashback to school assembly and Principal McLeary holding up a cigarette butt, demanding: ‘Someone has been smoking around the bike sheds and I want to know who.’ Would we be made to sit here for an hour in silence until someone owned up?
‘I know news of the circus investigation was bound to get out eventually, but the media have stated that we are looking into other unsolved murders in relation to this case.’ He jabbed his finger into the page for effect. ‘That is sensitive information and was strictly to be held within these walls. For God’s sake, they’ve even used the words “serial killer”.’
A murmur went around the room from those who hadn’t caught the news themselves this morning.
‘Do you realise how much more difficult this makes our job? Now we’re going to have public panic and the national spotlight on us. There is going to be a media scrum out there. Not to mention government pressure to get this solved. If there are leaks coming from this building, by God, I will find out who it is and their job will be gone. They’ll be booted out faster than any of you can draw breath.’ He stopped then, and glared out into the room as if waiting for a confession. He eyeballed individuals in the room, including what felt like a particularly long stare at me. Several heads turned to see who the focus of attention was. I longed for the normal low lighting in the room as I felt the heat rise up my face, even though I knew I had no cause to feel guilty. The intensity of his anger had made many in the room suddenly fascinated by their shoelaces. Mine looked like they could do with replacement soon. The silence had become excruciating. Just when the tension was almost asphyxiating he spoke, with a quiet voice of steel.
‘The game has changed. The remaining interviews of circus staff will take place at the station. We are in the headlines now. No one, but no one will talk to the media except me. I want a uniform branch presence down at that circus now. This is bound to draw out the crackpots again. I don’t want any incidents.’ He shook the paper in the air again. ‘If you were responsible for this, you can expect to hear from me personally, and soon.’ He paused, waiting for the veiled threat to sink in. ‘You are dismissed.’
You could feel the collective sense of relief at those three words.
‘That man should be an actor,’ I whispered to Smithy, ‘such a sense for the dramatic.’
‘Damned right, that flourish would be hard to beat – talk about playing the crowd. I pity the poor sod who let that information slip.’
The room erupted into action, but just as bums had started to rise from seats, he bellowed out one more command. Everyone froze mid-manoeuvre.
‘DC Shephard, I want to see you, now.’
26
All heads turned to stare as I walked back into the squad room. I paused, not quite sure what to do or say when Smithy came straight out with the question that was no doubt in all their minds.
‘So have you still got a job? What did he want to see you about?’
My shoulders slumped and my voice reflected my enthusiasm.
‘Nothing, absolutely nothing. All he wanted was to tell me to go down to the circus this morning, seeing as I’m their requested liaison, and oversee the transport of the last members to the station for questioning. Oh, and to iron out any issues Mr Bennett might have after the newspaper revelations, of which I’m sure there’ll be plenty.’
‘Sorry?’ David Reihana said from the corner of the room. ‘He singled you out in front of everyone just for that? God, I thought he’d decided you were the leak and was going to fry your ars
e.’
‘You and everyone else there. You should have seen some of the filthy looks I got on the way back here. He may as well have had me fingerprinted, processed and proclaimed guilty as charged.’ I swallowed down the small lump in my throat, but couldn’t hide the tell-tale crackle. ‘Why the hell did he have to do that?’
After this morning’s blank note under the wipers, this added yet another layer of distaste to my day. My usual chirp was shot.
‘Don’t take it personally, Shep. That was low, even for him,’ Smithy said, as he came over and gave me a pat on the shoulder.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘What Smithy’s trying to tell you,’ Reihana said, ‘is that the DI has a bit of a reputation for being a bully. You probably haven’t been here long enough to notice, but he always likes to have someone to torment. Otto had the pleasure for a short time there, didn’t you, mate?’
‘Unfortunately,’ was the one-word reply.
‘You seem to have been promoted to the position of his favourite punching bag.’
Actually, I had noticed. ‘Oh, bloody terrific.’ Like that made me feel any better. ‘I thought it was because of what happened in Mataura. We didn’t exactly see eye to eye.’
‘So we heard. I’m sure that helped. He doesn’t like to be shown up by anyone and is pretty good at holding a grudge.’ Reihana paused, as if debating whether to say something.
‘Is there something else I should know?’
‘I don’t think he was very pleased about you being fast-tracked into the CIB.’ Again, the considered pause. ‘To be honest, it didn’t go down well with a number of people here, especially some downstairs.’
I felt the full attention of the room on me again. It was true that after what happened at Mataura someone in the hierarchy saw fit to assist my cause and get me into detective training sooner rather than later. I knew full well places were limited and there were those in the uniform branch who had been waiting for years to get the nod. I had expected to have to wait too, so was pleasantly surprised by the speed of it all. It wasn’t a popular decision among the troops though and my presence was barely tolerated by some. A memory jumped to mind of one Chardonnay-fuelled female officer informing everyone at Friday-night drinks that I must have slept with the right people to get there. I had often wondered what some of my colleagues in this room thought about it. Now I knew.