Catch a Falling Clown tp-7

by Stuart M. Kaminsky

  I hadn’t had a good look at the man in the business suit who had run into the tent an hour earlier. I knew he was big, but his face had been covered by a hat. That hat was still on, but it couldn’t hide the scar on his face, a purple scar that split his face in half. The right side was sharp-eyed and smiling with a secret joke. The left side was pulled down, distorted by what seemed pain or sorrow. He was a Janus who couldn’t be read, happy and sad at the same time. The scar cut across the corner of his mouth, so his speech was slightly distorted.

  Grotesqueness was no sign of guilt, just of fascination. I shook his hand and pointed to the chair. He took it. With some stretch of the imagination, his suit might be taken for blue, but it was more black than blue. Paul didn’t seem a good bet for a killer. Whoever did it was probably tied in to the death of the elephants for the past few years and was affiliated with the circus.

  “Why have I been asked to come in here?” he said, his voice slurred.

  “Won’t take a minute,” I said reassuringly, trying to make up my mind if it would be more polite to avoid looking at him or to force myself to keep my eyes on him.

  “My visage makes you uncomfortable, Mr….”

  “Peters,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I assure you that it is an even greater source of discomfort to me,” he said, the one side of his face amused, the other even more in agony from its opposite grin. “War accident. The Ardennes. Shell exploded. I have a feeling that even more will suffer in our current confrontation with the Huns.”

  “We don’t call them Huns anymore,” I said. “Nazis.”

  “It is your war,” he said, sitting back. “Call them what you like.”

  “This is a routine investigation for the insurance company,” I said, not liking Mr. Paul. “May I ask you a few questions?”

  “You may ask,” he said, his eyes never leaving me. “I will decide whether or not I wish to answer.”

  I found a pencil and began to doodle on a sheet of paper on Elder’s desk. I drew cubes tied together and worked on Koko the clown. I didn’t care if Paul knew I wasn’t taking notes. “How long have you lived in Mirador?” I asked.

  “Four years,” he said. “Though I fail to see how such information could help the insurance company.”

  “Simply trying to fill out the form,” I said. “Background information establishes the credibility of the witness.”

  “I witnessed nothing,” he said. “The accident had already taken place when I arrived.”

  “What were you doing here, at the circus?” I tried.

  “I am a reasonably wealthy man,” he said. “Primarily real estate in various parts of the nation. I have some plans for revitalizing Mirador and the county. Hope to draw business interests here.”

  “To help the county while you sell land?”

  “It is mutually advantageous,” he agreed. “I have no intention of defending my interest in making money. It is my interest, my passion. I came here today to try to begin negotiations to have the circus set up a permanent West Coast headquarters here. Just a preliminary step. The idea would be to make the circus management welcome, to plant the seed.”

  “Your sheriff didn’t exactly make them welcome this morning,” I said amiably.

  “Mr. Nelson is sometimes a bit overzealous,” said Paul. “But he knows his responsibility.”

  “And he knows who pays the rent,” I added, looking up.

  That face betrayed nothing because it displayed everything. “Mr.…”

  “Peters,” I said.

  “I am not here to engage in argument with you. I wish to cooperate with the circus if I can, for reasons which I have now made quite clear to you. I will make it clear to the management of this circus that it is to their advantage to have a location like Mirador where the government, which includes the sheriff, fully understands the plans and needs of the business community.”

  “As long as the circus stays on the good side of the business community,” I said.

  “I don’t know where you got your training, nor in what,” he said. “It certainly wasn’t in business or economics.”

  “Tanucci fell from a harness while rehearsing,” I said. “Did you see the harness hanging in the ring over to the right side of the tent?”

  “I do not know. I do not remember. What difference does it make?”

  “None, Mr. Paul,” I said, standing up. “I’m just doing my job.”

  He stood up. Physically, he looked like a larger version of Alfred Hitchcock, but there was something tight about him. Maybe it was just his twisted face or the fact of having seen a dead man and being asked questions about it. I wasn’t feeling any too loose myself. But I had a job, so I moved one step up the ladder to a broken friendship.

  “What do you think about circuses, Mr. Paul?”

  “Very little,” he said. “They are businesses which can occupy space and bring jobs, which means more people who need more land. It seems a bit unsavory, but that doesn’t bother me. Carelessness bothers me.”

  His eyes, both the good and bad one, took me in, from graying hair to scuffed shoes, pausing, I was sure, at my coffee stain.

  “I try not to let it bother me,” I said. “Like rude people. If they feel better making enemies instead of friends, it’s their back that has to be watched. People like that hire people like me. So if you ever need a private detective …”

  “I should look you up,” he finished.

  “No,” I said. “Go to San Diego. There are two private eyes named Maling and Markham who take hopeless cases. Some people will do anything for a buck.”

  “Times are hard,” said Paul. I caught no irony in his words.

  “They’re always hard,” I said.

  “I’m amazed,” he said, opening the door. “We actually agree on something.”

  When he left, the room grew larger, and I breathed deeply. Then the room got smaller again, and I wondered if I had reacted to the way he looked or if he had really brought the tension in, in some other form than his face.

  Agnes Sudds came next, and a welcome change she was, a breath of cold simplicity in a room full of hot air. She was small, red of hair, with a face that people surely called pert and a blue twinkling dress which showed a lot of Sudds. Her hand remained on the tiny hat with the tall feather that threatened to fall off.

  “Why don’t you just take it off?” I said as she ducked to make it through the door.

  “You ain’t even Boss Canvas Man,” she said sharply. “And someone should have told you I take it off for nobody, especially a First of May like you.” With that, she sat and crossed her legs.

  “I meant your hat, not your britches, and what’s a First of May?” I moved out from behind the desk and leaned against it to look down at her.

  “A newcomer to the circus,” she said. I could see now that she had gum in her mouth.

  “You like Glenda Farrell?” I said.

  She shrugged.

  “Ginger Rogers?”

  She lit up. “I can dance like that,” she said. “I can sing too. I know a guy who knows a producer.”

  “So do I,” I said.

  “Mine’s real,” she said.

  “Maybe we can discuss mine,” I said, leaning toward her.

  Then she took off her blue cap and put it on the floor next to her. I saw why she had been holding it down. A small green snake perched on her head and looked around the room. I didn’t turn to stone, but I did head back behind the desk.

  “There’s a snake on your head,” I said, looking for a weapon and wondering how I could kill the snake without destroying the potential victim.

  “Of course,” she sighed with exasperation. “I work snakes. Abdul is little, but he’s full of poison. I work the big snakes too. Rattlers, small boa, python, even. That’s for show. Abdul is the real thing. He gets his fangs in you, you’re dead in maybe, I don’t know, the time it takes to get to the toy in Cracker Jacks.”

  “You always carry him around with
you?” I said, watching Abdul watch me.

  “No, but I wanted to show him to you,” she said seriously. “Elder said this was about what happened this morning. I … I did it.”

  “You did it?” I said.

  “Right,” she agreed, popping her gum. The pop scared the hell out of Abdul, who curled back on her head.

  “The Tanucci kid Marco was after me for weeks. I told him no chance. Well, that’s what I told him. I didn’t want that wife of his, Rennata, after me, but he was a cute kid and if he had stayed with it … but I told him no yesterday and showed him Abdul. I think he was a little upset this morning. Maybe because of me and Abdul. I mean, if a guy really wants you, he’s not going to let a snake or a ‘no’ end it, right?”

  “Right,” I agreed, having just decided that I didn’t really want Agnes Sudds.

  “So maybe he had me and Abdul on his mind this morning and took a fall,” she said, reaching up to her head. I held my breath. Abdul pulled back as if to strike. She held up a finger, made a circle with it, and reached back quickly to grab the snake neatly right behind his head. She pulled him down to her lap and stroked him carefully.

  Agnes smiled and snapped her gum again. “Trick,” she said. “I could see him in the window behind you. Like a mirror.”

  I had nothing to say.

  “So we did it,” she said.

  Some moisture came back into my mouth. But so did the acrid taste of part of my breakfast.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Agnes,” I said. “I’m sure you and Abdul had nothing to do with Mr. Tanucci’s death.”

  “I’m not being hard,” she said. “Trial might be good for my career. You know. Circus star drives aerialist to death when she spurns his love. That sort of thing.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to think of a way to get her to the door without getting too close.

  “Can’t we make some kind of deal?” she said, holding up Abdul. “I mean, you guys turn me in to the cops and call the radio stations and the newspapers. Maybe I did it. You can’t be sure.”

  “Right,” I said, “I can’t be sure, but …”

  “I would be very grateful,” she said, removing her gum with her free hand and dropping it into Elder’s wastebasket. She turned her even-toothed smile at me. Ginger Rogers with a snake. Toby Peters was nowhere near Eden and not tempted.

  “Let me think about it,” I said softly, looking into her green eyes. “I’ll get back to you later.”

  There were about thirty seconds of silence while she poised and only gradually got the idea.

  “I’ve got my own wagon,” she said. “Behind the big top. Green wagon near the end.”

  I could see why Agnes had her own wagon. “I’ll remember,” I said. “I really will.”

  Then Agnes and Abdul left. Peg came in almost immediately after, bearing a cup of coffee in the white circus mug. It was full of sugar and almost half-cream, which was just the way I like it.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking it from her hands. Her hair was almost all down now and looking better with each battle lost against the army of pins. Our hands touched.

  “I thought you might be needing this after Agnes,” she said.

  “You might have warned me,” I said.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d believe me,” she said with a small smile.

  I leaned back and looked at the posters while I drank. Then I looked out the window and watched an elephant walk by. I found myself dreaming of what it would be like to have a real office instead of a closet behind a dentist’s office.

  “Peg,” I said. “Did you murder Tanucci?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Good,” I sighed, putting my feet on the desk and looking into the brown coffee.

  “And you just believe me?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess I don’t want anyone who would bring me coffee and sympathy and sanity to be a killer. Sure you’re not the killer?”

  “Positive,” she said.

  “That’s a relief,” I said with a grin.

  She laughed, a nice laugh.

  “You’re maybe thirty,” I said. “Too shy to be a performer. Maybe you had a little college. Dull small-town life. Circus looked good, so you got up the nerve to ask for a job. Elder needed someone, and you fell in love with him.”

  She was looking down and biting her lower lip. “Something like that,” she said softly. “For some people it’s movies or fairy tales. I didn’t start dreaming till I was about twenty-five, and I found the circus.” She looked up at me with a grin that could have turned to a cry. “I’ll grow up someday,” she said. It sounded like a promise to some daddy or teacher way beyond the me she was talking to.

  “Forget it,” I said, draining the last of the coffee and looking at the few grains at the bottom of the cup. “I never grew up. Have no plans to. Took me almost forty years to find that out. I lost my wife when we both finally agreed on that, and I’ve been playing private detective ever since.”

  She brightened, and I could see that her eyes were brown and wide. “And you’ve had fun?”

  “It beats growing up,” I said. “You are a pretty girl.”

  “No, I’m all right, and I’m not a girl. You don’t talk like you look.”

  “I look like a reheated meatball because my brother played a tune on my face once too often and because not growing up can get you in trouble.”

  I’m not sure where we were going, but I didn’t get a chance to find out. Elder came through the door. He looked at me. Then he looked at Peg. He seemed more relieved than upset by what he saw. My guess was that he would have been happy for Peg to pin her fairy tale on someone else.

  “Problem, Peters,” he said.

  We had gone almost two hours without an attack on a clown, elephant, or trapeze artist.

  “Rennata Tanucci is missing,” said Elder.

  “So,” I said. “This is a big circus. Maybe she’s just getting some sympathy from someone, or she went for a walk.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed, “but why did she take an elephant with her?”

  5

  The Tanucci clan shared a train wagon. It was divided into three compartments, each a tiny room. We-Elder, I, and the three Tanuccis-crowded into one of the compartments, sitting on the lower of two bunk beds and standing in the corners. The family had changed into costume for the afternoon performance. Each was dressed in blue tights with white fluffy trimming and a white cape. I had the feeling I was questioning the Marvel family. I wanted to know what they thought had happened to Rennata, to the elephant, to Marco. I wanted to let them know I was sorry and that I wanted to help. It would have been easier if they spoke some English or I knew some Italian. Elder was no help.

  “Why did she go?” I shouted. Shouting always stimulates those who cannot understand to grope through a foreign language. It forces the words to the center of the being and translates them. Only this time it didn’t work. Actually, it never works.

  The older man, Carlo, tilted his chin up and looked at me. His head was heavy with moist, thick black hair that suggested a dye job. His face was thick and brown and lined, a worn face that belonged in a Camel ad in Look magazine. He turned to the other members of his family and said, “Qui?”

  They gave him some advice. He agreed and shook his head. “No,” he said with great dignity and no relation to my question.

  “Rennata or the kid did all the translating,” said Elder. “This isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

  “You mean no one else in this circus speaks Italian?” I asked.

  “Sure, but these people aren’t exactly full of trust,” he explained. “They’ve been getting some hard talk in some of the towns we’ve hit. A couple of times people have even called Carlo Mussolini during the act. He damned near dropped Tino one time. The way Rennata told it, they had to run from Italy with a small carnival. Carlo’s brother was a secretary or something in the Italian Communist party. The brother was bumped off, and Carlo was afraid for hi
s family and got out. He has more reason to hate the Fascists than the audience does, but go figure out towners.”

  Elder and Carlo had been looking at each other in understanding through the explanation, and Carlo had clearly picked up enough words like “Mussolini” and “Communist” to figure out what was happening.

  “Does he know that the kid might have been murdered?” I asked Elder.

  “He knows,” came a voice, but it wasn’t Elder’s. It was the now youngest Tanucci, Tino.

  Carlo said something quickly and earnestly to the boy. The mother put a hand on his arm, and Tino touched her reassuringly.

  “My English,” he said, “is not so very good, but is enough. Rennata told us that Marco was maybe morted, murdered.”

  He was a short figure, the darkest of the clan, with straight black hair down his neck. He was somewhere in his late teens, but I couldn’t tell where. His forehead was creased with the strain of publicly speaking English, a task he had probably not planned to take on for some time.

  “What did she say?”

  “She say she saw something, someone, and someone saw her seeing this,” he said. “It was not so clear to me, something to do with our equip … I don’t know how you say this word.”

  “Equipment,” I supplied. “She saw someone messing with your equipment before your brother fell. Is that it?”

  “Si,” he agreed. “She saw.”

  “Who was it?” I pushed.

  The young man shook his head. “I no know. She say she would take care. She was a very mad.” He showed mad by shaking his head furiously. “She say she … That’s all.”

  One simple conclusion was that Rennata Tanucci had seen whoever cut the harness or whoever had taken it down after the murder. She was now going to find that person and do something to him or her involving an elephant. The number of unpleasant things someone could do with a two-ton elephant did not elude me or Elder.

  “She’s crazy enough,” Elder confirmed, touching his lower lip.

  “It can’t be that easy to hide an elephant,” I said.

  The Tanuccis listened to what they couldn’t understand, and the young man tried to translate for them.