A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals)

by Power, P. S.

  The men looked at each other, but Daniels pulled his pad around and got a clean sheet out.

  "Can you start eight years back?"

  That was easy, and pretty much came down to him having lived in Nevada the whole time, working through most of it at the college. They'd have to make some calls to check it all out, in the morning, but both men seemed to be pretty certain that he wasn't their killer. It was a relief, for him at least.

  "You know, not to be a jerk, but you could at least pretend to be happy for me. I'm not a sick psycho and can prove it. Yay. I get that it must be hard for you, trying to do this kind of work... That poor woman. Maggie. I... It can't be a coincidence, can it? She was with a clown, one with an alibi and no link to your case, but the only one in the area, and then she's kidnapped and murdered, several days later, by someone dressed up like one? That-"Jason went silent, since it meant that he was being watched by the killer.

  The FBI agents looked at him, waiting for him to go on, but he didn't. That would be stupid. If they weren't thinking that he had a partner and was involved, they were fools. How else could that work? He knew that it wasn't the case, but if he were them, it would be the first thing he wrote down as soon as Jay left the room.

  There was another way that it could happen, however.

  "Can you give me a ride back to my place? I don't have one, and if it hasn't been pulled off, I'd really like for you to take a look at the tracking device on my car." He spoke in a low tone, and Daniels stood, gathering up his papers a bit tiredly.

  "Sure. It's the least we can do. Come on."

  They left quickly enough, and only Deputy Mills was in the station. The man nodded at him, his wiry frame reminding Jason to work out. The casino had a small gym, even if almost no one ever used it. Staying in shape was good, and the other man looked better for his efforts. Still thin, but with a build like a swimmer, rather than a scarecrow. Waving, since the dark haired man was the only one on Sheriff's force that he liked at all, Jay followed the agents out.

  When they got in the car, Jason cleared his throat.

  "Um, speed?" Carl had probably been watching through the mirror, which meant that he could have one of the others out to get the unit if they didn't have a warrant for it. That being the case, it wasn't a huge surprise to find Deputy Richmond getting ready to crawl under the vehicle in Carlos and Wendy's driveway as they pulled up. The man had parked a good ways away, and had walked in, to avoid detection. The headlights from the Sedan were bright, and forced him to cover his eyes. He was still in uniform, as late as it was, and had on brown gloves that went with his costume pretty nicely.

  "Stop right there, Deputy." Daniels spoke, his voice tired. "We can't have you tampering with evidence."

  Suit or not, the man, who was a bit thicker than Richmond but more muscular, got down on his hands and knees and started feeling around. After a minute he pulled something out, and held the small gray thing up.

  "This is an MX-thirty-four. 'P' it says here. Official police issue in this state, isn't it? I don't suppose you have a warrant for this?"

  Richmond sneered, or at least Jay figured that was what made his mustache twitch. I was a bit dim right there to actually see clearly.

  "We don't need one. It was on the street when we placed it. I just got the call to remove it, since we know that Mr. Hadley has been cleared of any wrong doing." He sounded... Calm and reasonable. Almost like he meant it. Even though it had been put in place a long time before. Six months at least. They'd probably had to replace the battery, it had been so long. He was angry about it, and felt violated, but didn't say anything.

  After all, the FBI weren't fools. Maggie Winthrop had been murdered by a clown, right after he'd worked for her as one. Now Richmond, the bastard deputy that kept harassing him, or at least one of them, was found with an official police tracking device. Meaning that they, the Sheriff's Department for the county, had known where he was. The whole time. Of course Mills had pulled him over to the day of Seth's party, probably using the same data. It would mean they all knew where he'd been, Jason didn't doubt.

  He didn't mention it. Since the men in their suits probably understood all that. It was best not to get involved. He knew that. Winthrop had been a client, for one day, and nice enough, but getting more deeply tied to all of this would just make him seem guilty of something. It was one way that the police and FBI caught serial murderers. They often tried to involve themselves in the case, trying to find out what the officials knew. Really, avoiding that was kind of important to him. He didn't want to lose his new job already.

  There was a bit of an argument, since Deputy Richmond wanted to take the device, which he insisted had been signed out by him personally, making it his responsibility, and the agents seemed to think it was theirs now. He stayed out of it, just standing back, as the Deputy finally gave in to the might of the Federal Government.

  The mustached man glared at them all, including Jay, but Agent Daniels noticed that and shook his head. "By the way, make sure you pass the word; you've harassed Mr. Hadley here long enough. It might not be illegal, but we will bring a full investigation into your department if you don't cut it out now. Make sure to mention that to your boss. I'm just letting you know, so we don't have to make this official yet. It's a pain in the rear, having to do things like that, and we're too busy, but we can find the time, if you force us too."

  "I'll do that. Tell the Sheriff." The tone was more like he was going to tell his daddy on them, but if it did anything at all, Jay would take it. Of course, as soon as the investigation stalled or was over, it would probably be ten times worse, but he was moving anyway. They all stood and watched the gloved but empty handed deputy walk away, while the two agents both dug out cards for him and handed them over.

  "Thank you for your help. I know that this was a less than perfect way of getting it done. Sorry about the stuff with the locals. I'll have a word with Morse and see if he can't un-bunch his panties on his own now. We can call you, if we have any questions?"

  "Sure. I'll be at the Placemont, but... you have the numbers? You can reach me there, twenty-four-seven. Unless I get a real day off. I'm... not planning on coming back here. It isn't me fleeing, but you get the idea." He looked off at the direction that Richmond had vanished in, walking into the dark night.

  "We do. We'll be in touch, if anything comes up that we need you for."

  Then they climbed into the car and drove off. When he turned, Carlos and Wendy were both in the doorway. It was late, but they normally didn't go to bed until nearly four anyway, given their schedules, so were both still chipper enough.

  They didn't speak, until they all got inside.

  Carlos went first.

  "What, the hell was that about? You have a bruise on your head and look like you botched your handcuff escape." He gestured to the right areas, but looked up into Jay's eyes.

  He wriggled his fingers.

  "Yup. Serial murder case. I've been totally cleared, by the way. In case you wonder who's been living in your shed all this time. It... My last client, here in town, she was kidnapped and killed by someone dressed as a clown. I was gone, and on camera almost the whole time, with an official tracking device on my car. It pretty much means that someone on the police force did it, unless a murderer has actually been stalking me too. Apparently this has been going on for years. They had me go back eight years, so at least that long. Different places around the country, I think, so like I said, not me."

  Both of the others just looked at him like he'd lost it, Wendy speaking up first, her voice relaxed.

  "I'll get you some ice for your wrists. One second, go, sit down. You must be exhausted."

  He really was, he noticed, the second she said the words. It was a deep feeling, but also freeing. Like a big weight had been lifted from him somehow. A giant thing that left him almost buoyant, if still tired.

  Jason explained it all, going over everything, and not leaving anything out. It was pretty clear that all th
e information to solve it was right there. He mentioned that, as he finished up. Carlos gave him a different funny look then. One that seemed like he hadn't worked it all out yet.

  "It is? You said the police, but..."

  "The Sheriff. They were, and have been, following me. Okay, it could have been someone else, but I don't recall a thin clown around all the time, other than me. I do recall several deputies that could possibly look like that, in makeup. Mills and Richmond. Even Deputy Glennis, though that isn't too likely. There's video of the abduction happening. Mills is the best fit, but it could be any of them. Not Carl. He's too big and heavy. Also, if he was a serial murderer, I'd be dead by now. Or framed. I really hope it isn't Mills. He's the only one there I like at all. He's new though, to the force and looks like he could be my younger brother. Same build and hair. They didn't show me the tape, so I don't know for certain. It isn't my business anyway." Jason was ready to explain that bit, but Carlos just agreed with him, instantly, as Wendy went and got a second cool cloth for his wrist.

  "Darned straight it isn't. Are you safe here? We can drive you back..." The man looked at the kitchen door and leaned in whispering. "Or get you out of the country? How hard are they coming after you?"

  He thought about it and shook his head.

  "Not very. I gave the FBI the right leads, if they hadn't worked it out on their own, which they probably had. They might still think that I'm working with the killer, but probably not. I'm taking off in the morning. I told them how to reach me at the casino. If I still work there. I had to use them as an alibi, so that... You know, they might not want to risk guilt by association?"

  The short man, who was sitting in a chair not four feet from him, nodded. "That could happen. Well, I have some family that will take you in, if it comes to it. In Bolivia. We can keep that as a backup plan." His voice changed a bit, when Wendy came back. "Jay's headed back to Vegas in the morning."

  It was close enough to the plan that he just nodded, realizing that Carlos did a lot to protect his wife, really. It wasn't apparent, day to day, but at the extremes it showed pretty clearly. It was love, of course, but also something else. Some kind of trauma that one of them had had once, or the fear that too much stress would trigger a negative reaction.

  Wendy seemed fine, to him, but given the subject matter, it had probably been abuse or rape of some kind. Maybe it was Carlos's issue? If so, he hadn't mentioned it and Jason wasn't planning to ask. Being a friend meant letting other people be what they needed to, in order to get through the day. Being there for them too, but his friends didn't need him around right then, even if they seemed willing to keep him. His being gone protected them most.

  Well away from where they lived, and not calling the authorities into their home, disturbing their peace of mind. He felt horrible about that. It hadn't been within his control, but it had still be about him, after a fashion. Or, really, about Carl Morse, and his ego.

  They sat up, talking things over for a while but he went off to bed, spending what he hoped would be his last night on the hard little pad. The last week and a half had spoiled him, and his spine hurt when he got up. By nature he was a back sleeper, but had learned to lay on his side, while on hard objects. It had worked out so that he was a bit stiff when he got up and went into the house at nine, to get a shower. No one else was up yet, so when that was done, he loaded up his car, trying to be quiet.

  There wasn't a lot to take. The old laptop that Wendy had given him, his few remaining clothes and the white envelope from under his bed pad. The rest of it needed to stay, but he stripped the sheets and blanket, and went in to put them in the washing machine. It was far enough from the main bedroom that he could run it without waking anyone.

  While he did that he finally broke the seal on the envelope. He'd forgotten about it, when he'd been called away. The front still said "Joey the Clown" and it was as fat as he remembered. Maggie had mentioned putting in a little extra, since there were more people there. It was more than a little.

  A whole lot.

  His fee had been a hundred and fifty dollars for the event, and there was five hundred, all in crisp twenties inside the thing. He had to count it six times to make certain he had that right. It was enough that, had the woman been alive, he would have returned most of it. Poor or not. It was the kind of thing that he should have done anyway, and would have, if the lady had died from something normal, like cancer or a car accident. Clown murder was a little too close to home, so he just decided to donate the money to charity. Keeping it felt wrong now, but trying to do anything else was probably the same as announcing his guilt. Since he wasn't, that would be a good thing to avoid.

  He didn't wait to say goodbye, having done that the night before. He owed both of them, Carlos and Wendy, far too much for any amount of thanks to do the trick, but he wasn't saying goodbye forever. They worked in Vegas and still had another partial week on the schedule at the casino. They'd see each other, from time to time. It left him feeling a bit lonely, since they were close to the only friends he really had in the world, but this wasn't the last day of high school, and he wasn't eighteen. Adults kept their friends by making certain that they stayed in touch. It wasn't magic, just regular correspondence. Visits and what have you. Really, he decided, he should have been doing that with his other friends, like Henry Boggs, his old department chair. Even if he wasn't looking for a new job at the moment, keeping feelers out wouldn't hurt and the older fellow had always been willing to chat. It would be good to brush up on his knowledge of old wars, anyway. You never knew what would come in handy.

  He considered it while he drove, keeping to the speed limit the whole way, even in the desert, wondering if Richmond or Mills would stop him first. Possibly even Carl himself, ready to shoot him, for being... Annoying? Upsetting to his sensibilities because he didn't just let the man use him?

  Whatever it was, however that thinking worked, nothing took place, except a completely normal drive. He barely even encountered another vehicle. The ones he did all passed him, including a blue American made car, with a male driver. Jay couldn't make out the face, but it felt familiar. Like someone that he'd seen in the last day.

  Which could mean it was anything from him being paranoid and simply wrong, to the driver being a clever murdering clown, leading him on the only road for twenty miles, instead of following from behind. If so, why? It was one thing for someone to pick his client as a target, but to actively stalk him indicated some kind of personal thing, didn't it? As far as he knew, he'd never done anything bad enough to make someone hate him that much. Except Carl. It wasn't him in that car. The driver was too small, for one thing. Thin, nearly.

  Letting the whole thing go, because it was probably just wrong anyway, he drove in peace, wondering if he had a job waiting for him, or if he needed to get on the road and just drive until the money ran out. It was tempting anyway, but if he hadn't been fired for needing an alibi, he had responsibilities. Clown duties and management assistance work. When he got in, he went straight to Max's office, to have the man scare the crap out of him without even trying.

  "What are you doing here?" The voice was a bit hard, but followed by a smile. "I figured you'd be doing eight to ten in Sing-Sing by now. Burglary or whatever. Weany-wagging? What did you need that alibi for anyway?" The man seemed curious, but not like he was about to say Jay was fired.

  "A client of mine was killed, so I had to prove that I wasn't in town. It's suspicious as all heck too, but even the FBI gets that it wasn't me. Since the Sheriff in that county might be involved, and I don't feel like being framed right now, so I came back here. You mentioned wanting some time off too?"

  "If you're offering, yeah, that would be good. I have a house that I haven't hardly been in for weeks. A wife too. Not that she cares if I'm around, you know? As long as the money flows in. That's life though. So, if you don't mind, I can take tomorrow? Maybe do up something nice with the missus?" The man was dressed like he normally was, but looked tired. Exhauste
d by life and world, and a bit frayed around the edges.

  Jason could understand that, since he was the same way. What he looked like he had no clue, but it probably wasn't sharp and efficient. He used to manage that, back when he was teaching. Neatly trimmed hair and nails, a decent suit and tie each day. A brief case with actual papers in it. Things to be checked and graded, or returned. Along with the various work that being a professor entailed that no one ever thought of. Forms and evaluations, tax returns and grant proposals. That last one was a big part of the job. It was hard to get a grant for strict history research. People just didn't find it valuable. Most accepted that it was enough to know the official story, but that was almost never the whole thing, if it was right at all.

  Heading toward his room, he felt a bit hungry. He was on the list at the buffet, but wanted to drop his bags first. Jason was, he realized, officially moved. That didn't mean he was back yet. Not all the way on his feet, but he wasn't on the street and things were getting a little better. For him. Poor Maggie Winthrop came to mind then, but there just wasn't anything he could do for her.

  Just as he went in, the door starting to close, he heard a familiar voice.

  "Hey! Can I talk to you for a bit?" Dropping his things he moved back and opened the door again, since the heavy spring had caused it to close on him, without his even trying.

  Rhonda stood there, dressed in a plain white skirt that covered her knees, and white shoes that looked stylish, rather than comfortable. Her legs had hose on, but he didn't let himself do more than glance, working up her body. Her shirt was a blouse that was a brilliant blue, and unbuttoned enough that, if she bent over, he could have probably seen right down it to her naval. He stared into her brilliant green eyes instead, breaking off after about four seconds. Any longer and you ended up looking like a psycho, and he was sort of avoiding that at the moment.