Send in the Clowns
A Detective Mike Bridger novel
By Mark Bredenbeck
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Copyright 2015 by Mark Bredenbeck
Book design by Mark Bredenbeck
Smashwords Edition
“This book is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, governments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.”
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Otago Witness, Issue 1266, 4th March 1876
Part One-
-The Acrobat
Chapter One
The trumpets’ sounded and the noise of the audience died away to an excited hush. The mixed scent of candyfloss and animals permeated the air. The canvas, surrounding the crowd, flapped quietly in the breeze. All around was darkness, broken only by the insensitive glow of the occasional cellphone, but no one cared. The children were on the edge of their seats, the adults’ attention drawn between the darkened ring and the look of exited wonderment on their child’s face. The sounds of the trumpets’ became urgent, building to a crescendo, but were then silenced by the stabbing beam of the spotlight, piercing the darkness and shining down from high above. A booming voice echoed in the bleachers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… Welcome… to the Big Show”
The crowd erupted into applause as the Ringmaster stepped into the small circle of light with a swish of his red satin cape. Carnival music, piped through the speakers placed above the wooden bleachers, adding to the atmosphere. A child started crying.
“Tonight, we have a veritable feast of entertainment, brought to you from far and wide… You will gaze in wonderment at the exotic creatures…, laugh in merriment along with the Jesters…, and gasp in awe at the daring exploits of the trapeze artists… So…, for now…”
The Ringmaster stood in the dead centre of the spotlight, surrounded by his darkened audience, arms held wide, revelling in the moment. The carnival music died away, leaving silence. No one dared speak.
‘Ooh-Gah’, the sound of the old-fashioned car horn broke the hushed anticipation. The Ringmaster gestured towards the noise with another swish of his cape.
“Send in the Clowns…”
The ring lit up with flashing lights, the music returned in frenzy, and a child size car ambled onto the sawdust-covered circle in the middle of the Big Top. Four colourful heads with painted smiles swayed back and forth, as the little car careered around in figures of eight. The old horn was blaring out its merriment and the Clowns clung on for dear life.
The Ringmaster stayed where he was, watching the Clown Car with practised amusement. The Clowns were shooting water guns into the crowd as they moved around the ring, the noise of the small 50cc engine drowned by the squeals of delight thrown out from the darkness. One of the Clowns fell off his precarious seat, rolling head over heels, as the little car turned sharply. The other Clowns laughed silently at him and made their escape as fast as they could. The stricken Clown tripped over his large shoes and rolled again as he gave chase to his callous chums. The laughter from the crowd grew, the music played on.
Outside the tent and unseen, restless animals, stomping irritably in their cages, waited for their turn in the spotlight. The generators under their cages providing power to the concession booths were belching diesel fumes, adding to their confined agitation. Further away, on the roadside, silent objectors stood motionless, their faces anonymous behind masks. The silent protest vigil ignored by the majority, only there for the spectacle, not the morality. Back inside the tent, lithe bodies dressed in tight sparkling spandex climbed rope ladders into the darkness above.
The Clowns tired of their amusement and tried soaking the Ringmaster with a bucket of water. The children loved it.
“Away with you… we have no time for your shenanigans” The Ringmaster brushed off the Clowns with another swish of his cape, and they retreated with mock admonishment like chastised schoolboys. Turning back to his audience, he raised his hands, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… please turn your attention skyward and prepare yourself to be amazed.”
The lights turned up, illuminating a muscular man and a petite but strong woman standing high on wooden platforms either side of the ring. They were looking at each other across the darkness between them, a seemingly impossible gap. A slight nod of their heads, a trust passed between them, the crowd fell silent again. The dull thud of a drum bounced like a heartbeat around the bleachers, slowly building intensity, the crowd stamping their feet in approval. The drums stopped leaving an eerie silence in its place. The man swung out across the ring, thirty feet in the air. The crowd drew breath as he dropped from his perch and expertly caught the cross bar with his knees, swinging back towards his side, upside down. Carnival music returned to the bleachers.
Holding her own swing, the woman leapt gracefully from her platform on the opposite side and then swung towards the now returning male. It was a practiced move, delivered for the audience hundreds of times. It was a simple jump and catch, no need for a net… She let go with confidence.
The crowds’ collective breath held… There was no meeting of hands, no strong arms to grab her and take her to safety. She was tumbling in front of the shocked audience, watched by the male as he swung away helplessly. A child screamed…
The sparkly spandex clad woman landed with a dull thud at the feet of the stunned Ringmaster and then lay still. The carnival music played on…
Chapter Two
Two shadowed figures walked through the quiet empty carnival, the shutters closed on five-dollar amusements. An animal’s agitated snort came from somewhere in the darkness, making them jump. Laughter and music floated out from caravans dotted around the edge and the smell of exotic cooking teased at their nostrils. Both felt the shallow prickle in their spines as large unseen eyes followed their progress in the dim light from behind the steel of cold cages. Before the prickly feeling became too much, the darkened tents and cages gave way to mobile living arrangements, the eyes disappearing back into the darkness. Caravans of different sizes betrayed the occupants’ private interactions through millimetre thick aluminium walls. Raised voices became apparent from one of the larger caravans near the back. The bigger of the two shadows motioned to the other. They both stopped and listened.
“I’m telling you, the ropes were shortened.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“You know bloody well why? It is obvious that they are jealous, anyone can see it”
“Jealous…? Of what exactly? You are all in the same business…, as am I.”
The angry voices were audible from inside the thin walls of the caravan. Gillian Holler looked at her partner. Steve Kirkland just shrugged his shoulders in the darkness and knocked on the thin door.
“Police…, can we come in?”
The voices silenced and the door opened. A red-faced male stood in the opening; his satin jacket was unbuttoned revealing a slightly damp white chiffon shirt. Behind him stood a smaller male, he was wearing a sparkly spandex suit that complemented his more muscular build, with features that had
aged well. With the look on both of their faces, it was obvious they had not finished the particular conversation they were having.
“Come in.” The red-faced male said, standing too one side. “It’s good of you too come; maybe we can get this sorted now.”
“Yes, maybe we can. It’s about time we did,” the other male said, as he moved further inside the caravan too allow the Police officers space too enter.
The interior of the caravan was relatively luxurious, although on a small scale. There was a leather lounger on one side of the visible living space, facing a large flat screen television. A small glass topped table sat to the side of the lounger. Gillian noted two tumblers on top of it, each with at least two fingers of the Scotch from the bottle sitting open next to them. Smoke curled lazily from a cigarette resting on the side of an ashtray.
“My name is Sergeant Gillian Holler and this is Constable Steve Kirkland,” she said, by way of introduction, before inadvertently looking back at the Whisky.
“You will have to excuse us, Officers, we are both pretty on edge, as you would expect. The Whisky is just helping us relax… Would either of you like one?”
Gillian looked at the red-faced male and wondered just how many he had already had that evening. Twenty odd years as a Police officer had given her a good sense of when someone had a bit of a drinking problem “No thank you, Mr…?”
“Wilson… Michael… Irish Mick too my friends.” He looked at his companion as if for confirmation. The man in the spandex suit just looked back, expressionless. “And this is Anthony Gonzales, our high ropes expert and performer extraordinaire.” The theatrical gesture with his hand did nothing for his partner’s obvious mood.
“Don’t forget ‘Partner’ in this godforsaken venture,” Anthony Gonzales pouted slightly as he spoke.
“Quite right Ant…, Anthony is also my business partner…, we run the Circus together.”
Gillian took in the sight of the two men standing before them, still dressed for the show, unless they dressed like that all the time. She had no idea about the lives of Circus performers. “So Mr Wilson, are you the ‘Wilson’ in ‘Wilson’s Circus’? I saw the big sign out the front with that name on it.”
“That’s right; there has been a Wilson in this Circus ever since my great, great grandfather Cyril Wilson. He began performing with his animals back in the late eighteen hundreds. They used to set up across the road from where we are now, on the Market Reserve…”
Gillian could detect a small amount of pride in his voice as he spoke. She heard Anthony clear his throat before Michael Wilson continued.
“Of course there was a Gonzales at the beginning, but until Anthony, we have not had any other members of his family in the intervening years.”
“So, are you a descendant of one of the original Circus members too?” Gillian looked at Anthony and just caught the look he directed at the man who had called himself Irish Mick. It was almost intimate but contained an ounce of jealousy or it may even have been hatred; she could not be sure of which.
“That’s right,” he said, not taking his eyes off Michael “Juan Gonzales was my great grandfather, but he had a falling out with the Wilsons and left the troupe.”
“It’s all ancient history now Ant, isn’t it. The police don’t want to hear about all of that.”
“I thought people ran away too join the Circus, but it seems you are born into it after all.” Steve Kirkland had butted in, sensing tension between the two men. “You learn something new every day...”
Gillian saw the smile on her partners face, but could not tell whether he was joking or not. “Perhaps we should get too why you called us…” She looked back at Michael.
“Maria Staverly… the other half of Ant’s act, she fell tonight… she is up at the hospital now.”
“That’s awful Mr Wilson; I hope she will be okay, but from what I have been told already it sounds like an accident too me, so it’s not really a Police issue. We would normally put this down to a workplace accident and let the Health and Safety people deal with it.” Gillian Holler was usually pretty patient with people, but as the supervisor for her depleted staff of five on one of the busier nights of the week, she had little patience for time wasters. “I can give you a number to call if you like.”
“See, I told you Ant, it’s not a Police problem, now, can we let them get on with their evening and get up to the hospital.”
Anthony ignored his friend and looked directly at Gillian “Sergeant, the ropes we used tonight to secure the swings, they were shorter than they should have been, I checked them myself after Maria fell. There was no way she could have made that jump if she wanted too. Someone did that on purpose…”
Irish Mick mumbled something under his breath, which Gillian did not catch, but the look on Anthony’s face darkened.
She looked at her watch, there were four more jobs waiting for attendance in the police dispatch system, all of them had people wanting something from them. This is all we bloody need. The thought was nothing new to her; sometimes she wondered why she came in to work, just to put up with other people’s problems. It was going to be a long night.
Maria Staverly looked down at the growing cast on her wrist, the Nurse was expertly adding layer upon layer of what she had called a ‘knitted fibreglass bandage’, impregnated with polyurethane. She did not really care what the Nurse had called it though, it meant nothing too her; she did not even mind the pain in her wrist. All she saw was the next six weeks where she would not be able to perform. She had to perform. It was all she had. She was part of the greatest show on earth…, if you believed the hype. They still had eight nights left on the card in Dunedin, and then it was back up north too Auckland. She loved Auckland, the crowds were bigger, the nightlife even more so.
At twenty-six she was still in excellent shape, her figure was as good as when she was twenty, something of which she was proud. Her strength and fitness was better than it had ever been. It was that, which had saved her this evening, she was sure of it. She had walked away with a slight concussion and a broken wrist; a weaker person would have broken more, but she was strong. The physical trauma did not bother her; but the memory of the fall was vivid in her thoughts. It was uncontrollable, but at the same time, it was avoidable. It was something that Ant had drilled into her, ‘Always check your equipment’. She had dropped the ball tonight and that did bother her. She was getting a bit lazy, Ant always checked, she trusted him, she had fallen, and that scared her.
When she had woken, she was face down in the sawdust and had struggled to turn herself over; she had felt the pain in her wrist immediately. The lack of air in her lungs had made it hard to breath. Ant had been leaning over her, fussing as he always did, pretending too care. Bloody Mick was more worried about his audience than about her, she had seen the last of them drifting out of the tents front entrance as she lay there and he had been hovering around them like an angry blowfly. Then those bloody Clowns, she had seen them on the other side of the ring, gathered around their pathetic little car, laughing and joking as if nothing had happened. She had lain on the sawdust-covered surface for fifteen minutes before the ambulance had arrived, looking at the unfamiliar view, realising just how high the swings actually were from the ground. The Clowns did not come over once…
“That’s you all done then… how are you feeling?” The Nurse had a slight Scottish accent.
Maria looked back at the nurse blankly. The question had thrown her, how was she feeling…? She had no idea.
“The Doctor has cleared you to go home once I have finished putting this cast on. Is there someone to pick you up?”
The thought hit her without warning, along with a wave of loneliness; there was no one here to pick her up. “The same old shit,” she mumbled under her breath. It never changes.
“Sorry? I missed that” the Scottish Nurse looked slightly confused. Maria did not bother to reply; instead, she looked down at her cast and then tried for a smile. The Nurse took thi
s as something and stood up brushing her skirt down over her thighs.
“Well, you were a lucky girl tonight; it’s not a very safe line of work you are in… I always thought it looked quite glamorous you know, but now I’m not so sure.” The Nurse smiled thinly when Maria did not reply and shrugged her shoulders. “Make sure you sign out with the Nurse on the front desk before you leave.”
Maria watched the Nurse’s overly efficient backside as it practically waddled out of the treatment room and disappeared down the corridor. You need to get some exercise you fat cow; the unfair thought came too her as naturally as air. She knew she did not feel compassion for other people the way she should, but her life did not lend itself to feelings of such a nature. She lived in close confinement with forty other people on a daily basis but did not really feel a connection too any one of them; it had been that way for most of her life. Reaching into her tiny skirt, covering the spandex leggings and top she was still wearing, she retrieved a little blue pill from inside the waistband and popped it into her mouth. He smiled too herself, better than painkillers, she knew she would be flying and feeling no pain in a short while.
She sat in the now empty treatment room. She was alone; no one had come for her. Ant or Mick should have been here, they owed her that. Then they probably had one too many whiskies, as usual, and would be holed up in his trailer doing god knows what, and pissed as farts in the process. They thought they had kept it a great big secret, but she knew.
Breathing in the sickly sweet air laced with disinfectant and germs, she stood up; stretching her back, she felt her spine click into place, easing the tension in her neck. With a quick glance around the room, she saw nothing worth taking, but pocketed a couple of bandage rolls, just out of habit. Walking out into the corridor, she bypassed the front desk and stepped out through the front door and into the night. The cooler air felt good in her lungs after the stuffiness of the hospital. The magic was starting to move around her body and she felt tingles run up her spine. She did not want to go home, not just yet.
Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 1