“Can you smell that slight sulphurous smell, Becky?”
“Is that the one that is turning my stomach? Or is it the one stinging my eyes? There are a lot of things I can smell Mike, and I don’t like any of them.”
Bridger ignored Becky’s tone “The sulphurous smell comes from burning hair; there is an amino acid which has sulphur as a component inside the Keratin which is in our hair. When that burns, it gives off the smell...” realising Becky was looking at him in a strange way, he did not bother explaining any further “Anyway I can smell it quite clearly, these two possibly had a lot of hair…”
“This would mean they had long hair, nothing else, Mike. Men have long hair as well, these days; it does not mean these two were female.”
“You’re right Becky; sorry… it was just a theory, more something to say, really.” He did not want to think of the poor souls before him as female either; if he was honest with himself, he did not want to think of them as having been human at all.
“Oh my, Oh… what a terrible, terrible waste. You wouldn’t wish that on your worst enemies would you. And these poor souls never stood a chance.” Anthony Gonzales had pushed past Gillian and Steve and had approached from Bridger’s right. “You poor, poor souls…”
Bridger watched as Anthony crouched down beside the black glutinous pile, and put his hands out as if too stroke the hideous beast. Before he made contact, he stood up abruptly, inspecting his hands as if for contamination. “I guess we can replace them…,” he said, brushing his hands off “but it doesn’t make this any easier, does it.”
Bridger saw Becky tense up, and take a deep breath; he knew she was going to say something to Anthony about what she had just heard. She would not be able to help herself. Bridger decided to get in first. “Do you know who they were, Mr Gonzales?”
“Arielle and Arrabella…, our two performing Apes. They were the only two of their kind in New Zealand. We always keep their cages inside the main tent at night, its warmer for them and they get less agitated. They are… uh, were, more like us than you know Sergeant.”
Bridger actually felt a flood of relief wash through him, they were not human, and as hard as it sounded they were now not his responsibility. He saw Becky visibly relax as well; her earlier agitation at Anthony’s callous comment had apparently gone; now she too knew they were not human. “It’s still not a very nice thing to happen Mr Gonzales, what with everything else going on. They must almost be like pets to you and your colleagues.”
“Y-Yes, I guess they were.” Anthony’s eyes betrayed a slight indifference as he spoke his words. It was as if he did not really care either way. “Anyway, I’m sure you will do your best to find who started this fire. It certainly was not an accident; we are very fastidious about safety around here. You have to be with everything we have invested in this enterprise. If it hadn’t been for our Clowns then it could have been a lot worse.”
“What do you mean, Mr Gonzales?” Becky spoke up.
“Maria Staverly and one of her…uh… conquests…, they were in the tent when the fire started. They were away on one of Maria’s Trips. They were both apparently so far gone, as is usual for Maria, that they would not even have known what was happening. The Clowns dragged them too safety, just as the fire really took hold. A few seconds later and you would have been looking at four bodies in here.”
“Where is Maria now?”
Anthony pointed over to the roadside, where an ambulance sat with blinking lights in the darkness. “They are both over there in the ambulance, no real harm done apparently.”
Bridger did not wait for anything else from Anthony, motioning to Brian and Grant to join them; he started walking purposefully towards the ambulance. He could feel Anthony’s stare drilling into his back, but did not care; he had a killer to lock up.
“This-Mon-keys-gone-to-heaven… This-Mon-keys-gone…” Grant’s not very tuneful voice was a little louder than it should have been in the circumstances. Bridger saw Becky look back at Grant reproachfully.
“What…? It’s an old Pixies song…, you must remember it Becky…”
“Not now Grant.” The smile on Grants face faded as Bridger put a stop to their conversation. He found himself smiling just a little in the darkness though; Grants black humour, well timed as always, broke the seriousness of the situation so his mind would deal with it a little easier. It cleared his head and made room for the next thing he had to do. As he got closer to the open rear doors of the Ambulance, he could see two figures sitting either side of the narrow space. The one with the coloured cast on her wrist was his intended target, but the other one drew his attention. She was familiar. He knew this girl. When he reached the open doors, he stood, unable to think why he was looking at Jo Williamson sitting opposite Maria, face covered by an oxygen mask, her eyes showing slight confusion.
There was a slightly smoky odour in the confines of the interview room, even though it had been over three hours since the fire. Bridger could not tell if the smell was clinging to him or the sullen girl on the other side of the table. He found himself wondering if he had any clean clothes for the next day.
Maria Staverly was sitting across from him with her legs crossed and arms folded. There was a look of ‘I dare you’ on her face and she had an arrogance about her that got right up his nose.
It had thrown him a little too find Jo Williamson in the ambulance alongside Maria, it bought back the vivid memory of her in another ambulance at another frightful scene, not that long ago. Thankfully, it was second time lucky, he just hoped he would never have to see strike three and you’re out. He knew Jo was going through a tough time, but she still had some explaining to do about tonight. That was for another time though, as he had enough on his plate with this girl called Maria and her involvement in the death of Michael Wilson. He forced himself too concentrate on the task.
Neither Maria nor Jo had said what they were doing in the tent before the fire, and then the ambulance had taken them both to the hospital for a check before he could push the subject any further. They had not even found the top they were looking for in the first search of Maria’s caravan. He had inspected Maria’s cast for the drops of blood he had seen, but it was covered in soot and dirt, not surprising considering, but she would have cleaned it anyway, he was sure of it.
He was at a loss with what to do about Jo, so had sent her home with Becky after being checked over at the hospital. He had then persuaded Maria that it was in her best interest to come into the police station, just too talk. She was not under arrest, as he did not feel he had enough evidence yet, without the top, but she had requested to speak with a lawyer anyway. They were currently sitting patiently in the interview room, awaiting her duty lawyer too arrive.
Bridger studied the girl in front of him, she had relatively clear eyes considering. One of the Ambulance officers back at the fire had told him that they had given both girls something to bring them down. It must have been powerful stuff, as whatever it was that Maria and Jo had taken, it looked too have completely worn off. The magic of modern medicine could rectify the overindulgence of the curious and the hardened user alike, a sort of safety net for an unfortunate human condition.
She had a slightly cherubic look, which almost endeared her too him, he could not imagine her being able to kill, but still, the bloody top he had seen her wearing spoke volumes. She certainly looked strong enough. She had to speak up for the evidence against her, give an account. It was the way policing and investigations worked.
He had wanted to start this conversation before her lawyer got involved. Most lawyers would just advise to say nothing if police did not present enough evidence to hurt their clients. The fact the lawyer had wanted to come in personally and not just dish out advice over the telephone, as was the usual custom, slightly puzzled him. Lawyers did not usually like leaving their office space, or their comfortable homes, especially at this time of night. Police stations were places they had very little control over, their office was the
ir environment, just like the courtroom. It was where they felt most comfortable. The custody sergeant had arranged everything for Maria though and so he had no say in it.
He remained quiet, with the sullen girl staring back at him. A slightly awkward silence between them, like a father and daughter, in the throes of well meaning advice dished out about an unsuitable boyfriend.
A knock on the door turned his head; Jane Little breezed into the room as only she could. Her sultry fragrance was the second thing he noticed after the high hemline of her skirt. Jane must have caught the direction of his gaze and she cleared her throat. Raising his eyes too hers, he could see a slight smile on her face.
“Hello again Mike…, can you give me some time with Miss Staverly please.” She was all business, but he had always found that slightly attractive about her
Bridger stood up as Jane brushed past him in the small room, her hand lingering on his hip a little longer than was appropriate. He found himself getting slightly aroused and then silently scolded himself for how appropriate that was. “I will be in the office when you are done.” Bridger was speaking to Jane’s back as she sat down in front of Maria, she acknowledged him without turning around with a wave of her hand. He caught an amused look in Maria’s eyes as he backed out of the room and closed the door.
Why did Jane always make him feel like a little boy? Even Maria had sensed it; he had seen her appraising him with a puzzled look. He knew it was those feelings that had ultimately led to the dismantling of his marriage. Should he be feeling guilty right now? Laura had made it clear they were not going anywhere fast, but he could not help it. He needed to concentrate on Maria, and the blood on her top.
Walking into the office he saw Grant and Brian standing in the corner by his desk computer, they were watching the Zebra clip from earlier.
“Did you find the top?” Bridger saw them both jump in the semi darkness.
“No sign of it Boss” Grant looked a bit sheepish “We were having another look at it on the clip, just in case we missed it. You know how all girls clothes seem too look alike, and she had a lot of costumes in that caravan.”
“I’m pretty sure we did not miss it, Mike” Brian spoke up “If it is still there, I reckon she has hidden it…, or destroyed it.”
Bridger agreed, “Which makes her even guiltier in my eyes… How about Reece Coster, any sign of him?”
“He’s not at his flat, we don’t really know where else to look. Stan Walton and his surveillance boys are working on a few possibilities, they will let us know if he shows his face anywhere. I have given them my number, and Gillian and Steve are working all night, so they can make the arrest if he shows up.”
“Cheers Grant, it would be good to have them both here before we start any interviews, it’s easier to compare stories that way.”
Jane Little walked into the room behind them and cleared her throat. “Good evening gentleman, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Bridger turned and saw her eyes wander over to the computer monitor that was currently displaying the image of the defiled Zebra. Raising her eyebrows, she looked back at him.
“Miss Staverly denies any involvement in the murder, she wants to cooperate but only if you treat her as a witness and not a suspect.”
“She has blood on her top, and cast, that were not there when she left the hospital, she has too explain that at least. She has to be a suspect.”
“There is no blood on her cast now, Mike, and you don’t have the top.”
“Not yet”
“Maria is willing to let you know where the top is, just too show good will, but only if you listen to her side of the story. She says she did not kill Mr Wilson; I have no idea of the veracity of that statement. That is your job to work out. But right now that is all you are going to get.”
Bridger did not like having someone dictate the rules of the game, especially by someone who has the evidence stacked against her, but right now, he was grasping at straws without the top. “Okay, I’m willing to listen, but I’m not making any deals with her. If she gives us the top, the blood turns out to be Mr Wilsons and her side of the story does not stack up, then she has to take her chances in court.”
“I will let her know…” Jane’s eyes bored into his “Two more things Mike, first, as she is not under arrest, she would like to go home for the night and return voluntarily in the morning.”
Bridger did not like that idea, but could not see any way to keep her in overnight without charging her. “And the second?”
“She will only speak with Jo Williamson…”
Chapter Thirteen
Reece Coster opened his eyes and a sharp pain shot through his forehead almost immediately, making him wince. Bloody hell…, he needed a drink of water, his mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool, and his limbs felt weak and useless. That drink might have to wait just a little bit until he woke up more. It was just a typical hangover though, nothing he had not experienced before. There was a strong smell clinging to his clothes and dank hair, sniffing distastefully he detected a hint of smoke sitting over a stronger odour he could not place. The fire came back to him. He had actually done it, direct action that would make everybody sit up and take notice. He wanted to savour the thought, but last night’s mission was a bit hazy; he remembered setting light to the tent, although he could not recall what he had done after the fire. Whatever it was, it must have been awesome. Hangovers like this did not come along every day.
Hair of the dog is just what the doctor would order. Stuff the water; he needed another real drink, keep celebrating last night’s victory. More of the spectacle came back to him. Those flames were so pretty, they had spread faster than he thought, and that tent was gone in a matter of minutes. Faster than any fire engine. The heat and the brightness were intense, a very sharp contrast to where he was now. Looking around, he noticed the room was unusually dark, he could not see much past his nose and somehow he had ended up sleeping on the floor. Maybe he had pulled… and the girl had kicked him out of bed at the last minute. It had happened before; he was no good for anything when he had too much to drink. What was that rancid smell? His hands automatically went to his pants, just in case he had soiled himself. There was nothing there, but there was stuff all over the floor, it felt like straw. Maybe he had torn his mattress, and that is why he ended up on the floor. He tried to speak, just see what the girl sounded like, or if she was still pissed at him. He hoped she was hot; he hated having to pretend he was interested when she looked like a bush pig. That is what the smell reminded him of…, animals. The same smell as the circus. Maybe he was with the circus slut from the other night.
“Hello sexy, are you up for a dawn breaker?” He spoke into the darkness. Might as well get right to the point, if you don’t ask, you don’t get.
There was no reply. Maybe she was still asleep; he wondered what time it was. It was still dark here on the floor. He fumbled for the side of the bed, arms flaying in the black space before him. Not feeling anything, his sluggish brain kicked into gear, a slight feeling of fear started to seep into his consciousness. Kicking out, his foot collided painfully with something solid, hidden in the darkness. Sitting upright, he reached as far as he could to one side. Cold steel grazed his touch; reaching to the other side, he felt the same sensation. What in the hell is this…
The media were in frenzy, there were reporters from both print and television camped under the large front awning of the central police station. Cameras were blinking at serious presenters with serious by-lines and shocking sound bites to inform the masses over breakfast of Dunedin’s latest atrocity. Bridger, seen before he had the chance to slip inside the safety of the building, could only watch helplessly as the media scrum pushed its way in his direction.
“Sergeant Bridger, is the tent fire connected to the murder?”
“First the murder, then the animals, now the fire, there must be a connection…”
Pushing his way through the mêlée, he could o
nly nod and shrug his shoulders. He did not want to comment at all. He had no idea himself what was going on. Circuses were supposed to be fun; this one was imploding more with each day and he felt like he was chasing his tail.
“What about the protesters? Surely they would be suspects.”
“Has there already been an arrest in this case that you are not telling us about?”
Bridger knew that many reporters had friendly police officers that gave them the odd titbit of information occasionally, but this reporter was just fishing. No one outside of his team knew about Maria and he trusted each of them not to speak out of turn.
“Have the police lost control of this investigation…?”
Trying his best not to rise to the bait, Bridger made it to the front door and pushed his way into the relative quiet of the foyer. Steve Kirkland was behind the front counter, his eyes puffy and bloodshot with tiredness. Bridger was glad he did not have to do night shifts anymore. He needed his beauty sleep too much.
“Morning Mike”
“Morning Steve, any sign of Reece Coster overnight?”
“Not a dickey-bird. Although, if he was the one who set that tent on fire, then he will probably be laying low. That was one big burn…, it reminded me a bit of the bonfires we had as kids…” Steve’s face went a little red. “Except, it was only Guys that we used to burn… forget that… I know they were only Monkeys… But…”
“It’s okay; I know what you mean Steve. I am glad they were only Monkeys. Two more bodies is something we do not need right now.”
“Yeah, that’s one thing I suppose.” Steve looked less uncomfortable now “Inspector Allyson is in the back office waiting for you. She has a reporter with her, told me to send you in as soon as you arrived.”
Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 10