“I can give you and Ms Little some time to have a short conference if you like Sergeant.” The investigator was looking at Jane while he spoke, smiling flirtatiously. “I have plenty of time and don’t mind at all… I am only going to be staring at the walls of my hotel room tonight anyway.”
Bridger looked at Jane who appeared to be smiling suggestively back at the smarmy investigator. “I don’t think that will be necessary Mr Joyce, I didn’t ask for any representation…”
Jane cut him off. “I thought I would offer you some advice Mike… as a friend. I do know how these things can go -no offence meant Keith- and you do know that you can be your own worst enemy sometimes Mike.” Jane winked at him before turning back to the investigator.
“None taken Jane.” The smile on his face did not alter “I will leave you two for ten minutes and grab a caffeine shot of my own…’ he said noting only two cups in front of Jane. “I can’t start drinking anything heavier just yet… work and all that…” he let out a small girlish giggle and then turned and faced Bridger with a more serious look. “It’s a good thing to seek advice Sergeant; it clears up a lot of ambiguities and lets everyone know where they stand.”
Bridger looked back at Jane and watched as she stood and brushed down her short skirt, not making much of a difference to the length, before moving towards him with a cup in her hand. Standing slightly behind and to his side, she placed one arm around his waist and then lent over his shoulder. Her breath was hot on his cheek.
“I agree Keith; we don’t want any ambiguity, which is why I offered my services to help facilitate these proceedings. As I told you earlier, Mike and I go back a long way.” Jane’s hand moved from Bridger’s waist to his shoulder. Her fingers casually stroking the side of his neck as she spoke. “Drink this coffee Mike; I’ve made it just how I know you like it.”
The investigators smile faded, opening and closing his mouth several times. Moving his tongue around inside his cheek, he stared back at them, an angry but accepting look in his eyes at having his obvious advances callously spurned.
Bridger could only guess at what the conversation would have been between Jane and the investigator before he had arrived, and he did not really care. He took the cup from her hands in an effort to get her to move away, but her arm remained firmly in place. Jane was playing more of her silly games and he was actually frightened now of what she was trying to achieve. He felt the hair rise up on the back of his neck. He was in charge of what happens here, not her, she had no right. Shrugging Jane’s arm from his waist, trying to ignore the musky odour of her breath, he distanced himself from her clutch. “I don’t think your presence here is required Jane, I have nothing to hide” Jane’s eyes showed nothing but amusement, which angered him. “Please leave…” he could almost hear himself begging. “I can handle this on my own…”
Jane just smiled her sultry smile and picked up the other cup, which was still on the table. “Bottoms up Mike, the caffeine is probably just what you need.”
Bridger’s resolve was beginning to crumble. Drink the bloody coffee and then leave, she could not control his life. He put the cup to his mouth and sipped at the steaming liquid. The bitter nutty taste of the black coffee was evident but there was something else sitting just below it, almost acidic in taste. Crap water probably, he took another larger sip. All he got was coffee, but it must have been strong as he started to feel a little light headed. He looked at Jane whose smile had turned into a look of almost curiosity.
Light flashed across the room, casting quick pointed shadows on the floor. A deep rumble came vibrating through a second later, followed by the angry spattering of wind driven rain against the glass. The storm outside seemed to be right on top of them. Bridger was about to say something, but another flash of light illuminated the room, followed by an eardrum-splitting crack.
The lights in the room fizzed and died, surrounding them in darkness.
Steve ‘The Muscle’ Kirkland was sitting behind the reinforced service desk in the custody area at the Dunedin Police station. All concrete and steel, the only clue as to the weather outside was the sight of Jo Williamson’s shapely calves visible below her tight bicycle shorts, which were practically glistening with drops of water. He did not want to stare but she certainly kept herself fit.
“Raining outside is it Jo?” Even before he had said it, he knew it sounded dumb, but he had asked anyway, like a nervous child. Jo always made him nervous, all blonde hair and legs. Hell, most girls made him nervous if he really thought about it. Jo did not seem to notice, which gave him some relief. “What are you doing here Jo? Haven’t you knocked off already?”
“It’s raining… I need to see Maria… it’s… the case… it’s about the case…”
Steve looked at Jo as she spoke, she seemed distracted, not the same Jo he had known when she had worked in uniform with him. She had been so excited when Sergeant Bridger had asked her to move up to the second floor. For a while, she looked like she had flourished. She certainly wore better clothes these days, clothes that showed her off better than the uniform ever did, but he knew what had happened to her since though, and it looked like it was taking its toll. Who would be a Detective these days? Give him a baton, a can of pepper spray, and a good scuffle any day. Those three things, in any order, and he was a happy man.
“Okay Jo,” he tried giving her a winning smile as he handed her the cell keys “Maria is in female three, but I’m not sure what you will get out of her, she was pretty unresponsive when I asked her if she wanted any food earlier.” Jo did not respond to his smile, and took the proffered keys without replying. She turned and walked away.
Steve, reduced to watching her backside move inside her bicycle shorts as she walked into the concrete corridor towards the female cells, did not feel the need to avert his eyes. He was the only other person here that could see; everyone else was behind steel doors. Jo disappeared from sight, leaving only his overactive mind creating images that were not there. He went back to the magazine he had been reading, Men’s Health, what women really wanted from a man…
So engrossed in the details, he did not notice the slight chill blowing in from the corridor, bringing with it the salty smell of wet sea air, but the deep rumble that came next took him from his reading. The sound seemed to bounce around inside the concrete and steel, getting louder as it fought for an exit from its confines. He looked up, eyes scanning nervously, trying to find the origin of the noise. His eyes came to rest on a chilling painted smile, inches from his face.
He did not have time to react before the light sucked out of the cellblock along with the receding rumble. The cold concrete room was plunged into darkness, taking with it the image of a Clown he was sure he could not have actually seen.
Chapter Twenty
“The backup generator should have kicked in by now” Bridger was talking aloud more to convince himself, than offer any explanation as to why they were still in darkness. It was pitch black and he could not see anyone in the room, but he could feel a stray hand clamped tightly around his wrist as if letting go would result in being lost forever in the darkness. He tried to dislodge it, but instead it tightened a little more.
The dark stillness was slightly eerie; inside the room, it was absolute, with no ambient light shining in from outside either, as if the whole city had just shut down. The only evidence of something actually happening outside their cocoon was the almost silent beating of the rain against the double glazed glass. He felt a slight pressure building in his sinuses and his light-headedness got a little worse.
“How long does it normally take?” Jane’s breath was hot in his ear and there was a slight tremor in her voice. He would not have picked her to be scared of the dark. At least he knew who the hand clamped around his wrist belonged to.
“I’m not sure Jane, I don’t think we have ever had to use it for real, but it gets tested every other week so it should work” Bridger saw the small luminous glow of a wrist watch where he had last
seen the Keith Joyce.
“It’s been more than three minutes Sergeant Bridger; I think it should have kicked in by now if it was going to.” The voice sounded indignant, almost accusing “We don’t really have time for this.”
“You’re right Mr Joyce; we don’t have time for this.” He had no idea why the power had not come back on, but it worked to his advantage. “We are going to have to reschedule Mr Joyce. I’m sure you will understand the reasons.” The hand clamped to his wrist turned into an arm around the waist. He needed to move.
Bridger began inching his way towards where he guessed the door would be. The arm around his waist got as little tighter and he felt its owner shuffling beside him.
“Don’t leave me here with him.” A voice whispered in his ear. He did not have time for her games either. Pushing Jane’s arm from his waist he reached out in the darkness and found the door handle, giving it a twist he opened the door and a rush of cold salty air flowed into the room, clearing his sinuses a little. Stepping out into the corridor, he could not hear or see anyone else, but at this time of night all the bosses would be indoors with their families doing whatever it was that bosses did to unwind. The only presence he felt was the over-sexed Keith Joyce and his present sexual tension in the form of a flirty Jane Little. Well they could keep each other company in whatever way Jane had led Mr Joyce to believe for all he cared. He let the door go, not caring if it closed and shut the other two in. Making his way down the corridor in the darkness he could not tell if he was dizzy or blind but he had to keep one hand on the wall to balance himself. He needed to retrieve his keys before he could set the ball in motion regarding Reece Coster and leave, and then with any luck, catch up with Laura. The thought of her stirred a memory. She hated power cuts. There was always a stack of candles and a lighter on the kitchen bench, and a torch stashed in every room, but she still insisted she was not afraid of the dark. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket to give her a call, just then remembering he could use it to provide some light. He would call her when he got down to the office. Feeling his mood lifting, he almost started whistling. His body was getting a warm fuzzy feeling, similar to the whisky rush he used to crave so much.
He was halfway down the stairwell when the lights flickered and came on again, followed by a screaming alarm that drilled into his head. That was the custody alarm, most probably triggered by the power cut, but you never knew. Squinting against the light, Bridger tried to shake off the dizziness in his head before he started to jog unsteadily down the remaining stairs to the basement cellblock.
Jo just stood there in front of him, mouth slightly open, not saying anything. Behind her, a cell door was wide open. Steve Kirkland could not figure out what had just happened. He had heard the blood chilling noise emanating from the direction of the female cellblock just before the lights had switched back on. He had banged the panic alarm and come straight down. His first thought was Jo, she was with a prisoner and that was always a risky time, they could be unpredictable. He looked her over. Apart from being unresponsive, she looked fine. He tried to match the noise to Jo’s face and could not do it. It had sounded more like an animal in pain, than anything a human could make. The Clowns image flashed in his mind and he shuddered involuntarily. Maria… where was Maria? Shit.
“Jo…” Steve shook her on the shoulders. “What’s happened to Maria? Where are the keys I gave you?”
Jo held her empty hands out, but did not respond.
He raised his voice to compete with the screaming alarm. “Jo, what’s the matter with you, where is Maria?” Steve could see the fearful look in her eyes, and he was beginning to panic himself. The last thing he needed was a missing prisoner on his watch. He shoved past her into the cell, the tangy scent of salt invading his nostrils. Coldness seeped out of the bare walls making him shudder, there was a presence tickling his forehead, but the room was empty. Shit. Shit. Shit…
Jo had slumped down against the concrete wall outside in the corridor; her face buried in her hands. Steve ignored her and started jogging back towards the charge room; he needed a phone to tell someone of the escape. He just hoped she was still somewhere in the cellblock.
Bridger almost collided with Steve Kirkland as he entered the charge room, the look on his face telling him something was happening, but not what. His mind was spinning and his reactions felt dulled slightly. He could see Steve’s mouth moving. “Mike, Maria’s escaped… Jo’s down there.” Steve was pointing in the direction of the female cellblock but he could not make out much of what he said over the noise. What he did hear caught in his addled mind. Jo was in trouble. Again.
“Kill that alarm, Steve.” Not caring if Steve had actually heard his instructions or not he started moving in the direction Steve had been pointing. The screaming alarm silenced, replaced by a loud rushing in his ears. The fluorescent strip lighting started streaming in his periphery vision, giving him the feeling he was moving fast. The light-headedness left him replaced by a feeling of intense clarity. Despite the circumstances, he felt better than he had in a long time.
Jo’s pitiful figure came into view, slumped against the wall. As he approached, she looked up and her eyes met with his. He did not need to see the open cell door to realise Maria was gone; Jo’s eyes told him that. He did not feel the need to ask her anything, an understanding passed between them that unfolded the events for him. Maria had taken the keys from Jo and then she had left. How that was possible was not even registering in his thoughts as he carried on past Jo and towards the rear of the cellblock. The air got colder and damper as he rounded the corner to see the steel door hanging open. Beyond the door, the vehicle-port used for transferring aggravated prisoners from patrol car to the cellblock, was also empty, the large steel roller door open to the outside. Beyond that was a wall of angry water falling from the sky whipped up by and even angrier wind. He could almost hear the laughter in the roar as he stared out into the storm. Maria was in the wind.
Chapter Twenty One
Bridger was standing in the alleyway outside the rear gate of the central Police Station. The rain had already soaked through the thin layer of his shirt, driven against his skin like needles. That Clown had been right there earlier, just standing and watching. Maybe he had known and waited for Maria to emerge and led her to safety. That did not make sense, there was no way the Clown could have know she would escape. The wind was mocking him, he could hear it, and blowing in different directions all at once, it was trying to lead him from his quarry. Which way had Maria run? He needed to make a decision.
Without knowing why, he started moving out towards Great King Street and the centre of town. As he approached the road at the front, a strong gust of wind threw itself at him, pushing him sideways. It seemed a natural thing to do to follow its direction. Moving with the wind now at his back he felt a little clearer, Maria had come this way, he was somehow sure. A loud moaning was coming from the sky as the wind fought its way through the surrounding buildings. Sharp bright flashes lit up the sky followed by loud cracking sounds, making the wind moan louder as it laboured to carry the storm through the city.
Another flash, this one slightly longer than the last, revealed the way ahead, before disappearing and plunging the road back into darkness. It was only then he realised that there were no other lights on anywhere. The city was in darkness. Turning, he looked back towards the Police Station. Even with the minimal lighting that the generators supplied, it was like a beacon of safety, towering above the darkened street. He knew it was a falsehood, inside that building, Keith Joyce and Jane Little would be conspiring in his downfall, aided by his ineptitude at controlling his emotions. He had kicked the bottle, but had not managed to get past that time in his life. Enraptured enough by Jane to be a slave to his base desires in weaker moments, it kept Laura on the periphery of his life, she did not deserve that. Another bolt of lightning reflected off the glass of the department store building next to him, the clap following assaulting his ears. Shaking his head
, he looked at the sky. He knew he had not been drinking, but shit, he felt like he had. His head was spinning slightly, his thoughts thicker, having to fight through the pathways to his consciousness, the result slower than he liked. Maybe he was ill; he pulled his wet collar closer around his neck. Needle like rain was streaming along the street. Work came first, sickness or not, and he had a prisoner to retrieve. Another gust of wind slammed into his face and he turned with it and continued, ignoring the warmth and comfort and following the instructions of the storm.
Moving around the corner into St Andrews Street, the buildings provided a small respite from the wind, the rain was no longer driving at his skin and his ears stopped ringing. Up ahead towards George Street he could hear the sound of music. It was a strangely familiar score, underpinned by the sound of people. Lots of people.
Lights flickered in the darkness, not manmade, more natural, like flame. The smell of burning sulphur grew stronger the closer he got to George Street bringing back vivid memories of dead monkeys. Small pockets of smoke started playing around his nostrils. The music got louder, the gentle roar of an appreciative crowd slowly building in intensity and competing with the storms laboured path. He reached the corner and came up on the slick backs of adults and children alike. The needles had returned from the sky and were screaming along above the crowd, hitting unseen targets. He looked at what was in front of him; it was like a wall of raincoats, umbrellas, flaming torches and cell phones. The music was at frenzy, following the storm, and the wall of the audience was in rapture, completely ignoring his attempts to penetrate its defences. He needed to see what it was protecting. Why were these people here? Were they hiding Marion from him? Were they all enjoying the ineptitude of the police once more? His own failings?
Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 15