“Make that larger can you Brian.” Bridger thought he saw something. Brian moved the cursor again and the image filled the screen. It was a birth certificate, for Maria Francine Staverly. The name was clear but the rest of the image was poor, the resolution of the scan not capturing any more detail.
“Why is there a birth certificate for Maria on the P.A.A.I.N website?” Becky asked. “And how did it get there?”
Bridger’s mind started clicking into gear, there was a feeling he got when something was staring them in the face but was not always obvious and he was starting to feel the familiar tingle. “Brian, did Gillian and Steve carry out that second search of Reece Coster’s flat?”
Brian’s head turned and he looked over towards his desk “That is a bag of property they seized earlier, I’m not sure what’s in it, and I haven’t had time to look. There doesn’t appear to be much though.”
Bridger looked at the small evidence bag on Brian’s desk; it had to be inside that. He grabbed the packet and spilt the contents out onto the desk. Inside was a driver’s licence in the name of Reece Coster, a couple of condoms still in their wrappers, some scraps of paper with what looked like passwords and website addresses, all irrelevant stuff. There was also a folded A4 size document in a separate plastic bag with spatters of blood on it. That was it. Pulling open one of the drawers beneath the desk Bridger retrieved a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on. He opened the plastic evidence bag and slid the document out, careful not to finger the blooded areas. Unfolding the document he laid it flat on the desk in front of them. Everybody had gathered in front of the desk and was looking down at it. Kate Atkinson had retrieved her camera and held it in her hands, always the reporter. The document that was on the P.A.A.I.N website was sitting in front of them, but this time everything was on display. It was as if the Clown had just tapped him on the shoulder. “This is it. This is the reason…”
“What does this tell us, Mike?” Grant seemed unsure of Bridger’s train of thought. “And why did Reece Coster have it.”
Bridger had seen it immediately, the name of the father listed on the certificate. Michael Wilson. Irish Mick was Maria’s father. He laid his finger on the detail. The mothers name listed just above was Patricia Maria Gonzales (Nee Staverly).
His love deceived and bore the fruits of responsibility. The Clown sermon came back to him. Anthony Gonzales was – or rather had been - a Clown, he was the one the voice had spoken of. His wife Patricia must have had an affair with Irish Mick and fallen pregnant.
“Patricia…? That name rings a bell.” Kate Atkinson said. “She was the girl who committed suicide while travelling with Wilson’s Circus. I never met her, it was a long time before I started writing my stories about them, but she is spoken of a lot. I have only ever known her first name, but I bet that Patricia Gonzales is the same person.”
“And she is Maria Staverly’s mother.” Grant added, unnecessarily. “If Irish Mick was her father, that would make her entitled to his estate, wouldn’t it?”
“Only if she actually knew who her father was.” Kate continued, “In all the time I have known this Circus, Maria has never let on anything about her family. I think this is something that would be known by most of the troupe, so I would have heard about it if they wanted me to know. They have been together for a long time, most of them being born into the life. Maybe they were hiding it from Maria for some reason.”
Bridger could feel the answers sitting just outside his grasp. Reece Coster had the birth certificate at his flat, covered in blood, which he knew would have been from the crime scene. Maria had been at his flat, and they already knew that she had been at the crime scene. She was there after leaving the Hospital so there was no reason she would have had the document with her, so that would mean that Michael Wilson had it with him. But why? Maria, Anthony, and Reece Coster, were involved. Only one of them killed Michael Wilson, they had to find them to find the answer. He turned his attention to the others in the room “Maria, Anthony, and Reece Coster are together somewhere, if we find them we find the killer…”
Chapter Twenty Three
There was another person in the darkness with him now. After they threw him back in the cage, he had been sleeping, a fitful broken sleep. The wind had been rocking the cage like a ship at sea and the noise had been deafening, but at least it had drowned out the noise of the animal. When he had woken the angry weather outside had subsided slightly and he had heard the sound of stuttered breathing. It was not the animal; he knew that, there was no menace in the sound. It was not the Clown either. He had not said anything, he had not even moved, just lying still, he hoped the person would leave him alone. Reece Coster had been crying, he was scared, and he had shit his pants. He did not want anyone to see him in this state.
The door at the end of the cage opened and a dull light streamed into the darkness making the cramped interior visible again. The restless animal in the next cage lunged at the door, a sharp growl in its throat. Cut off by the cold steel bars, it swiped its paws trough the gaps. The man sitting a few feet from the animal’s claws did not flinch. Reece looked at the man’s features in the dull light; puffy and withdrawn eyes stared back at him. It was the man he had seen with the circus slut the other night, standing over the dead man.
“Out…” The voice came from outside his cage, the Clown with the eyes that spilled hate came into view. Reece did not move. He did not want to play this game anymore. They had made him post something on the P.A.A.I.N website earlier and he thought they would let him go after that, but they had just put him back into the darkness, next to the animal. They said ‘She must decide’, but he did not know who ‘She’ was.
“I said get out…” The voice was more forceful this time, but the Clowns mouth had not moved. The voice had sounded female, was this ‘She’
The other man in the cage stirred and looked up “Maria? Maria is that you…? I’m so sorry Maria. You have to believe me…” The circus slut stepped into Reece’s view and addressed the pitiful figure sitting across from him.
“My whole life I have had this dream, a Clown that did not care, a Clown that hurt. I did not know why until now. You took my family from me…, you made a choice. It was you all along.”
“No Maria, Mick took it… he took anything he wanted, his family have been doing it since this Circus started.” I was too young, too immature to deal with it; I took it out on you… and your mother.”
“Bullshit… Anthony, you and Mick were as bad as each other…” Maria’s voice cracked “I don’t have any memory of my mother, you two saw to that.”
The Clowns clambered into the cage exciting the animal next to them. They dragged the man from his place. Reece looked into the man’s eyes as he slid past where he was sitting. There was nothing there, a reflection of how Reece felt. He watched as they shoved the man from the cage and onto the ground. The Clowns turned for him as soon as the man hit the dirt. The animal in the next cage was at frenzy, pacing the wooden floor and swiping at the walls. He knew his time would be soon, he would have his turn.
Reece found himself standing outside the cage, the animal inside making it rock back and forth. In the dim morning light, he could see that there was a line of vehicles off to his right. There was no sign of the Circus; packed into the trucks it was ready to move too another town, where different set of eyes would watch the show unfold once more.
He looked at the circus slut wondering what was going to happen next, but she just looked right through him, no recognition in her eyes, instead, she focussed on the other man.
“This life is so incestuous Anthony, and you took advantage of that. Look at what you have been doing with Mick for the last twenty years… You disgust me…” She went to walk away, but then turned and faced him, her face inches from his. “Teaching me the rope, was that your way of making things up to me? Your way of penance, for taking my life from me? Why could you not tell me what you did instead? You were weak Anthony; you took it out on a littl
e girl. You were Clown, but there was no jest with you. Well fuck you Anthony Gonzales; all that did was, make me stronger, strong enough to do this.”
The circus slut that the man had called Maria, turned and walked away, Reece watched as she climbed into the cab of one of the trucks. One by one, the trucks started, shiny exhausts belching diesel fumes into the air, and then slowly, one by one, the trucks drove away.
The cage trailer behind him continued to rock on its chassis, the angry beast within wanting his time in the spotlight. The dead face of a Circus ringmaster stared at their backs and Reece Coster found himself standing beside Anthony Gonzales as four Clowns stepped into view holding a large steel blade. Reece watched Anthony’s head slump, just before his own knees went weak and his vision blurred in panic.
The link flashed up on the computer monitor, a large flashing icon, showing a Lion roaring, repeatedly, demanding attention. Bridger saw it from the corner of his eye as he made to leave the office following Brian and the rest of the team. “Wait a minute Brian; something has put itself onto the P.A.A.I.N website.”
The team crowded back into the office and stood looking at the monitor. Grant reached over and clicked play. A face they all recognised filled the screen and stared back at them. His face was gaunt and his eyes were bloodshot. There had been crude makeup applied to his lips and eyes, almost Clown like. They all held their breath waiting for something to happen. Anthony Gonzales began to speak.
“I am the one you seek. I started this, and now I must finish it…” His voice sounded scripted “I am responsible for the death of Michael Wilson… I am going to pay the price... I was once a Clown and therefore deserve a chance… but it will be a proper ending either way.” Anthony’s face disappeared from the screen and a shot of a cage trailer in the darkness, lit up by a spotlight, came into focus. There was something wild moving inside, and as the camera panned in closer the beast’s eyes became visible, there was no sound but caged hate was evident in the wild darkened pupils. Still pictures of Anthony Gonzales and Reece Coster flashed onto the screen for a short time before it went blank. Words scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
Remember the book of Daniel; the Circus is only for the Clowns…
Bridger looked at the rest of the team; they all had confused looks on their faces. He had already received that sermon tonight and now it was going to become a reality. No matter what they had done they did not deserve this.
“We need to get down to the Circus right now…”
Chapter Twenty Four
It was only a few minutes from the station, but Bridger had no idea how long ago the clip of Anthony Gonzales was taken, and so did not know what to expect. He saw Steve and Gillian’s patrol car parked on the grass verge, lights still flashing. He got out of the car and pulled the jacket he had on tighter around his neck, but it made little difference with the damp shirt he was still wearing.
The early morning sun was struggling to make itself seen and the air was slightly chilled. It seemed a surreal ending to the last twelve hours, the calm after the storm. The Oval was empty now, except for the one lonely cage trailer, what was left of the green grass framing it in the middle of the muddy grounds. The oversized picture of Irish Mick attached to the front was staring back at them, the same dead eyes he was sure he had seen last night seemed haunted by something within. They were too late. He knew what had happened.
The dark grey clouds that came with the previous night’s thunderstorm had just started to recede, and shafts of sunlight were pinpricking the ground, highlighting the ruts and hollows left by the previous few days of use. Bridger could see the scorched earth where the main tent would have been. The memory of the two-headed beast lying in the burnt out waste was still fresh in his mind, making him shudder. He stood beside the car and took a breath.
“Whatever you think about them, the Clowns have done a decent job of packing and moving everything away” Becky was looking at the now empty space as she spoke “I guess they are used to it though, but the main tent was a real mess, that must have taken some time to clear.”
“Is that the trailer from the website...?” Brian paused as he looked at the trailer again “Although, by the look of it, it looks nothing like the Circus trailers that were part of the Wilson’s outfit. It almost looks homemade. And that picture of Irish Mick, it looks too staged… wasn’t that what you said you saw last night, Mike?”
Before Bridger could answer, Grant spoke up “Who’s that under the tree over there?” He followed the direction of Grants finger, which was pointing a little further away, nearer the pavilion. He could see the person Grant was referring too, hunched over and shivering with his head in his hands, he could have been anyone, but he recognised him straight away. The small burst of adrenalin on finally locating him was not enough to quell the doubts he felt about his involvement in Irish Mick Wilsons murder, despite the confession he had heard. However, his instincts had been wrong in the past.
“Take him into custody; I will deal with him as soon as I see what we have got over here.”
Turning back to the Oval, he could see Gillian and Steve standing on either side of the cage trailer, a sombre look on their faces, like sentries guarding a cenotaph.
“What have we got Gill?” He could see the whiteness on her face as he walked slowly towards them.
“It’s not pretty Mike, I’m not sure who went first, but for their sake, I hope it was them.”
“Is it male or female?”
Gillian shrugged her shoulders and looked at the ground. Bridger almost did not want to look inside, but knew that he had to. He took a deep breath and held it. Climbing up on the side of the trailer, he leaned over the top and stared into the belly of the cage. Separated into two compartments normally, the steel caged divider in the middle was now wide-open, giving access to both sides. The breath he was holding left his body in a rush and he felt the contents of his stomach trying to follow. Gagging, he let his eyes close in a protective reflex, but it was too late for the image to be undone in his mind. Opening them again, he could plainly see the carcass of the lion lying on the straw covered floor, blood seeping from a deep gash in its stomach. Its dead eyes were staring out from its toy like face and had turned a milky white. A torn Zebra mask was partially visible under the dead lion. The rest of the cage was a mess with the scattered parts of a human body, torn and ripped apart by an animal who knew nothing else. The muscular arm that still held the knife that had obviously delivered the animal from its captivity, was lying beside it. The torso it belonged too was on the other side of the cage, partially disembowelled, but still held together by a sparkly white spandex suit. They had found the lion from the P.A.A.I.N clip… and they had found Anthony Gonzales. In that instant he knew, Anthony had killed his life partner, and then found his own death inside the belly of a giant Irish Mick. It was both a grotesque and grizzly way to die. Anthony had lived and died within and because of the Circus. The irony of his death did not escape him though, Anthony had found out the hard way that this animal was not as domesticated as he had maintained. ‘Man is the cruellest animal’ Friedrich Nietzsche had penned his insight in the eighteen hundreds, but it was proven true in this moment.
Bridger had seen enough, he was about to step down when something caught his eye. A small piece of folded paper was pinned to the wall just below him. Picking it up carefully, he unfolded the paper. Inside he saw hastily scrawled writing.
‘This is real P.A.A.I.N. Animals will always do what comes naturally and they belong in the wild. It was too late for this one; it would never survive outside of its captivity, and so we gave this man a chance to set it free. We threw this ‘Daniel’ into the Lion’s den, as written in scriptures. If this poor animal’s captivity were just, then no harm would befall him. However, if you are reading this note and this ‘Daniel’ is no more, then you will realise that the circus is only for the Clowns…’
The biblical reference to Daniel and the Lion’s den shot a burst of adre
naline through his system. A feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach as his mind flashed back to the Church he had woken up in. Something was nagging at him but he could not quite place it. He looked back at the note. The Daniel he remembered was supposed to be a religious man, thrown into the den for praying. It was the praying that had saved him from the Lions. His God had looked out for him. Anthony was a murderer; he had no God, and so he had no chance at all. They had not thought this through very well, but then in the end no one would forget this statement in a hurry. Maybe that was the point. The Lion may have been responsible for Anthony’s death, but whoever had put him in this situation would have known the inevitable consequences. It was still murder. The second in less than four days, Bridger was beginning to hate the Circus.
With the note, at least they knew who was responsible, but he could not reconcile the various faces of the P.A.A.I.N membership with what he saw before him. They were such ordinary people; they just cared about animal’s welfare. Could their beliefs be that deeply seated? He knew Reece Coster was all about direct action, but even with that did it involve murder…? Maybe it was Reece Coster on his own, a huge step up from the burning of the tent. He looked over to where Becky and Grant had put Reece in the rear of their police vehicle. At least he would get to ask him…
“Mike… you need to see this…” Gillian’s voice sounded on edge
Bridger looked back from the cage and followed Gillian’s gaze. Less than ten metres away a silent group of four animal masks stood in a line, all of them standing with their hands clasped in front. Where had they come from? The heavy and cold grey cumulus clouds of the retreating storm hung over them, making it a slightly chilling and surreal sight.
Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 17