There was quite the hubbub going on at the station as the other CIB members worked hard on what I considered the good stuff, interviewing Rose-Marie’s friends, family, university associates, while I toiled away, as usual, on the dross. Maybe I’d get lucky one day and DI Johns and his grudge would get transferred out of here, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. Wankers never walked. God only knew what it would take to impress the DI and get into his good books, and even he probably couldn’t manage it. Whoever would have thought I’d have wistful thoughts back to my sole-charge Mataura days and the simplicity of policing there? This was supposed to be my dream, detective training, the big D, advancing my career, today the CIB, tomorrow, the world. No one mentioned some of the bloody great obstacles in the way. Reality bit.
Once at the little scrap of timber and veneer in the corner that was my desk, I rolled out the circus posters and had a good look. It wasn’t the impressive pictures of roaring lions and ridiculously costumed monkeys that held my interest, but the towns that had hosted the greatest show on earth. Kaikoura, Christchurch, Ashburton, Timaru, Oamaru, Dunedin. They were working their way down the east coast, then returning up via the West. After their stay in Dunners they’d plunge further south to Balclutha and Invercargill, then up to Queenstown and Wanaka and the Central Lakes, then over the Alps to Greymouth, Westport, and Nelson before heading back to the North Island. Some of those alpine passes would be interesting to negotiate with their collection of vehicles. I wondered if elephants got car-sick? Wouldn’t want that clean-up job.
‘Yo, Shephard, you back from the circus already? Oh, and I see you got yourself a souvenir.’ Smithy dumped a wad of paper on the desk next to mine and came over for a look. One day I’d work up the courage and tell him that words like ‘yo’ didn’t work coming from the mouth of a middle-aged, slightly plump, white guy. He pointed to the pictures. ‘I like the hats on the monkeys, very stylish. You should get yourself one of those.’
‘As soon as you go get yourself one of those clown suits.’ Judging by the less grumpy than usual look on his face, it looked like he’d been on to more interesting jobs than me this morning. ‘Who’d you get to interview?’ I asked.
‘Been back down at the university. Professor Simpson was lecturing this morning, so I couldn’t follow up on the little inconsistencies of accounts between him and Dr Hawkins and Dr Collins. That whole thing sounds so much like tit for tat. I’ve come to the conclusion the university is just a more articulate version of a primary-school playground, except the school kids are better behaved.’ Academics weren’t Smithy’s thing; he seemed to have an innate distrust of anyone who used their brain for a living, which was amusing really, when you considered detective work was precisely that, and that Smithy possessed a damned good one. ‘We were working our way through Rosie’s colleagues and the students she tutored. Nothing surprising so far, other than the usual ‘she was so nice, she worked hard’ etcetera, etcetera. Tell you what though. They all look so damned young. It made me feel geriatric.’
‘You are. They probably think you’re their parents’ vintage, and they wouldn’t be too far off the mark.’ Smithy had a lovely wife, Veronica, and two young kids. He was a bit of an older dad, having not found his true love until his forties.
‘Yeah, thanks for that, like I needed reminding.’ He gave me a pretend clip around the ear. ‘Anyway, how did you get on with the charming Mr Bennett?’
‘Exactly as you’d expect. I got nowhere. He was a bit miffed by the insinuation they could be a pack of criminals. He just couldn’t see how anyone would get that impression.’
‘I think that man’s policy is to take offence at everything. He’s so damned overreactive. No wonder the media love following him around, he’s perfect camera fodder.’
‘You got that right. He’s a consummate performer with a well-rehearsed line for any occasion. He’s a bit like my old dog – any attention’s good attention for him.’ I was pleased Smithy read Terry Bennett the same way I did.
‘I see you’ve got a couple of those posters; can I grab one for the kids? Katie would love that in her room,’ he said, hovering over my desk like a blowfly.
‘Course you can.’ I slid the top one off and passed it over.
‘What’s the story with those?’
‘They’re not for my bedroom wall, if that’s what you were meaning. I think I’ve outgrown the need for posters. No, there was something bugging me about them. I’m sure I’ll figure it out if I stare at them long enough.’
‘You stare away, then. I’m off to meet the Mrs for lunch, I’ll catch you later.’ He rolled up the poster and headed off with it towards the door.
‘Say hi from me.’
‘Sure thing. Have fun.’
I sat down and stared at the poster in the hope something would jump out and take me by the jugular. I didn’t know what, exactly, but I knew my instincts well enough to trust that if something was bugging me, it was worth looking at.
I didn’t have to stare too long before the bug flew into view. Both of the computers in the room were free for a change, so I hopped on to one and logged in. I typed in the names of the towns the circus had visited and confirmed what had been banging around in the back of my mind. I’d been looking at these place names yesterday, when I was wasting time on my pointless task du jour from DI Johns. Perhaps the task hadn’t been so pointless, after all. Most of the places were there. But it was the dates that made me utter a very rude word.
Christchurch, unsolved murder.
Ashburton, unexplained death.
Timaru, unexplained death.
Oamaru, unsolved murder.
And of course, Dunedin, very recent unsolved murder. Any thoughts of coincidence evaporated when I compared the dates of the murders to the itinerary of the circus. They were in town every single time.
Shit.
I hoped Smithy hadn’t handed that poster over yet. He might not want a killer’s schedule hanging on his little girl’s bedroom wall.