‘One moment please, constable.’
DI Johns continued his conversation with Detective Wallace while I tried not to visibly seethe at being addressed as ‘constable’. Did he do these things on purpose? I passed the time concentrating on the array of printers and copiers that congregated in the hallway outside his office and breathing out my anger. No communal office for the bigwig – he got his own space, which was a good thing really, as it kept him out of our faces. I had occasional fantasies about having my own office, my own dedicated work computer. Oh well, I knew what to do about it. Work hard, move up the ranks and climb up the food chain. Trouble was there was a bloody great shark at the top that appeared to have an appetite for Sam. My hands felt slippery against the shiny surface of the rolled-up poster I gripped.
‘Alright,’ he said to Wallace, ‘if you can get back to me with that by the end of the day, thanks.’ The detective gave me a wink as he headed out and the DI picked up the phone. ‘I’ve got one important phone call to make, then I’ll be right with you.’
I figured, to him, I was down there somewhere near plankton. No, make that something lower, a single-cell organism, a foram, I thought as he made a high-priority appointment for a haircut. One could live in hope my status would elevate after what I was about to show him.
‘So, constable, what can I do for you?’ For the sake of my career, I let that one slide too.
I passed him the poster and enjoyed the puzzled look on his face.
‘I went to the Darling Brothers Circus earlier this morning to follow up on the stolen motorbike report and while I was there noticed this.’
He unrolled it and stated the obvious. ‘It’s a poster.’ With those few words the edge had crept into his voice, along with a sizeable dollop of sarcasm.
‘Yes, but what caught my attention was the itinerary of the circus. Have a look at the towns they’ve been to so far.’ He put the poster down on his desk and anchored it with a stapler at the top and his hand at the bottom. I moved around and tapped on the word Christchurch. ‘I came back here and checked it out on the network and was stunned to find the dates match perfectly.’
He interrupted before I could explain further.
‘Match what? Look, I’m a very busy man and I don’t like having my time wasted. Is there a point to this?’
‘Yes,’ I said with deliberate calm, ‘a very important point.’ I indicated to each town and date on the itinerary as I went. Christchurch, first of March, young woman murdered, unsolved. Ashburton, sixteenth of March, man killed in what was thought to be a hunting accident, never resolved. Timaru, twenty-fourth of March, unexplained death, town bum, never resolved. Oamaru, sixth of April, young man murdered, unsolved. Dunedin, two days ago, young woman murdered. It all corresponds. The circus was in town at the time of every death. It can’t be coincidence.’
I was certain I saw the twitch and tussle in his face as he realised I was on to something and there was no way, try as he might, he could refute it. ‘Good God,’ he said. ‘If you’re right,’ which of course I was, ‘someone in that circus has been having a killing spree down the island. Okay, we’re going to have to call people in and formulate a plan of attack here. I’m going to need to talk to the area commander and these other towns, check out any patterns. He grabbed up the poster, strode out the door and left me standing there. No thank you, no well done, no nothing.
Bugger that.
I took off after him.