The Ringmaster

Copyright

Prologue

‘Rosie, wait.’ He lengthened his stride to catch up with her. She turned and he couldn’t help but enjoy the immense smile that lit up her face as she realised who’d called after her.

‘Hey, this is a pleasant surprise. I thought you were working late tonight.’ She started to lean in to kiss him, but checked herself and put her hands in her pockets instead, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

She was such a pretty young thing, he thought; pretty and clever – a winning combination. They turned and continued walking together along Dundas Street, past the bottle-strewn fronts of the down-at-heel terraced houses inhabited by university students.

‘You know I don’t like you walking along that track by yourself when it’s getting dark,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d come and keep you company. I’d never forgive myself if something bad happened to you.’ It was early evening and the gloomy weather made the light lower than usual for this time of year.

She laughed, so melodic. ‘You worry too much. Nothing’s going to happen. Dunedin’s as safe as. Everyone takes this shortcut from uni to the Valley. Besides, walking through the bush helps me unwind – it’s so beautiful and serene.’

She had a point – the track was very picturesque. They turned into Gore Place and passed through the large iron gates into the enchanted realm of the Botanic Garden. The track meandered between the Water of Leith and the curve of the hill before it crossed over on to the flat expanse of the lower park with its lawns, flowerbeds and the impressive Winter Gardens. The route passed through lush native bush and on a fine day it made for a lovely stroll. The deserted playground by the gates was testament to the hour and to how drizzly the day had been.

‘I don’t worry too much,’ he said, pretending to be piqued.

‘Oh, you’ll trip over that lip if you’re not careful,’ she said, playing the game. ‘By the way, I like the new coat and hat. Didn’t even recognise you at first. You’re not getting hip on me, are you?’ Again the melodic laugh.

‘If you can’t beat them, join them, as they say. Maybe being around you youngsters all day is rubbing off on me.’ He made an attempt at a twirl and grinned at the girl’s yelp of delight. He stopped and turned to face her, taking a big breath as he chose his next words.

‘Look, Rosie, there is something I need to talk to you about. Something important.’ He saw a flicker of a frown cross her face and realised she thought it was bad news. ‘No, no. Nothing bad. It’s good news.’

She leaned forward, expectant. ‘You mean you’re finally…’

The crunch of approaching footsteps on the gravel path made her pause. They both stepped back slightly from each other, and he turned and looked up the path. He heard her say hello to the passer-by and then watched the back of the young man as he carried on towards the gardens.

‘Do you know him?’ he asked, when he thought the student was out of earshot.

‘No, just being friendly. It’s a big campus and despite what you may think, I don’t actually know everyone,’ she said. ‘Why, are you jealous?’

He gave her a ‘yeah right’ look and motioned with his head that they should keep on walking. They were now under the canopy of the trees, making their way along the path by what little light filtered through the dense foliage. ‘See how dark it gets in here,’ he said. ‘I really don’t like you walking this way now the days are getting shorter. You don’t know what weirdos could be here, lying in wait for a lovely creature like you.’

‘It’s very flattering that you worry so much, but I feel quite safe. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll start walking along the road when it gets too dark. They shut the gates earlier in winter, so I won’t have any choice soon.’

They came to a massive pine tree, its branches thin and octopus-like, reaching out into the bush. A small path disappeared through the undergrowth beside it.

‘Come down here, where we won’t be disturbed. I really need to talk to you.’ He grabbed her by the hand and led her down the trail; she had to skip to keep up with him.

The gravel ended and they walked a hundred metres along a mown grass verge bordering the Leith until they came to a small clearing at the river’s edge. He looked around to make sure they didn’t have any unwanted spectators; he could see no one. His pulse began to beat faster; his face felt hot. He took her hands in his, wishing they weren’t both wearing gloves to ward off the chill; wishing he could feel her soft skin.

‘Look, you know I love you, and that you’re the woman for me. I haven’t been able to be with you as much as I’d like. And I realise you’ve been very patient about it. My … commitments have got in the way. But I’d like that to change.’

Her face lit up with that beautiful smile. ‘Oh, my God. You’re going to leave her, aren’t you? You’re finally going to leave her.’ She looked into his eyes, searching his face for a response. He simply nodded, and with that she threw her arms around his neck and he used the momentum to swing her off her feet. Landing on solid earth again, she planted a kiss on his mouth. Her lips felt cold, but incredibly soft.

He didn’t want to pull away, but he did, and laughed. ‘Wait, wait, there’s more.’ He stepped back, creating a space between them. ‘I want to give you something – a sign of my commitment, I suppose; a promise that you’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Close your eyes and hold out your hands.’

The sight of her – gorgeous, flushed with excitement, jiggling up and down – brought a lump to his throat and filled him with a moment of apprehension about what he was going to do. But no, he had come this far, had planned and worked so hard for this. He took a deep breath and reached into his pocket.

It only took a second to slip the already looped cable tie around her outstretched wrists and then to pull it tight.

In the time it took for her eyes to flash open and her to start saying, ‘What … what are you doing? I don’t…’ he had pulled the duct tape out of his pocket and ripped it open. He slapped it across her mouth and around the back of her head. By now, terror had registered in her eyes and she ducked down and turned, trying to escape and run. But he anticipated this, tripping her and making her fall elbows first to the ground. She tried to wriggle forward, but was hindered by a large rock in her path. He stepped over her squirming form, straddling her shoulders. Her damned backpack made the job more difficult, but he managed to grab her by the head and, despite her resistance, slam her hard over and over into the rock. There was a cracking noise and then silence. She went limp in his hands and he dropped her on to the grass.

Hands on knees and panting heavily, he had to hold his breath so he could listen and look around to ensure there had been no witness to his work. But all was silence and gloom.

He dragged her over to the Water of Leith and slid her in, holding her face down in case the cold of the water revived her.

It didn’t.

He waited a few minutes to make sure, but there was no more movement from his beautiful Rosie. He hadn’t tried it this way before, but it had worked a treat. In fact, it had been easier than he’d thought.

He was getting good at this.

1

‘What a bloody circus.’

Just when I thought I’d seen it all, here it was – a new page in the album of the ridiculous. The lion roared, despite the efforts of its keeper to calm it. The lion was in a cage. So was the animal-rights activist with the megaphone. He was busy announcing to all who would listen – not that anyone had a choice – exactly what he thought of the plight of the four-legged performers. The caged activist’s support crew, including someone in a gorilla suit, cheered and waved their placards with every expletive, provoking further roars from the lion. The immense and dangerously grumpy man being restrained by his colleagues had to be Terry Bennett, owner of the Darling Brothers’ Circus. I wasn’t sure who was the more menacing: the man or the lion.

The presence of television cameras and a sizable rent-a-crowd sure as hell didn’t help matters.

Fabulous.

‘What the hell is all this?’ Smithy said, as we wove our way through the hordes that had gathered to gawk at the entertainment sited at the southern end of the Kensington Oval. On any normal day, the expansive, lush green fields that were the Oval were home to cricket matches or football – awash with swarms of little kids and their overanxious parents yelling overambitious instructions from the sideline. Not today.

The circus was set up at the pub end and had that unmistakable carnival look, with strings of coloured lighting, enormous inflatable clowns, brightly painted animal trailers and the double-peaked, damned impressive big top that dominated the scene. Smithy looked less than excited by it all. ‘I thought the call-out was because of some students breaking into the lion cage. No one mentioned protesters.’

‘Looks like they’re an added bonus,’ I replied. Nice bonus. Normally we wouldn’t be sent out for a ruckus like this, but due to the Highlanders playing a Super Rugby game at the stadium, most of the regular officers had been called in for crowd control, so they’d had to dip into the CIB pool for this one. After a look around the motley mob here, I thought I’d rather be dealing with drunks at the rugby.

‘Well,’ Smithy said. ‘What do we tackle first?’

‘Ugh, I hate protesters,’ I said, my face screwing into a grimace. ‘Why don’t you go check the idiot in the cage, see if you can persuade him to make a graceful exit? Get rid of his cheerleaders too; mass evictions always were your speciality. I’ll talk to Mr Bennett.’

Smithy was built like the proverbial brick shithouse. He had an impressive set of cauliflower ears, courtesy of being front-row forward for his rugby team, and they complemented his don’t-mess-with-me face. People seemed to take his presence rather seriously, unlike mine. A barely five-foot-tall waif of a thing didn’t tend to have the same deterrent effect, even if she was armed with a mouth and wasn’t afraid to use it.

Smithy headed towards the vocal section and I turned towards Bennett. He was standing alongside the big top; a man-mountain surrounded by an interesting array of humanity. They only partially buffered the waves of anger radiating from him. Oh, how I longed for the rugby.

I sucked it up and went over to say hello.

‘Mr Bennett?’ I asked. He nodded. ‘I’m Detective Constable Shephard. You reported someone had tried to break into one of the animal cages?’

The flesh barrier parted in response to a grunted instruction and Terry Bennett shuffled forward until he towered above me.

‘First the fucking students, and now this bloody mob. How the hell am I supposed to run a show when all I get is idiot pranksters and bloody Nazi activists.’ His voice carried the gravel of a seasoned smoker. ‘And now the friggin’ TV is here, so if I go and belt one of the bastards, I’ll be the one getting crucified on the news.’ His breath confirmed my suspicion. ‘And where the hell are the rest of the police? What do you think the two of you can do by yourselves?’

I ignored the vote of confidence.

‘We’ll deal with the protesters; we’ll move them back out of the way. But first, I want to know about the lion-cage break-in. Is it true that you’re holding a couple of students? Can I see them, please?’

His face went a deeper shade of crimson.

‘Yes, we had the little shits, but when we tried to detain them, they said they’d have us for assault and kidnap charges. So we had to let them go – couldn’t even give them a good boot up the arse.’

If they’d been tampering with animal cages, they probably deserved a boot, or a psychiatric assessment, at least. ‘I’d hazard a guess they were law students,’ I said. ‘Are you able to give me a good description of them?’

‘We can do better than that,’ said a man with some rather interesting facial piercings and an Eastern European accent. ‘We have pictures.’ He held up a digital camera.

Someone had had a brainwave. The advantages of modern technology. ‘That will certainly make life easier. I’ll have to take the memory card with me, but we’ll return it as soon as we’ve copied the files.’

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Smithy’s face; it was scrunched up into a perplexed expression.

‘Detective Smith – Terry Bennett,’ I said, and they both gave a cursory ‘Gidday’, or mumble to that effect, before Smithy gestured back towards the crowd.

‘We’ve got a little problem with the guy in the cage.’

‘What kind of a problem?’ I asked.

‘An immovable one. Not only has he padlocked himself in, but he’s also driven pegs down and secured the cage from the inside. I can’t shift it.’

‘Oh, bloody marvellous,’ Terry Bennett boomed. ‘Now he’s stuck there for God knows how long. I’ve got a show tonight. How the hell do I get the crowds in with that git stuck there, yelling at everyone?’

‘We could get a crane in and pull him up,’ Smithy suggested.

It was an idea, but one that would provide the perfect fodder for the television crews waiting for just such a spectacle. I could imagine it headlining the evening news, with plenty of choice sound bites coming from the bloke dangling in mid-air. No, there had to be a better way.

‘Well,’ I said as I looked up at the big top. ‘There’s no show without the star.’ I turned back to the circus guys. ‘Do you have any tarpaulins or a marquee that would fit over that cage?’

Terry Bennett’s face broke into a grin – probably for the first time that day. Yep, definitely a smoker and in need of some serious dental work.

‘I’m sure we can find something for the job,’ he said, and he and two of his cohorts disappeared around the back of the enormous tent.

‘Let’s go deal with the rest of the protesters,’ I said to Smithy, setting off towards the action. I thought it very quaint how he liked to let me take control, even though we both knew damned well who called the shots.

The protesters group seemed to number around twenty, but the spectators had grown to more than fifty and had inched their way closer to the action. I went for the spectators first. It was moments like these I wished I had my police blues on again, instead of the civvies – black trousers and white shirt – that had become my substitute. People knew how to behave around a uniform.

‘Police,’ I yelled, trying to be heard above the general chatter and hoping like hell they could see me. ‘Okay, everyone, I’m going to have to ask you all to move back to the roadside. Come on, move back please, people. Clear the space here, thank you.’

Smithy worked the group over to the right of me, and I was relieved when they immediately obliged. It was easier than herding sheep. The only exception was the camera crew who steadfastly refused to budge. Surprise.

I lowered my voice and spoke directly to the reporter, who I recognised from the six o’clock news. ‘Come on guys, move back please. There’s not going to be anything interesting or newsworthy here. Let us get on with our jobs. If you move by the trees over there, you’ll be out of our way and you’ll still be able to see if you want to.’

‘Can you make a comment on the actions of the protesters, and how you will remove them?’ the reporter asked, pointing a fluffy microphone in my direction. It brought back memories. At least I wasn’t wearing my pyjamas this time.

‘I’m sorry. You know I can’t comment right now. But thank you for cooperating and moving back.’ Politeness recorded on camera won the day, and they edged towards the tree line.

Next were the protesters. I didn’t think they would be as amenable.

‘Okay, the show is over. I’m going to have to ask you to move away now.’

‘Sod off, pigs. We’ve got just as much right to be here as you have,’ yelled the man in the cage via his megaphone. I was only a metre from him, so the amplification was hardly necessary. The charming namecalling must have embarrassed some of the others, as a well-dressed lady with greying hair quickly stepped up and addressed us while gesturing at Cage Guy to stop.

‘I’m sorry, officers,’ she said with impeccable enunciation, ‘but this is a public place, so we are perfectly entitled to exercise our right to protest. This circus exploits animals for its financial gain. It doesn’t care for them humanely or to any recognised standards. It’s unethical and we—’

‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ I interrupted, ‘but as this circus has a council permit to occupy this public space for the purposes of its show, it is temporarily deemed by law to be a private place and therefore you are trespassing and can be asked to leave. If you choose not to leave quietly, you can be charged with trespass, and then you can explain your purpose to a judge.’ This news was greeted with much muttering and many confused looks from the protesters. Then several of them spotted the small tent, fully erected and being carried along by four of the circus men.

‘What on earth…’ murmured the woman.

‘Look, come on, now. It’s time to move along, please. I don’t want to have to start taking your names.’ Most of them moved back ten metres or so, but several, including the woman and gorilla man, stayed to see what was happening with the tent.

It didn’t take long for Cage Guy to figure out what was about to happen. He yelled at the top of his lungs, this time without the megaphone: ‘You can’t put me in that. That’s wrongful imprisonment.’ I wondered if he was in the same law class as the university students.

‘Come on, guys,’ I said to the circus men, as I gestured to them to straighten up, so they could position the tent gently over the cage. It was a perfect fit, with about a foot clearance each side. Nice and claustrophobic. Cage Man screamed the whole time the tent was being lowered. Great, now we had a talking marquee.

His ‘You can’t do this to me’ scream was echoed by the ‘You can’t do that to him’ cries from the protesters. One or two tried to shove me aside and stop the tent’s progress, but slunk back when I yelled, ‘That’s assault of a police officer,’ and Smithy struck a pose that would have intimidated Mike Tyson.

‘This is illegal detainment. You haven’t arrested me. I’ll have you for wrongful imprisonment,’ came the voice from inside the tent. It had developed a distinct whine.

I yelled loud enough to make myself heard by all concerned: ‘Well, sir. The tent is not locked. It is merely there to shelter you. We were concerned about your safety and comfort on such a sunny day.’ The sunshine certainly was in abundance; the temperature, however, did not match it. A bank of cloud rolling in from the south indicated the Dunedin weather was going to be its usual schizophrenic self. But that was by the by. I paused for effect before continuing. ‘You are not being detained,’ I said. ‘In fact, you are free to leave at any time you wish.’

Several expletives erupted from within the tent, but I could tell from the tone of his voice that Cage Man realised he’d been outmanoeuvred. The circus crew were pissing themselves, and it was all I could do not to snigger. The remaining protesters gave up and had the grace to smile as they retreated further still.

‘Nice one, Sam,’ Smithy said, a big grin plastered across his face. ‘I didn’t know about the permit and trespass thing.’

‘Neither did I,’ I whispered. ‘But it sounded good at the time.’

2

This was not how I’d envisaged spending my Saturday morning. Dunedin had abandoned yesterday’s sunshine in favour of a mantle of mist and drizzle that hung around like some sullen teenager. A fair amount had attached itself to me. The gloomy atmosphere made the vision before me all the more miserable.

She was discovered by a resident from the units on the far side of the Leith, who’d come over to the river’s edge to call her cat in for breakfast. Instead of kitty, the old dear had been shocked to see a body in the water near the other bank. She’d been so shaken, she’d needed medical treatment; the ambulance was still in attendance.

So here I was, on a riverbank, plagued by a sense of déjà vu – the body of a young woman face down in the water before me, like a piece of flotsam. This time there was no doubt as to foul play. Her hands, floating in front of her, were bound by a clear plastic tie. The silver tape covering her mouth extended around the back of her head like some warped, glitzy headband from which her long dark hair fanned out across the water.

I had to push aside my instinct to wade in and drag her out. After my initial, futile check for signs of life, my role was to stand guard and wait for the forensic experts and scene-of-crime officers, or SOCOs as we called them. It was not the role of a small-bit trainee detective to examine anything; any interference on my part would certainly not be appreciated – my boss had made that patently clear. In fact, I wouldn’t normally be allowed to be the first so near a crime scene, but someone had to keep watch and today that someone was me.

I filled the time by making a visual sweep of the scene from my appointed position, but I dared not move for fear of disturbing any potential evidence. I barely dared breathe.

I stood in a small, grassed clearing with the river before me and at my back a steep hillside clad with native bush – flaxes, kowhai and ngaio. The clearing was at the end of a narrow path that ran down from the main walkway, which itself ran around the base of the hill, following the Water of Leith from the Botanic Garden to Gore Place, before