All out and Over

He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, pulling his fedora back. The night was humid and the heat had not retreated with the sun. The lights of the police cars colored the circus terrain alternately blue and red. He had stepped out of the tent, which the circus folk had called the storage deposit, to get some air and get a clear mind.

In his years of service, inspector Bonner had seen a lot of sick things. Murders displayed in many unsettling ways. Yet it was the first time he’d seen a woman caught so red handed she didn’t have time to wash off the blood. It was an open and closed deal. His partner on the case was surely happy with the results. Easy cases meant lighter case-load and since they had been breaking their backs to keep up, it was a very welcome relief.

It was quite evident this little red woman had killed the man upon the target board. She was bloody, the knife had been in her hands when an eyewitness had entered the scene of the crime and besides that she had a motive and no alibi. The case couldn’t have been much easier.

Lighting up a cigarette, Bonner inhaled its cancerous smoke and felt his lungs burn. He coughed a few times before getting settled into the nicotine ease. His eyes glanced back to the tent’s canvas; flapping about on a warm whisp of air. Inside a few carnival creatures were being questioned by his colleagues. Their stories were clean. It was all set and plain. This case is too easy. Bonner thought as he inhaled another puff of smoke and watched one of his officers outside the tent, talking to a midget clown, who also enjoyed a reefer.

“As I told one of your baboons already, I was having a cig outside on the terrain. I’m what you call a chain-smoker, you know,” The little clown told him. He was about half his size and his make-up was dirty and smeared. Bonner had wondered if he would have to stoop to his level to get a good look in the eye, but deduced it as being insulting.

“So I was having a smoke as I heared dear Mal scream her lungs out,” His voice indeed sounded raspy and the years of cigarette use did reveal in his cough.

“You didn’t hear anything from our victim?”

“No, she must’ve gagged him or something. I heard my friend Malory scream out and went in to see what was wrong. And there it was. The girl, with a knife in her hands and blood all over her. Poor Dmitri upon that bullseye with empty eyes, so to speak.”

“And what happened then, assuming ms.Roe still had the knife in her possession.”

“Well look at me,” the clown said with irony in his voice. “I am certainly not the man that took it from her, I did however run to call you guys. Now you are pestering me with all these questions when all I want is to go to sleep and mourn my colleague in the morning.”

“We are not intending to pester you Mr. Jones. We simply need a detailed statement of what has taken place here.” He scribbled some words in his notebook and looked down at the man again. It was hard to read him with the layers of make-up upon that face. One thing was unmistakable; he did not like the cops, even though he had been the one making the call.

The clown going by his stage name of Rickets, wasn’t the only shady cooperater in this ordeal. In the last hour inspector Bonner had spoken to a lot of the carnival folk and found them to be wary of the authorities. He hadn’t decided yet to chalk it up to culture or to call it suspicious.

“Where were you the moment of the murder?” He asked the handsome young fella before him. The young man was wearing a faded yellow vest with a ruby bow tie. His hands were shaking slightly. Dangerous thing for a knife thrower Inspector Bonner thought to himself.

“I was drinking.” Mr. Smith told him, “we like to celebrate the last night in town with each other, yet at the time you said this murder took place, I was in my bunkbed, trying to doze off.”

“Anyone who can vouch for that,...Mr Smith?” The more he spoke to these people, the more he was convinced they weren’t giving him their rightful names. Jones, Smith, he was sure they’d call the victim John Doe if he’d let them.

“Mr. Inspector, I know how this all looks. This man being killed with my knives. Thus I understand you questioning me. But, those knives lay in that tent for anyone to grab, I cannot be held accountable for someone using MY knives to kill the poor man.”

“So no one can vouch for you sleeping in your bunk?”

“Can I ask you sir, how many people can vouch for you sleeping in your bed? This profession, probably yours too, is not one to have with a wife and kids.” The man plucked at his vest before speaking again. Bonner did not suspect the boy any involvement, yet he was quite skittish for an innocent man.
“We fool around here, I won’t deny I have dabbled in the waters of the fire breather, yet then again, who hasn’t” The boy dreamed off as his last words left his lips. Bonner gathered he was reimagining some encounters with ms. Roe he didn’t want the details too.

“But tonight you were alone?”

“Yes sir, just me with my buzz, trying to sleep. No crime in that, now is there?”

Bonner inhaled from his cigarette one last time before throwing it upon the ground and stubbing it out with his shoe. It was time to get into that tent again. Many a photo had been made from the crime scene and by now the mortician had probably removed the body for further examination at the pathology morgue. He had a few people left to talk to before heading back to the bureau and calling it a night.

Entering the tent, the man he wanted to speak with was the one who caught his attention immediately. The tall dark man was standing in a corner, observing the policemen who worked the crime scene. As Bonner had presumed; the body had been taking down and as he stepped forwards, the body bag was being closed and zipped up.

“Mr. Abbot, may I ask you a few more questions?”

The man nodded and almost floated towards him, carefully dodging the spots of sawdust floor drenched with blood.. “Please call me Xavier,” He said with a coy smile.

“I’d rather it be Mr. Abbot, strictly from a professional perspective.”

“Whatever you please,” the man didn’t look shocked by his curtness. Something told inspector Bonner that this Magician was one quickly adapted to changing circumstances. They were silent for a moment, standing next to each other, watching the crime scene. From the far end of the tent, the victim’s lions still called out roars, sending shivers up the spines of those inside. They almost seemed in mourning for their master.

“What did you think made her do it?”

The man moved meticulously, as if every twitch in his body was a well-considered decision. Mr. Abbot folded his hands and turned his head ever so slightly to express his sympathy. Bonner was intrigued by the man, it was fascinating to watch him consider his response before opening his mouth. Something more people should do.

“Well sir, Mr. Inspector if I may call you so, it is hard to get into the mindset of someone who would do such a monstrous thing. Yet all I can contribute is that ms. Cara Roe was a troubled young lady. Unstable you could call it. She took part in drugs that sadly do appear at these venues and on top of that; she had a troubling childhood to begin with.”

“What do you mean by a troubling childhood,”

“She was in the carnival at a young age, I believe she was running from a disturbing home situation. She did confide in me at times, and I cannot deny there were deep rooted trust issues within the girl. issues of the fatherly type mostly.”

It was something similar to what he had heard from some other people on the terrain. However; they had phrased it differently. The words: “I bet she did it because Dmitri fucked around and she couldn’t take it.” came to mind as he remembered several telling him about the relationship between the perpetrator and her victim.

Too easy a case this is.

“I thank you for your time, Mr. Abbot,” He said and the man retreated with charm.

He was done here. The crime scene would be cleaned up and it was time for him to go home. The young knife thrower had been right. There was no wife or kids waiting for him at home, yet he still longed for his bed and he definitely wanted to leave this macabre place.

As a kid he had enjoyed the circus. The cabinet or rarities where he’d went to see the siamese twins or sometimes the lady with the beard. He had marveled over the knife thrower, laughed at the clowns and been in awe of the aerialists.

Never had he visited the Fortune teller though. Never before.

As he walked towards his car he saw the cabin of Madame Malory was only a few yards further and something in him wanted to stop by. His officers had brought the poor lady back to her cabin because she had been too distraught to make any sense in an interview. Bonner had gathered he’d get her statement in the morning, granting her some time from shock. Just want to see if the poor woman needs anything.

As he approached the cabin, a sound of humming came at him. It was a soft but upbeat chorus. He listened closely and recognized the woman’s voice from all the screeching she had done earlier. A wrinkle of confusion appeared above his brow, This woman had recovered from her mumbling crazed stupor rather quickly. Surprisingly quickly.

As he got closer and closer, the humming got louder. When he was only a few steps away from the stairs leading inside the cart, the humming stopped him dead in his tracks. He knew that song. It was an old nursery rhyme his creepy aunt used to sing to him. He could still picture her singing it while rocking in that dreadful rocking chair, using her knitting-needles more like weapons than anything else.

He even knew the lyrics as well. never had gotten those lyrics from his mind, however hard he’d tried. He bloody well knew how the song ended. He knew it by heart.

And when your heart begins to bleed, You're dead, and dead, and dead indeed