Detective Skip Johnson chewed the cigarette butt in his mouth and looked around the circus grounds. His eyes followed the yellow and pink stripes twisting up the side of the circus tent, and then moved to the welcome sign trimmed in flashing bulbs and a smiling clown. Johnson looked away to blow a smoke ring and then he crushed the cigarette stub underfoot and went into the tent. Inside, the tent was dark and sweltered with the late summer heat while clouds of bugs buzzed overhead. Johnson squinted while his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness in the tent. The detective was here to search the circus grounds for clues connected to the recent chain of murders surrounding the downtown region. The circus ringleader, Stephan Wolff, had invited the investigation agency to the circus lot for a superficial examination (while Johnson waited for a warrant), his only warning was to stray from the areas marked “restricted” or “caution” unless the agency looked forward to a lawsuit.
Johnson followed those recommendations and stepped inside the performance ring, which was marked for the night’s upcoming show, and then manually examined some unlabelled crates, sitting unbothered off to the side. Nothing suspicious, he decided and moved reluctantly to the other tents. Johnson returned outside, discouraged, and ready for a smoke after ransacking his pockets for another cigarette. He lit up and frowned. The detective had been confident there would be evidence to convict the Circus Noire with; perhaps, poorly cleaned blood stains or even the missing organs.
The heat must be getting to me, he decided and he walked back the way he had entered, following the wire fence surrounding the lot. Something fluttering in the wind caught his attention and he crossed the yard to the opposite side of the fence. Johnson snatched the paper from between the metal slats, tearing it. After pushing the pieces together, Johnson gazed at the woman’s painted face that smiled back. Underneath and printed in a cartoon-like font, the paper read: “Come one and all to the Circus Noire to see the Clown: The Circus’ Splendid Trapeze Artist.”
Johnson figured the attractive, smiling girl was the “Clown” and without thinking, he shoved the advertisement into his pocket. By now the sun’s rays were slanted and sprawled in sharp points across the ground and light, airy breezes swept the summer heat away and into the oncoming night. Johnson figured it was time to leave and glanced at his watch for reassurance.
Johnson followed those recommendations and stepped inside the performance ring, which was marked for the night’s upcoming show, and then manually examined some unlabelled crates, sitting unbothered off to the side. Nothing suspicious, he decided and moved reluctantly to the other tents. Johnson returned outside, discouraged, and ready for a smoke after ransacking his pockets for another cigarette. He lit up and frowned. The detective had been confident there would be evidence to convict the Circus Noire with; perhaps, poorly cleaned blood stains or even the missing organs.
The heat must be getting to me, he decided and he walked back the way he had entered, following the wire fence surrounding the lot. Something fluttering in the wind caught his attention and he crossed the yard to the opposite side of the fence. Johnson snatched the paper from between the metal slats, tearing it. After pushing the pieces together, Johnson gazed at the woman’s painted face that smiled back. Underneath and printed in a cartoon-like font, the paper read: “Come one and all to the Circus Noire to see the Clown: The Circus’ Splendid Trapeze Artist.”
Johnson figured the attractive, smiling girl was the “Clown” and without thinking, he shoved the advertisement into his pocket. By now the sun’s rays were slanted and sprawled in sharp points across the ground and light, airy breezes swept the summer heat away and into the oncoming night. Johnson figured it was time to leave and glanced at his watch for reassurance.
