The Face Behind the Mask

Will walked into his office and shut his door. His head was banging. He was still fuming about the Super’s snide remarks, but he had a job to do and he would do it. He wanted to read the log as it had come in, read the reports they had up to now, go through the crime scene photos and decide how he was going to catch the murderous fucker who had broken into Pauline Cook’s house and killed her in such a sick, violent frenzy.

Summer 1950

The huge red and white striped tent had been erected on the field. Almost every person had helped to pull the guide ropes to lift it up and get it into place. It was something that needed as many of the labourers and performers as possible. Fresh sawdust had been scattered on top of the grass inside the tent, giving it a softer floor. Gordy loved this part: when the centre ring was empty and the circus hadn’t been tainted by thousands of men, women and children, all eagerly waiting to pay their money and file through the gap in the tent to take their seats.

Tomorrow, when it opened, the smell of popcorn and candyfloss would fill the air, mingling with the fresh sawdust and toffee apples. There was no better scent. The loud humming of the generators in the background was like music to his ears, blocking out the memories that were trying to fill his mind. It kept wandering back to his miserable childhood. The times he’d listened as his parents had argued, his mother’s shrill voice carrying up the stairs until a loud thud would silence her.

More often than not his father – who liked to drink – would then come up and start on him, beating him for no reason. Gordy would go to school and make up the most intricate lies about the bruises. He hated his parents, but he hadn’t wanted to go into a children’s home. He became so good at telling lies that he almost believed them himself.

Then there were the incidents with Andrew and Mrs Goldsmith. Gordy didn’t feel remorse for what he’d done to them. They had laughed at him and deserved what they got. It was life. Nobody had cared that his own father had punched and kicked him until he was black and blue, had they? He liked the feeling of being in control, of being able to inflict pain on others. This was what his father had taught him.

The circus was here for four nights and Gordy had an idea. Yesterday, as they’d arrived, there had been a group of kids waiting and watching their every move. They were almost as fascinated with the circus as Gordy himself was. One of the boys had looked a little bit slower than the rest of them; he’d stared at the lions, monkeys and elephants with a look of wonder etched onto his face. His jaw slack, his lips slightly parted as a line of spittle ran from them. One of the younger boys had elbowed him in the side and he’d closed his mouth, lifting a grubby sleeve to wipe his lips. Gordy had purposely gone over to talk to them, asking them if they liked the circus. All four of them had nodded in unison.

‘Well, how would you like free tickets to come see it every night?’

‘Really, mister? That would be ace. How would we get free tickets?’

‘It’s a big job setting this lot up; there’s lots of work to be done. We could do with a hand setting up the chairs and putting fresh sawdust down each morning in the big top. I could square it with the ringmaster and see if he’s willing to let you pitch in and help in return for some tickets.’

All four of them had shouted, ‘Yes, please!’ at the same time.

‘I’m Gordy – well, that’s my real name. When I’m working I’m Tufty the clown. You see that poster over there? The clown in the black and white? That’s me.’

‘Really, you’re a proper clown? That’s brilliant.’

Gordy smiled. ‘I think so too. Wait there and I’ll go speak to my boss, see if we can’t give you lads some work to do. Of course you’ll have to square it with your parents. They might not want you here every day.’

The boy who looked a little slower and older than the others laughed. ‘My ma won’t care. She’s always telling me I should be in a freak show.’

The other boys laughed too. One of them said, ‘Yes, she is. You could be a clown as well. We could call you Coco instead of Colin.’

The boy who’d elbowed him began to laugh so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks. ‘Coco is a much better name than Colin. Shit on a stick is a better name than Colin.’

Colin scowled at them and his bottom lip began to tremble.

Gordy patted his arm. ‘Well, I think Colin is a grand name, so why don’t you go and see if you can all come back this afternoon and help out? Just come find me. I won’t be far.’

The boys turned and ran off, leaving Colin lumbering behind. Gordy felt a spark of excitement; he had big plans for Colin. Since he’d killed his parents there was this feeling inside him that he wanted to do it again. No, not wanted – that wasn’t strong enough. He knew he had to do it again. Only he didn’t want to go after an adult. It would be easier to kill a kid. They were always wandering off and getting lost. He could make it look like an accident. Only he would know the truth. Colin was a lot bigger than he’d anticipated, but it looked as if no one really cared about the lad so he would do nicely as a starter. Then if it all went to plan, he could carry on and no one would be any the wiser.

Gordy wandered off to help wherever he was needed. Betty and the two other trapeze artists were practising their twists and turns on a makeshift rope swing. He stopped to watch. She had done exactly what she said she would for the next show. Carried on as if she hadn’t almost broken her neck. He had been fascinated; the strength she showed was admirable. In fact, the more he got to know the other performers, the more he liked them.

He was still wary of the lions. Marcus the lion tamer seemed to have them wrapped around his little finger. A loud roar made Gordy jump and he turned to see Marcus on the floor with Leo, the huge lion, standing above him. Gordy’s heart began to race and he thought he was about to watch Marcus get eaten alive. What happened next made him laugh so much a tear rolled down his cheek. The huge lion flopped down onto the floor of the cage next to Marcus and lay his head on his chest. He nudged Marcus until he gave in and began to rub his belly. Betty, who had paused mid somersault, giggled. She shouted, ‘Marcus, that cat is more in charge of you than your wife. I bet you don’t rub her belly like that.’

‘Sweetheart, if I had a wife I most certainly would. Why don’t you come over here and I’ll rub yours?’

There was a loud eruption of laughter, which echoed around the field, and Gordy once more found himself glad that he’d finally had the courage to walk away from his old life so he could enjoy his new one.

Betty tutted and turned back to her rope swing. She looked at him. ‘So, Tufty, how are you liking the circus?’

He fell forwards and tumbled to the ground, doing a forwards roll. As he stood up he pulled a bunch of flowers from his sleeve, handing them to her.

She giggled. ‘That much, eh? Good, I’m glad you like it. I couldn’t imagine living any other way. I’ve been part of circus life since I could crawl and I’ve been doing aerial stunts since I was five.’

He took a bow and nodded. ‘I can’t imagine anything else either – and that’s amazing. You were born with circus blood in your veins. I feel as if I’ve finally found a place I belong, a place to call home.’

A loud voice shouted, ‘Tufty, can you give us a hand?’ He turned to see a group of men all unloading the wooden benches to go into the tent. He walked in their direction. For the next couple of hours he wouldn’t have time to think about anything as they set up the seating for the audience.

Sweating and tired, he lifted the last bench into place, then straightened his back. It was lunchtime and he was going to take a well-earned break to eat a corned beef sandwich and drink a bottle of ginger ale. No sooner had he reached the shady spot he’d had his eye on all morning and sat down than he heard someone calling him. He stood up from the shade of the huge oak tree he’d taken shelter under from the burning sun and smiled to himself to see Colin walking towards him. Gordy waved at him and the big lad smiled. He was on his own.

‘Hello, Colin, where’s your friends?’

‘Still talking to their mas. They don’t seem to be having any of it and won’t let them come to help you.’

‘I see, I suppose I can understand that. What are you doing back? What about your ma?’

‘She ain’t bothered; said if I could get myself a job for four days it would be a bloody miracle. Glad to get me out of her hair.’

‘Well, I’m sure I can find you a job.’

Gordy patted the grass beside him. ‘Are you hungry?’

Colin nodded his head. ‘Always hungry.’

He passed him half of his sandwich. ‘Go on, take it. Big lad like you must have a big appetite.’

He took it from him, eating it in two bites.

Gordy laughed. ‘I like you, Colin; I really do.’

They sat in silence for the next thirty minutes while Gordy rested his eyes. He wasn’t asleep but he wasn’t fully awake either. When he decided it was time to get back to work he took Colin with him to the trailer where he kept all his stuff. He pointed to his clown suit.

‘What do you think about my costume, Colin? Do you like it? I made it myself.’

The seventeen-year-old boy reached out a hand, letting his fingers brush the soft, silky material. ‘Nice. It’s soft and smooth. I like it, Gordy.’

As he said his name, Gordy smiled at the image of Colin that had filled his mind – a very different picture to the one standing in front of him. He wondered if the boy would cry when he stuck his sharp knife into him and decided that, yes, he probably would, a lot. Then there was the fact that Colin didn’t look like a normal, spotty, weedy teenager. He was tall and stocky; he was probably strong as well. He would have to be quick when he did it because if Colin decided to put up a fight, Gordy didn’t know if he would be the one to come out of it alive.

Chapter Five (#ulink_f07b9859-51f2-59ef-a5a7-f9a17e2056a1)

Annie strapped Alfie into his car seat, put his changing bag on the seat next to him and then got into the driver’s side. She loved this car more than words could say. She’d never thought another car would replace her beloved red convertible mini, but after writing it off in an accident that had left her in a coma for a couple of days last year she’d had no other choice.

Will spoilt her; there was no doubt about it and it was nice that he did. It was reassuring knowing that he had more than enough money in the bank to cover the household bills and take them on holidays without having to scrimp and scrape like she’d had to when she was married to Mike.

She could live with the occasional treat from Will because she made sure she never asked for anything, preferring to earn her own money to buy what she needed. She didn’t care if she wore Primark sunglasses or Dior; as long as they did the job it didn’t matter, although the one thing she wouldn’t compromise on was her perfume. It always had been and always would be Chanel.

Turning to check Alfie was okay before leaving, she smiled at him when he stretched his chubby hand out towards her. She blew him a kiss then turned back and drove away from her house. Since her niece, Matilda, had gone missing, she hadn’t really had any visitors from the other side, which had been nice. Having a baby had taken up so much of her time, though, that she’d hardly even noticed.

As much as she wanted to help them, it still scared her every single time one put in an appearance. She’d spent the first thirty-one years of her life oblivious to the fact that the spirit world existed. Then, after that fateful night when her now-dead husband had tried to kill her, she’d woken up in the hospital with a huge wound on the back of her head and a new-found skill as a psychic.