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Back The Ringmaster Save as PDF
Chapters (73)
  1. Cover
  2. The Ringmaster
  3. Contents
  4. Prologue
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. Epilogue
  72. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  73. Copyright

‘There were a few people on this floor when I was working. I’m certain one of them would have seen me. There must have been, I guess, twenty people or so at the Club, and my wife, once I got home.’ So there was a Mrs Professor, and she dressed him funny. ‘Do you want everyone’s names?’

While Smithy quietly took down the list of names being passed on with a long-suffering tone, I looked around me. The office was a contrast to the man. Although filled with books, folders and papers, it was orderly and everything seemed to be in its place. No scruffiness around the edges here. There was an impressive number of framed degrees and certificates on the walls which no doubt intimidated the fresh-faced undergraduates who found their way here. There were some from Europe, as well as Australia.

My curiosity was interrupted by my cellphone. I took a look at the caller display and felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach. ‘Excuse me,’ I said as I retreated to the corridor. ‘Shephard,’ I said, trying to sound officious, yet cheerful.

‘Johns. Where are you?’

‘I’m at the university.’

‘What are you doing there?’

‘We’re interviewing Professor Simpson and then some—’

‘Who said you could do that?’

‘Smithy invited me along to help interview the victim’s associates.’ I wondered if Smithy would get it in the neck later.

‘Get yourself back here now. I need you to do another job.’

‘Can I finish the interviews fir—’

‘No. Now.’ He ended the call as abruptly as he’d spoken, and I had to take a few deep breaths to compose myself and resist the urge to fling the phone down the hall.

Arsehole.

7

Fan-bloody-tastic. Here I was, back at the circus, which normally wouldn’t be such an onerous task – they were supposed to be fun, after all. But today the necessity pissed me off. The oh-so-important thing that DI Johns pulled me off the university interviews for was to return the digital camera card to the circus folk and tidy up their complaint. Whoop-de-do. At the morning’s briefing, the DI had gone on at how much pressure we were under to solve this case and quickly, in light of the string of unsolved murders in the lower South Island recently. Government and the media were putting the acid on about the rate of solving or lack of solving in these cases. God knows the police didn’t need any more bad press after the recent taint of sex scandals and corruption. If he was so concerned, why the hell was I here and not doing something useful? My cynical little self knew the answer to that one.