It had been pretty much the same for all of the interviews. The circus was a close-knit place and it was all business. I’d often fantasised about running off to the circus when I was a girl, anything to get me out of helping with the milking and the inhumane early-morning starts, or my worst of the worst, docking the lambs. Seeing these guys in action had changed my mind about it being the great romantic adventure. They worked bloody hard. There were constant rehearsals, cleaning, looking after the grounds and maintenance. Terry Bennett ran a tight ship and kept them busy. Which was a good thing for most of them, as they were busy together. Constant companionship meant rock-solid alibis. There wasn’t much time for privacy, rest and relaxation, let alone slipping off to kill young women.

The other thing that had been bugging me, apart from Zarvo, was that Rose-Marie’s body had been found in a place that seemed carefully chosen. I ran past there at least once a week, and I had never taken any notice of the path down to the river, which suggested a bit of local knowledge on the part of the killer. The circus had only been in town two days when she was murdered. Those two days would have been full on with setting up camp and preparing for the first show on the Friday night. It had been a busy night in Dunedin: rugby at the stadium, circus at the Oval, body in the Leith. The walk from the circus to the Botanic Garden would easily take half an hour at least, probably closer to forty minutes. When would one of them have had the time? And how would they know to take her there in the first place? I made a note to myself to check out each person for previous visits or knowledge of Dunedin. Or even friends or relatives here. Perhaps they had help. Perhaps they drove or biked.

Zarvo’s interview was over. His photograph was taken and then he was exchanged for yet another member of the company.

Why did I feel like this was getting us nowhere, fast?

24

‘So, when are you going to realise this is all a bloody great waste of time?’ Terry Bennett had come over to watch as I finished giving Cassie the elephant a rub down, under the wary supervision of Jamal, her keeper. He’d been rather surprised at my request to get so up close and personal, but, after consulting with the boss, had consented. It was good public relations, after all. And for my part, after having my hand cramped around a pen and my brain cramped around mind-numbing tedium, it felt good to stretch my fingers and tune out with the rhythm of rubbing.