‘Where's the circus moved to now?’ Odell's eyes narrowed.
‘They always go from here to Radwick, about twenty miles away. I presume they've followed their regular itinerary this year.’
‘Interesting,’ Odell said once they were back in the car. ‘How do you two fancy a visit to the circus? We better have a word with this Porson fellow but first I think we'll watch a performance incognito. I haven't been since I was a boy.’ He laughed softly to himself as Richmond and Tommy exchanged glances.
Jeffrey's Circus was clearly a low budget show as Richmond remarked to Odell as they sat in the sparse audience. The two clowns had been clumsy and unfunny, the trapeze artist's “stunts” were little more than gymnastics. ‘And that lion,’ Richmond grunted, ‘is old and toothless.’
‘And sedated,’ Odell grimaced.
The lion ambled out of the ring behind Marcus, the trainer. There was a lengthy pause and then Joseph Jeffrey, clad in worn and frayed ringmaster's attire, announced that, ‘You are now about to witness, ladies and gentlemen, the cowboy right from the wild west. Allow me to introduce you to Buckaroo Bill!’
Tommy's boredom soon vanished. The cowboy, in authentic clothing, sat on his horse with ease and skill, whirled a lariat with true expertise. Then, from the entrance tunnel, bounded a half-grown calf. Buckaroo Bill whirled his lasso, threw it deftly over the animal’s head, rolled it kicking and twisting in a cloud of sawdust. In one perfectly coordinated movement he leapt from his mount, trussed the calf with a length of rope. Then he turned to the audience, swept his Stetson from his head and bowed to the applause.
‘I think we'll have a word with Mister Jaffrey after the show,’ Odell muttered to Richmond.
‘Can’t see how all this figures in the business of the mutilated ostrich,’ Richmond answered and then fell silent. Whatever his unofficial colleague suspected, he was unlikely to explain until his suspicions were either proved or disproved.
‘We're finishing at the end of the summer,’ Joseph Jeffrey was clearly ill-at-ease with the presence of the detectives. His caravan was shabby and basic, proof enough that circuses were no longer money-spinning enterprises. ‘Kids today don't want circuses, they'd sooner watch videos or play computer games. If we get out this year we'll just about break-even. I was a fool to think that we could make a success of a continental tour. Holland was a disaster, hardly anybody turned up for the shows and we had to hire animals. Marcus refused to perform with a lion he didn't know and we forked out a grand for a blooming ostrich for Buckaroo Bill to lasso. That was the best part of the show.’
‘An ostrich?’ Odell snapped, ‘But you haven't got it now?’
‘No,’ Jaffrey gave a wry smile. ‘Had to go into quarantine. Six bloomin’ months without our best act, couldn't afford to wait. So I sold it to a firm I read about in the papers which sells ostriches to farmers. At least I recouped some of my losses that way. They collected it from the quarantine place themselves.’
‘I see,’ the detective mused. ‘Can you remember the name of the firm you sold it to?’
‘Some silly name,’ Jeffrey tilted his top hat, scratched his thinking grey hair. ‘Somethin' like … yes, I remember now, Ostrich International.’
‘Incidentally,’ Raymomd Odell's eyes narrowed, ‘that lion in the ring tonight. It was sedated.’
‘Sure,’ Jeffrey dropped his gaze. ‘Begbie sees to that, he used to be a vet.’
‘Used to be? I thought it was “once a vet, always a vet” even if you weren't actually practicing.’
‘He was struck off, some illegal operations he carried out. Served time for it. But he's useful here, keeps the old animals going and mucks in generally.’
‘Hmmm.’ Odell mused. ‘That cowboy, Buckaroo Bill, he seems to know his stuff, alright.’
‘He's genuine. Not a cowboy, of course, but he used to be a horse trainer. Begbie found him for us and he's proved to be the best act in the circus. Bill Porson is his real name. If only we could have got the ostrich back here, things might have been different. Mind you,’ he added ‘,over in Amsterdam, we had to give the ostrich a shot of something to quieten it down, otherwise it would have kicked both Bill and his horse out of the ring, maybe gone berserk on the audience, too.’
‘Thank you, Mr Jeffrey,’ Odell smiled, ‘you have been most helpful. Now, my colleagues and I will leave you in peace for an hour or two, although we may have need to return. Might I request that you keep our visit confidential?’
‘Oh, sure,’ the circus owner looked relieved. ‘Last thing I want is for my lot to know the cops have been around making enquiries. You know,’ he winked, ‘in this game you take on any casuals who come your way and some of them might've done things which are no concern of mine. But so long as they do the work who am I to question their private lives?’
As they walked back across the tract of waste ground upon which the circus was situated, Raymond Odell suddenly stopped and turned. The others watched as he went over to where the horse which Porson had ridden in his act was tethered. Beside it, draped over the fence, was the lasso. Odell lifted up the length of frayed rope, examined it carefully before plucking a strand from it. He placed it carefully in his wallet and Tommy recognised only too well that hint
