“I shall,” he said and left the wagon.
Thomas Paul, the “businessman” from Mirador, was the next person ushered into the wagon-office by Peg. When I heard the door open I sat up, and it’s a good thing I did.
I hadn’t had a good look at the man in the business suit who had run into the tent an hour earlier. I knew he was big, but his face had been covered by a hat. That hat was still on, but it couldn’t hide the scar on his face, a purple scar that split his face in half. The right side was sharp-eyed and smiling with a secret joke. The left side was pulled down, distorted by what seemed pain or sorrow. He was a Janus who couldn’t be read, happy and sad at the same time. The scar cut across the corner of his mouth, so his speech was slightly distorted.
Grotesqueness was no sign of guilt, just of fascination. I shook his hand and pointed to the chair. He took it. With some stretch of the imagination, his suit might be taken for blue, but it was more black than blue. Paul didn’t seem a good bet for a killer. Whoever did it was probably tied in to the death of the elephants for the past few years and was affiliated with the circus.
“Why have I been asked to come in here?” he said, his voice slurred.
“Won’t take a minute,” I said reassuringly, trying to make up my mind if it would be more polite to avoid looking at him or to force myself to keep my eyes on him.
“My visage makes you uncomfortable, Mr….”
“Peters,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“I assure you that it is an even greater source of discomfort to me,” he said, the one side of his face amused, the other even more in agony from its opposite grin. “War accident. The Ardennes. Shell exploded. I have a feeling that even more will suffer in our current confrontation with the Huns.”
“We don’t call them Huns anymore,” I said. “Nazis.”
“It is your war,” he said, sitting back. “Call them what you like.”
“This is a routine investigation for the insurance company,” I said, not liking Mr. Paul. “May I ask you a few questions?”
“You may ask,” he said, his eyes never leaving me. “I will decide whether or not I wish to answer.”
I found a pencil and began to doodle on a sheet of paper on Elder’s desk. I drew cubes tied together and worked on Koko the clown. I didn’t care if Paul knew I wasn’t taking notes. “How long have you lived in Mirador?” I asked.
“Four years,” he said. “Though I fail to see how such information could help the insurance company.”
“Simply trying to fill out the form,” I said. “Background information establishes the credibility of the witness.”
“I witnessed nothing,” he said. “The accident had already taken place when I arrived.”
“What were you doing here, at the circus?” I tried.
“I am a reasonably wealthy man,” he said. “Primarily real estate in various parts of the nation. I have some plans for revitalizing Mirador and the county. Hope to draw business interests here.”
“To help the county while you sell land?”
“It is mutually advantageous,” he agreed. “I have no intention of defending my interest in making money. It is my interest, my passion. I came here today to try to begin negotiations to have the circus set up a permanent West Coast headquarters here. Just a preliminary step. The idea would be to make the circus management welcome, to plant the seed.”
“Your sheriff didn’t exactly make them welcome this morning,” I said amiably.
“Mr. Nelson is sometimes a bit overzealous,” said Paul. “But he knows his responsibility.”
“And he knows who pays the rent,” I added, looking up.
That face betrayed nothing because it displayed everything. “Mr.…”
“Peters,” I said.
“I am not here to engage in argument with you. I wish to cooperate with the circus if I can, for reasons which I have now made quite clear to you. I will make it clear to the management of this circus that it is to their advantage to have a location like Mirador where the government, which includes the sheriff, fully understands the plans and needs of the business community.”
“As long as the circus stays on the good side of the business community,” I said.
“I don’t know where you got your training, nor in what,” he said. “It certainly wasn’t in business or economics.”
“Tanucci fell from a harness while rehearsing,” I said. “Did you see the harness hanging in the ring over to the right side of the tent?”
“I do not know. I do not remember. What difference does it make?”
“None, Mr. Paul,” I said, standing up. “I’m just doing my job.”
He stood up. Physically, he looked like a larger version of Alfred Hitchcock, but there was something tight about him. Maybe it was just his twisted face or the fact of having seen a dead man and being asked questions about it. I wasn’t feeling any too loose myself. But I had a job, so I moved one step up the ladder to a broken friendship.
“What do you think about circuses, Mr. Paul?”
“Very little,” he said. “They are businesses which can occupy space and bring jobs, which means more people who need more land. It seems a bit unsavory, but that doesn’t bother me. Carelessness bothers me.”
His eyes, both the good and bad one, took me in, from graying hair to scuffed shoes, pausing, I was sure, at my coffee stain.
“I try not to let it bother me,” I said. “Like rude people. If they feel better making enemies instead of friends, it’s their back that has to be watched. People like that hire people like me. So if you ever need a private detective …”
“I should look you up,” he finished.
“No,” I said. “Go to San Diego. There are two private eyes named Maling and Markham who take hopeless cases. Some people will do anything for a buck.”
“Times are hard,” said Paul. I caught no irony in his words.
“They’re always hard,” I said.
“I’m amazed,” he said, opening the door. “We actually agree on something.”
When he left, the room grew larger, and I breathed deeply. Then the room got smaller again, and I wondered if I had reacted to the way he looked or if he had really brought the tension in, in some other form than his face.
Agnes Sudds came next, and a welcome change she was, a breath of cold simplicity in a room full of hot air. She was small, red of hair, with a face that people surely called pert and a blue twinkling dress which showed a lot of Sudds. Her hand remained on the tiny hat with the tall feather that threatened to fall off.
“Why don’t you just take it off?” I said as she ducked to make it through the door.
“You ain’t even Boss Canvas Man,” she said sharply. “And someone should have told you I take it off for nobody, especially a First of May like you.” With that, she sat and crossed her legs.
“I meant your hat, not your britches, and what’s a First of May?” I moved out from behind the desk and leaned against it to look down at her.
“A newcomer to the circus,” she said. I could see now that she had gum in her mouth.
“You like Glenda Farrell?” I said.
She shrugged.
“Ginger Rogers?”
She lit up. “I can dance like that,” she said. “I can sing too. I know a guy who knows a producer.”
“So do I,” I said.
“Mine’s real,” she said.
“Maybe we can discuss mine,” I said, leaning toward her.
Then she took off her blue cap and put it on the floor next to her. I saw why she had been holding it down. A small green snake perched on her head and looked around the room. I didn’t turn to stone, but I did head back behind the desk.
“There’s a snake on your head,” I said, looking for a weapon and wondering how I could kill the snake without destroying the potential victim.
“Of course,” she sighed with exasperation. “I work snakes. Abdul is little, but he’s full of poison. I work the big snakes too. Rattlers, small boa, python, even. That’s for show. Abdul is the real thing. He gets his fangs in you, you’re dead in maybe, I don’t know, the time it takes to get to the toy in Cracker Jacks.”