The Last Laugh - 4. Thursday, February 20, 2025

I had just sat down in the office and was taking a deep breath to brace myself for the day when the phone rang. Surprised, I answered it. “Detective DeLaney.”

Harry, who had just walked through the door, looked at me questioningly.

“Officer Ingram here, ma'am, at the front desk. There's a, uh, a Durham here to talk to you. Shall I, uh, well, in the interview room or your office?” The young officer seemed a little flustered.

“Just a moment, I'll come down,” I replied simply, nodding to Harry as I put the phone back. “Durham. I can't wait to hear what they have to say.”

“Oh. Well, me too.”

A few minutes later, Gianna Durham, without a wig and in rather masculine clothing, though with glittering makeup around the eyes, took a seat in the interview room and smiled uncertainly at us.

Harry made them a coffee and I nodded to Gianna with an encouraging smile.

“Have you thought of anything? Or did something happen?”

As if they had been holding their breath, they exhaled harshly. “God, I've rolled everything and nothing back and forth so many times, mentally picking it apart, I see ghosts everywhere.” They rubbed their cheekbones, their lips were quivering.

“We'll do what we can,” I said sternly. “But unfortunately-”

“I know.” Gianna looked up and seemed to be on the verge of tears. “Thank you,” they whispered as Harry held out a coffee mug to them. “Thank you so much.” It was more to hold onto it, I thought.

Harry sat down next to me and took out his notepad.

“I ran into my former professor yesterday,” Gianna began after a moment. “At the bakery. I don't know if he didn't remember that the five dead were in my movie or if he just didn't want to bring it up, but we just exchanged a few pleasantries. Then he mentioned the props coordinator was in the hospital and his current student project was going awry.” They took a breath. “And that's when I thought of something.”

“Yes?” Harry and I said almost at the same time.

“When I started my project, it wasn't Howard who was responsible for the props and costumes, but another man. Don. A bit of an oddball, but very dedicated. But he kind of had a problem with my final project.” Gianna paused and sipped the coffee, frowning.

I exchanged a glance with Harry, who pressed his lips together in concentration.

“I don't remember if he ever clearly stated what exactly his problem was, but basically he refused to work on my project. I talked to the prof, then Don continued, but I got the impression he was trying to sabotage my work. Another conversation with the professor later, Don was fired.”

“Did you have any contact with Don after that?” I wanted to know, but they shook their head straight away.

“He lives in Thylle, as far as I know. Or at least that's what he mentioned once. As I don't normally go there, I never thought I might bump into him.”

“Did Don seem like someone who would want revenge for his dismissal?” Harry asked almost cautiously.

Gianna frowned thoughtfully. “Not really. Like I said, a bit of an oddball...” They shrugged a little helplessly. “I'm not even sure Don was around long enough to even meet the actresses. God,” an almost hysterical laugh followed, ”I don't even know where my brain dug that up. But Don was the only one who really had something against my movie and told me straight up.”

~

“I don't like your grin,” Harry remarked darkly as we entered Nico and Jonah's tech den.

“Have you solved the case?” I wanted to know - perhaps a little too hopefully - and Nico laughed.

“I wish,” Jonah grumbled. “But this guy seems worth talking to in person.”

“The Don,” Nico then said mockingly, calling up a rather sterile-looking passport photo of a man in his late fifties sporting a bald patch, “is an odd duck.”

“Speak,” Harry sighed.

Waiting, I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

“Trained musical singer over in Helena who sued his health insurance company because they wouldn't cover the cost of an operation. Cysts on his vocal cords - and his voice was specially insured.” Nico pulled up some digital files. “He was awarded quite a sum because, according to the expert opinion, he was no longer able to do his job after the operations.”

“From Helena to Quincefield...” I mumbled skeptically, and both Nico and Jonah shrugged.

“Gianna Durham is right and wrong,” Jonah continued. “Don owns an apartment in Thylle, but also one in Quincefield and he's registered here. Drives an old van and has no record. Not even a parking ticket.”

“That's my favorite kind of clean. Provided they stay clean,” Harry muttered.

“He was married for fifteen years, both marriage and divorce papers issued in Helena,” Nico took over again. “Interestingly, the grounds for divorce are explicitly stated as childlessness.”

I raised a brow, Nico shrugged.

Harry grimaced. He and his wife were also childless, but I hadn't asked why. It was none of my business.

“He seems to have disappeared from Helena after the divorce,” Nico continued. “He was then registered in Harding, but there's absolutely nothing else there, and then he turns up in Thylle. He worked at the municipal theater.”

“This is getting exciting.” Jonah grinned wryly.

Harry sighed in annoyance. “Get to the point, boys.”

“Always.” Nico grinned for a second. “So, both at the municipal theater and later at the media college, he was in charge of props and costumes, though he has no formal training or previous experience in that regard. When we asked, both places stated he had significantly disturbed the working atmosphere due to his antiquated views on gender roles and was ultimately dismissed, partly because there were complaints. He also attracted negative attention because of his constant swearing.”

“That sounds a lot more interesting.” I nodded at Nico.

“But the really interesting thing is this.” Jonah called up the picture of a website.

Dave the Mage & Don the Clown was written under the mediocre-to-poorly put together picture, which showed an Asian-born mage and a classic clown.

“Don works as a clown?” Harry sounded incredulous and I faintly shook my head.

“A clown with antiquated role models certainly has something against female killer clowns.”

“Enough to murder for?” asked Nico, exaggeratedly thoughtful.

“Dave and Don started a small agency sometime between Don getting fired at the Thylle municipal theater and his job at the media college,” Jonah added. “Kids' birthday parties and stuff like that. The reviews are all good to very good, lots of enthusiasm for Dave's light magic. So Dave's not just a simple illusionist, he's got real magic.”

“This Dave is clean, by the way,” Nico continued, ”these shows are more like extra income for him, he's an electrician in Thylle.”

“Okay, let's leave Dave out of this,” Harry said. “What about Don? Reviews on him?”

“A few happy 'bout seeing a real classic clown again.” Jonah shrugged. “Other than that, it's all about Dave, the clown is more of an accessory. Performing magic is exhausting, I've been told.”

Luckily, passive talents like mine weren't energy hogs like active magic, and I nodded to Jonah. “So once again, Don's a clean-cut guy. A conservative clown, a bit of an oddball. But is he our man?”

“What Gianna Durham said about his attempts at sabotage is enough for me to want to talk to him,” Harry explained. “The idea of a clown killing clowns because they don't fit in with his concept isn't bad either. Besides, with Dave, he'd have a mage on hand to charge up a magic launcher. Well, Mr. Parker,” he turned to Nico, ”name, address, phone number, please.”

“Coming right up, Detective Gregory.” Nico gave a two-fingered salute and I rolled my eyes in amusement. “Donald Venn, fifty-eight-”

“Wait,” I interrupted him, as something sparked in my mind.

“What?” Puzzled, Nico looked at me.

“The name, Donald Venn...” My brain rewound back to yesterday morning and the lawyer with the magic gloves.

“Spit it out, Violet.” Harry touched me on the shoulder and my gaze jerked to him after I must have stared into space for a while.

“Just a thought. Nico, find me Nathan Upfield's number, please.”

“Upfield? Attorney Upfield?”

“Yes, he's a lawyer.”

“What do the Upfields have to do with this?” Jonah asked in between and I shrugged a shoulder.

“Yesterday morning, this Nathan Upfield was here and said Donald Venn was his client and had been called in for an interview. There was a bit of confusion.”

“Are you suggesting that Don the Clown heard Brick's press release and got nervous and went straight for a lawyer?” Harry looked at me with interest, one eyebrow raised curiously.

“Possibly.” I admittedly wasn't sure what that meant myself, but leaving a potentially helpful crumb lying around would be stupid.

Doubt showed on Nico's face too. “Sure, I can give you the number, but Upfield is obliged to secrecy.”

“I guess that's true.” I sighed and rubbed my temple. “Damn lawyers. One is only allowed to dream.”

“Let's talk to Don and we'll go from there.” Harry nodded at me with a tiny smile and with another frustrated sigh, I nodded back.

~

It took us a while to get to Don - the duo were at a children's birthday party and of course didn't answer calls, it was the mage's wife who finally took a redirect.

“I hope we don't ruin the ambience,” I said half-jokingly as I opened the door to the restaurant.

Harry just grunted, almost a little annoyed.

Ilaria's seventh birthday, as the decorations in every corner proclaimed, was focused for the moment in the back, where Dave was playing with colorful lights and eliciting sounds of delight from the damn big bunch of kids.

I'll admit, I marveled for a moment at the glowing letters dancing in the air and was somewhat rudely reminded of reality when suddenly a woman in a dark brown knit dress and wild blonde dyed curls came rushing towards us from the side.

“Oh God, are you Lillian's parents? I'm so sorry-”

“No.” Harry interrupted her quickly as she grabbed my arm. “We're from the QFPD. Detectives Gregory and DeLaney.”

Puzzled, the woman stared at us and stammered a few half-words before catching herself. “Um, okay. And how can I help you? This is a child's birthday party.”

“We'd like to talk to the clown, Donald Venn,” I explained and she blinked in confusion before nodding.

“They have their equipment behind the black screen, that's where he should be. But please, the magician's show will still last a while.”

“Of course, thank you, we'll be quick.”

The children hardly took any notice of us, nor did the mage, but the clown, who was lounging on a chair behind the black screen, seemed all the more puzzled to see our serious faces.

“Donald Venn? We're Detectives Gregory and DeLaney from the QFPD and we'd like to talk for a moment.”

“Yes,” the clown said, standing up hastily, ”I'm Donald Venn.” With all that makeup, I wouldn't have recognized him without identification. “What's this about?” He gave me a strange look and then frowned at Harry.

“Surely you've heard about the murders? The ones which the press dubbed the Clown Murders?”

“There's no getting around it at the moment,” Don grumbled, shaking his head.

“Not a good time to be a clown?” I asked cautiously, earning a scowl.

“No. But I've been a clown since I was a teenager, starting out as a McDonald's mascot to earn extra money.”

“You see, Mr. Venn, the case is a little complicated,” Harry began politely. “Our traces lead to a students' movie from the media college and from there we heard a few critical words about you. We'd like to sort out these disturbing factors.” People usually interpret Harry's words in a positive way, that he believes in their innocence. If there is such a thing as predestination, then he's the good cop.

I never manage that, my supposed feminine charm is too often smothered by my tomboyishness.

Don raised a brow. “And that means?”

“Do you remember the student Durham?” Harry asked.

Snorting, Don rolled his eyes. “Hard to forget him.”

“You were dismissed while working on Durham's final project. What for?”

“Communication, I think. Things weren't going well there in general and I was contemplating quitting. Arthur - I mean, Professor Arthur Fowler - asked me to stay when I first brought it up.” Don shrugged and then wanted to know, “What's the word about me?”

“Durham mentioned you refused to work on the project and then tried to sabotage it.”

Don looked baffled at first, then shook his head, snorting. “I'm telling you. Communication. The guy thought that as director, he was the king of the project. There you go. I have no problem with being the recipient of orders. But then please give me sensible and clear instructions.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, seemingly curious.

“Oh, well, he kept changing the directives and requests. At some point, I stopped counting how many times I had to change or cancel costume orders. At some point I made it clear I didn't want to carry on like this because it was just taking up too much time and energy.” Don sighed with annoyance. “I spoke to Arthur and things got better, at least for a while. I can't tell you what the sabotage accusations are all about, I was doing my job.”

“Durham said you disapproved of the project,” I interjected, getting a grim sideways glance.

“I can't do anything with those killer clowns, I mentioned that once, that's all.”

“Have you seen the movie?”

“No.”

“Have you met the actors? Or did you have contact with anyone from the project after you were dismissed?” Harry took over again.

“It could be I've met one of the chosen actors, there were always young people running around. But it was still in the selection process at the time, as far as I know.” Don shrugged. “I only had contact with Arthur after that, the supervising professors are responsible for all the cost accounting, or at least the point of contact for each project. It was about the last costume order.” Then he asked, strangely cautious: “How exactly are the murders connected to the movie, if I may ask?”

“The five dead were actors in the movie,” Harry replied.

“Ah.” Don nodded.

I didn't get the impression he was particularly interested, but well, not everyone is bubbling over with empathy. “Did you have any negative memories of the project itself or the people involved?” I wanted to know, but Don shook his head.

“No. Apart from the poor communication, but I think a lot of young people have a problem with that these days.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Venn.”

He only nodded curtly.

Outside, Harry and I sighed at the same time.

“There's something about that guy I don't like,” Harry said critically. “What he said was fine, but-”

“Did you notice how he ignored and dismissed me?” I asked in between. “I don't think a female detective fits in with his antiquated image of women.”

Harry grimaced. “There are enough guys like that in the world. I'm just saying, Don's kind of unlikeable, but that's not enough.”

“No,” I agreed, dodging a woman with a tiny dog who pushed her way between Harry and me without respect. “I can well imagine Gianna Durham was influenced in their perception by emotions and stress and therefore interpreted Don's behavior as sabotage, even though, as he says, it was solely a problem of communication.”

Harry gave a half-agreeing, half-thoughtful grunt and pulled the car keys out of his jacket pocket.

“On the other hand, I looked it up. Robert changed his own first name to Gianna in November 2023, at least officially. Don spoke of Durham as male, but a change like that doesn't happen overnight. Gianna had almost certainly been using this name for a while before the official change and Don certainly couldn't do much with it. And even less so with feminist horror.”

“But that would be a problem between Don and Gianna and has nothing to do with the actresses,” Harry remarked, making the door locks beep.

“I know.” I paused at the passenger door. “And maybe I'm just fabricating something, but we don't know if Gianna Durham as writer and director isn't also on the death list as the crowning glory. We don't know who it was - maybe it was Don. Maybe the press release startled him and that's why he ran to a lawyer.”

Harry sucked his upper lip halfway between his teeth, shaking his head and shrugging at the same time. “We're missing something solid, Violet.”

“I know.” I grimaced in frustration and more gently than my mood demanded, I banged my fist against the car chassis. “I know, Harry, but it's fucked up to kill five women because they portrayed killer clowns in a no-name student movie.”

“People have been and will be killed for far less.” Harry returned with a hint of bitterness and opened the driver's door.

“Not helping.” I growled and opened my door as well.

~

Professor Arthur Fowler was, as Nico had said, the basketball player type. Very tall, very slim and also much younger than the witnesses had described the man who had been seen with the girls. After we explained the problem to him, he sighed deeply and gave us an apologetic smile.

“Well,” he began, ”what can I say? Don wasn't our first choice when we hired him, but he was still the best we could find. I mean, he's done a good job, you could tell he really knows his way around show business.” Fowler emphasized the word and underlined it with wiggling eyebrows. “But yeah, there were a lot of complaints about his constant cursing, his medieval views, and his skepticism about new techniques and methods.”

I nodded. “And in connection with the killer clown movie?”

“Durham is gifted, has visions.” Fowler nodded enthusiastically. “But Don was the wrong man for it.” He pulled up one corner of his mouth and made an apologetic gesture.

“Don described it as a communication problem, Gianna Durham spoke of refusal to work and sabotage,” Harry interjected and Fowler grimaced.

“If I may be honest, from the outside it was almost a bit funny.” He cleared his throat and made another apologetic gesture. “A communication and generational problem, plus a certain immaturity on the part of the students, such a big responsibility for the first time... Like many others, Durham had ideas and didn't communicate them sufficiently; after all, others can't look into our heads. In addition, ideas change, but in projects like this I often experience that immature ideas are to be developed, which still undergo major changes in the maturing process. That may be good for the students, but it's exhausting for everyone else. And Don couldn't cope with that. I spoke to Durham and things got better.”

“Surely there's a but coming,” I said with a raised brow as Fowler finally seemed to catch his breath.

A smile flitted across his face. “Durham did communicate better and more clearly afterwards, but Don still took every opportunity of free interpretation.”

“I can certainly understand how a student might feel sabotaged,” Harry remarked critically and Fowler nodded, his smile giving way to genuine seriousness.

“I only heard that word late in the game, otherwise I would have intervened earlier with more serious words. But it never came to that. Durham had chosen the actresses and on practically the same day, one of the girls, the one of Asian origin, came to me and complained about Don. I can't remember the wording off the top of my head, but I wrote it down. Something about geishas...?”

“Oh my goodness,” I muttered, shaking my head along with Harry.

“I spoke to Don, he admitted it openly. I have to pass something like that on, you see, and it was the last straw for HR. I didn't even get a chance to talk to Don about how he worked on the movie project.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“Were you still in contact with Don after that?” I asked, thinking of the costume order Don had mentioned.

Fowler shrugged. “Contact is a big word. He wanted money back for a costume order, submitted an invoice. It was a bit of a back and forth and in the end he gave it up.”

“Do you still have the invoice?” asked Harry and Fowler sighed.

“Of course I do. Even though it wasn't charged to the project costs, we have to keep that shit for ten years. I can dig it out for you later.”

“That would be nice.”

“And you never met Don again after that, Professor?” I wanted to know for the sake of completeness and saw him open his mouth and then pause.

“Actually, I did,” he said slowly. “I take my older daughter to the cinema regularly, father-daughter activities for family peace, and now in November she had chosen the horror night at the Blue Star. You wouldn't believe how excited she was about Durham's Killer Clowns - and even more excited when I was able to give her details. But yes, Don was in the movie theater. With a woman, looked like a date if you ask me. I don't think he saw me, though.”

~

“Lying about whether or not he's seen the movie isn't enough to get him summoned,” I said sullenly as Harry scribbled notes on the case wall.

“Neither is the fact that he's sexist and racist,” he added, tapping the end of the pencil against his chin.

“But you have to admit he's interesting.”

Harry turned to me, scrutinizing me.

I didn't like the look on his face. “Do you think I'm getting carried away?”

Pulling an exaggeratedly quizzical face, he shrugged. “I'm liking the guy less and less, but that doesn't make him a murderer.”