The Last Laugh - 6. Friday, February 21, 2025 (II)

Leaning against the wall in the hallway and clearing my email inbox, I waited. Harry had gone to speak to Brick and I looked up expectantly as footsteps sounded. To my surprise, it was Josy, a coffee mug from the canteen in her hand.

“Hey.” she said, sounding almost embarrassed. “Do you need this?” She held the mug out to me and I blinked at her, puzzled.

“Need in what sense?”

“Well.” She blushed. “I saw Harry and thought that if you're going to stand here alone doing officer work, you could use a coffee...”

“Oh.” The penny dropped and I grinned, half stupidly, half embarrassed. “Thanks.” I finally took the mug and fiddled with the tiny drink opening in the lid.

“Lots of milk, lots of sugar.”

“You're a dear.” We both blushed at that and I half hid behind the coffee, taking a sip. And promptly choked when it sounded:

“Detective DeLaney?”

I turned my head and found Nathan Upfield, accompanied by an officer. “Good afternoon, Mr. Upfield,” I greeted and nodded to him.

“Detective, ma'am.” He nodded to both me and Josy, then to the officer. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.” The officer hurried off and Upfield pulled up the corners of his mouth mirthlessly.

“Mr. Venn still hasn't explained to me what this is all about. Counseling? Accompanying a conversation? Prosecution?”

“We'll start slowly with counseling,” I replied seriously. “The rest will develop - or not.”

He looked at me with a raised brow. But because he looked rather helpless, I added:

“Mr. Venn would have to answer a few questions for us about the so-called clown murders.”

With a slightly dramatic sigh, Upfield's tall figure slumped. “Oh great.”

“Not willing to represent a murderer in the worst case scenario?” I asked in a mockingly teasing tone, while Josy's face contorted almost pitifully. But honestly, Upfield looked downright tormented for a moment.

He sighed with a shrug. “I studied law for my family, but a courtroom is not for me. Writing letters and the like, dripping with legal threats and nasty words? That I can do.” Once again, he pulled the corners of his mouth upwards, without any joy. “But a client is a client.”

With an encouraging smile, I nodded. “Go in and let me know when he's ready to continue the conversation.”

Upfield nodded back, gave a polite nod to Josy and entered the interrogation room after a rather formal knock on the door.

“God, he's cute,” Josy blurted out as the door clicked shut.

“Cute?” I echoed, stunned, and could almost see hearts shining in her eyes.

She giggled. “Oh yes. To take home and cuddle. To mother. I'm a bit of a mother hen, they always say, but since Simon seems allergic to it, I'll leave it at home.”

“Ah.” I only realized how much her first statement had unsettled me when a sense of relief flooded through me. “Well, he could pass for your brother...”

“True." She giggled again. “Do you think I could adopt him?”

“Who's adopting who? Oh, coffee.” Harry suddenly appeared next to us.

“Mine.” I said protectively and raised the cup to my lips.

“Damn. Is the lawyer finally here?”

“He's inside. Two minutes if that.”

Harry nodded. “Good, good. Cooper's even in the house, so maybe that's a good sign.”

“Let's hope so.” I raised crossed fingers and Harry waggled his eyebrows.

“Then I could finally catch up on that birthday dinner with my wife.”

“She's used to grief by now, isn't she?” In a surprisingly confidential gesture, Josy patted Harry's arm, who sighed.

“I could say she knew what she was getting into, but the reality is always different from what you imagine.”

“Neither as action-packed and bloody, nor as rosy as on TV...” Now I waggled my brows. My older brother loves to tease me about things like that.

Harry started to reply, but the door to the interrogation room opened and a chalky white Upfield faced us, seemingly holding onto the door.

“Detectives...”

I gave Josy another grateful smile, raised my coffee in greeting and then marched into the room, carrying it like a trophy. It was worth it just for Don's glare at the cup, but then again, he had refused anything to drink.

Harry got the recorder ready and finally said: “So, Mr. Venn, now that your lawyer is here, I'll ask again: What do you have to say about Amanda Grey and the insult?”

Upfield did actually make a shaken impression on me and I wondered what Don had told him in those few minutes. It couldn't have been much and to at least give him a jump start, I slipped him the Fowler transcript.

After chewing on the words for a moment, Don let out a mixture of a snort and a growl. “I didn't realize she was already cast. I was just trying to scare her off.”

“Pretty harsh words for a bit of a deterrent,” I remarked coolly, sipping my coffee as Don shot me a dark look.

“Insults,” Upfield took the floor, “even racist or sexist ones, are worth at most a compensation for personal suffering.” His gaze twitched uncertainly back and forth between Harry and me, diminishing the slightly patronizing tone of his words.

Harry raised his hands in a reassuring gesture, then tapped the photo of Nina Matthews. “There is an entry in Miss Matthews' personnel file relating to a complaint about disrespect. A complaint you made in early December, Mr. Venn.” Oh yes, Nico had made good use of the time.

Don shrugged. “Heard the girl making stupid comments to her coworker about Dave and me. I simply told her superior.”

Upfield frowned.

“And then we have Winnie Jackson,” Harry continued unimpressed, tapping on the relevant photo, ”who was seen with you by a witness.”

We had sent an officer with Don's photo to Mrs. Potter, who had explained that this was indeed the man, only without the toupee. Her late husband used to wear one too, until he realized how ridiculous and fake it actually looked. Of course, she was willing to testify to this in person here in the department, even in a line-up.

“When and where?” asked Upfield before Don could open his mouth.

“Friday the fourteenth, in the evening. At the Black Eagle.”

“And who's to say that wasn't just a Valentine's Day date?”

Don snorted and gave Upfield a disdainful look. “You really think I'd go out with someone like that?”

The corners of my mouth dropped, Upfield blinked in puzzlement, Harry sighed barely audibly.

“Mr. Venn...”

“I was at home last Friday. I didn't feel like company,” Don explained dismissively.

“Can anyone testify to this?” I asked.

“I live alone.” Don gave me a dark glare. “And I'm not so tight with my neighbors that it's any of their business.”

“All right, let's leave it at that,” Harry said conciliatory, pushing the photos aside and pulling out the costume order and a printout with the product images and details.

Don and Upfield both frowned.

Harry added a collage of the crime scene photos showing the five victims with the shirts and wigs.

“Ugh...” Upfield breathed quietly.

“This,” I took over again and tapped on the document, ”is your last costume order for the movie project. Fits in perfectly with the dead women's outfit, don't you think, Mr. Venn?”

“It's a very classic costume, they come in all colors.” Don shrugged.

“Maybe, but the costumes you ordered weren't used for the movie. What did you do with them?”

“I sent them back, but the post service messed up the package and when it arrived, the online store didn't accept it because the return deadline had passed,” Don replied angrily. “I ended up selling the stuff privately.”

“Do you have proof of it?”

Don snorted. “Are you not listening? Privately. Besides, that was over a year ago, so if there were receipts, they'd be sorted out by now.”

“Detectives,” Upfield intervened, pale but with a critical frown, ”do you have anything concrete? This is all circumstantial evidence. If that.”

“Mr. Upfield,” Harry resumed his conciliatory tone, ”we're trying to find out to what extent this evidence simply puts Mr. Venn in a bad light or whether it really holds water.”

I was about to make a comment about cooperation and point out the DNA find when Don said with a smile:

“It was Dave.”

Stunned, I swallowed my words and, after blinking, realized that this was actually absolute bullshit.

“Dave? The magician? David Huang?” asked Harry; I admired him for even having the name at the ready.

“Yeah.” Don opened his hands in a small apologetic gesture. “The big knife from the toolbox in my van disappeared for a while before it reappeared. He bought the costumes 'because he knows someone'. And he thought the girl from the indoor playground was cute.” Why did he suddenly come up with this story?

“And why are you just telling us?” Harry asked, his bewilderment seeming to catch up with him.

Don gave us a half-shrug. “Before I get any more pointless roasting here...”

Upfield made a satisfied sound, even if his narrow smile seemed very wooden.

My smile, on the other hand, was genuine. “Sounds good, doesn't it?” Because I clearly remembered what Peggy and Dust had said. “It's just too bad that Dave is a mage and the murderer definitely can't be one. We've found evidence to that effect.”

While Upfield raised a brow, Don clicked his tongue and interlaced his fingers again. “It was worth a try.”

“You should-” Upfield began, but interrupted himself at Don's venomous look.

“Well, Mr. Venn, if we-” Harry interrupted himself as well, but that was because of the knocking.

I glanced at Harry, who nodded, so I slid off my chair and went to the door. And flinched when an embarrassed-looking Officer Ingram stood right behind it.

“Sorry to bother you, Detective,” he stammered, blushing. “Durham would like to speak to you.”

“Is it urgent and or does it have to do with this case?” I asked with a deep frown.

“I... I don't think so, ma'am, no.”

“Then take care of it until we're done here, officer.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Ingram nodded briskly and retreated, and I closed the door and turned back to Don, who looked almost disgusted. The opportunity was favorable.

“You've already told us about the communication problems with Gianna Durham and that you didn't like their project, but how did you get along on a more personal level?” I tilted my head questioningly and when he didn't answer immediately, I strolled calmly back to the table and took a sip of coffee. Unfortunately, it was now cold. Only then did I sit down.

“You don't have to-” Upfield began quietly, almost cautiously, but Don cut him off with a curt gesture.

“Gianna!” he spat out the name. “Durham is definitely not a Gianna. The boy is just as confused as many others these days. And he put his toxic views into this movie.”

“Do you have a problem with female clowns?” Harry wanted to know. Don had other problems in my eyes, but we'd get there.

At first, Don seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “What? No. Some of the best clowns are women. My ex-wife was one. That's how we met. She was a clown who cheered up the children in hospital.” He nodded affirmatively to his words before his face darkened. “That's the problem, you see? Clowns are supposed to make people laugh, give them joy. Not kill people.”

“Killer clowns are firmly entrenched in the media,” I objected and Don shook his head, his expression showing deep anger.

“Absolute bullshit, really. Durham is confused. What kind of young man runs around in women's clothes and gives himself a woman's name? And then he calls this nonsense feminist horror, really. As if women can't speak for themselves.”

“Have you talked about it?” Harry asked cautiously.

To this, Don snorted. “There was no talking to Durham. Take the costumes, for example.” He pointed to the pictures still on the table. “I told him pink would look more like Barbie than emancipated women. But he wanted it that way. Only to change his mind after. Too proud and stubborn, the guy, like so many young people.” The anger slowly gave way to disgust and Don shook his head. “He might as well have gone for a Snow White costume.”

“I suppose that's true.” Harry nodded, which seemed to surprise Don, but it didn't slow him down.

“Do you think he'd even once thought about the real clown? No. Studies all this media rubbish, but can't bring himself to look into the background.”

Then I took the floor so this didn't turn into a rant. “Do you think the actors saw it differently?”

A snort burst out of Don, his emotions erupting as he actually threw his hands up in the air. “These young things are so hungry to be in front of a camera, they'll do anything. Fame and money and egoism. Well, they can't help the story Durham wrote, but they played the part anyway.”

“Have you seen the movie?” Harry asked quietly, almost gently in a pause for breath, to disguise that the question had already been asked in the past.

“Yeah, I've seen the crap, though not entirely by choice.” Don rolled his eyes, but didn't elaborate.

Upfield, on the other hand, looked rather lost for lack of context.

“And can I tell you something? There's not a single laugh in this movie.”

“Well, it's a horror movie,” I remarked with a shrug, but Don didn't seem to hear me and just kept talking.

“Nobody laughs in this damn movie! What's the point of this crap?”

I glanced at Harry, who withstood Don's intense gaze and nodded slightly at his words to encourage him to continue. Don was flushed by now and I wondered for a moment if this was going to amount to a confession.

“Maybe we should be glad that it was five women who killed their husbands and not four women and a faggot.”

“You should be a little more careful with your choice of words, Mr. Venn,” Upfield interjected a little uncomfortably. The look he got could rival a surgical laser.

“Just shut up, you're just another freak yourself.”

If I'd been in Upfield's place and had such words spat at me by my client, I would have got up and left. But Upfield ducked his head and pressed his lips together - which were still trembling, just like the pen in his fingers. Something stoic slid across his face, his shoulders stiffened.

“But it doesn't matter what Durham wrote in his madness,” Don continued seamlessly, ”the girls were the same.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked curiously, tilting his head slightly.

Keep talking, I thought, while I would have liked to pat Upfield's gloved hand in consolation.

“Listen,” Don raised his hands in a typical explainer pose, “I've heard that one talk several times in her silly indoor playground. About what a freak I am as a clown. How creepy. Probably a pedophile. That clowns belong in the past, in the old circuses, or as disguises for killers in bloody movies.”

“And?”

“And then I saw her in the drugstore. I overheard her telling someone on the phone about me, this 'creepy clown' and how I'd told her to laugh with the kids and not grimace like she'd involuntarily bitten into a lemon.” Don took a breath, his hands twitching, making him look like he was talking wordlessly about explosions. “But young people always talk differently to their friends than they do elsewhere. So I wanted to test them.”

“Could you explain that, Mr. Venn?”

And he did. He went into great detail about how he had obtained the girls' names and numbers and addresses, how he had planned what to do if they didn't pass his test. If I had previously feared he might talk himself into a rage, there was no stopping him now. He talked about his plans for Durham as if in a feverish frenzy, disgust and hatred dripping from his words.

While Harry listened like transfixed, I was worried about Upfield, who was sitting there, pale as a sheet and looking as if he might either faint or vomit at any moment.

Finally, there was silence. Beads of sweat rolled down Don's flushed face and his whole body shook.

Maybe I had wished it too much, maybe some instinct had whispered it into my brain, but the confession didn't really surprise me. The intensity of his words sickened me, though, and sympathy for the families affected and relief that the matter was over swirled around inside me.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Harry's gaze. He gave me a curt nod, then stood up a little stiffly. “Donald Venn,” he began, and the name sounded almost like a resigned sigh before he spoke the ritual words of an arrest.

Don looked up at him, eyes glazed, lips curved ever so faintly into a smile.

“Get me an officer in here and then...” Harry nodded his chin in Upfield's direction and I nodded back.

A few minutes later, Harry and Officer Franks led Don away in handcuffs and I placed a small water bottle on the table in front of Upfield, who sat there almost exactly as before. To give him a moment, I organized our documents thoroughly.

The way Upfield sat slumped over reminded me a little of my old giant teddy bear. My aunt had given him to me for my sixth birthday and although I was tall for my age, the teddy bear had been even taller than me. His fur was the color of milk chocolate, like my hair, and I had loved him like a brother - maybe even more than my real brothers - but because he was so damn big, he had only been allowed to sit at the foot end of my bed. Slumped over with his head down like Upfield was now.

“Is it getting better, Detective?” he then asked quietly. “Dealing with people like him, I mean.”

A little surprised by the question, I looked at him. He had finally won the battle with the cap, but he glanced up at me expectantly. “Yes and no,” I replied a little belatedly. “Some cases really get to you, some hit way too close to home, others leave you cold. But you have to be cut from a certain cloth to get out of here in one piece.” I tapped my temple with two fingers to emphasize the words.

He nodded slowly and sipped his water. My gaze lingered on his anti-magic gloves and I briefly wondered if that was why Don had called him a freak, or - in keeping with the theme - if it had been a comment on his sexuality.

But that was rather unimportant now, so I put on an encouraging smile. “Let's go to the office, Mr. Upfield, and discuss the paperwork there. I'm sure D.A. Cooper will stop by and Lieutenant Brick will too.”

Something flitted across Upfield's face - fear? Worry?

“Or do you no longer want to represent Mr. Venn...?” I added cautiously.

He immediately raised his head, his shoulders straightened. “A client is a client. The cooperation will only be terminated if Mr. Venn so wishes,” he explained seriously, but his voice was thin.

I nodded simply, gave him another smile and then grabbed the document folder. “Let's wrap this up.”