Free Carnival of Death by Day Keene Page A

having trouble staying on his feet. And while I watched him he dropped to the pavement and Quinlan carried the money sacks back to the truck and got Mike Kelly and he hurried over to where his brother was and asked if there was a doctor in the crowd. And a man with a little hairline mustache said he was a doctor and went to work on Kelly.”
    “Go on.”
    “Then, like I said before, I walked over to the stand and asked Paquita if she had given him anything and she said she hadn’t. And about then I heard the train whistle and I looked over at the station and I almost blew my stack.”
    “Why?”
    “The train was in motion with a white-faced joie at the throttle, wearing a clown costume just like mine.” He went on to describe the other clown, the one who had thrown money around; the killing of Jocko; and the accidental shooting of the young mother.
    Laredo paused briefly, continued. “Then Paquita came running over from the stand and picked up the baby and asked me how badly Jocko was hurt and I remember I told her I didn’t think he was going to make it. And he didn’t.”
    Paquita pretended to beat on her husband’s head with an imaginary weapon.
    “That’s right,” Laredo said. “Then Mike Kelly came running over and started beating on my head with his gun barrel and yelling something about Paquita having poisoned his brother and what did I do with the money.”
    Daly asked, “And that’s all you and Paquita had to do with it?”
    “That’s all.”
    “You didn’t get any of the money?”
    “No.”
    “And you didn’t plot with anyone to rob the truck?”
    “No.”
    “Now tell us this. Was it the same clown who threw the money out of the truck who shot the old roustabout?”
    Laredo thought for a moment. “I can’t be sure, but I think it was. Yes, I’d said it was the same one.”
    “How many clowns were there, Mickey?”
    “There,” Laredo said, “you have me. They let me read a newspaper down in the detention cell and according to the story I read there were six or more clowns. But I didn’t see any more than two at any time. That is, beside myself. The clown who threw the money out of the truck and the clown who started the train.”
    Daly snuffed the cigarette he was smoking. “That doesn’t give us much to go on. The only thing we’re certain of so far is that three people are dead and you and Paquita are going to be charged with their murders. Think carefully, Mickey. Did either you or your wife notice anything about the two clowns you saw that might help us establish their identity?”
    Laredo shook his head. “N-no. I can’t remember a thing. Wearing identical makeup and costumes, all joies look more or less alike.” He realized Paquita was trying to tell him something. “You saw something, sweetheart?” he asked her.
    The girl pointed her finger at the wall and cocked her thumb, fired an imaginary pistol, reversed her position, staggered as if she’d been shot, then clapped one hand to her chest as she described a square in the air with the other.
    “Thanks, honey,” Laredo smiled. He kissed his wife lightly, then turned back to Daly and DuBoise. “So much has happened, I forgot. There was one thing. Just before Jocko died and Mike Kelly started beating on me, I asked the old man if there was anything he could tell me that might help the police pick up the guy who’d shot him. And he said, ‘Yeah. Sure, boss. I thought he looked familiar. I make him now. It was the young clem.’”
    “Who or what is a clem?” DuBoise asked.
    “That one I know,” Daly said. “A clem is the term applied by circus and carnival people to a farmer or a towner. Or as Paquita described it — a square. But that in itself doesn’t tell us anything. Have you any idea whom the old man could have been referring to, Mickey?”
    “Only one person. The punk who didn’t show up. The one who was supposed to have run the train.”
    “And you say his name is Banks, Tommy Banks.”
    “That’s