Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

The policeman blinked hard, uncertain what he was to do with this news.

'I'm very pleased for you, sir. And what's your point?'

'My point, Constable, is that in all of those countries-I guarantee that you won't find anyone who knows of me as a patient man.' Quaint jabbed his finger repeatedly on Tucker's podium. 'I have an employee of mine currently indisposed at Her Majesty's pleasure, I have no way of speaking with said employee, and I've got a circus to put on within the week! I simply do not have the time to sit on my hands and do nothing.'

'I've already told you, sir,' began Tucker. 'The Commissioner-'

'Bah!' Quaint snorted, and waved Tucker away with his hand. 'Did I happen to mention that my employee is the circus's resident strongman? You're lucky he hasn't ripped the bars from his cell and used them to grill your kidneys by now!'

Butter stepped out from behind Quaint and rested his hand on his employer's arm to dispel his temper. 'Mr Quaint…please. The constable just do his job. Not his fault, and to shout will not help Prometheus's current situation…nor our own.'

Quaint blazed his black eyes into the constable's, staring into him as if he was drilling directly into his skull, and the younger man lowered his gaze. 'Look…I understand what you're saying, Mr Quaint, and I wish I could help you, but my hands are tied,' Tucker said. 'There is a proper procedure for this, and that's why I've said you'll have to wait until the Commissioner gets here.'

One of Constable Tucker's colleagues had heard the raised voices, and came over to investigate their source. Tucker spun around to the policeman standing next to him.

'Marsh, do me a favour, will you? This chap here wants to go visit the giant in the cells, and he says it can't wait until tomorrow when the Commissioner gets in. He says the giant's a friend of his.'

'Oh, does he now?' Constable Marsh eyed Quaint suspiciously. 'The one we found at the docks with that girl?'

'Unless you are imprisoning more than one giant currently?' asked Quaint.

Constable Marsh sipped on a mug of steaming tea, and eyed Quaint up and down. 'And what would a gentleman like yourself want with a murderer, mate?' he asked.

'How many more times?' asked Quaint. 'Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?'

'It usually goes out the window once we find a bloke unconscious at the scene with the victim's blood all over him,' answered Marsh.

Quaint ruffled his hair. 'The man has been in my employ for many years and has exemplary conduct, I can assure you. This is all some unfortunate misunderstanding, one that I am attempting to resolve, if you two gents will allow me. Believe me; my friend doesn't have it in him to kill.'

'Maybe he does now, sir. It seems he's graduated from middle-aged women to young girls now. Your friend is quite the monster,' said Marsh.

'Young girls?' quizzed Quaint.

Marsh nodded. 'I was there myself. This morning when we found him, he had the body of a young child lying dead at his side, her body all cut to ribbons. Sweet little thing an' all, she was. Lovely blonde hair.'

'This is insanity,' growled Quaint. 'Child? What child?'

Butter tugged on Quaint's cloak. 'Boss…remember Miss Twinkle did not arrive for work this morning…her hair is blonde…' he said in a quiet voice. 'I am thinking something terrible has happened.'

Cornelius Quaint's face turned ash-grey, his voice suddenly vague and hollow, and the spark of fire in his eyes gradually died. 'Please God, no. Don't let it be her,' he whispered. 'Constable, the victim's body…I wish to see it immediately!'

TWINKLE'S CORPSE WAS laid out on the simple mortuary table amidst the labyrinth of rooms in the basement beneath Crawditch police station. Cornelius Quaint and Butter stared at the small sheet-clad shape before them as if it were something of alien origin. Of all of Quaint's charges, she was the most angelic, the most innocent. Her death would surely send a shock-wave throughout the whole circus. Quaint removed his top hat in respect, sensing a gnawing pain kicking at his insides like the mother of all indigestions. He didn't need to pull away the sheet to know the awful truth. He needed no confirmation other than that which his heart was telling him. As if he were being coerced at gunpoint, he carefully held the corner of the sheet, and steeled himself to reveal what was underneath.

Constable Marsh suddenly placed his hand upon Quaint's arm. 'Mr Quaint…are you sure about this? You must understand…the lass was disfigured quite badly. Are you sure you want to see that? Perhaps…perhaps it would be best to remember her as she once was. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

'Constable Marsh, I thank you for your sensitivity, but she was under my care, so I must see her…one last time. I owe her that much at least, man.' Quaint slowly pulled the white sheet away from Twinkle's body. No amount of focus prepared him for what he saw.

Twinkle was virtually unrecognisable without the vibrant spark of life that was her trademark. She was stripped naked; her face and neck covered with tiny specks of blood, and a long, crucifix-shaped gorge was cut deeply into her chest. Her mouth was frozen in a silent scream of horror. Quaint prayed she had not suffered long.

'Your doctor made quite a mess of the body, didn't he?' Quaint asked, his eyes alight with anger. 'The man's a butcher! Was he doing the bloody post-mortem blindfolded?'

'No, sir,' said Marsh, shaking his head. 'It wasn't Dr Finch. He hasn't arrived in yet. I'm sorry, but she…she was found like this. I did try and warn you.'

The onrush of grief was akin to a father losing his child, indeed, in many ways that is exactly what it was. Cornelius Quaint regarded all his employees as his family. The big man's eyes glazed over as he stared down at Twinkle's body, and the gnawing hole in his stomach grew wider, as if this void were trying to consume him from the inside out. Upon seeing Twinkle so lifeless, he almost wanted to let it do so.

Butter removed his anorak's hood, and stepped closer. He looked to Quaint for some clue as to how he should feel, what he should do, but his employer and friend was as lost as he was. Grief has the ability to erase a man's soul, and empty his heart until only pain remains.

'My poor, dear, sweet girl…how ever will we carry on without you?' Quaint whispered, as he placed a gentle kiss upon Twinkle's brow. He glided his hand over her face, as if trying to feel the last vestiges of warmth from her body. 'She was a good person, Constable. No good person should ever have to die this way.'

'What was her name?' Marsh asked.

'Madeline,' whispered Quaint, 'Madeline Argyle. But we all called her Twinkle…because she was our little star.' He paused, cupping his closed fist to his mouth to stifle his emotion. 'Her life glowed just as brightly, and she would light up any room. Twinkle was no child, as you wrongly said earlier, Constable Marsh. She was a dwarf…a priceless, irreplaceable part of my circus, and she was Prometheus's lover. I know that he loved her with all his heart, and she him. So you see, it's impossible for me to believe that he'd ever harm a single hair on her head.'

'She was…a dwarf? I don't know what to say, Mr Quaint, I didn't know, I'm so sorry. There was…so much blood, you see. But, you must understand…your friend Prometheus was found with her body by his side. Her blood was all over him, and with no other witnesses…we had to bring him in.' Marsh rubbed at his jaw in contemplation. 'But, you're right, we do need to get to the bottom of all this mess, and with your friend being a mute…maybe it is for the best if you see him…for a short while at least.'

'Thank you, Constable,' Quaint nodded. 'I would like that very much.'