‘We’ll have Mont in the clear by then.’
After several beats of agitated tapping on the steering wheel, Barry said, ‘But it’s gotta be someone in Central who took the watch, hasn’t it?’
‘Or someone else with a legitimate excuse for being there, but a cop most likely.’
Wayne had investigated where Tye Davis was at the time of Linda Royce’s murder. It seemed he had a solid alibi: the shift supervisor at Paraburdoo to whom Wayne had spoken on the phone said Tye had definitely been working that day, he’d seen him himself. With one gone, but about fifteen other suspect cops to go, this was going to be a slow process of elimination. He sighed, staring vacantly at a passing group of schoolgirls wearing soup-bowl hats. He would have preferred a face-to-face interview with the supervisor and wondered if it was worth contacting a cop mate in the Pilbara to do it for him.
The chirp of his mobile interrupted his musings. Devoid of expression, he listened to Angus for a few minutes before punching off. ‘It seems the man who hired the window-cleaning hoist paid for it with a stolen credit card,’ he said to Barry.
‘Description?’
‘The bloke who organised the hire has just gone on two weeks leave. He flew to Bali this morning.’
Barry pulled a frog face. ‘That’d be right.’
They parked outside the gym. As Barry climbed out of the car he gave a yawn and a stretch, eyeing off some lycra-clad nubiles descending the front steps as he did so.
Wayne took a cursory glance around the car park for Michelle’s Alfa. They should be so lucky.
Barry said, ‘You ever belong to a gym, Wayne?’
‘What do you think?’
Wayne locked the unmarked and followed Barry up the steps to the front entrance. The air was fusty with the smell of mould and old trainers, and provoked an irritating tickle deep in his chest. In front of them, a young girl with pillow lips sat behind a reception desk, stabbing at a computer with red-taloned fingers. Above her head a noticeboard enticed potential members with discount packages. To Wayne, gym membership was about as alluring as a round with Mike Tyson.
Barry sidled up to the desk and produced his ID.
‘Hello, Miss...’ his eyes lingered on her name tag longer than necessary. ‘Sophie Preston.’ He pronounced the name slowly as if savouring every syllable. She appraised Barry under sickle-thin eyebrows and smiled back.
Wayne began to cough.
‘I’m DS Snow and this is DS Pickering. We’d like to ask you some questions,’ Barry said, doing his best to ignore Wayne’s hacking.
Sophie Preston regarded Wayne with a look of distaste. ‘Is your friend okay?’ she asked Barry.
‘He’s allergic to exercise. Even the thought of it sends him off.’
‘It’s never too late to start,’ she said with a slight curl to her lip.
Wayne managed to control himself, sucked in his stomach and approached the desk, conscious of how out of time his steps were with the thumps and music coming from the floor above.
‘Do you recognise this woman, Miss Preston?’ he said, producing a computer printout of Michelle’s photo. She examined the picture. ‘Yes, that’s Michelle Birkby, one of our regular clients.’ She frowned. ‘Is she all right?’
‘We’re trying to trace her movements yesterday. We believe she came here yesterday morning.’
Sophie’s eyes shot to Barry. She shrugged. ‘Yeah, she came in about six. I’m not sure about today though. I wasn’t on this morning, I’ll have to look it up.’ She reached for the register and slid it across the counter towards her, running a finger down the names on the page.
Barry put his hand out to stop her. ‘This morning isn’t necessary, but I’d like to see yesterday’s list of clients, please.’
She leafed the page back and Wayne examined the scrawled signatures. ‘They sign in each time they come, do they?’
Barry gave Wayne a look that said of course it was obvious they had to sign in. If he’d ever been to a gym he’d have known.
Only ten signatures were listed between six and seven, the first hour after the gym opened. Apart from Michelle’s, none of the other names was familiar. Barry jotted them down in his notebook for checking later.
Wayne said, ‘Was there anything different about her yesterday? Did she leave with someone? Did she seem anxious, worried?’
Sophie examined her nails while she considered the questions. ‘I think she was in a bit of a hurry, actually. She rushed towards the door looking at her watch without even saying goodbye to me. And she usually weighs herself before she leaves,’ she tilted her chin towards a set of digital scales in the corner of the foyer, ‘but yesterday she didn’t. Look, what’s all this about?’
‘So what time was this?’ Barry asked.
‘About seven.’
Wayne said, ‘Did anyone leave with her?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Do you have any idea why she was in such a hurry?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘She’s a journalist, isn’t she? She’s always going to meetings and stuff. She sometimes has breakfast appointments. Quite a few of the members go to Cinder’s Pumpkin after a workout. It’s just across the road, so they can leave their cars in our car park and walk. It’s about the only place around here that’s open early. She could’ve gone there.’
Barry gave her a smile and added the name of the cafe to the list in his notebook. ‘Is there anywhere else for members to park other than the spaces outside the front of the gym?’ he asked.
‘There are a few spots behind the building. They’re supposed to be for staff but some of the regulars park there.’
‘One last thing, Miss Preston...’ Wayne was interrupted as a man elbowed him out of the way and signed in, muscles bulging under his smooth tanned skin.
Wayne scowled at the man’s back before turning back to Sophie. ‘I’d like a list of current gym members, please.’
She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure I’m allowed to do that.’
The interview had been going well and Wayne didn’t have the patience to cope with such petty pitfalls this close to the finish. Unable to hide his impatience, he said, ‘We’re cops. We’re not going to sell the list to internet spammers or charitable organisations.’
Barry leaned towards the receptionist on his elbows and lifted two fingers in the ‘Scouts honour’ sign.
‘We could easily get a search warrant,’ Wayne added.
She looked from one to the other of them, raised her eyebrows and shrugged. ‘Whatever,’ she said, and stabbed the print button of the keyboard.
***
Wayne and Barry identified Michelle’s red Alfa Romeo in the gym’s rear car park. After contacting a forensic team to photograph it and tow it back to the station, they made their way across the road to the cafe. There they spoke to the moustached man at the front counter, ordered coffee and cake and were shown to a table on the verandah, sheltered from the winter wind by quivering plastic walls.
They sat for a while in silence until Barry said, ‘You okay? Thinking about the dead girls?’
Wayne paused before answering. ‘Yeah.’
Barry nodded. ‘Me too.’
A few minutes later a young man with floppy blond hair and unnaturally blue eyes weaved his way through the tables towards them with their coffees. Wayne introduced himself. One glance at the detective’s IDs and the waiter’s eyes darted to the man at the counter.
Wayne said, ‘It’s okay, son. We’ve had a word with your boss, he said for you to take five and sit with us. We have some questions we’d like to ask you.’
‘Look, if it’s about the joint he caught me with the other day, I hardly ever use the stuff. I—’