by M K Farrar
“You know who that is?” she asked Shawn.
He raised both eyebrows, lower lip out, and nodded approvingly. “Yeah, I do. He won the England Youth Championship.’”
“You know that means nothing to me, right?”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
One thing she had no time for in her life was sport. To be fair, she didn’t have much time for anything at all, but that was definitely something she didn’t miss. Between running around after Poppy and work, she figured she got plenty of exercise in.
Two young men, both with holdalls slung over their shoulders, pushed out of the glass doors. Their bulging biceps, red faces, and sweaty gym gear marked them out as being members of the club. In contrast, Shawn and Erica’s suits made them look as though they didn’t belong there at all.
Before going in, they took a look around.
“I assume it’ll be too much to ask to expect the van to be parked somewhere nearby,” Erica said.
“You never know. We might get lucky.”
“I think we were lucky the driver didn’t think to remove the sticker in the first place.”
They headed around the back where there was a small car park that appeared to be shared with a couple of other businesses and the high-rises.
Erica stopped short.
“Look,” she said, nodding towards a white van parked among the other cars.
“Wrong licence plate,” Shawn said.
“They might have switched them. Remember, the last one was fake, so they could have dumped it and replaced it with the original.”
She strode over.
That was the trouble with these white vans. They were ten a penny, and there was probably one on every street in London. She rounded the vehicle to the back where the sticker had been located. The door was bare.
“I don’t think it’s the right one,” she said. “There’s no sticker.”
“They might have taken it off,” Shawn suggested.
She ran her fingers across the spot where the sticker had been on the van in the pictures. There was no residue or marks to show there might have been something removed from that place. She walked around to the driver’s side and cupped her hands against her temples, pressing her nose to the glass. It was unlikely she’d find the discarded fake licence plate sitting on the passenger seat, but it was worth checking. There was a packet of mints and a pair of sunglasses on the dashboard, and some loose change in the cupholder. Other than the fact it was parked near the boxing club, there was nothing to make her think it was the same one they’d caught on CCTV.
“Let’s run the plates and see if that brings up anything. It might have been caught near the location where the body was dumped at an earlier date, if they were trying to suss it out—parking tickets or speeding fines. Or the owner might have past convictions.”
“Good thinking,” Shawn said.
She pointed to a camera. “There’s also CCTV on the outside of the building.”
They went back to the front of the gym and pushed through the doors. The place stank of testosterone. A boxing ring took centre stage, and around it she counted at least ten punchbags hanging from the ceiling at intermittent spaces. She was surprised to see a couple of young women working on the bags and then shook the thought from her head, annoyed at her own assumptions. Of course there were female boxers. Just because it wasn’t her thing didn’t mean it wouldn’t be someone else’s. Perhaps it was the name of the gym ‘Boys Boxing’ that had made her think it would be only for males.
Two vending machines were on their left, one offering bottles of water, the other filled with a variety of protein bars and shakes to be used after a workout. Music with a heavy drum beat that she didn’t recognise played in the background, but was masked by the heavy breathing, grunts, and thwacks of fists hitting punchbags.
She pulled a face. “Tough people trying to get tougher.”
“You’re wrong.” Shawn shook his head. “This kind of place is good for the youngsters in particular. It gives them a place to focus all that anger and energy into something constructive.”
“Is learning how to beat someone up really constructive?”
“It’s a sport, Swift, no different than football or rugby.”
“People don’t get beaten up in football or rugby.”
He laughed. “I can tell you haven’t seen many rugby matches. I’ve seen as many bloodied noses during one of them than I have in a boxing match.”
“It’s different. Making someone bleed isn’t the sole purpose of a rugby game.”
“Maybe not, but I’m just saying that it has its place. If it’s getting youngsters off the streets, teaching them discipline, and focusing their aggression in a controlled environment, surely that’s not a bad thing.”
“I guess not,” she said begrudgingly, though she still didn’t like the idea of people hitting each other for fun.
To their right was a desk with an office behind it. The office door was propped open, and she was able to get a glimpse through the gap. A man and a woman, both kitted out in gym gear, were inside. The man sat at one of the desks, the woman behind him. They didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the computer, or to the front desk they were supposed to be attending. They were paying far more attention to each other.
Erica cleared her throat, and when that didn’t work, she hit her hand down on a nearby bell.
The two people jumped apart, and the woman glanced over sheepishly and hurried out to them.
“Hi there,” she chirped. “What can I do for you?”
“Is your manager available?” Erica asked.
“I’m Jenny. I’m the manager. How can I help you?”
She was surprised Jenny was the manager. She barely looked much more than twenty-three.
Erica flashed the young woman her ID and tamped down a trickle of jealousy at her bouncy ponytail and tiny waist. She was sure it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Shawn. “We’re investigating a case and have reason to believe a vehicle associated with this gym was used. I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Whatever I can do to help.”
Erica took the printouts Rudd had done for her from her bag and slid them across the desk. “Do you know this number plate at all or recognise the vehicle?”
Jenny frowned down at it. “Sorry. I can barely remember my own registration never mind anyone else’s.”
“What about these two pictures?” Erica tapped the blown-up images of the two men who’d been in the front of the van. “Do you recognise them at all?”
Jenny screwed up her pretty face. “They’re not great pictures. I mean, they could be anyone. Hang on a sec.” She called over her shoulder to the man she’d left in the office. “Hey, James, come and take a look at these.”
James unfolded his huge form from the chair and came out to join them. “What’s up?” His voice was deep and gravelly.
“These detectives are working on a case that they think might be connected to the gym. Do you recognise any of these?”
He frowned but didn’t glance down at the pictures. “Nothing illegal is happening here.”
“That’s not what we’re saying, Mr...?”
“Angelo. James Angelo.”
“And what was your full name?” she asked Jenny.
“Jennifer Mannings.”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about. We simply think someone might have frequented the gym, not that the gym is being used for anything illegal. So, if you could take a look at those pictures, I’d appreciate it.”
James nodded and stepped forward to check out the print-offs. He shook his head. “Sorry, it’s not familiar.”
“How many members do you have here?” Erica asked Jenny.
She shrugged. “I can’t give you exact numbers, but I’d say close to two hundred, but most of them don’t come. They just set up the gym membership in January, thinking they’re going to turn over a new leaf and get fit, and then come a handf
ul of times, and we don’t see them again. They rarely cancel their membership, though. Maybe they figure they’ll start coming eventually, or they’re too embarrassed to admit they failed on their fitness journey.”
That sounded familiar. Erica had done the same thing herself when she’d been in her twenties and had promised herself she was going to get fit. It had never happened, though.
“So, how many would you say are regulars?”
“Who come in every week? Maybe seventy of those.”
A pile of the rectangular car stickers sat on the desk—the same as the one that had been on the back of the white van.
“Can I take one of these?” Erica asked
She waved a hand. “Go for it.”
“How long have you had these stickers available?”
She pulled a face. “Dunno. Been a few months, I think.”
“Can you find out for me? Is there anywhere else that would have these stickers, or access to these stickers?”
“Well, no, I wouldn’t have thought so—I mean, other than the place that makes them, of course. I can’t see why anywhere else would want them because they’re specifically designed to advertise this gym.”
“Did you order them yourself?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I’d like to get the name of the company they came from, too.”
“There’s the chance whoever put the sticker on the van got hold of it from somewhere else other than the gym,” Erica said to Shawn.
“Or else the van has only recently been purchased,” Shawn suggested, “and the sticker was already in the window. We can compare the names from the gym together with car sales and see if one of the gym members has sold a van recently.”
“Good idea.” She turned back to Jenny. “We’re going to need a list of all your members, and I see you have cameras on the outside of the building. We’d like access to that footage.”
“Oh, umm.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d have to check with my boss.”
“Who is your boss?”
“The guy who owns the gym. But I don’t think he’s in the country right now. He’s one of those bigwigs who is always jet setting off around places. I mean, I call him my boss, because he pays me, but he pretty much lets me get on with things here. He’s kind of hands-off. This place is just another investment for him. I think he has loads of different businesses.”
“I’d like his name and any contact details you might have for him. We’ll need to get in touch anyway, but in the meantime, I’m sure he won’t mind you sending us the CCTV footage. You either send it willingly, or I’ll get a warrant. I’m sure your boss would rather we didn’t go down that route.”
“Oh, no, I’m sure he wouldn’t. How far back do you need?”
“Two weeks, if you’ve got it.”
She nodded. “I think so.”
Erica passed over her business card. “I need you to do that right away.”
“Sure. Let me do that now.”
The male half had wandered back into the office, and Jenny went to join him.
Erica waited with Shawn. Her gaze travelled past him to catch someone staring at her. The man appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties, with skinhead-short hair. The sight of them had clearly caught his attention, and by the wideness of his eyes and the way the colour had drained from his face, he wasn’t pleased to see them.
Erica delivered a gentle nudge to Shawn’s side, and he tilted his head towards her.
“Without being obvious, check out the man at about nine o’clock. My guess is that he isn’t comfortable with us being here.”
Shawn didn’t turn around. “Description?”
“In his twenties, very short brown hair, wearing gym gear.”
“Could it be one of the men from the front of the van?”
“Possibly.”
“Maybe we should ask him some questions while we’re here.”
Erica glanced back over to see the man had already abandoned his gym equipment. He looked left and right, and then back over at them, before hurrying at a brisk stride towards the fire exit at the rear of the building.
“We’d better hurry then,” Erica said. “’Cause he’s on the move.”
Chapter Fifteen
The man clocked he’d been noticed and broke into a run.
Erica did the same, Shawn at her side. With his longer legs, Shawn quickly overtook her.
The man slammed through the fire exit, leaving the door swinging in his wake.
“Get after him,” Erica yelled.
They dodged gym equipment, blue-and-red punch bags hanging from the ceiling, gym members exclaiming at them as they ran past, confused and irritated as to why two people in suits were disturbing their training.
Shawn burst through the fire exit first, with Erica following moments after. They found themselves in the car park where they’d checked out the other white van, but it didn’t look as though the man was running for the vehicle.
“There!” Shawn shouted, pointing towards the rail line.
The figure of the man ran towards the metal railings dividing the car park from the rail line.
“He’s going to climb it,” Erica said.
Sure enough, he leapt for the railings. He grabbed the top and hauled himself over. He scrambled up the bank, going to all fours to push with his feet and claw into the dirt with his hands.
Shawn was right after him, vaulting the railings and giving chase. The runner glanced over his shoulder and saw Shawn coming, and increased his pace. He was only a matter of feet from the rail line now.
Warning signs telling people to stay off the track went ignored.
Erica went after them, but, being a good foot shorter, struggled with the railings. By the time she eventually got over and dropped to the bank below, the man had almost reached the top.
A vibration rumbled through the ground.
He stopped at rail track and twisted to look over his shoulder again. Shawn was hot on his tail.
Then he darted across the rail track.
The vibrations grew louder, and with it the roar of a high-speed train.
Terror clutched Erica’s heart as she realised Shawn was going to go after him.
“Shawn, stop!” she screamed. “The train!”
He’d been so focused on catching the runner that he hadn’t noticed the oncoming train. He drew to a sudden halt, right at the edge of the track, his arms pinwheeling.
A split second later, the train blasted past in a rush of speed and noise, the carriages sweeping past them, one after the other, until it was gone.
Erica bent double, her hands on her knees, breathing hard, her heart racing. She’d gone cold all over, right down to her bones.
Shawn huffed out a breath. “Jesus, that was close.”
“Don’t do that to me. You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m okay—” He must have caught sight of her face. “Hey, are you okay?”
The moment had taken her right back to her time in the underground tunnel, and Nicholas Bailey pushing Chris in front of the Tube train. She’d been certain for a split second that she’d been about to witness the same thing happening to Shawn. The memory had flashed through her head as though she was experiencing it all over again. It had felt like a bunch to the gut, winding her, and she was still shaken now.
Shawn scrambled back down the bank and put his hand on her shoulder. “Shit, you’re shaking.”
“Sorry, I’m fine. I just thought for a minute—”
It must have dawned on him. “Oh, crap, Erica. The train. Fuck, I didn’t think.”
“It’s okay, I’m okay.” She blew out a long breath, pulling herself back together. She might be traumatised, but she was also here to do a job.
The man was long gone, bought time from the train passing. There was no point in trying to find him. They’d be better off going back to the gym and finding out what sort of record-keeping they had for their members.
“Come on,” she sai
d, heading back to the gym. “Let’s go and find out who our runner is.”
Their chase had been noticed by some of the other gym-goers who had followed them out through the fire exit and were now holding it open for them. They saw the two detectives walking back, and almost guiltily slid back inside the building, as though embarrassed to be caught out rubbernecking.
Jenny and James had been in the office, getting the information Erica had requested, so they’d missed all the fun, but they must have realised something was going on as they emerged as Erica and Shawn approached the desk once more.
“Do you know who that was?” Shawn asked them.
Jenny frowned. “Who?”
“The man who’d been working out in the far corner, over there.”
“Early to mid-twenties,” Erica prompted them. “Short brown hair. Had Adidas sportswear on?”
She shrugged. “Sorry, that could be anyone.”
“How do people sign in?” Shawn asked. “You must keep a record.”
She nodded. “They each have cards with barcodes that they scan here.” She pointed to a small machine on the countertop that had a red glowing light beneath.
“I’m going to need a list of everyone who was in the building.”
Her perfectly maintained eyebrows lifted. “What? Now?”
“Yes, now.”
Erica turned to Shawn. “We can take the names and go around everyone who’s still here and cross them off. Whoever is signed in but hasn’t signed back out again is our man.”
Jenny reappeared from the office, holding the list of names.
Shawn took it from her. “Don’t let anyone else leave.”
He left them to work his way around the gym, speaking with each person and crossing them off the list.
“I still need the contact details for the owner of the business, too,” Erica reminded the manager.
“Oh, yes. Here you go. Just to warn you, though, I don’t normally get through first time, I end up leaving a message or firing off an email, if it’s not urgent, and then he gets back to me, but he just sends an email or gets one of his staff members to contact me.”
Erica glanced down at the name. Kenneth Beckett of Beckett Enterprises.
“Have you ever met him?” she asked.