The Devil Inside

by D. L. Hicks

  Charlotte sipped the scalding coffee, its heat permeating the porcelain mug and settling in the palms of her hands. The facts were impossible to ignore, but there was an explanation hidden somewhere – there just had to be. Her mind was locked in a battle between the brother she knew and loved, and the animal who preyed on innocent women – and the weight of the truth crushed her shoulders. ‘I see where you’re coming from, but J.D., he’s a priest. And maybe to some people that condemns him further, but I disagree. The only plausible explanation I can see is that someone has tried to set him up.’

  J.D. raised his eyebrows. ‘Plausible? There’s no way you would believe that coming from anyone else; the old “someone planted it there” excuse. Come off it, Charlotte. Where’s the motive? Look, we’ve been doing this job long enough to know that anything’s possible, but doesn’t it make more sense to follow where the clues are leading us? I know he’s your brother, but are you sure you’ve considered the possibility that he actually is the killer?’

  ‘Hang on a second,’ Charlotte said incredulously, ‘you really think Joseph fits this killer’s profile? That my brother has the depravity necessary to slaughter innocent women? You’ve got to be kidding me, J.D. And not only that, you’re arguing that he’s clever enough not to leave any DNA, hair, fingerprints or anything else at the crime scenes, but then he just leaves the rope and the victim’s purse sitting in his unlocked car, waiting to be found. That makes no sense.’

  ‘Okay, you have a point – but everyone makes mistakes, Charls. All I’m saying is, your brother has a bit of work to do to get himself out of this one. And with the media heat we’re going to have, the bosses are going to want an arrest – sooner rather than later.’

  ‘What about the link with the gym?’ Charlotte asked, more in hope than confidence.

  J.D. nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s a link, and I’m already looking into it. I’ve reached out to the owner, and we’ve got an appointment to see him tomorrow morning. Apparently he’s away at a health and fitness conference in Westvale and doesn’t get back until late tonight. I deliberately kept the details of our enquiry vague, just until we get a bit of a read on him. But bear in mind that in a boring town like this one, being a member of the local gymnasium is hardly unexpected and might not be the link we’re hoping for.’

  Charlotte shrugged and closed her eyes. He could be right, but he could also be horribly wrong, and right now they needed to examine every theory that came their way. Convince her partner and, more importantly, Dash, that the items found in her brother’s possession weren’t his, and he might have an escape. Better still, produce someone who had motive to set him up.

  ‘Charlotte Callaghan?’

  Charlotte opened her eyes at the unfamiliar voice. Spinning in her chair, she was confronted by a bouquet of flowers on legs and a pudgy hand attempting to wave from one side of the orange box that housed all manner of cuttings displayed like a peacock’s plumage. A head appeared between the taller stalks.

  ‘Delivery for Charlotte Callaghan?’

  ‘Ah … yes, that’s me,’ Charlotte said, feeling her cheeks flush as she rose from her chair. ‘But I’m not sure—’

  ‘These are yours then,’ the delivery guy said, shoving the box towards her, keen to pass it on. ‘Looks like you’ve made an impression. That’s the biggest bunch we had in the shop – and the most expensive, but I never told you that.’

  Mumbling a thank you, Charlotte accepted the bundle and managed to make enough room on her desk before she dropped it. Not exactly a flower girl, she couldn’t help but be impressed by the mass of blooms, dominated by a number of rainbow tulips and flawless roses, dappled with glistening water droplets. She reached for the card, unable to suppress a smile.

  ‘Wow,’ J.D. said, smirking. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve finally found someone who can put up with you.’

  ‘You do,’ Charlotte shot back, grinning as her fingers worked the envelope.

  ‘I’ve got no choice – believe me, I’ve tried. If you ask me, I’m the one who should be rewarded for putting up with you.’

  Charlotte flicked open the card, but she’d known who the flowers were from the moment she laid eyes on them – there was only one person she knew who would make a gesture this grand, and the handwriting confirmed it.

  Dear Charlotte.

  No reason, just because they’re as gorgeous as you are.

  Jack.

  Beaming, Charlotte folded the card and tucked it into the hip pocket of her pants, safe and sound.

  ‘So, who is the poor sap?’ J.D. asked.

  But Charlotte just smiled. The flowers were there for all to see, but the details of the sender were hers alone. She took a few seconds to bury her face in the bouquet and breathe in the intoxicating fragrance.

  That was something she needed to do a little more often.

  ‘Okay, J.D.,’ she said. ‘I think it’s time we paid the Motivation Factory a little visit.’

  CHAPTER 22

  Early the next morning, as J.D. pulled into the modest car park at the rear of the gym, Charlotte flicked through her day book, refreshing in her mind the details of the case so far. Sunlight speared through the wispy clouds that hung overhead that would soon disintegrate into nothing, like a mouthful of fairy floss. Clicking the end of her pen in and out, Charlotte rubbed at her forehead, scrunching the skin.

  Three deceased females, every one of them a member of this gym. Was that really the link? Either way, they had to justify or discount the theory – or at least take some steps in the right direction. Police work 101: pound the pavement and talk to the people.

  ‘Let’s do this,’ J.D. said, sliding his sunglasses onto the top of his head before opening the driver’s door. ‘I’ve arranged for the owner to meet us here. With a bit of luck, he can give us all the details we need without any talk of warrants.’

  Charlotte got out of the car and stretched until it felt like her shoulder blades had folded back on themselves, as if she’d sprouted angel wings. ‘I won’t be holding my breath.’

  In the warming air, a hum of sound escaped the gym and rumbled across the car park towards them.

  ‘Gotta love Aretha – that’s the Queen of Soul right there.’ J.D. grooved his way across the asphalt towards the sliding-door entry, his praying mantis arms revolving around his rotating hips in classic embarrassing white-man dance moves.

  Charlotte shook her head in disgust, but couldn’t stop a smile edging its way onto her face.

  ‘You idiot,’ she said, giving him some room. ‘It’s The Weather Girls, anyway.’

  J.D. stopped mid spin, his suit jacket flapping back down against his body. ‘Really? I coulda sworn it was—’

  ‘Eighties disco, my man – don’t doubt me.’ She swanned past him, activated the sliding doors, and they were greeted by a wave of air-conditioned coolness.

  The gym was roughly half full, an aerobics class taking place front and centre, while men and women of all ages and sizes, she was pleasantly surprised to see, clanged and grunted their way through routines around the edges, sweat and silver flashing in equal parts. Music belted out of several speakers dotted around the complex, despite the fact that most people were using their own earphones.

  ‘You must be the detectives.’

  They both angled towards the voice, matching it to the man who was striding over to them, his bulky arm outstretched.

  ‘Corey Garsell. I’m the owner.’

  As if the ‘Motivation Factory’ clothing and visor didn’t give that away, Charlotte thought.

  At least in his late forties, judging by the wrinkles that framed his weathered face, Garsell was the epitome of fitness. Wearing a purple shoestring singlet – the type that Charlotte despised – he was bulging; his biceps rippled, and the veins that crisscrossed the skin reminded her of the underground railway map she had studied on holiday in London years ago. His hair was slate grey and furry, as if someone had skinned a rabbit and tossed the remains onto his scalp, his eye
s a vivid blue. He wasn’t an altogether unattractive man, but certainly not Charlotte’s cup of tea at all.

  ‘Detectives Callaghan and Darken,’ she said, wincing as Garsell squeezed her hand in greeting.

  ‘Callahan? You mean like Dirty Harry?’ he said. ‘That’s funny. “Go ahead, make my day.” Sudden Impact, 1982. I loved that movie.’

  ‘It was 1983 – and I have a ‘G’; he didn’t,’ Charlotte replied.

  Garsell ignored her, clearly more used to being surrounded by yes-men, and he stepped back and gestured towards his office. A glass cube shoved in the back corner of the building and raised on stilts, his ‘office’ overlooked the entire area, and would have been more at home in a warehouse than a gym.

  ‘Ah, that’s better,’ he said as the three of them entered. The sound outside had deadened abruptly as he’d closed the door, and Charlotte had the vague sense she’d just been dropped underwater. ‘Best noise-cancelling glass money can buy, and worth every cent. Have a seat, please.’

  The words Motivation Factory were plastered in every direction Charlotte looked: drink bottles, towels, posters, even the chairs had the logo embroidered across their backs. It was clear a decent amount of money had been invested into this place – Garsell was either in it for the long haul, or stupid. Or both. At the moment, Charlotte was leaning towards the latter.

  Shuffling in her seat, her firearm digging into her hipbone, she waited for J.D. to kick off proceedings.

  ‘So, how can I help you guys?’ Garsell said before J.D. had a chance, pyramiding his hands under his chin. ‘If it’s something to do with one of our members, I need to let you know, I take the privacy of my clients very seriously. Of course, if it’s membership for yourselves you’re after, then I’m more than happy to accommodate you.’

  Charlotte fought not to roll her eyes. This bloke was a walking cliché.

  ‘We’re here in relation to a murder investigation,’ J.D. said, slicing through the small talk. ‘Three murders to be exact, all with a link to this gym.’

  Garsell kept the same charming smile plastered on his face, but Charlotte could tell he was buzzing underneath – why, she hadn’t figured out yet.

  ‘Ah yes, I heard about that on the news, obviously – you’d have to be living under a rock not to. Terrible, absolutely terrible.’ He shook his head. ‘I knew the first girl was a member here – Carly Dalgleish, was it? I didn’t know the other two were as well … Gee, that’s not great for business.’

  ‘Christie,’ Charlotte said, taking note of the way he restlessly spun his wedding band around his finger. Boasting, or can’t wait to remove it? ‘Christie Dalgleish. And I’d say the state of your business is the last thing on the minds of the families of those young women. Or the killer’s, for that matter.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just—’

  Charlotte shut him down with a wave of her hand. ‘From what we know, the three girls weren’t friends; most likely didn’t even know each other. You have CCTV footage in here?’

  Garsell nodded. ‘Yes, but only at the entrance – the one you guys came in – and there’s a camera in this office above the safe, just in case. But there’s no coverage of the floor at all.’

  ‘We’re going to need you to check your systems for the last few times these three young women visited,’ J.D. said, handing across the victims’ names on a torn sheet of paper. ‘Anything out of the ordinary, you let us know: strange people, anyone who looks like they’re following one of them. I take it you have a photo of each of them from their ID cards?’

  ‘Yes, we do, saved on the system, along with the exact time and date they scanned in.’ Garsell ran his finger down J.D.’s handwritten list as he spoke. ‘This shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll get back to you by the end of the day, let you know how I went. Our system is pretty efficient.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, I understand your privacy concerns, but is there anyone you’ve had issues with who it might be worth us looking at? Anyone hanging around who shouldn’t be, someone banned from the centre …’

  Garsell paused in thought, his brow furrowed, lips pursed. ‘Not that I can think of. We’re a relatively new business and everything has been running smoothly since we opened. I have to say, this line of enquiry surprises me. The whole thing feels like a coincidence – we’re the only gym of this type in town, so it makes sense the girls would come here. If you care about your health and live in Gull Bay, this is where you’re going to go to work out. But hey, you’re the detectives.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Charlotte’s hackles tingled as she rose from her chair. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Garsell, we appreciate it. I know you’re a busy man, but please get back to us about the footage as soon as you can – it could be very important.’

  ‘For sure,’ Garsell said, rushing to the door to see them out. ‘I’ll ask a few of the regulars too – discreetly, of course; see if they know anything. I’m always happy to help.’ He winked at Charlotte as she passed, as if they had a shared secret, something they were withholding from J.D. She ignored him, angered at the slight flush that came to her cheeks.

  As the sliding doors peeled back to return them to the rising heat, Charlotte shaded her eyes from the sun, getting her bearings on where the car was parked. J.D. strode off ahead of her.

  It was then she felt a tug on her sleeve.

  ‘Um … Are you the police?’

  Turning, she saw a middle-aged woman clad in bike shorts and a halter top, a pink water bottle clutched in her hand, face tomato red. Her blonde hair was bundled on top of her head, sprouting up like a seedling.

  ‘Ah, yes. We are. I’m Detective Callaghan.’

  The woman glanced back at the sliding doors, as if fearful she was being watched, then she leant in, whispering, so close Charlotte could smell the sweat on her body. ‘If you’re here about the dead girls, I knew Christie and Janice – only from workouts, but occasionally we had the odd coffee afterwards, not serious friends or anything like that. But they were gorgeous and didn’t deserve what happened to them. I’ll just say this, and you didn’t hear it from me, okay? That guy you were speaking to – the manager, Corey – us girls call him the Octopus. He’s way more ‘touchy-feely’ than he should be; it’s gross. I’m not saying he had anything to do with what’s happened, but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could kick him.’

  ‘Do you mind if we—’ But before Charlotte could finish her question, the woman had spun on her heel, hand held up in refusal, and was marching off back inside. Charlotte stared as the doors sealed shut, bemused.

  ‘What was all that about?’ J.D. asked when she’d made her way to the car. ‘You know her?’

  ‘Nope,’ Charlotte said, ‘but she knows our man Corey Garsell, and it seems he wanted to know some of the girls in there a little better than he should. We’ll need to keep an eye on him.’

  She slapped the visor down to ward off the rising sun, and as they exited the car park, Charlotte stared at the silver-tinted gymnasium windows.

  Were they designed to protect, or conceal?

  CHAPTER 23

  ‘What’ll it be tonight – rare or medium rare?’

  Jack stood with his left hand on his hip, the fingers of his other hand clutching the Bar-B-Mate. He looked across at her, his raised eyebrows arching above the frames of his sunglasses in anticipation of her response.

  Charlotte shuffled back under the shade of the umbrella, the outdoor chair scraping against the pavers. A grin broke across her face. Jack was clothed in a Superman apron and shorts – and nothing else. Even though the delightful evening lent itself to that type of attire, she wasn’t used to seeing him with his shirt off and the sight made her blush.

  ‘Rare, like a good man,’ she replied, raising her glass in Jack’s direction and winking.

  The flesh of the steak seared as he flipped it. Charlotte could see flames licking at the underside of the grill from where she sat, but she remained confident Jack knew what he was doing – he w
as one of those guys who could turn his hand to pretty much anything and give it a fair crack. Besides, couldn’t every Aussie man worth his salt find his way around a barbecue?

  Sunlight glinted off the glass salad bowl that sat in the middle of the outdoor table, and Charlotte scooped out a handful of the fresh produce while Jack’s attention was on the grill. It was her favourite salad, a perfect mixture of crisp fried noodles, wombok, pine nuts and a drizzled dressing that she could’ve drowned in it was so good. If Jack nailed the steak, it would be the perfect end to what had been another long day.

  Duties complete, Jack discarded his apron and took a seat opposite her, beads of sweat running down his neck as he flopped into the chair and brought a moist stubby of Carlton Draught to his lips – an image of perspiring perfection. ‘You better enjoy that,’ he said, nodding at the meal as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘I reckon I’ve lost five kilos cooking it. Can you tell?’

  Charlotte laughed as he patted his toned stomach. She watched as he sat forward and sliced every inch of fat from the edges of his serving, banishing them to one side of his plate. In contrast, she needed every ounce of protein and fat she could get and so hacked into her steak with gusto, each bite of the red meat recharging her ailing body. ‘Yeah, you’re almost wasting away to nothing,’ she said, grinning. ‘You need to get to a gym, my friend, and fast. Hey, speaking of which … can I ask you something work related?’

  ‘Of course,’ Jack said. Charlotte could see him perk up, as usual – any mention of her work always excited him. He loved an opportunity to prove he could solve a crime or decipher the clues. Oddly, she found it incredibly cute, and couldn’t deny that seeing him so engaged turned her on – both towards him and her work.

  She bit her lower lip as she felt her pulse quicken. ‘It’s actually as much about your work as mine. You know that new twenty-four-hour gym we talked about – the Motivation Factory?’