by JANICE FROST
“Studying him?” Steph said.
“Yep.”
“Can you elaborate a bit?”
“It’s what you do,” Jason said. “You pick someone who looks like an alpha and you study them. How they do it.”
“How they do what?” Though Steph thought she knew.
“Pick up girls.”
“Right. So, you were watching Mark to learn how to hit on women?”
“Yes.” Jason looked down. Steph studied him for a moment. He lacked confidence, obviously, probably low on self-esteem too. He wasn’t all that bright and no one but his mum would call him good-looking. She supposed his sex life was non-existent. She felt a surge of pity for him, then suppressed it immediately. Pity for Cal had got her into a lot of trouble.
“Where did you hear about this sort of thing, Jason? From your mates?” she asked.
Jason looked cagey. “Sort of.” Steph waited. When he failed to elaborate, she gave him a nudge. “Did you read about it? See stuff online?”
“Online mostly.”
“And you chose to follow Mark because you thought he looked like the sort of bloke who’d be successful at picking up women?”
“And because of what he said in the pub.”
Steph raised an eyebrow. “You knew Mark Ripley?”
“I only met him once.” Jason looked fearfully from Steph to Elias. “He came up to me in the pub and asked me if I wanted to join this group he was running. He said he could help me get a girlfriend.”
“Go on.”
“He told me he could teach me things . . . I can’t remember the word he used, it means how to go about doing something.”
“Techniques,” Steph said.
“Yeah. He used that and another word that started with an ‘s.’”
“Strategies?” Elias suggested.
“Yeah, that’s it. Said he was a pick-up coach. He said he’d even take me out on the High Street to practise. Going out in the field he called it.”
“Right.” Steph knew about this sort of thing. She’d seen videos where so-called pick-up coaches encouraged men to approach women in the street to practise the techniques they taught. The end goal was to obtain sex with a woman of their choosing, whenever they wanted it. It wasn’t illegal to stop a woman in the street and attempt to chat her up, unless the woman was underage, but in Steph’s opinion, street harassment should be made an offence. It was a nuisance, and it made women feel unsafe.
“So, is that what you did? Went ‘out in the field’ with someone who promised he could help you pick up women?”
“He’s never had a girlfriend,” Mrs Collins said. “He’s started going to the gym to beef himself up so they’ll fancy him more. Their loss if they can’t just take him as he is, that’s what I say.”
Steph tried not to wince. She was sure Mrs Collins was well-intentioned, but her remark caused Jason to hang his head and stare at the carpet. Surprisingly, he returned to her question without prompting. “Yeah. Just that one time I met Mark. He said he’d give me a free taster session. So we went outside. He went up to some girls while I watched from a distance. He got their phone numbers no problem.”
“Okay. And then he tried to sign you up for more sessions — at a cost, I imagine?”
“Yes.”
“Was Mark running the group alone, do you know?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I never asked.”
Mrs Collins butted in again. “You better tell them what they want to know, Jase. You don’t want them thinking you had anything to do with that Mark’s murder.”
Jason scratched his arms, fiddled with the drawstring on his tracksuit bottoms, cracked his knuckles. “He never mentioned anyone else.”
“Just out of curiosity, what did Mark want to charge you for his coaching?” Steph asked.
Jason quoted a sum that made his mum gasp. Poor bloke, Steph thought. They must have seen him coming. But Jason had been saved by lack of disposable income.
“I couldn’t afford it.”
“That’s why you were following him? You thought you’d watch him in the hope of picking up a few more tips without having to pay?” Elias said.
Jason’s head was practically between his knees. “Yep. I was in the shopping centre and I watched him. I swear that’s all I did. He left the shop with a girl. I went the other way.”
“We can check that. Did you recognise the girl he left with?” Elias asked.
Jason looked at his mum. “I went to school with her. Her name’s Elle Darrow. She’s pretty.”
“Out of your league, son,” Mrs Collins said crushingly. Jason nodded. “Are you finished now? Only Jase could do with putting his head down for a couple more hours. He’s got another shift tonight.”
“Yes, thanks.” Steph stood up. They saw themselves out.
“I doubt he had anything to do with Mark’s death.” They were walking back to the car. “This pick-up coaching thing warrants investigating. I don’t imagine Mark was running the group alone.” Elias nodded.
Hours later, on her way home, Steph stopped off at the supermarket to buy some ready meals for her freezer. There’d be little time to cook while the investigation was ongoing. In the wine aisle, she chose quickly, selecting a bottle of red that was on offer. Just the one. She avoided stocking up on alcohol. It would be all too easy to make a habit of drinking. She’d done that for a while after Cal, until she’d realised it was just one more way in which he continued to exert control over her from beyond the grave.
There was a long queue at the self-service checkouts. Steph got her phone out while she waited her turn. A woman behind her was nagging her husband to return a couple of steaks. “Red meat’s bad for your cholesterol, Bill.”
Steph felt a stab of irritation at the woman’s controlling attitude. Why did relationships inevitably mean one partner dominating the other, stifling them? Bill was a grown-up and perfectly capable of weighing up the risks. Let him make his own decisions, for pity’s sake. She almost called out to him when he headed back, meekly, to the meat aisle, steaks in hand.
When it was her turn, she put her items through the scanner quickly and efficiently. Then she had to wait for the assistant to come over and verify that she was old enough to purchase alcohol. He was tied up with another customer for a few minutes and apologised for her wait. Steph grunted. His apology was meaningless, just something he’d been told to say to customers.
She’d spent too much to use contactless, so she stabbed in her PIN, irritated at the delay. Finally, she retrieved her card and made her escape. She was pushing her loaded trolley down the aisle towards the exit when a voice called out to her.
“Excuse me! DI Warwick!” Steph cringed. She recognised that voice.
It was SPC Jane Bell, holding something out to her. Her credit card. She’d stuffed it in her pocket after paying, meaning to return it to her card holder when she had a hand free, then forgotten about it. It must have worked its way out.
“Thank you,” she said. “SPC Bell, right?”
“Yes. I didn’t think you’d recognise me out of uniform and in the daylight. Well, artificial light.” Steph was about to mutter her thanks again and hurry off, but Bell got in first. “How is the investigation into Mark Ripley’s death going? I keep picturing him lying there on that bench. Are you making progress?”
“I can’t really talk about an ongoing case,” Steph said.
“No. I suppose not. I just thought . . .” Steph knew Bell had been about to point out that she was ‘one of them.’ But she wasn’t. She was a special, not a detective, and had no right to make such an assumption. Maybe she’d stalled because she’d realised it. Steph took advantage of her hesitation.
“Thanks again for returning my card.” She walked off at a brisk pace. Bell had had an empty trolley so there was no chance she was on her way to the car park too. Steph sincerely hoped that she’d seen the last of the annoying woman.
Chapter Eight
“I’ve remembered why
that Mark Ripley looked familiar.”
Jane looked up from petting Buddy and Pearl, who’d ambushed her at the door as usual.
“Oh, that’s good.”
“Finish making a fuss of those two and give me your coat. I’ve made hot chocolate.”
With any of her other students, Jane would have suspected delaying tactics, but she knew that the two hours she spent tutoring Thea could easily be chopped in half with little loss of benefit to her student.
At last the dogs were appeased. Sighing and snorting, they curled up in a big ball of intertwined fur on the rug in front of the wood burner. Thea handed Jane a steaming mug of chocolate topped with fluffy marshmallows. “It’s got honey and cinnamon in.”
Cream too, if Jane wasn’t mistaken. “It’s delicious. Very decadent.” She took another sip. “So, tell me about Mark Ripley.”
“My friend Stacey reminded me. We saw him a few weeks ago when we went to the fitness club on Outer Circle Road. ‘Hi! To Fitness?’ Stacey’s parents have family membership.”
Jane nodded. She knew the place. A leaflet had popped through her door soon after it opened, offering her a week’s free membership.
“We saw him in the café. We both fancied him.”
Jane made exaggerated tutting noises. Thea giggled. “I know. What are we like? He was sitting at a table near ours with two other guys, both good-looking. Mark winked at us.”
Jane nodded indulgently. She remembered being keen on a boy at school when she was around Thea’s age. He was three years older than her and wouldn’t have noticed her if she’d danced naked in front of him, but for that whole year the sight of him playing football at lunchtime was enough to send her into a state of euphoria for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe that’s why she’d done so badly in maths that year. It was the first period after lunch. So, yes, she could relate to Thea’s enthusiasm.
“Mark Ripley was twenty-three. Isn’t that a bit mature for a pair of sixteen-year-olds?” Thea was small for her age, and in Jane’s opinion, she didn’t even look fifteen.
Thea snorted. “Once, when we were in Lincoln shopping, a man who looked about forty came up to us and asked if we’d like to go for drinks with him.”
“I take it you declined?”
Thea rolled her eyes. “What do you think? We’re not stuuuupid.”
No, but you are young, and not nearly as worldly-wise as you think you are. “Good,” she said. “Never, ever, go off with strange men. Best not to accept a drink from them either. You never know if it’s been spiked.”
Jane was surprised that Thea didn’t come back with a putdown, a ‘Yes, Mum,’ or something like that. In fact, Thea was staring at her with something like affection. Jane felt flattered. It occurred to her that Thea wasn’t used to someone being interested in her welfare. Her heart went out to her.
“Did you happen to overhear the names of Mark’s friends?” she asked.
“No.” Thea took a sip of her hot chocolate. It left a frothy moustache around her top lip. She wiped it with a finger and licked it off. “Sorry.”
It was hard to concentrate on Thea’s lesson after their conversation. As they analysed a poem, Jane’s mind kept drifting, mulling over how she could follow up on the information she’d just received. She could visit the gym and show them Mark’s picture, ask some questions. Maybe someone there might identify the two men he’d been with on the day Thea and her friend had seen them.
Finding Mark’s friends, perhaps even speaking with them, would be a way of finding her way into Mark’s world. She felt that she needed to get to know him better so as to stand a chance of uncovering the who, what and why of his tragic death. With that in mind, she drove straight to the fitness club after Thea’s lesson.
Approaching the help desk, Jane wished she’d been in uniform. She’d have felt more confident about asking questions. Off duty and in casual clothes, she could be anyone. She’d have to use an indirect approach.
Before any of the beautiful young people on the desk could greet her with a, ‘Hi. How are you? How may I help you today?’ Jane started to speak. “I’m not a member. I had a leaflet through the door a while ago and I was just curious. Maybe one of you would have time to show me around?”
A young man stepped forward. “Hi, my name is Chase. We normally ask people to book ahead for a tour.” He grinned. “But you’re in luck. There’s no one else booked in today, so I’d be happy to show you all the great facilities and equipment we have to offer. The tour takes about an hour, is that cool with you?”
Jane considered. A wasted hour was a small price to pay if it yielded some useful information. “Thank you, Chase. That would be great.” She wondered if he’d be offended if she asked if they could start in the café.
Chase began by describing what the tour would involve. Jane listened patiently as he recited what was obviously a script that he’d memorised and delivered many times before. At the end he asked if she had any questions. Yes, just not the type you’re referring to.
“Okay.” Chase clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. “Let’s start with the gym, shall we?” He made it sound like a random choice, as if every tour started somewhere different, when in reality the route was likely plotted with military precision.
They moved tortuously slowly around the gym, stopping at nearly every piece of apparatus for Chase to give a lengthy spiel on its purpose and benefits. Was it her imagination that he spent a particularly long time talking about the equipment for toning bums and tums?
There was no opportunity during the tour for Jane to ask the sort of questions she’d been hoping to ask. Chase droned on and on. Her remark that a lot of the equipment looked like the sort of stuff you’d find in a care home — mobility aids and gadgets for hoisting and lifting — failed to raise a smile.
He showed her the pool next. The water sparkled, blue and brilliant under an elegant suspension roof. Jane had to admit that this did look inviting. Chase called out to one of the lifeguards, “Hey! Dale! Can you come over a sec?” Dale was sitting atop the lifeguard’s chair observing two young women swimming towards the deep end. Rather too attentively, Jane thought, but then again, he was paid to be vigilant. “This is Jane Bell. She’s thinking of becoming a member. Dale’s one of the pool attendants.”
“And a lifeguard,” Dale added.
“Want to give Jane a little intro to the pool, Dale?”
Jane thought Dale looked somewhat alarmed at the prospect. He turned a bright shade of red and muttered something about his supervisor usually doing that sort of thing. “That’s cool, man,” Chase said. “I can do it.” Dale hurried back to the lifeguard’s chair and resumed watching the bikini-clad women, even though they’d now got out of the pool and were heading for the changing rooms.
“Dale’s a bit backwards at coming forwards, as my gran used to say about my dad,” Chase said. He spent a few minutes talking about the pool, then they took a look at the sauna.
At last it was over. They were back where they’d started, at the reception.
“So, what do you think? Are you ready to sign up, Jane?” Chase asked.
“Maybe we could go to the café and you can go through the membership details with me over a cup of coffee?”
“Sure,” he said, hesitantly, “but we usually do the paperwork over there.” He pointed at a space next to the help desk where there was a cluster of tables and chairs, and a drinks machine. “Let me just check with my supervisor.”
Jane thought his supervisor ought to be willing to ply her with free drinks all day if Chase could persuade her to pay the exorbitant fee for annual membership. The place hadn’t exactly been crawling with clients. It had been eerily quiet throughout the tour.
Chase returned within a couple of minutes. “She says it’s okay,”
It turned out that the most on offer was a complimentary regular coffee. Chase, of course, didn’t drink coffee. He had a glass of water instead.
Jane looked at their surroundings. �
�It’s pretty quiet here. Is it always like this?”
“No, this is very unusual. We’re normally pretty busy.” Perhaps thinking that she was seeking a quieter facility, he added, “It is possible to book at a less busy time. A lot of our, er, mature members don’t like it when there’s a lot of people about. They can be a bit embarrassed about their bodies. Not that that’s an issue in your case. You look pretty fit to me.”
Jane raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry if that came across the wrong way. I just meant you probably look after yourself. Take exercise, watch what you eat, that kind of thing.” He floundered.
“I was just trying to gauge how popular the club is. As it’s quite new, I couldn’t find many reviews.” Probably because I didn’t look.
“Oh, I can assure you that our membership numbers are growing daily.”
Jane saw her chance. “Yes, a young man I knew joined recently. His name was Mark Ripley.”
“Oh!”
“You knew him?”
“He’s the guy who was murdered.”
“Yes.” Jane wished she’d given some thought to how she would proceed before dashing in here. Winging it wasn’t a skill that came easily to her. As a teacher, she understood the importance of thorough preparation. “Such a tragedy. How well did you know him?”
“I know a couple of his mates. He sometimes came with them, so I guess I sort of knew him, just not as well as I know Adam and Phil.”
Chase looked down at the membership form on the table in front of him. His supervisor had probably given him a set amount of time in which to return it filled in and signed on the dotted line.
Jane considered bribing him. Her bank details for some information on Mark and his friends. Instead, without really thinking it through, she said, “Look, Chase. I haven’t been completely up front with you. I’m a police officer. I’d like to ask you a few questions regarding Mark Ripley’s murder.”
“Straight up?” Chase shook his head. “Are you a detective?” Jane didn’t answer. Let him make that assumption if he liked.
“What do you need to know?”
No request for ID. Really, he shouldn’t be so gullible. Jane felt bad about taking advantage of him.