My office is my favorite place in the condo, full of the memorabilia I love. One wall has floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of DVDs, primarily film noir, detective stories, and Alfred Hitchcock films, as well as rare first-edition detective novels. On another wall hang framed movie posters from The Maltese Falcon, one of Bogie’s most famous movies, and The Big Sleep, starring Bogart and his love, Lauren Bacall. I received the poster of The Big Sleep from a former client after I’d found his brother’s murderer. And a glass case in the corner holds my most prized possessions: first editions of A Study in Scarlet, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye. I’d recently been eyeing a first edition of The Postman Always Rings Twice, by James M. Cain. It’s considered by many to be the noir novel that opened the doors for all other noir novels, and it would be so cool to have a copy of it. But its high price tag had kept me from buying it, so I relished the rare books I did have.
I sat down at my desk, set my beer aside and logged onto the Internet. I typed “how to obtain steroids” into the search engine and received thousands of hits. I clicked on the first link and started reading. I’d wondered before how people got steroids, since they were illegal, and how many used them, and now I found my answers and more.
I first read that there are roughly three million steroid users in the U.S. and that about fifteen to thirty percent of people at gyms use steroids. I whistled. “If Pete and Maggie had a business selling steroids, the demand was certainly there,” I said to myself.
I clicked on more articles. Many of them talked about how people could obtain steroids through illegitimate medical prescriptions or through anti-aging clinics, but somehow I didn’t think Pete would’ve gotten them that way. According to the articles, those ways could be expensive, and even though Charlie was making good money, he’d indicated he didn’t have a lot of cash to spare.
I read further. Another big place to get steroids was health clubs. They had become places to socialize, and workout routines led to friendships and trust. And then people who pushed steroids could influence others into adding steroids to their routines.
So, I thought, if Maggie was a regular at the gym, she could easily sell to others there. So was she the seller, not the buyer?
I took a sip of beer. “How were she and Pete getting the steroids to sell?” I asked out loud. “The Internet?” I focused on my computer again.
Turns out the Internet was another way to access the black market for steroids, and it provided people with anonymity. But there were issues with obtaining the steroids on the Internet. For one, a buyer didn’t know if he’d be scammed by a seller who would take his money but never deliver the drugs. Another issue was that a buyer couldn’t be assured of the quality of the drugs. Some suppliers repackaged cheap steroids with expensive product labels and then sold them, or they sold fake steroids. I thought about that. The quality of the drugs would be an extremely important issue for Pete and Charlie. Charlie had even said that Pete was supplying him with high-quality steroids.
“All of the above hazards can lead to health problems ranging from minor infections and abscesses to severe reactions, illnesses and possibly death,” I read at the end of the article. I sat back, rubbed my eyes, and took another drink. “Lovely.”
I finished the beer and kept researching, and soon found my answer to how Pete could’ve been getting the steroids. Mexico. Steroids could be bought online from Mexico. However, buying from Mexico carried the same inherent quality risks as buying the drugs in the U.S. Another risk was that packages sent from Mexico are randomly screened and the steroids could be confiscated. But people could go to Mexico for vacation and smuggle the steroids home. The steroids are cheaper and more readily available in most Mexican cities, and many border towns have pharmacies that will sell them. And even though a prescription is required, it seemed that it was easy to get around this in Mexico.
Did Pete or Maggie go to Mexico? I had no way of finding out, but maybe Charlie knew if Pete vacationed in Mexico. I pulled out my phone and called him, but he didn’t answer, so I left a message for him to call me. If he didn’t know, maybe Cal could find out for me. Then I noticed a text from Willie that I’d missed.
“Hey, hon, have to work a double shift. Won’t be home until the middle of the night. Love you.”
I stared at the phone, disappointed. It had been a really long day, and I was looking forward to her coming home and relaxing with her. Now that was out. I turned off the computer and plodded into the kitchen. Then I made another call.
“Hey, Reed,” Ace said in his slow drawl. “Whatcha doing?”
“Not much,” I said, trying not to sound bummed. “I saw your light on and was wondering if you and Deuce would like to go to B 52s and shoot some pool.”
“Aw, we can’t. We’re over at Bob’s.”
“Oh, I saw your light and thought you were home.”
“No, sorry. But how about another time?”
“Sure.” I let him go, sighed heavily and went into the living room.
I took out the DVD of The Third Man, a great film noir starring Joseph Cotton and Orson Welles. It’s about a pulp Western writer named Holly Martins who travels to post–World War II Vienna to search for his friend, Harry Lime, played by Welles. But when Martins arrives, he finds that Lime has been killed. Martins gets caught up in the seedy underworld of the crumbling city. I loved the movie’s shadowy noir cinematography and its twisting plot of deception, racketeering, murder and love.
When the movie was over, I went into the bedroom, stripped and crawled under the covers. I rolled over and smelled the scent of Willie’s shampoo on her pillow, and I missed her even more. I pulled the pillow close to my face and fell asleep. A long time later, I woke when she slipped under the covers.
“Hi, babe,” she said as she snuggled close to me.
“I missed you,” I said, and my previous moodiness instantly vanished.
“I missed you, too,” she whispered. “I want to come home to you for the rest of my life.”
I smiled. “You got it.”
I held her close and we fell asleep.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Willie and I had a late breakfast, and then we sat at the table in the kitchen. Willie worked on her laptop and I stared into space, thinking about Pete, Maggie and Charlie. And I thought about Willie and what she’d said last night. I wanted her the rest of my life, too. Was it time to make it official? I was so engrossed in my musings, I didn’t notice her close her laptop.
“What’re you thinking?” she asked.
“Hm?” I said.
“You look like you have a lot on your mind.”
“I do.” I waved a hand as if to brush away my thoughts. “It’s this case.”
She pushed back from the table, put her dishes in the dishwasher and came over to me. “If Charlie is innocent, I’m sure you’ll find the real killer.” She kissed my cheek. “I’ve got to take a shower and then I’m going to the grocery store. Do you need anything?”
“Nothing in particular,” I said.
She left the room. I got up, loaded my dishes in the dishwasher, then strolled into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay, Reed,” I muttered to myself, “if you think it’s time to pop the question, then you need to take the next step and get her a ring.”
“What?” Willie called from the bathroom.
“Nothing,” I said.
She said something unintelligible and then I heard the shower. I got up and tiptoed to the dresser. Lying on it was a small jewelry box that Willie had inherited when her grandmother passed away. I rummaged around in it until I found a silver ring with a small ruby that Willie sometimes wore. I took it and hurried into my office, where I traced the inside of the ring on a piece of paper. Now I could figure out her ring size. I sneaked back into the bedroom and put the ring back into the jewelry box. When Willie came out of the bathroom, she was none the wiser.
“What are you going to do tod
ay?” she asked as she started getting dressed.
“I’m not sure. I need to talk to Charlie again.” My cell phone rang. I grabbed it from the nightstand and glanced at the screen. “What do you know, it’s Charlie.”
“Good timing,” Willie murmured.
I answered the phone.
“Reed, I didn’t wake you, did I?” Charlie asked.
“No, I was up,” I said. “Thanks for returning my call.”
“Yeah, sorry, I was out last night. Did you need something?”
“Yeah. Do you know if Pete ever went to Mexico?”
“Mexico? Not that I recall. I know he’d go back to Florida sometimes to visit his family.”
Ah, Charlie, as helpful as ever, I thought. “Hmm.”
“Oh, I got the number for Greg Revis.”
“Hold on.” I grabbed a piece of paper from the nightstand and wrote down the number of Pete’s friend. “Okay, I’ll give him a call.”
“Are you making any progress?”
“Turning over stones,” I said, thinking of Maggie. “We’ll see what crawls out.”
“Okay, thanks.” He sounded bummed.
I ended the call and stretched.
“I’ll be back later,” Willie said. She’d dressed in denim shorts and a sleeveless shirt, and she looked really cute.
“I’ll miss you.” I kissed her and she left. Then I called Greg Revis.
“Hello?” a tentative voice said.
“Greg, I’m Reed Ferguson,” I said. Charlie might have told him that I’d be calling, so I figured I’d best use my real name. I explained that I was investigating Pete Westhaven’s death. “I understand you were friends with him and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Uh, sure, I guess so,” Greg said. “I can’t talk now, though. I’m at the ballpark, but I could meet you after the game.”
“That would be great.”
We agreed to meet at the View House, a restaurant and bar that was within walking distance of Coors Field, a half-hour after the game ended. It was Sunday and the Rockies game was at two o’clock, so it would be early evening before I could meet Greg. After I hung up, I glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven now.
What to do first?
I thought about Maggie and whatever I’d seen her selling. I needed to know more about her, her relationship with Pete, and if she was pushing steroids or something else. Time to pay her another visit. Decision made, I showered, dressed and left.
Traffic was light and I made it back to Maggie’s apartment in fifteen minutes. I’d obviously spooked her last night, and I didn’t want to do that again. But I needed to know what she knew about Pete. I couldn’t care less about her involvement in steroids or whatever she was selling, as long as it didn’t have anything to do with Pete’s murder. And if she was innocent, wouldn’t she want to help? I hoped so.
The sun was a fireball in a cloudless sky as I parked in the lot across from her apartment. I locked the 4-Runner, strolled up to her unit and rapped on the door. I thought I heard a noise inside, so I waited, then knocked again. Still no answer. Had she seen me through a window, and was she avoiding me? I stepped back and tried to surreptitiously glance in a window, but I couldn’t see anything. Her unit had a small porch enclosed by a six-foot wooden fence. I stood on my toes and peered over it, hoping I could see inside.
“She’s not there,” a lilting voice startled me.
I whirled around to see Maggie’s neighbor coming up the walk to her place. She wore a summer dress and sandals, and she had curly red hair and long muscular legs and, I noticed, just a touch of makeup. Just coming from church? I wondered.
“Oh, hi,” I said. “I thought I heard someone inside.”
“It’s probably her dog,” the woman said. She paused by her door. “Maggie goes to the gym every Sunday around this time.”
Some of the articles I’d read last night said that people who liked to go to the gym generally kept to a routine schedule. Apparently Maggie fit this – a creature of habit.
I gestured to the north. “Planet Fitness?”
“No, 24-Hour Fitness,” she said, “in Green Mountain.”
I must’ve had a confused look on my face because she followed that up with, “It’s west on Alameda.”
In truth, I was wondering about Maggie going to a different gym. To build her clientele for whatever she was selling?
“Oh, got it,” I said, still grateful she’d clarified where 24-Hour Fitness was, as I had no idea. Alameda Avenue was just north of where we were, and I could Google the gym to find the exact location.
“Maggie teaches a spin class on Tuesday nights. It’s not as fun as being out on your bike, but it’s good. She keeps the workout upbeat.”
“I might be interested in something like that.” I subtly puffed out my chest and sucked in my stomach, trying to look like the gym type, whatever that was.
“Are you interested in having Maggie as a personal trainer?”
I nodded. “Maybe. Is she good?”
“I think so.” She tucked her hair behind her ears in the same way that Willie did, only with Willie, it was much sexier. Or maybe I was biased. “Her clients stop by sometimes to get advice and supplements,” she continued. “I thought maybe you were one of them.”
“A client? Not yet.” In my head I was thinking, supplements? “What kind of supplements?”
She shrugged. “Beats me. I’ve never bought any from her.”
“Oh. I thought it might be something I could use.”
She surveyed me critically. “Yeah, it might do you some good.”
Oh, that was harsh. I kept my stomach in.
“So, do you see Maggie around much?” I asked, fishing for more information.
“We hang out sometimes, but she’s at the gym a lot.”
“Was she there last Thursday night? I thought maybe I saw her, but I’m not sure.”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know. She was out that evening.”
“When did she get home?”
“I don’t know.”
Suspicion crept into her voice, and I knew I would need to tread carefully. “I thought if I can’t find her at the gym, I could stop by one evening when she’s home.”
“You should probably contact her at the gym first.” Her eyes grew cold. “It’s getting hot, so I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, thanks for your help,” I said, then left before she had time to figure out I wasn’t someone interested in a personal trainer.
Chapter Twelve
I drove west on Alameda, just past Union Boulevard, to an area of town known as Green Mountain. 24-Hour Fitness was located on the north side of Alameda, with the foothills as a backdrop. We’d had a pretty dry spring, and the land looked more brown than green.
I walked through glass doors into 24-Hour Fitness and looked around. In the center of the main room, near the front entrance, was a horseshoe-shaped counter with some computers and a printer. Behind that was a large, spacious gym with stationary bikes on one side of the room and weightlifting equipment on the other. Wide hallways on either side of the counter led to other parts of the gym.
A tall, buff man with a shaved head and a friendly-looking woman in rimless glasses stood behind the counter. I thought about walking past them and into the gym, but then a guy with a gym bag came through the door behind me. He flashed an ID card of some sort at the woman, and she nodded. Scratch trying to sneak in.
The woman noticed me and smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” I said and approached the counter. “I’ve been thinking about joining a gym.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place.” She smiled again and I noticed how well-toned she was, the perfect salesperson for the benefits of having a gym membership. “We have a great facility here, with free weights, cardio equipment, an indoor lap pool, sauna, basketball court and more.”
“Uh, that’s great,” I interrupted, hoping to avoid the full sales pitch. “I’ve visi
ted a few other gyms and they’ve let me look around. Do you think I could…” I pointed to the big room behind her.
“Sure, we can do that,” she said. “I’m Katrina, by the way.”
“Hi, Katrina.” I matched her smile with one of my own. “I’m Philip Marlowe,” I said, using the name of another favorite detective of mine from Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep.
“Why don’t I take you on a tour and then you can look around more, if you want.”
“That’s great.”
“Hey, Mike,” she said to the other front desk attendant. “I’ll be back.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. He flipped through a muscle magazine, completely disinterested.
“As you can see here,” Katrina said as she led me toward the hallway on the left, “we have state-of-the-art equipment, and we’ve recently gone through a complete renovation. We even have a Pro Shop.”
“I can see that,” I said. I’d never been the gym type, preferring to be outdoors. Willie frequently jogged, and I sometimes joined her, but my resolve was not as strong as hers. But seeing all the people working out made me feel like a lazy slug. I’d have to think about getting in better shape.
“We have locker rooms where you can keep all your belongings safe,” Katrina droned on.
I wasn’t listening to her: I was looking for Maggie. But I needed to be careful because I didn’t want Maggie to see me. My fears were unfounded as we completed our tour of the gym without seeing her.
“So what do you think?” Katrina asked when we arrived back at the front desk.
“It’s very nice,” I said. “Do you think I could spend a little time testing out some of the equipment?”
“Sure, let me have you fill out this form and you’re good to go.” She pushed a piece of paper across the counter.
I filled it out, sure I was going to get phone calls pressing me to join the gym. All part of the job, I told myself. When I finished, I was able to walk around. Thank goodness I’d worn khaki shorts and a black T-shirt, so I at least somewhat looked like I wanted to work out. My sandals didn’t fit the look, but Katrina hadn’t seemed to notice.
The Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 3 Page 40