Felicity Young - An Easeful Death

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—’

Wayne put his hand on the young man’s arm. ‘Relax mate, we’re not the drug squad. Sit down. We want to ask you some questions about one of your customers.’

The waiter licked his lips and nodded. His expression, no longer one of fear, was now a mixture of relief and curiosity.

Barry produced the photo of Michelle. ‘Seen her before?’

‘Um ... yes, don’t know her name, but,’ the waiter said.

‘The bloke at the counter said she was here yesterday morning, that you served her.’

‘That’s right. She comes in most mornings after gym and has the soy latte.’

Wayne raised his eyebrows and glanced at Barry.

‘It’s a healthy kind of coffee,’ Barry told him.

Wayne snorted, took a sip of his Vienna and reached for a napkin to wipe the tickling cream from his upper lip. ‘Was she alone?’ he asked.

‘No. There was a bloke with her.’

Barry put his elbows on the table and leaned closer. ‘Tell us about this bloke.’

‘What did he look like?’ Wayne added.

‘He was kind of creepy looking. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.’

He must have noticed the disappointed sag of the detective’s shoulders. His voice sped up. ‘But he took them off after a while.’

Wayne gave him an encouraging nod to go on.

‘Like I said, he was creepy looking. Quite tall and very pale in the face, as pale as a Goth only his hair was practically white. It was thin and kind of feathery, almost like duck down. You could hardly tell where his skin ended and his hair began.’

Wayne kicked Barry under the table. Barry nodded; there couldn’t be too many albinos about.

The boy was revving up now, revealing an eye for detail that was rare in most witnesses. ‘They seemed to be having some kind of an argument. At one stage Whitey slammed his fist onto the table like this.’ He demonstrated with his own fist, making the cups and saucers on the table rattle.

‘How did she take this angry outburst? Did she seem scared?’ Barry asked.

‘It didn’t seem to faze her. She put her hand over his, like this.’ The waiter reached out for Wayne’s hand, covering it with his own. Wayne snatched his hand away as if it had been burned.

Barry smirked.

‘After that, they settled down and just seemed to be having a normal conversation,’ the boy said.

Wayne said, ‘Did they leave together?’

‘No, Whitey left first.’

‘Did he still seem angry?’

‘No, I don’t think so. He smiled when he left. She stayed for another coffee then paid the bill.’

Barry said, ‘Thanks, you’ve been a big help. We may need to contact you again.’

When the boy stood to go, Wayne held up a finger. ‘Wait on. Was there any one else in the cafe at the time?’

The waiter searched his mind for a moment. ‘Two or three others maybe; we’re never busy that early.’

‘Can you remember anything about them?’ Wayne asked.

He scratched his head. ‘Not really. I think there was a couple on one table, a single man on the other.’

‘Where was the single man sitting?’

‘All three groups were at nearby tables. It’s easier for us wait staff to have them all grouped together.’

‘Can you remember anything about this single man?’

The waiter rubbed his chin and looked at the ceiling through narrowed eyes. Wayne hoped he wasn’t dreaming up embellishment to try to impress them. Hell, they were already impressed.

‘Look, the only reason I remember the gym woman and Whitey was because of his weird colour and the fight. Can I go now? We’re flat out and Mario’s getting his knickers in a knot.’

The cafe was filling up, there were customers waiting to be served, and the man at the counter was shooting them dark looks and pulling at his moustache as he bustled.

Wayne said, ‘Would you have any record of the time this man paid his bill?’

‘There might be a copy of the receipt.’

Barry said, ‘Good. See if you can find the woman’s too.’

‘Well?’ Barry raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his cappuccino as the waiter scurried toward the kitchen.