Weapons of Mass Distraction (7 page)

I rose upright, straightened my back and placed my hand over my heart. “I promise to not let a serial killer get me or to ruin your wedding. Your wedding will be perfect.” I didn’t even think to cross my fingers.

Chapter Five

I had never been inside the gym after hours when it was closed. There was something eerie about the rows of silent machines, the neatly stacked weights and mats, the smell of cleaning solution still faint in the air. I couldn’t quite equate it with the place where I sweated for years, with similar bodies heaving, sweating, and gasping for breath to a soundtrack of motivational tunes pumped through speakers.

Michael and I had arranged to meet an hour before the gym opened so I could investigate both the spin studio and the treadmill. I didn’t really relish the idea of combing the areas for anything suspicious in the quiet, but it beat doing it when the gym was crowded with a dozen curious eyes watching me. “It’s five a.m.,” I said, glancing at my watch. “I should still be in bed.”

“Sorry, it’s the only time we have alone,” Michael said, jingling a ring of keys from one hand. “I have to get the studio open. People are complaining it's shut and the gym is closed too much, even threatening to cancel their memberships. I think that’s a good thing.”

“It is. It means people want to stay.”

Michael gave a half-hearted shrug. “What does that say about people’s compassion though? Two of our members died here and they just want to get back in for their workouts.”

“I couldn’t say.” To me, it said a lot about the gym members’ dedication to good figures, and good health in the face of death, but not so much about being friendly neighbors. I patted Michael’s arm as I hefted my camera bag strap onto my shoulder. “Let’s check out the studio and get it over with.”

“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, giving me a quizzical glance.

“I already wrote up my eyewitness statement for both events, and Detective Maddox took one when he was here too, so I’m good to go. This is not my first death scene,” I told him, trying not to sigh. I didn’t bother adding that it would be the first one I’d investigated alone. At least, Solomon was on the other end of the line in case I needed him. I bet he was snuggled up warm in bed, unlike me. He didn’t stay over so I couldn’t be sure.

“Okay,” agreed Michael as he unlocked the doors, holding one open for me.

The spin studio had clearly been trampled and was left in a jumbled mess. Countless people must have been through here, none of them concerned that it might have been a crime scene. I mentally thanked Michael’s thoughtfulness in sealing it off so that any residual evidence might not get completely obliterated. “I can’t believe the police department doesn’t want to investigate,” he said. "Detective Maddox called and told me yesterday after our meeting."

“I’m sorry. They just don’t consider it a possible murder scene.”

“Like I said already, I really hope it isn’t. I feel sorry for the poor guy, but I hope it was just a heart attack or an aneurysm. You know, something natural.”

“Me too,” I said, still skeptically fascinated at the probability of two natural deaths within two days, under the same roof.

Michael took one last look around and shook his head. “I’ll wait outside. That okay with you?”

“No problem.” Michael had no sooner opened the doors when I remembered something, “You said you picked up Karen Doyle’s water bottle?”

“That’s right.”

I handed him a plastic bag from my kit. “Could you put it in here and be careful not to touch it, if you haven’t already.”

He took the bag and nodded. “Sure thing, Lexi.”

I started with my camera, but first made sure I had a memory card inside. In lieu of something in particular to focus on, I snapped everything. Full scene shots and close-ups. Every item left behind in the rush to exit and every single bike. I snapped a shot of the doors, the closed windows, and the air vents.

That finished, I made a beeline for Jim Schwarz’s bike, still lying on its side on the floor. I snapped a bunch of shots from different angles, not entirely certain what I was looking for. When I thought I was done, I lay my bag on the floor with the camera on top, just in case I needed it again.

I pulled on gloves and went in for a closer look at the bike. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. On my notepad, I made a note of the gear position, adding a memo to see if Michael could get a digital readout of its last workout. Perhaps the heart rate monitor could provide something useful? Or maybe Jim was pushing the gears harder than Anton requested? Perhaps he simply overdid it and something inside his body just gave out. That would account for a natural death.

A towel still draped over the handlebars. No water bottle. I couldn’t remember if I’d seen Jim holding one either. It would have been perilous to enter a class without one. Staying low to the floor, I looked around. There were a bunch of water bottles on the floor. Since any one of them could have been Jim’s, I collected all seven and bagged them. I left the small stack of evidence next to the doors so as not to forget it upon my exit.

Returning to Jim’s bike, I knelt down beside it. I started my examination with the stationary wheel and the mechanism. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Next the frame. Again, all seemed normal. The saddle was dry and I looked under it too. Nothing concealed. Finally I moved to the handlebars, which were set out in racing and normal riding formation. The towel was draped across the bars, concealing them, and since I’d already photographed it, I scooped it up and dropped it into another evidence bag. Turning back, I saw the strangest little thing. If I’d been standing over the bike, I would have missed it. But kneeling down, with the bike on its side, I had a clear view beneath the bars. I blinked and leaned forwards. Yes, on each bar were two thumbtacks, attached to the underside with the tiniest amount of tape, and almost impossible to see.

I reached for my camera and snapped a half dozen shots from the underside. Both bars together, then separately. Standing, I repeated the photo sequence from the top perspective.

When I was done, I set down the camera and stared at the bike. How would I get this piece of evidence back to the agency for analysis without destroying it? Knowing I was stuck, I reached for my cell phone and called Solomon.

“Sweetheart,” he said, upon answering the phone, and I knew he was alone.

“Darling,” I replied, smiling to myself, and restraining a giggle.

“What can I do for you?”

“Many, many things,” I replied in a husky voice.

“Any of these pertaining to the job?” asked Solomon, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“The current request is…” Oh, how I wanted to play with him, but there was a job to be done. I had something unexplainable, which made me doubt the natural death theory even more. “I found something odd,” I told him, quickly describing what it was.

“Any of the other bikes have something similar?”

“I haven’t checked them yet, but I will. I’m guessing, no. I’ve never seen anything like it. The thumbtacks look like they’re embedded into the handlebars; and if I pull the tape, I’m worried I could make a mess of the whole thing. Plus, I think I see a little smear of blood. And remember, Jim had a little cut on his thumb.”

“Hmmm.” Solomon paused and I waited for a genius idea. “Take off the handlebars,” he said finally. “I’ll get my forensics guy to go over it at his lab.”

“What? All of it? How?”

“Yep. Unscrew the lot and bring it in. You’re wearing gloves?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Make sure you don’t touch the bars themselves. I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have a large evidence bag?”

“A couple are in my kit.”

“Use them both and tape them shut. Catch you later.”

My breath caught. “Does that involve you chasing me?” I whispered, though I don’t know why because I was the only one in the studio.

“Is there a prize if I catch you?” Solomon asked, his voice smooth and inviting.

“Yes, but you’ll have to catch me to find out what it is.” Saying that, I hung up, leaving him to wonder what I might possibly do with him, which was just as well, since I hadn’t worked it out yet either.

Retrieving a screwdriver from my kit, with a confident, happy smile on my face, I set about removing the handlebars. I found two large plastic bags to store them in and slipped one bag over each side before taping the middle closed. Just to make certain these were an anomaly, I checked the handlebars of every single other bike. Not one showed signs of a thumbtack or tape.

If Michael thought it was weird when he saw me taking the whole rack of handlebars, he didn’t say. Instead, seeing my armful of evidence, he simply nodded as he added another bag on top. Inside was a blue water bottle with liquid that sloshed back and forth. A sticker on the outside read “Property of Karen Doyle.”

“Is it okay if I get this studio cleaned up now?” he asked.

“Sure. There’s no reason that you can’t. There’s nothing more for me to do and if MPD say it isn’t a crime scene, then legally, it isn’t. I did find something strange though.” I showed Michael the handlebars, being careful not to let the thumbtacks stick me, and his forehead furrowed into deep frowns. “Do you know what these are?” I asked.

“No. Nothing like that should be on a spin bike. Ever! It’s not safe.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You think this has something to do with Jim’s death?”

“It seems rather odd,” I said non-committally. “I’ll take it to the agency and we’ll send it to the lab for tests. These too.” I held up the large, translucent bag holding the individual baggies of water bottles and Jim’s towel. “It smells bad in there,” I warned Michael.

“Of death?” He shuddered.

“I was referring more along the lines of pee.”

“Great. Just great. Three dead clients and a pee odor. Sometimes I hate my job.”

For once, I couldn’t agree with him. I loved my job! Sure, it had its downsides, not the least of which were the endless hours of surveillance, random corpses, and bodily assaults I occasionally had to endure, but it had a whole bunch of positives too. I got to use my brain to solve baffling crimes, barely had to do any filing, and got to look forward to something different every day. As a double whammy bonus, my whole family was proud I’d finally found my calling, and it didn’t fall too far from the family crime-solving tree.

Leaving Michael the unenviable job of setting the spin studio to rights, I took the stairs down to the first floor and exited the building. I carefully stowed my crime treasures in the trunk of my VW. Checking my watch, I saw there was still thirty minutes before my shift began, giving me just enough time to drop the evidence at the agency and return. I left the lot, looking back at the gym in my rear mirror. Did I made the right choice by taking an undercover assignment here? I didn’t know the answer to that, but I did know there were three healthy people whose lives were cut short; and maybe, if there was such a thing as an afterlife, they needed me to find out what happened to them.

~

I arrived back at the gym with minutes to spare. The first cars of eager gym bunnies were already pulling into the lot as Michael guided me from the entrance to the office.

“Meet Fairmount Gym’s newest fitness instructor,” said Michael, flapping a pink t-shirt with the gym’s name emblazoned across the front, at me. Unlike the men’s version, it did indeed have a deep v-cut and I winced. Lily was right about how distracting my assets might become.

He spun me around to see my reflection in the full-length mirror in his office and wrapped the t-shirt across my front. It wasn’t quite waist-length and I made a mental note to thank Lily profusely for all the times she motivated slash dragged me to the gym to firm up my abs. “It looks great!” he exclaimed. “You’ll fit right in!”

Personally, I wouldn’t consider it quite my shade, but who was I to argue? All I had to do was blend in and try to listen to all the members’ conversations to learn anything that people weren’t telling the cops. Someone here, I figured, had to know something about what happened, first to Jim Schwarz, and then Karen Doyle, not to mention Lorena’s brutal murder in her own home. Someone must have seen something, however innocuous it might seem now, right before their deaths. My aim was to glean every last bit of information for Michael in order to prove that the gym was not negligent. Not only that but I desperately wanted to know who had killed my friend.

“You are aware that I know nothing about fitness, right?” I asked, taking the t-shirt and folding it over my arm.

“I know you come to the gym a lot with your cute friend,” replied Michael. He moved around to his side of the desk and rifled through the mound of paperwork until he pulled out one sheet, which he passed to me. “This is your schedule. You don’t have to stick to it exactly,” he said, “you can come and go as you please. I’ll find cover when you can’t make it, so just let me know when you plan to be here. I need to square it with the permanent staff so they don’t think you’re getting preferential treatment. I’ll tell them I have you for my personal assistant too. That means I can cover for you if you are somewhere they don't expect you to be. I can just say you're running an errand.”

“And just to confirm, I don’t have to take any classes?”

“That’s right. I’ve told everyone you’re a freelance fitness instructor, but you haven’t taught in a while and you’re just helping us out with some cover until Anton returns. If he returns,” Michael muttered.

“You think he won’t?” I asked, glancing up from the schedule. It didn’t look too strenuous.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen a man appear so white.”

“He’s black.”

“Exactly.”

“I might need to interview him. He had a really good view of the room.”

“Sure.” Michael turned around and pulled open a filing cabinet. He plucked a slim file from it, opened it on his desk and grabbed the sticky notes by his desk phone. “Here’s his address and phone number,” he said, scrawling on the note before passing it to me. He hesitated. “What reason will you give for why you’re asking? You’ve taken his class for a long time. He knows you’re not a fitness instructor.”