flashed a card, same as you. But I can’t remember what was on it. Very polite, he was.’
‘What did they want?’
‘They said they needed to contact her. . something about insurance, I think. I figured they were sales reps. Anyway, I told them she hadn’t been around for a while and I didn’t know when she would be back.’ He looked between them, his forehead beaded with perspiration. ‘Did I do the wrong thing?’
‘Not yet,’ said Harry heavily. ‘What did they look like?’
‘Like I said, smart, wearing suits and that. They were both tanned, like they’d been on holiday. The quiet one was a bit of a bruiser; big guy. Didn’t really look like a rep, now I think about it. I didn’t notice anything else.’
‘They have a car?’
‘No idea. They walked down the street, that’s all I know.’
‘What about her mail?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Miss Archer’s post,’ Rik said clearly. ‘There was none in her flat. She must have had something, even if it was only junk. What did you do with it?’
McCulloch gestured towards a half-moon table against one wall. ‘All the mail for tenants is left here, so they can sort through it. They take what’s useful and leave the rubbish. Anything addressed to Joanne, I’d do it for her. She was OK about me doing that — not that she got much. . maybe two a week at most.’ He licked his lips. ‘I suppose I should have taken it in.’
‘Should have?’ Rik’s voice dropped to a dangerous low and McCulloch blanched, reaching out a restraining hand as if he was about to get hit.
‘
They left McCulloch and walked back to the car, trying to figure out who or what Joanne Archer was, why she led such a Spartan lifestyle, and why she should attract official-sounding visitors in suits.
‘Do you believe the bit about the sneak thief?’ asked Rik.
‘No. Archer’s been back. I wonder why the secrecy, though, if she’s all paid up?’
They followed McCulloch’s directions and found Park’s Gym at the end of a cul-de-sac backing on to a small commercial estate. The area was tired and rundown, a backwater overlooked by local civic development plans and left to rot. The gym was a two-storey brick structure which might once have been a garage and showroom. A single door with the word ENTRANCE invited visitors to enter.
The air inside reeked of stale bodies, dust and industrial-strength deodorant in equal measures. The clang of weights echoed from behind a wooden door on the ground floor. Upstairs, a loudspeaker hammered out a disco track. A door marked ‘CHANGING — MEN’ stood off to one side, with a similar sign for women pointing upstairs.
They pushed through the wooden door and found themselves in a large, brightly lit room filled with weights, exercise machinery and a fight ring. The walls were lined with mirrors reflecting half a dozen men of varying ages undergoing several kinds of self-induced torture. The atmosphere was stale and heavy, a place dedicated to pain and effort rather than leisure.
A stocky individual in a cutaway vest and sloppy training pants left one of the weight benches and walked across to greet them. He had a bald head and an unshaven chin, and had clearly spent his life working weights, the muscles on his arms and chest like tattooed slabs of meat. He measured the two men with a professional gaze and lifted his chin. ‘Hi. I’m Danny Park. Can I help?’ He eyed them without a flicker of welcome, balanced and solid, relaxed.
‘We hope so,’ said Harry. ‘We’re looking for Joanne Archer. I gather she’s a member.’
They waited while the information was processed. A few of the men in the background had stopped training and stood watching. None of them looked particularly friendly. The sound of the music upstairs thumped through the ceiling, punctuated by the repeated clang of weights from the far end of the gym.
‘Who wants to know?’ Park said at last.
Harry didn’t think flashing any ID would impress the man, so he nodded to Rik to show him the membership card from Archer’s flat. ‘She hasn’t been home and her friends are worried. We’ve been asked to look for her.’
Park looked sceptical. ‘You’re not police — so what are you?’
‘We look for people. People who go missing.’
‘Yeah?’ Park pursed his lips and seemed to find the answer acceptable. He barely looked at the membership card. ‘That’s well out of date. Current colour’s green. She hasn’t been here for a bit. You think she’s in trouble?’
‘That’s what we’d like to find out.’ Harry bent to a rack of hand weights and picked up a ten-pound dumb-bell, turning it over as easily as he would have handled a bar of chocolate. ‘I really need to get back into this. I miss the burn, y’know?’ He replaced the weight on the rack with a faint chink. It wasn’t true — he’d never seen the point — but the lie came easily.
‘You should come here, then. We’re always on the lookout for more mature members.’ Park flashed a line of white teeth to show he was joking.
‘I might do that. So. . Joanne.’ He raised his eyebrows.
Park turned and shouted, ‘Anyone seen Jo recently?’ When nobody replied, he turned back and said, ‘Sorry — they’re not the most talkative bunch. They’ll have you two down as cops.’
‘Can you tell us anything about her? It might help,’ Harry said.
‘Sure. She’s a good kid. Tough. Came here to keep fit. Not that she wasn’t already fitter than most of these sad sacks.’ He smiled dreamily. ‘Fitter than a lot of the guys I used to train, actually.’
Harry looked at the tattoos, which included a set of faded wings. ‘Paras?’
‘Used to be. Ten years and counting. Wish I was still in, tell you the truth.’
He was interrupted from further reminiscing by a boy in his teens who ambled across from a punchbag in one corner. He wore scrappy tracksuit bottoms and a pair of training gloves, and his chest was narrow and pale, but taut with muscle. In spite of his youth, he already had the battered look of someone who would never reach the top of his game, and his eyes held the slow vague expression of someone who’d taken too many punches.
‘I seen her.’
‘What’s that, Hughie?’ Park’s voice was surprisingly gentle, as if talking to a child.
‘I seen her,’ Hughie repeated. ‘I seen Jo.’ He smiled, then frowned, emotions overlapping, and ripped back the Velcro strap on one of his training gloves. He picked at a stray length of cotton as if he’d already forgotten what he was saying.
‘Where did you see her, Hughie?’ Park prompted him. ‘Where’d you see Jo?’
‘Battersea,’ replied Hughie after some thought. ‘At the weekend. I remember, it was Park Road. Park Road, see?’ He smiled self-consciously, proud at making the word connection.
‘Battersea.’ Danny Park gave the two men a quick look. ‘That’s a long way from here, Hughie. What were you doing down in Battersea?’
‘Seeing my dad, wasn’t I? He lives down that way. . back of Latchmere Road.’ He smiled vaguely at the memory and rubbed the knuckles of the gloves together. ‘I think it was her, anyway. I said hi, but she didn’t say nothing.’
‘What was Jo doing, Hughie?’ said Rik. ‘When you saw her?’
The youth glanced at Park before answering. ‘Nothing. Walking. I know it was her because of her pink bag.’ He shrugged like it was no big deal. ‘Maybe she didn’t see me. She’d have spoke, otherwise, wouldn’t she?’
Park explained, ‘She had a sports bag with bits of pink. . what d’you call it — piping — round the edges. The lads had a good laugh when she first brought it in. One of ’em said it was a big girlie bag and she was turning into a right pussy.’ He smiled. ‘She got him in the ring after and kicked the crap out of him. Man, it was great.’
Hughie nodded shyly in agreement, then eyed the two men carefully and waved a gloved hand towards the punchbag. ‘C’n I go now?’
Park nodded and clapped Hughie on the shoulder. ‘Sure, off you go. Thanks, Hughie.’ He waited for the young man to move out of earshot, then said quietly, ‘Hughie had a thing for Jo. Thought she was a princess. She was always nice to him when others weren’t. If you go on what he says, you’re welcome, but don’t rely on it too much. He got knocked down by a car when he was a kid. He’s fine, mostly. But he has. . lapses.’
