The Safe Word by Karen Long

Author:Karen Long [Long, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781492801979
Published: 2014-01-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Smith liked private gyms. He particularly liked to see the women that frequented them. These were the more ethereal types of women with tiny waists, large augmented breasts and figure-hugging lycra sportswear. He was a member of the station gym but the women there were colleagues and as such could not be lusted after. In any case most of the women officers he knew could deck a man with one punch and competed for bench press tallies. He liked a less lethal and more dependent type of woman and placed the Bodyworks Gym receptionist firmly in the former category. At the sight of his badge she had rolled her eyes and scowled unpleasantly at him.

“I’m sorry, am I ruining your fabulous fucking day?” spat Smith, glaring aggressively at her.

“I’ve already spoken to your colleague,” she hissed.

“Bet you were really fucking helpful to him too.”

“Listen, I didn’t know that woman who got murdered. I confirmed that she was a member of this gym and then I introduced him to her trainer,” she said.

He leaned over the desk and met her eye. “I suspect you have heard or read that two officers were murdered last night?” Smith growled. “The information I require may have a direct bearing on that investigation.”

“Then how can I help you officer?” she said slowly.

Smith’s temper was simmering slightly below punch and arrest level. “You can tell me where Tracy Earnshaw is.”

“No I can’t because she didn’t show for her ten o’clock appointment,” replied the receptionist with an eyebrow raise implying there was a wealth of information in that last sentence which could be gleaned if only Smith were brighter or more palatable.

“Is that usual, her not showing up to work?” he asked with interest.

“Actually no. She’s pretty good at showing up. She only has a couple of clients therefore her obligations are limited,” she added knowledgeably.

“How long as she been working here?”

“Not long. Couple of months at best.”

“Give me her address,” said Smith flipping open his notebook. He detected the beginnings of a pause so stormed in quickly with, “…and I want a photo of her too.” With a twitch of her lip the receptionist stabbed the request onto her touch screen using her pen.

“I’ve got her address as 1117, Aldermaston Crescent, Barndale.”

“Uh-huh,” muttered Smith as he wrote it down. “And a photograph?” the receptionist scrolled down a couple of pages.

“Ok, we don’t appear to have a copy of her driving licence or passport by the look of things.”

“That unusual?” asked Smith.

“We keep standard passport photos of all employees so they can be transferred directly onto staff badges. There’s a memo here asking for this to be supplied.”

“When’s she due in next?”

“She’s got an eleven thirty tomorrow morning.”

“Well let’s hope I don’t have to bother you again tomorrow,” said Smith ominously, walking towards the exit.

“Mr Stringer? Malcolm Stringer?” asked Eleanor appraising the man that sat in front of her. She noted his chewed fingernails and unkempt appearance, no wonder Cassandra Willis had despaired at having him as an enforced colleague.

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