‘Sorry.’
‘Okay. We’d like to speak to people who attended her exercise classes. Can you give us lists of names and contact details?’
‘Sure. I can print that off for you now.’ He turns to his computer and begins mouse-clicking. ‘Do you want current ones and past ones?’
‘Please.’
‘No probs.’
While he continues to gather the data, Webley puts another question. ‘Is it all women in those classes?’
‘Mostly, but you’d be surprised. We do get a few guys turning up too. And most of them are serious about getting into shape.’
Webley frowns. ‘Most of them? But not all?’
Liam stops what he’s doing. ‘Well, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression about what we do here. But there was this one guy. To be honest, I think he only signed up to drool over the women in Lycra. Alexa, especially.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Alexa was the one who reported him. She said he wasn’t really putting the effort in, and that he was constantly eyeing up her and the other women. And then he would start coming up to her at the end of the classes and making suggestive remarks.’
‘What kind of remarks?’
Liam appears a little uncomfortable. ‘You know. Personal stuff. About her body and how she looked. About how fit and flexible she was. What she would look good wearing. That kind of thing.’
‘What happened after Alexa reported him?’
‘We kicked him out. We take stuff like that very seriously. We revoked his membership and barred him from the centre. Never saw him again after that.’
‘When was this?’
‘Oh, about two weeks ago.’ He holds up a finger while he turns to his computer again. ‘Just a sec…’
He busies himself at the keyboard again. Seconds later, a printer on top of one of the filing cabinets whirrs into life. Liam offers Webley another view of his figure-hugging shorts while he fetches the printouts. Returning to his desk, he staples the sheets together and then runs a yellow highlighter through one of the lines of text before handing the document across.
‘That’s him,’ Liam says. ‘Skinny little guy. Way out of Alexa’s league.’
6
Skinny Love
– Bon Iver
The man’s name is Toby Hooper. Although the priority for the detectives lies in tracking down Oliver Selby, they cannot ignore the possibility that Toby or someone else could have been responsible for Alexa’s murder. They go to his home that evening – a grim-looking flat above a clothes shop in Irby.
‘You should grow a beard,’ Webley says as they approach the flat’s separate door on the side of the building.
Cody turns to her. ‘Why should I grow a beard?’
‘To make you look a little older than twelve. Everyone comments on it.’
‘Can’t help it. It’s in my genes.’
‘Well, it makes me feel ancient, even though I’m younger than you.’
Cody studies the intercom box on the wall. There is no name showing. He thumbs the buzzer.
‘I had a false beard once,’ he says.
Webley laughs. ‘What? Why?’
‘It was when I was working undercover. I was pretending to be a drugs dealer who was known for his extremely bushy beard. I didn’t have time to grow a real one, so I had this fake one stuck on. Problem was, it was a really hot summer, and it melted the glue. I didn’t realise until one of the fellas I was dealing to asked me what was wrong with my beard. I told him it was a bad case of eczema.’
‘Did he believe you?’
‘Funnily enough, he was too stoned to question it.’
Cody presses the buzzer again. He is greeted over the intercom by a tentative ‘Hello?’
‘Toby Hooper?’
‘Yes.’
‘Merseyside Police. Mind if we have a word?’
‘Did you say police?’
‘That’s right.’
