The late-middle-aged man’s body lay on a bench with a large barbell balanced across his crushed throat.  His shirt was discarded untidily a short distance away, near the cross-trainers.  His trousers had been dumped nearer the door on one of the rowing machines.  He still wore one brown loafer, with the other discarded at the end of the bench.  His socks were a mustard yellow, patterned with black and white footballs.

This was PC Patrick O’Shay’s first suspicious death scene, so Detective Inspector Peter Van Niessan tried to ease the feelings of horror with a touch of dark humour.  “What d’you reckon, Patrick?  Run over by a bus?”  

Patrick O’Shay's sandy hair framed a babyish face, but Van Niessan reckoned there was a smart brain inside and had spoken to his superiors about trying him out on something above his current pay grade, as a detective.

The young PC gave his boss a sideways glance and looked away.to hide his smirk.  “Alligator bite’s my guess.”

Peter Van Niessan was impressed.

Jennifer Sterling was already a detective sergeant, and a competent one at that, but she was standing back, avoiding looking at the body.

“Morning, Peter.”  Dr Bob Robertson breezed into the Gym and came over to inspect his patient.  “Won't have any trouble qualifying for a death certificate, this one.”  He sucked in a breath.  “At least he shouldn’t have stayed alive long enough to feel that pain.”

Bob put down his case and took out a pad of certificates.  “Got a name?”

Jennifer Sterling had just fished a wallet out of the body’s trouser pocket.  “Here.”  She walked towards the doctor.  “Better give this to you.”  DS Sterling was wearing standard-issue crime scene gloves and booties, as well as her usual trouser suit and blouse.

As the doctor wrote and examined, a photographer started to take pictures of the entire scene.

DI Van Niessan stood watching the doctor.  "He was locked in, lights dimmed in the normal way.  The cleaner let herself in with a key this morning around 6.30 and found him in here.”

“Right.  If you can check what keys were supposed to be where.  Any that were left on the premises last night, I’ll need to check for prints and DNA.”  He turned to the photographer.  “Did you catch that?  Pics of locks, please.”

“Yup.  got it.”

DS Sterling was walking around the room, looking carefully but not touching.  Patrick O’Shay had copied her lead, but just in the area of the bench and weights.

“I’ve got my own snaps,” said Van Niessan.  “Anything obvious that we should know before we leave you to it?  Looks like rigor’s set in, so have you got an estimated time of death?”

After some more touching and sucking in of breath, the Doctor said he thought the man had probably been dead since around 11.00 pm to 1.00 am.

The DI took a brief look around.  “Found anything, Jennifer?”

“Nothing, Sir.”

“How about you, O’Shay?  Anything strike you as useful to us?  Don’t be afraid to mention anything that could help.  It’s better to say something that’s not relevant than fear embarrassment and keep quiet.”

“Only the obvious question, Boss.  What the fuck went on here?”

Peter Van Niessan smiled wryly.  “Right, let’s get on and ask some questions.”

 

 

As Lucy Twelvetrees swung into the car park, she saw it wasn’t a normal Friday 8 am at Wallyborough Leisure Centre.  All three managers’ cars were there, unusually, and a few others.  Near the main entrance was a marked police car, a small similarly coloured van signed “Forensics” and a couple of unmarked cars in the disabled bays. Backed up to the main entrance was a black van with a crest on its door and “HM Coroner” displayed modestly across its side.

Parking not too close, Lucy got out and walked along the edge of the car park, by the wall, not wanting to be noticeable, hoping to look respectful.  She turned ninety degrees by the side vehicular access, past the pretty little patch of garden with its red and white geraniums, catching sight of an unknown man through the window.   He looked to be fiftyish, neat brown hair and a suit and tie, seated at the coffee table in William’s office.  She couldn’t see whom he was talking to.

Lucy couldn’t see much inside the main office as she passed either, due to the ugly vertical blinds.  She stepped as lightly as she could, her heart hammering, past the frosted glass of the cash office, and turned left...

Oh my god.  A body.

Icy fingers grasped her gut as she saw the black body bag being transported from the building to the coroner’s van on a trolley. Reflexively she bowed her head.

 

Entering Reception, she saw her line manager, Steve Balls, and a young woman police officer sat on the easy chairs.  She looked from one to the other.  “Do I... ?”

“No need to clock in, Lucy,” said the dashing, athletic, but not always nice, manager Steve.  “We won’t be opening to the public today.”  He glanced at the uniformed woman sat near him.  She stood up and stepped towards Lucy.

“Hello, Lucy.  My name is PC Zuri Timani.  I’m afraid to tell you that a deceased person was found in the gym this morning.  Steve tells me he wasn’t a member of staff.”

Lucy realised she’d been holding her breath and let it out on hearing the last part.

“Come and sit down,” said PC Timani.

Steve was far from Lucy’s favourite person lately, so she sat at the other end of the small cluster of seats; yet she was glad to have a familiar face nearby.

The officer took out her notepad and pencil and angled herself towards Lucy.  “If you could just give me your name and address, please...”

“Lucy Twelvetrees, number one The Cottages, Timberleys Lane, Wallyborough.”

“Thank you.  And Steve tells me you’re in charge of children’s activities, is that right?”

“Well, some, yes.  I don’t have anything to do with the private clubs, like trampolining and gymnastics... But I’m the Co-ordinator for the children’s services run by the Centre itself.  The Creche, the Jungle Gym – that's a soft play area, the Bounce and Balance sessions...“  Lucy realised she was waffling and stopped talking, her cheeks turned red.

“Right, with you,” said Zuri Timani.  “So you don’t work in the gym at all?”

“No.  I use it.  Centre staff are allowed to for free.  But I never do any shifts in there.”

“Do you have anything to do with locking up the premises?”

“Only the Creche and the Jungle Gym... tea rooms if they’re set up and I’m doing a party, that kind of thing.”

“So not the main doors, or the gym?”

“No.”

“Just one more thing, then I’ll let you do what you need to do..  Do you know Mike Crawshaw?”

Lucy pressed her lips together in thought and slowly shook her head.  “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

And with that Lucy was allowed to go home.

 

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Lucy was able to find out more about what had happened, after news articles started to appear online following a press release from the police.

She had put some dinner on to cook and opened her laptop again on the kitchen table.  Her quite tall, quite handsome, brown-haired and bearded husband came in just as she had logged onto the Argus website and found the headline.

“Hey Ben, it’s the main headline in the Argus now.  ‘Dead body found in Wallyborough Leisure Centre this morning... in the gym... Name not yet released... Cause of death... treated as suspicious’.”

Ben put down his rucksack and kissed Lucy’s auburn head.  “You okay about this now?”

She turned and smiled up at him.  “At least I didn’t see it... Well, outside a zipped black bag.  I’ve been more curious since I phoned you.  I’ve been messaging with Ayesha and Pam, and Marta, and Carl.  Sounds a bit heartless, but it’s better than bottling it up inside and imagining all sorts.”

“That’s true.  It’s normal to want to find out about it, talk about it when something horrible happens.  You know, like if there’s something awful in the news, and they just keep on about it for hours, and you can’t help but listen.”

“Hm, suppose as they say, it’s good to talk when you lose someone, get past the shock phase, an’ all that.”

Lucy watched Ben swirl the kettle to check it had water in it and put it on to boil, but her mind was back to what Marta had told her.

“Coffee?” said Ben.

“Er, yes.  Lovely, thanks.  There was one thing that my mind keeps jumping back to and I have to try to visualise it, but I don’t want to...”

Ben put the coffee canister on the workbench and looked at his wife.  “What’s that, love?”

“It’s pretty gruesome.”  Lucy’s amber eyes gazed into Ben’s brown ones.  “Marta opened the cafe for drinks for managers and police and so on, and the cleaner who’d found the body came in and talked to her about it.”  Lucy gave a stiff little smile.  “Like we were just saying, I suppose... the need to talk.  Anyway... the guy had stripped off his shirt and trousers, and was lying on the bench press thingy, and... he had a big barbell...”  Lucy waved a finger across her throat.  “Dropped.  Here.  Well, who knows if he dropped it or what...”  Lucy stood up suddenly.  “I’ve put a quiche in the oven and done new potatoes.  Want some salad with that?”

Ben came over and hugged her, and she cried until she had desensitised herself from the gruesome image in her head.

“It’s typical of that place, isn’t it?  I told you the doors were locked, didn’t I, on the phone?  But just goes to show how thoroughly they check the place before locking up and going home – not.”

“Why, Lucy, are you implying your place of work is badly run?  Never!”

Lucy put the chopping board on the counter and took a knife out of the drawer.  “Hah.  Mind you, it was a cleaner who found the bloke, so at least there was the intention to clean the gym.”

“That’s something.  But best be careful what we say in case the girls come down.”

“They’re at Sophie’s house.”

“Oh yeah.  Thought they were quiet.  Table for two, then, madam?”  Ben took a couple of place mats and coasters over to the table. “Anyway, I’m glad you were spared a morning working with the Creche Coven.  Got to be a plus.”

“Dead body saves Creche Supervisor from breakdown.  I can just see that as a headline in the Argus.”

“Saves Creche Supervisor’s husband from an ulcer – sub-heading.”