Nine Lives by Anita Waller (best english books to read .txt) 📗

everybody was there doing what they wanted to do to get fit, and, as you said, I was the only one who was a fraud.’

Erica sipped at her coffee, knowing she felt exactly the same as Flick. She knew Frannie enjoyed a workout but it certainly had never developed into an obsession, it was more a way of filling in time if she went into work early, or she used the gym as a de-stresser at the end of the day. With this case, her own exercise had been a mixture of wading and stumbling through flooding river waters, clambering up riverbank sides, and walking endless stretches of the river, seeking inspiration.

‘So you’re going back?’

‘Possibly, but it might have to be more official because I don’t think I can get away with walking around that coffee shop pretending I’m not an idiot who simply wants to talk to people because I’m lonely.’ She grinned. ‘You see, I managed to prove today in one fell swoop that the attendance record meant absolutely nothing.’

‘What?’

‘It seems that The Coffee Pot is a privately owned part of the gym, who pay rent to the gym I suspect, for the use of their premises. In other words, you have to sign in to go into the gym to comply with their strict health and safety rules, but obviously you don’t have to sign in anywhere to go for a cup of coffee. Anybody can wander through that reception area and go for a drink. I did. I went to sign in because she’d explained about the importance of signing the book that was always on the desk, and she said no. If all I wanted was a coffee I went and ordered one. So I did. And met the lovely Robert.’

‘Tell me more.’

‘Not much more to tell. I ordered a coffee, did some people-watching with the eight others who were there, and left at the same time as Robert. We chatted as we walked down towards the car park, and he was saying his office is about five minutes away. He carried on and I went to my car. I got the impression that more people who aren’t gym members use the coffee shop, than people who are, but this leaves it wide open, doesn’t it? Our first four victims are all gym members, but our killer doesn’t have to have any connection to the gym. She could have chatted to them in the coffee shop, and because she was a woman, possibly a personable woman who can put them at their ease, they grew to like her. And they’d get into her car without thinking twice about it.’

‘Shit,’ Erica said. ‘Shit, shit, shit. Just when things felt as though they were getting clearer…’

‘Sorry, boss.’

‘Brilliant job, Flick. And I think you’re reading it right. What time does the coffee shop close?’

‘Opens at eight for breakfasts, closes at eight at night.’

Erica drifted into thought, and Flick finished her KitKat.

‘Talk me through the people who were there,’ Erica said, sitting higher in her chair as though she’d suddenly come alive. She brushed off a piece of chocolate from her white blouse.

‘There were eight, as I said. I made the ninth, but I sat at a table on my own. There were too many empty tables for me to justify sitting with someone and starting up a conversation.’ She took out her notebook before continuing. ‘Okay, nobody was with anybody else. They were all on individual tables. One woman and one man were working on laptops, and both seemed on really good terms with the staff so I’m assuming they maybe do a lot of work in there. Robert was reading a paper, possibly The Telegraph because it was big, and having his lunch. A panini, but I don’t know what was on it.’

‘Epic fail then,’ Erica said with a grin. ‘Carry on.’

Three women were reading, one with a real book called Resistance – I’ve looked it up, it’s by Patricia Dixon – and two with Kindles. Other brands are available.’ She spluttered with laughter before returning to her notebook. ‘I don’t know what the Kindle readers were reading. The remaining two were men. One was on his own phone texting and sighing, and the other sat looking fed up and drinking his coffee. He left first, after about ten minutes. I had a coffee, but I promise my Kindle never left my bag.’

‘So you sat and surveyed them?’ Erica kept her face straight.

‘I did. Dragged my coffee out a bit, it was cold by the time I got up to follow Robert.’

‘Might have looked less suspicious if you’d taken out your Kindle. Only saying…’

The report from Ivor referencing the autopsy performed on Victoria Urland was still waiting in Erica’s inbox, and she finally clicked on it to open it.

It was much the same as the others; strangled by a ligature, once again a pair of tights being used for something they were never intended to be used for. Propofol was present, this time in a slightly larger quantity, and the deceased had given birth within the last four weeks. She thought of the tiny baby whose grandparents had brought him into the station to tell them his mummy hadn’t arrived home from a bonfire, and she felt grief. A little boy never knowing his mummy, grandparents having to start raising a child when they were at the age when they could expect to have the benefits of a grandchild, someone to love, play with, spoil rotten, and return home to his mummy at the end of it. Their lives would change immeasurably.

Little Noah Urland would live with photographs of Victoria, and not her arms wrapped around him constantly.

The time of death had been estimated at eight to ten o’clock that bonfire evening, and Erica wondered why she should be in the killer’s car at that time. Surely the bonfire wasn’t over? Even ten was an early hour for an adult attended bonfire to finish. It was a