Chapter Twenty-One #2
Fifteen minutes later, they stared through the SUV’s windshield at the front to Titan Fitness. Plate glass windows across the front of the building created a fishbowl effect. A handful of clients were lifting weights.
Lance said, “I don’t see Dylan.”
“Me neither. Liv and I have been to dinner with him and Zoe a few times. He’ll recognize me.” Sharp pulled out his phone and called the gym. He asked for Dylan.
A man answered, “He’s not working today. Do you want to leave a message or send him an email?”
“I’ll send him an email,” Sharp said.
“Send it to Dylan at Titan Fitness NY dot com.”
“Thanks.” Sharp ended the call. “He’s not there.
” He scanned the gym’s interior. The woman at the counter looked like she’d marinated in self-tanner.
Her skin was dyed the color of a brown paper bag.
“Let’s take a dual approach. I’ll ask about personal training.
I’d really like to get a look at the back rooms in case Dylan has a locker or desk or something.
” He glanced at Lance. His biceps were the size of baby heads.
“No one would believe you’d need a personal trainer since you already look like one.
Do you think you can distract the woman at the desk? ”
“I can try.” Lance underestimated his appeal. He looked like a Hollywood action movie star. You couldn’t take him out in public without women—and men—staring at him.
“Flex something.”
“Everyone in there is flexing something,” Lance said.
“But they don’t look like Brad Pitt’s better-looking brother.” Sharp opened his car door. “Give me five minutes, then come in and work your magic.”
He crossed the parking lot and opened the glass door. A chime sounded as he stepped inside.
Titan Fitness was a hardcore bodybuilder gym with a combination of free weights and machines in the main space.
In the corner, a heavy bag hung from the ceiling.
Racks held medicine balls and kettlebells.
A row of cardio machines lined the rear wall, but they didn’t look like they got much use.
Sharp watched a grunting guy clean press a stack of weights the size of a Volkswagen.
The cords of his neck looked like bridge cables. Lance should fit right in.
Sharp approached the desk.
The tanned woman smiled, revealing blindingly white teeth. She was about fifty, with a body that said she trained hard. The name tag pinned over the Titan Fitness logo read Heather. “Can I help you?”
“Hi, Heather. I’m interested in personal training. Can you help me?”
Heather nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. We have several really good trainers on staff. You’d have to join, though. Training is only available to members.”
“Of course,” Sharp said.
Heather pulled out a trifold brochure and set it on the counter in front of him. Placing reading glasses on her nose, she picked up a pen and circled some numbers. “Here’s our monthly payment plan, but you can get a twenty percent discount if you pay for the whole year up front.”
Sharp made a noncommittal noise.
Heather opened the brochure flat. “Here are the gym hours and a list of our trainers. You can go to our website and look up their bios to see what each of them specializes in.” She peered at him over the glasses and gave him a once-over.
“You don’t look like a beginner. Have you worked with weights before? ”
“Yes, but I’m old-school.” Sharp’s workout plan of push-ups, sit-ups, and running hadn’t changed much in the last thirty years. He’d added a little yoga since dating Olivia.
“I hear ya,” Heather said. “I didn’t start lifting until five years ago.” She lifted an arm and made a muscle. She might be able to kick his ass.
“Impressive,” he said.
“Thanks.” She beamed. Closing the brochure, she gestured behind her. “We have a sauna and a tanning bed in the back near the locker rooms.”
The chime sounded behind him. Sharp turned to see Lance enter the gym.
Aaaand Heather lost all interest in Sharp. “Excuse me. Why don’t you look this over while I help him.”
Sharp picked up the brochure. “OK if I take a look around?”
“Sure.” Heather didn’t even look back as she turned to Lance. “Can I help you?”
Unfolding the brochure and pretending to scan its contents, Sharp drifted away from the counter.
He wandered around the main space, checking out the treadmills.
He’d thought about joining a gym once, to avoid running in the worst of winter.
But impersonating a hamster wasn’t his thing.
He glanced back. Heather was in Lance’s thrall, so Sharp ambled down the corridor that led to the locker rooms. There were a couple of glass-walled offices back there as well, but a short, jacked dude sat in one of them, talking on his phone. So Sharp couldn’t have a look-see.
He went into the locker room, brochure in hand.
No one was in there, but it smelled like sweat and fungus.
He glanced at the showers and the sauna.
There wasn’t a pair of shower shoes thick enough to get Sharp’s bare feet onto that moldy tile.
Titan could use a few gallons of bleach.
He might disinfect the soles of his sneakers when he got home.
He scanned the rows of lockers. Most were empty, with a half dozen bearing locks, likely being used by the people on the floor.
The lockers in the last row were labeled with initials.
Sharp guessed only the staff could keep their crap in lockers when they weren’t on the premises.
From the variety of locks that secured them, he assumed it was a bring-your-own situation.
His gaze froze on a label marked DS. Dylan Sanders?
Sharp’s lockpick was burning a hole in his wallet.
He listened. No breathing. No footsteps nearby.
He slid his lockpick out of his wallet and went to work.
He opened Dylan’s locker in twenty seconds.
Inside, he found spare clothes and shoes.
A cardboard shoebox sat on the skinny top shelf.
Sharp photographed it, then pulled it down and lifted the lid.
Scraps of silk and cotton? Panties. Women’s panties.
For fuck’s sake.
Were these Dylan’s conquests?
Sharp used his phone to snap a photo of the inside of the box.
Then he’d almost closed the lid when he spotted something shiny.
A plastic bag peeked out from under the panties.
Sharp pulled a nitrile glove from his pocket and put it on.
It paid to be prepared. He lifted the baggie clear of the box.
It was filled with white powder. Sharp couldn’t take the bag.
It was evidence. If he took it, then it was compromised.
He could make an anonymous call to the SFPD, but what if it was laundry detergent, baking soda, or something equally innocuous? Only one way to find out.
He pulled out a second glove, opened the baggie, and tipped a small amount of the powder into the glove. Then he tied off the wrist opening. If the powder was what he thought it was . . .
He didn’t need to cross that bridge just yet.
Footsteps approached in the hall. Sharp returned the baggie to the box, the box to the locker, and secured the lock on the outside.
Then he ducked into the bathroom, shoved the purple glove he’d been wearing into his pocket, and washed his hands.
The guy who’d been powerlifting walked in and nodded to him.
Sharp nodded back and left the locker room. Heather was giving Lance a personal tour, leading him by the elbow. Was she petting his biceps?
Sharp waved on his way out. “Thanks, Heather. I’ll get back to you.”
Heather waved back absently. Hanging on Lance’s arm, she did not give one fuck if she ever saw Sharp again.
He went outside. He didn’t have a key to the SUV, and it wouldn’t do to have him and Lance get into the vehicle together.
Heather would be watching Lance until he was out of her sight.
He walked around the corner and waited. Five minutes later, Lance pulled up, and Sharp stepped into the passenger seat.
“Did you find anything?” Lance asked.
Sharp closed the door and told Lance about the contents of Dylan’s locker. “Guess what was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
Sharp dangled the glove in front of him. “A bag of white powder.”
“Bodybuilders take all kinds of protein powders and supplements.”
“This is true, but why would he keep protein powder in a baggie inside a box full of panties?”
Lance pulled away from the curb. “That is suspicious.”
“We’ll send it to the lab for testing.”
“We can pick up some drink-testing strips at the drugstore too.”
“Good idea,” Sharp said.
Lance frowned. “Dylan was hitting up a younger woman at a bar. Maybe he does that regularly. Do you think the panties represent his conquests?”
“At first, that’s exactly what I thought.
He couldn’t keep them at home, obviously.
The apartment is small. Zoe might find them.
” Sharp set the glove of powder in the console.
“But then I wondered if the powder is GHB. Bodybuilders take that too. In small amounts, it’s supposed to deepen sleep and enhance muscle growth.
Unfortunately, the benefits are short-lived. ”
“So, if he has GHB on hand, he might also give it to the women he ‘dates’?” Lance made air quotes with his fingers over the steering wheel.
“It crossed my mind,” Sharp agreed.
“If so, is it a coincidence that Dylan was in the same bar as Nicki the night she was drugged?”
Sharp shrugged. “Maybe the GHB was intended for the young woman he was interested in.” Mentally, he replayed the bar surveillance video. “She was also drinking beer.”
Lance exhaled hard. “Maybe the panties aren’t his conquests. Maybe they’re his trophies.”
Sharp considered the box in Dylan’s locker. “There had to be a dozen pairs of underwear in that box.”
Could Dylan be a serial rapist?
And did Zoe suspect or even know? If she did, Dylan could be the person she was running from.
“Olivia wants to go to Summerton tomorrow,” Sharp said. “She has a lead on Zoe.”
“OK. I can keep looking for Dylan, if you want to go with her.”
“Thanks.” Since her kidnapping, Sharp tried to play it cool, but he obsessed about her safety. He hadn’t found love until later in life, and he wouldn’t lose her now. “Olivia’s smart. She can handle herself.”
“But?”
“No buts about that,” Sharp said. “It’s my concern for her that isn’t entirely rational.”
“I get that.” Lance nodded. “I feel the same way about Morgan. You go with Olivia. Don’t worry about Dylan. I’ll find that scumbag.”