First thing that morning, when Archie had left to play rugby, it had still been dark beyond the curtained portholes but Cassie hadn’t been able to get back to sleep, images of Sean’s over-pumped legs, arms and trapezius playing on a mental loop. So in the end she’d given up and, opening her email, pulled up the images from the PM report.
‘I’m annoyed with myself that I didn’t clock it earlier,’ she told Flyte now. ‘Acne and stretch marks are classic side effects of anabolic steroid abuse.’
‘If you’re right, could it have been a factor in his death?’
‘No.’ Cassie shook her head. ‘The PM found no evidence of any of the serious side effects like heart disease, atherosclerosis, or hepatitis steatosis.’
Flyte fixed her with a steel-blue gaze. ‘In English, please?’
‘Uh, sorry, arterial plaque build-up or fatty liver. But Sean was young and it can take years of abuse before any damage becomes detectable.’
‘Doesn’t it alter mood?’ said Flyte.
Cassie tapped at her phone. ‘I did a bit of research into that. No one’s run a large-scale study but some steroid abusers do report having bursts of irrational anger. It’s called “’roid rage”.’
‘OK,’ said Flyte, rubbing her brow with long fingers. ‘Maybe he got into a fight with a jealous boyfriend or husband, which could explain the blow that fractured his sternum.’
‘If Sean had been caught with steroids, I’m guessing as a cop he’d be in big trouble?’ asked Cassie.
‘Absolutely. You can’t be prosecuted for taking them, but selling them is a crime. Simply by buying them Sean would have been guilty of knowingly engaging in an illegal transaction. He’d have been sacked, no question.’
‘Which could explain why he called himself Shane at the gym, to hide the fact that he was a cop,’ said Cassie. ‘Maybe his dealer found out who he was and started blackmailing him?’
Flyte made a non-committal gesture but Cassie could read her better these days. ‘You’ve got an idea who was flogging him the gear, haven’t you?’
She was saved from answering by her phone going off – a cascade of chiming bells – but after checking the screen she killed it.
Her gaze returned to Cassie. ‘Please tell me the tox screen will automatically pick up steroids?’
Cassie shook her head. ‘You’ll need to request specific tests on Sean’s urine and hair samples for half a dozen different steroids. And they’re not cheap.’ Seeing Flyte’s face fall she asked, ‘I’m guessing the authorisation has to come from that twat Willets, right?’
Flyte made a grimace of agreement. ‘He’ll probably say I’m flying a kite. And it won’t help that the idea came from you. He already thinks we’re in cahoots.’
Cassie tried not to smile at the old-school phrase.