Natalie drove to downtown Burning Lake in record time, found a parking space, killed the engine, and stepped out of her Honda Pilot. The rain had blown away, the sun was making dramatic exits and entrances behind the swiftly moving clouds, and the maples and oaks swayed in the cool breeze. The weather changed quickly in the spring. Upstate New York was bipolar.
Sweat Central was a popular health-and-fitness club. Her heels splashed in and out of puddles as she headed for the low flat building. The large open space was full of fitness enthusiasts gazing into the mirror-paneled walls, serious-looking runners and lifters in colorful spandex. The banner above the reception desk announced, GYM RATS WELCOME—EXTERMINATORS NOT ALLOWED. The glossy brochure beckoned: ARE YOU A WORKOUT-AHOLIC? JOIN THE SWEAT CENTRAL REVOLUTION!
She caught the attention of one of the staff, a ripped, tanned man in his midthirties who came over and said, “Hi, can I help you?”
“Detective Lockhart.” She glanced at his name tag. “I need to ask you a few questions, Anthony.”
“Sure. How can I help?” He leaned one sweaty arm on the reception counter.
“Is Brandon Buckner a member of this gym?”
He nodded. “Sure, I know Detective Buckner.”
“Was he here on Wednesday evening?”
“As far as I recall. I mean, it gets pretty busy on weekday evenings. Our peak hours are between five and eight P.M., but yeah … he was here.”
“What time did he arrive?”
“Let’s see. He came in around five thirty to do some squats and lifts.”
“Five thirty? Are you sure?”
“Well, I’m a trainer, and I have a lot of clients. It was pretty busy that night, like I said. But yeah, he was here … lifting and resting between sets. He wanted to use the squat rack, but we only have two racks, and there’s always a power struggle over who gets to use them. Most of the beefs between gym bros are over the racks.”
“Was there a confrontation that night?” she asked.
“Oh, no. Don’t get me wrong. Brandon plays by the rules.”
“Are you his trainer?”
“No, Brandon doesn’t need one. We’re gym buddies. Whenever I’m not working, I’ll spot him on the rack or something like that.”
“Did you spot him this past Wednesday?”
He shook his head. “I was jammed, like I said.”
“Where’s his locker?”
Anthony furrowed his brow. “Don’t you need a search warrant for that?”
“Just a quick look around,” Natalie suggested. “Will that be okay?”
“Sure, I guess.” He shrugged. “It’s this way.”
They passed a fresh stack of towels, water bottles, yoga mats, and a group of intensively peddling women who were using their phone apps to monitor their heart rates on the exercycles. Anthony led Natalie toward the back of the club, where the lockers and showers for customers were located. He pointed out Brandon’s locker, and she went over to inspect it. No blood smears. Nothing out of the ordinary. The door was locked.
“When you’ve spotted him in the past,” she said, “what do you two talk about?”
He shrugged. “We don’t spend a lot of time on banalities. We’re here to work out. A gym is a place to get things done.”
“So—no small talk between reps and sets?”
“Nothing memorable. Sports, NBA finals. Clean and jerk. Quads and traps.”
“Did anything unusual occur that evening?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.” He frowned and combed his hand through his short-cropped, highlighted hair. “Just busy. Like I said, peak hours.”
“What did Detective Buckner look like when he entered the building?”
“A little disheveled, wearing sweats. Why? What’s this about?”
“Just routine. Thanks for your help,” she said and left.
Natalie drove eight blocks north to the police station, where she parked around back and went inside. Right away, she noticed the low body count—half the staff was out in the field today. She poured herself a cup of coffee and took an elevator up to the third floor, where she bumped into Luke in the hallway.
“My office,” he said.
She followed him down the hallway and took a seat, while he closed the door.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked. “It’s like World War Three around here.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“I spent half the morning putting out fires.” He took a seat behind his desk, which was stacked with paperwork. “From now on, whatever you say about this case, the press is going to run with it, so act accordingly.” He took a breath. “Where were you, Natalie?”
“Talking to Brandon.”
His eyebrows lifted with surprise. “How did that happen?”
“He called this morning and asked me to meet him in Chippaway. You know the old farm he wants to buy? He told me to come alone.”
“Does his attorney know about it?”
“No.”
Luke nodded thoughtfully. “What did you two talk about?”
“He had a lead for me,” Natalie said. “A guy named Jules Pastor.”
“Yeah, I know Jules. That’s Jacob’s and Brandon’s snitch.”
“He thinks Jules might know what Riley was up to on Wednesday.”
“Okay. Pursue it. What else?”
“I asked him where he was on Wednesday, and he gave some bullshit response. First he said he was at the gym between four and six o’clock. Then he changed his story and told me he went to the gym around five. But when I spoke to one of the trainers at Sweat Central, he said Brandon showed up at five thirty. Only he couldn’t be sure, because it was a busy night.”
“Don’t they have membership verification? A mobile check-in app?”
“We’d need a warrant.”
“Okay, let’s initiate one.” Luke leaned back. “So where was Brandon between four and five thirty?”
“He says he drove up to Chippaway to check out the farm.”
Luke rubbed his lined forehead, trying to rub away all the nuisance paperwork in his mental in-box. “Did anybody see him? Did he stop for gas?”
“No. And he could’ve mentioned that right away, but he fudged the truth. He didn’t help himself today.”
“Why would he lie about it? Do you think he could’ve killed her?”
Natalie lightly touched her cheek. She experienced deep discomfort at the thought. On the surface at least, everything had come so easily for Brandon. Rich parents, classic American good looks, a sports car at sixteen, married to his high school sweetheart. He got into Cornell, where he’d majored in pre-law and finance and could’ve landed a job anywhere—the UN, Wall Street, the tech industry. His decision to become a cop had cost him dearly, creating a deep rift between him and his father, and the other recruits used to complain about Brandon’s penchant for noogies and other frat boy nonsense. But he had a solid record and a good heart. “Honestly? It raises a lot of questions, but I just don’t see him for the murder. And I’m being as objective as I know how.”
Luke rubbed his chin distractedly. “Did you tell him about the sonnets?”
“Brandon admitted their marriage was less than perfect, but he was extremely upset at the thought of Daisy’s infidelity. He seemed genuinely shocked. And if Daisy was having an affair, I doubt he knew anything about it. He also suspects Riley could’ve written those sonnets.”
“Riley was hot for teacher? What do you think?”
“It doesn’t make sense. If Riley wrote them, why would she keep them hidden in a sealed envelope? Why not show them to Seth Truitt? Why mark her calendar T and I for Tristan and Isolde?”
They sat for a moment in contemplative silence.
“Maybe Riley and Daisy were having an affair.” Luke said.
“You’re playing devil’s advocate again.”
“I’m just saying…” He shrugged and let the words sit there.
She rolled her eyes. “Anything’s possible, but I can’t imagine Daisy doing such a creepy thing. Besides, the sonnets aren’t Riley’s style. He’s into rap and hip-hop. He would’ve recorded a song in her honor, not copied from Shakespeare.”
“Maybe he did, and we don’t know about it yet.”
“I’ll talk to Kermit again. See if he has any other videos.”
“In the meantime,” Luke said, “we need to find out who Tristan is.”
“I’ll ask my sister. See if she has a clue.”
“Good. What about the traffic light cams?”
“I’m still waiting on DOT, but Lenny’s got a stack of videos from the city cams and gas stations along the route. He’s compiling a list of DMV plates and unidentifieds. Since the murder happened during rush hour, he figures we’re going to end up with hundreds of vehicles, maybe as much as a thousand.”
“Anything so far?”
“After reviewing the videos from three of the surveillance cameras within a two-mile radius of the Buckners’ residence … zero sightings of Riley’s vehicle, or the other two on our list. But we’re still in the early stages of the process.”
“How’s the canvassing going? Neighbors? Witnesses?”
She shook her head. “Nothing new to report.”
“Okay,” he said. “Go talk to Brandon’s snitch. See if he’s got anything for us.”
She got up to leave.
“And Natalie?”
She paused with her hands on the back of the chair. There was a long line of single ladies in Burning Lake who were anxious to try their luck with Luke. He stood tall, with broad shoulders, and had an intimidating look that rubbed some people the wrong way. He could be abrasive and a bit too honest, and he could bust your balls if he thought you deserved it. But in unguarded moments, whenever he smiled at Natalie like that, the warmth of his generous nature shone through.
“Keep up the good work,” he said.