“Right.”

  “Or there’s hiding it where you might not see it immediately, but if someone did, they wouldn’t think twice about it being there.”

  “Like a toolbox.”

  “Or a refuse room.”

  “Where all the garbage goes.”

  I nodded and headed back toward the loading dock.

  “There’s a problem with your theory,” she said. “We took all the cans from the locker rooms. There wasn’t one missing. Four in the men’s, four in the women’s.”

  “Let’s assume that Forrest was killed in the men’s. You have to hide the can you used. But you know that four cans in the men’s and five in the women’s might look wrong. What do you do?”

  “You take one from the women’s, just to even out the numbers.”

  We got to the steps, and I saw Amanda Swaggert standing on the dock, looking at her watch. She saw us and put her arms out.

  “Sorry to keep you,” I said.

  “The session is about to begin. I’ve got plates to juggle.”

  “Won’t take a second. I just need that door unlocked.” I nodded at the double doors to the refuse room.

  Amanda took out a ring of keys, which I remembered well. Front of house there were lots of magnetic entry pads and other technology, but back of house it was all old-school keys and locks.

  She unlocked the room. I pulled one door open and hit the light switch. The lights flickered to life as if roused from bed, revealing cinderblock walls and a long row of metal dumpsters. They were all green with black plastic lids.

  Faust stepped into the room and looked it over. “Dumpsters. Tough to drown a guy in a dumpster.”

  I had to agree. I thought I was onto something. It felt like the puzzle was coming together. Faust walked back out, and I was about to follow when I had an idea. Not so much a light bulb as a flickering fluorescent tube. I moved to the back of the room, right behind the row of dumpsters. There was a space between the last one and the wall.

  Two blue recycling cans with wheels were tucked in there.

  I smiled and used my finger to beckon Faust. She came over and put her hands on her hips.

  “You might not be as bad at this as everyone says,” she said.

  “Who says I’m bad at this?”

  “I was getting the impression that you wandered around bumping into stuff until you got lucky.”

  “There may be some validity to that.”

  Faust strode away. As she reached the door, she told Amanda Swaggert that she needed the door locked and that nobody was to enter the refuse area until her people arrived.

  “We’re going to need to take those cans for analysis,” she said.

  “As you wish.”

  I stepped out, and Amanda locked up. Faust walked away to call someone to collect two more wheeled recycling cans. I thanked Amanda and told her she could get on with her business.

  As Faust finished her call, my phone bleeped. I read the text message.

  “It’s from Beccy Williams,” I said.

  “She has a new bikini for you to inspect?”

  “No. But Alan Notley is in the building.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Faust knocked on the door of a suite, and a server opened up. The detective flashed her badge, and I followed her in.

  Alan Notley wasn’t hard to spot in a fire engine red blazer with a pink pocket square that shouldn’t have worked together but did. He was in a tight clutch of people all holding flutes of champagne. One of the group noticed us and broke away. She was an older woman with a tight smile and pearls around her neck. She didn’t seem pleased to see us despite the face.

  “This is a private suite,” she said.

  Faust hadn’t put her badge away, so she flashed it again. “Detective Faust, Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office.”

  “I see.”

  “I need to speak with Mr. Alan Notley.”

  “This is not a good time. The events are about to begin.”

  “This is a homicide investigation.”

  “I’m sure, but we have sponsors here.”

  “You want me to say the word homicide a little louder?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Then if Mr. Notley would prefer to do this at the Gun Club Road detention center, I’m happy to oblige.”

  The words gun club made her cheeks fall. The mention of a detention center saw the jaw take the expression all the way down.

  “What is it, darling?” Alan Notley called from the group.

  “It’s nothing, Not.”

  As she stepped away, Faust and I looked at each other and I knew we were sharing the same thought.

  Not.

  Forrest Simpson had made a note in his diary app that we hadn’t understood.

  Not affair w/ EG. Me too!

  Now we knew what Not meant, but the me too part still evaded me.

  The woman whispered into Notley’s ear. He glanced our way then excused himself from his guests and came over to us.

  I pegged him at around sixty years old, but he was so clean shaven that his skin looked newborn new. Perhaps he had recently removed a beard. His hair had no part and was immaculate, and he smelled like a rose garden. He shook hands with fingers so soft I had to check if he was wearing gloves.

  “Alan Notley,” he said with an insincere smile.

  “Detective Faust.” She didn’t introduce me at all, and I wondered if that signified my standing in the investigation or if it was a tactic to unsettle Notley. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

  Notley checked out our surroundings. It didn’t take long.

  “I have use of a suite just down the hall,” said Faust.

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “I’m happy to talk about your affair here if you wish.”

  The smile vanished. “I’ll just let my wife know we’re stepping out.” He moved back and spoke to the woman who had intercepted us. She assumed host duties by offering the sponsors more champagne.

  We sat in the lounge chairs in the same suite I’d been in several times over the previous days. I got comfortable beside Faust, who was opposite Notley. He got straight to business.

  “Now, I don’t know what you’ve heard.”

  “I’ve heard you had an affair,” said Faust, returning his serve with interest.

  “That’s slanderous.”

  “Only if it’s wrong. And it’s not, is it, Mr. Notley.”

  He sucked in a deep breath with his mouth open like a fish. “I trust that this can remain between friends.”

  “This is a homicide investigation. I can’t promise you that. But I can assure you that we don’t release details of an investigation to the public without cause.”

  “Without cause? What does that mean?”

  “It means if you killed Forrest Simpson, then all will be revealed in a courtroom, but if you didn’t, then your guilt is your own to deal with.”

  “I have nothing to be ashamed of, and I certainly didn’t kill poor Forrest. I wasn’t even here.”

  “That’s odd, isn’t it? You’re the chairman of the national swimming body and you don’t go to the team selection trials?”

  “I had sponsor business to attend.”

  “Where?”

  “Atlanta.”

  “And someone can verify this?”

  “Any number of people at Coca-Cola.”

  “Handy.”

  “What is?”

  “A ready-made alibi. It’s almost like you thought of it ahead of time.”

  “I did not kill Forrest Simpson, and if you continue implying such, I will have to call my attorney. In fact, perhaps I should do that now.”

  “That’s your prerogative, sir. But I was eager to keep this meeting informal. You know, no written record of this affair you had.”

  Notley pursed his lips and then did the wide-open mouth thing again. I was trying to pay attention to what he was saying, but all I could think was puffer fish.

  “What do you wish to know?”

  “Tell me about the affair.”

  “I really don’t see how this is relevant.”

  “That’s okay, Mr. Notley, I do. You were seen with this girl during the Tokyo Games.”

  “I would hardly called Emelia a girl.”

  “Is young woman better?”

  “I’m sure she would think so. Look, there’s nothing to say. It was all aboveboard.”

  “So your wife knew?”

  He stopped sucking air, and for a moment I thought he might be choking. “I mean, it was consensual.”

  “Is a relationship between a senior official and a young athlete over whom you have selection oversight really consensual?”

  “It was. I didn’t have oversight over Emelia. I don’t select the German team.”

  Notley’s attention was on Faust, so I took the opportunity to cheat at the trivia game before me. I slipped my phone out and did a quick search on the name Emelia and German games team. All the results said the same thing.

  Faust was saying nothing, likely assessing Notley’s comment, so I jumped in.

  “How did you even meet Emelia Gurt?” I asked. “I mean, how does a US official come to have an affair with a German swimmer? Don’t they have their own accommodation?”

  “You’ve clearly never been in a Games village.”

  I thought back to Max Partensi’s description. “I’ve heard about it.”

  “Well, the village in Tokyo was a series of apartment complexes. The US athletes had their own building. The swimming team had a floor. The Germans were in the next building but one, with the communal dining hall in between. That’s where most people meet folks from different countries. It’s quite the melting pot.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said.

  “Look, you don’t understand. Tokyo was hard for everyone. Tougher than normal. All sorts of extra health precautions, movement restrictions. But I met Emelia, and we hit it off. Just chatting, you know. I’ve spent time in Germany and she had raced in the US, so we swapped stories. We got along very well. Like I say, it was a stressful period—everything felt disconnected. We enjoyed each other’s company and one thing led to another.”

  “I heard the beds were made of cardboard?”

  “That is true.”

  “That’s got to put the kibosh on a lot of nocturnal activity.”

  “People are very resourceful.”

  “How resourceful are you?” asked Faust.

  Notley brushed an invisible thing off his coat lapels. “Look, detectives, I’m not a perfect human being. If I had the choice to go back, perhaps I wouldn’t do what I did.”

  “Perhaps?”

  “Yes. I’m being honest. The truth is, it was a moment in time. I met a person who I clicked with in a somewhat oppressive environment. We found some solace, some human connection with each other. It was a unique situation and it won’t happen again. But I can’t tell you if I went back in a time machine that I wouldn’t do exactly the same thing.”

  “So what happened? Did you stay in contact?”

  “After the Games we agreed that it was a fine time, that we had no regrets, but that it wasn’t a long-term thing. She knew I was married, and I knew that a young woman should find someone . . .”

  “Within a hundred years of her age?” I said.

  “That’s out of order. I was only fifty.”

  “So, only double her age?”

  He did the blowfish at me. “We agreed, amicably, to go our separate ways.”

  “But Max saw you with her,” Faust said.

  “Max? You mean Max Partensi? You think he knows?”

  “That’s how we know.”

  His face almost dissolved. “That’s bad.”

  “Why?”

  “Max is the least discreet man I have ever met.”

  “And yet he’s kept this secret for three years.”

  “He told you.”

  “Not willingly. He wasn’t spreading it around town. He never mentioned it to you, that he knew?”

  “No.”

  “Did anyone?”

  The ripple that shot across his face was like a cloud flashing over the sun; for a moment he looked dark, then he was back.

  “Someone did,” said Faust.

  “Someone may have mentioned it.”

  “Forrest Simpson?”

  “He said he knew.”

  “What was he going to do with that information?”

  “He said he would forget. He said he would keep my secret.”

  “Did he ask for anything in return?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “It’s a yes-or-no question.”

  “Yes. He asked me to remove Greg Baxter from the team.”

  I shared a glance with Faust.

  She leaned toward Notley. “What did you say?”

  Notley cackled like a Disney witch. “I told him no. It wasn’t possible. I don’t decide who makes the team. The clock does, the results. And Greg’s our best swimmer. It was a ridiculous notion.”

  “What did Forrest say?”

  “He said nothing. He just kind of skulked away.”

  “You couldn’t have been happy about that.”

  “I wasn’t, but what could I do?”

  Faust tilted her head.

  “No,” said Notley. “Just—no. I did not kill Forrest Simpson to hide my relationship with Emelia.”

  “It is a motive.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “I think your wife would disagree.”

  “No, she wouldn’t. She’s aware.”

  “She knows?” said Faust.

  “Yes. After Forrest, I realized that I had to tell her before he did.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “Like a trooper. I’m not saying she was happy. She was definitely not happy. But she understood the situation—the pressure, the isolation. She forgave me.”

  “If she knows, why were you so eager to have this conversation away from her?”

  “It wasn’t her I wanted to get away from. It was our sponsors. They tend to be quite conservative. Hypocrites, of course. They all have affairs.”

  “So, you’re saying Forrest had no leverage on you?” I said.

  “He might have been able to embarrass me with the sponsors, but he had to know it would hurt the team just as much. It would hurt him.”

  “Not if he wasn’t on the team.”

  “I suppose.”

  “But also, he had to know that pushing Greg off the team wouldn’t help him get in.”

  Notley crinkled his brow.

  “Because he was a fringe swimmer,” I continued. “Relay-only at best, and Greg was the star.”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  “But Greg’s times were way better than Forrest’s.”

  “Of course they were. But I can see you never played in any kind of sports team.”

  I was a little hurt by the comment and wondered if I needed to go for a jog. “I played professional baseball, actually.”

  “Well, when you made the team, did you take the place of the best player or the worst player?”

  “The worst, I suppose, but it wasn’t based on time.”

  “Time is just a measure of performance.”

  “But wasn’t Forrest relay-only? He couldn’t compete in Greg’s races.”

  “He didn’t need to. Don’t you see? If the number-one swimmer is out, number two becomes number one. Three becomes two, and so on. Everyone moves up. As long they’ve made the qualifying time, the next best can join the team. And we’re a strong team. In some events, even swimmers who don’t make finals in our trials have made the Games’ Q time, but we’re only permitted two places per individual event.”

  “So if Forrest was first alternate and Greg was out, then he would be in?”

  “Yes. The top relay-only swimmer would step up into an individual event, opening a slot for another relay-only.”

  I took that in. Kellie Almonde had told me there was no way Forrest would make the team, even if Greg was out. I questioned why she had said that.

  “You said you didn’t select the team,” I said. “What about the coaches? Who selects them?”

  “The board.”

  “That’s you.”

  “I am a member of the board, yes. Why?”

  “Just trying to understand it all.”

  Notley suddenly starting nodding. “That’s how.”

  “How what?” asked Faust.

  “How Forrest knew. He was rooming with Max in Tokyo. I told you Max was indiscreet.”

  “There seems to be a lot of backbiting on this team,” said Faust. “It’s like a soap opera.”

  “It’s musical chairs, Detective, and everyone wants a seat.” He let out a sigh, without the fishface. “I was hoping to change things. Turn a new leaf in Paris.”

  “Forrest’s death makes that tricky,” I said.

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s the antidote. He’s one of the last links back to Omaha ’16.”

  “The trials?”

  “Yes. Everything bad that’s happened to this team traces back to that event. I just wish it gone. Make it part of history.”

  “Deena Senza is still dead.”

  “I know. That saddens me, but should we repair the living or lament the fallen?”

  “Perhaps somewhere between the two?” I said.

  “Indeed.”

  “You were in Omaha, then?” Faust said.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you talk to the police?”

  “I did. By phone.”

  “Not in person?”

  “No. I had left straight after the last final on a private jet.”

  “Private jet? Nice.”

  “Those were the days.”

  Faust wrapped up the interview and told Notley he could return to his suite.

  As he reached the door, I called to him: “What happened to Emelia Gurt?”

  “Tokyo was her final competition. She now works in an athlete development role with the International Association of Athletic Federations, in Monaco.”

  “Did you help her get the job?”

  “Emelia is a very impressive young lady.”

  “That didn’t answer the question, sir.”

  “I put in a good word with someone I know there, but not because she asked me to. I did it because I knew she would be great.”