There were elevators hidden behind doors off the public concourse, but I couldn’t find them, so I cut back into the arena proper, walked down the aisle to the front row of upper seats, climbed over the barrier, and then hung off the edge until I was fully extended. The drop was only a couple more feet, and my shoes barely made a noise as they hit concrete.

  I strode down the next aisle to the front and jumped down onto the pool deck. I would bring it to someone’s attention later that no one had questioned my moves. I walked around the deck to the small crowd that had gathered.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  A young woman in a tracksuit jacket and matching shorts spoke without looking at me. “They won’t let us in.”

  “Who won’t?”

  “Cops.” She pointed to the breezeway. I edged around the group and noted that they were all wearing tracksuit jackets and shorts, which felt like overkill in Florida in June, but then I noticed that the AC was running hard and the pool deck was cooler than the stands—cooler but hardly frigid.

  I pushed my way through until I got into the maintenance concourse, where the line of people continued into a perpendicular passageway that led to the outside the building. I eased through until I reached the start of the makeshift umbilical-cord corridor. A sheriff’s deputy stood at the doorway, holding back the growing crowd.

  This was a rare group in that I wasn’t the tallest person in the room. I didn’t stick out for once. Not until I reached the front and the officer recognized me.

  “Miami?”

  “Sergeant Castañada,” I said. “We’ve got to stop meeting here.”

  “That we do.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re investigating a crime.”

  “That seems like something you’d do.”

  “Afraid so.”

  “What kind of crime?”

  “Can’t get into it. The detective will be back shortly.”

  “Detective?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I got a bad feeling.”

  “Yeah.”

  Someone not wearing a tracksuit jacket pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He was tall and lean like a swimmer but wore a business suit designed for a bigger man. I wondered if he’d lost weight since he bought it.

  “Excuse me, Deputy,” said the man.

  “Sergeant,” said Castañada.

  “Of course. We have heats about to start in a few hours. Can you please tell me why we cannot access the warm-up area?”

  “I’m afraid at the moment I can’t tell you that, sir.”

  “I really need to speak to someone in charge, Sergeant. This is a nationally televised event.”

  I wasn’t sure that the last part was going to hold the gravitas the suit hoped for, but Sergeant Castañada nodded and turned to the deputy with him to whisper something. The deputy took off down the corridor, his boots slapping the nonslip carpet like a wet towel.

  When he returned, he had a plainclothes officer in tow. I didn’t recognize her. I had known most of the faces around Gun Club Road when Danielle had worked for the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office, but it had been a good few years since she had moved on to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, and there was always turnover in such high-pressure jobs.

  The woman stepped in beside Sergeant Castañada and took her time scanning the group, so I did the same to her. She had black hair tied back in a ponytail so tight it seemed her face was being pulled, which, I decided, was because she had a very lean face. She didn’t look like a swimmer, lacking the musculature in her upper body. She was more like a marathon runner, or one of those long-distance triathlon people who cycle and run around the Big Island in Hawaii like that’s anyone’s idea of a good time. They carry as little extra baggage as possible, to the point of almost looking malnourished. She moved her eyes quickly, then stopped, and then she did it again. Scan, assess, scan, assess. She didn’t look upset, but she certainly wasn’t happy. No nonsense was the thought that formed in my head.

  The detective eyed the guy in the ill-fitting suit.

  “Sir, you are involved with the event?” she said in a Southern accent.

  “I am. Peter Margrave. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Perhaps you could come with me for a moment?” She turned side-on to suggest he could pass, even though there was plenty of room.

  Margrave stepped forward. The detective did a final inspection of the crowd then looked at me. Her right eyebrow dropped a touch.

  “And you are?”

  “The player to be named later.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Miami Jones.”

  “Miami Jones? That’s your name?”

  Sergeant Castañada leaned toward her and spoke into her ear. Her eyebrow lowered again. It was a hell of a tell. I couldn’t wait to play poker with her. All I needed to do first was take up playing cards.

  “What’s a PI doing here?” she asked.

  “I’m meeting a client.”

  “Who?”

  “I’d rather not say in present company.” I glanced at the athletes without moving my head.

  “You come, too,” she said.

  I stepped around some bodies and moved past Castañada: “Sergeant.”

  “Jones.”

  The detective led the way down the corridor. Now that I was inside, I could see it was made from sections of hard plastic with soft plastic windows. There was no condensation. The windows were deliberately opaque, designed to let light in but not to be seen through. It felt like being in a tube in a clean room at NASA.

  When we reached the end of the corridor, the detective stopped by the door to the shed. She spoke to the suit.

  “I wanted to say this out of earshot, but it will become news soon enough. There’s been a death here overnight.”

  “What?” said Margrave.

  “A death. Possibly a suicide. Do you know all the athletes present at this event?”

  “You think an athlete took their own life?”

  “I asked if you knew all the athletes here.”

  “No, not all of them. The national team members, yes, of course. But there are a few here and there that I don’t know well yet.”

  “Okay. We need to get those people away from the entrance so we can get our full team in here, but we don’t want anyone leaving the facility just yet. Is there somewhere we can put them all?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s an arena,” I said. “Straight across the maintenance concourse is the entrance to the pool deck. They could be herded in there, and they can wait in the stands. Plenty of room.”

  The detective nodded and looked at Margrave. “I need you to make that happen. Just tell them there’s been an incident.”

  “I can’t lie to them.”

  “That’s not a lie. We need to get them into the stands in an orderly fashion, not in a panic. You don’t want anyone getting hurt here, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “So let’s get them into the arena, and once they’re settled, I can offer an update, okay?”

  “Yes, that would be all right.”

  The detective told me to stay where I was, and she walked all the way back along the corridor with Margrave. It was fifty yards of foot slaps absorbed by the plastic tube. She spoke to Castañada, and then Margrave raised his hands and waved everyone back, directing them to congregate in the arena. The deputy pushed through the group to lead the way. The detective turned and strode back to me.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Who am I speaking to?”

  “Who are you speaking to?” The eyebrow dropped again.

  “Yeah. I haven’t seen any ID. You haven’t even told me your name.”

  “Detective Faust, PBSO. You wanna see my creds?”

  “Nah, I’ll take your word for it. You’re new in town.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I know a few people in the PBSO. I haven’t seen you before. Plus, there’s the accent.”

  “You’re no Florida native, either.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “You’ve lost some of it, but there’s a hint of New England there. That accent is hard to get rid of, so that suggests you were no Southie. Not Boston, probably not Massachusetts at all. New England light. I’d say Connecticut.”

  I pursed my lips like I was impressed. “Not bad.”

  “Oh, I’m better than not bad. Now, you wanna tell me why a private eye is at a swim meet where I’ve just found a dead body?”

  “Like I say, I have a client.”

  “Why?”

  “He believes he’s being blackmailed.”

  “By who?”

  “Doesn’t know.”

  “What do they want?”

  “For him to quit.”

  “Quit what?”

  “They weren’t specific on that.”

  “And what was the nature of the threat?”

  “They’ll tell everyone about something he did.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “This is a very flimsy case.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m here to tell him. There’s nothing I can do.”

  She nodded almost imperceptibly and paused a moment. Then she spoke decisively.

  “If there is some kind of threat against your guy, let’s eliminate him from my investigation.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I want you to look at the body.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Detective Faust pushed in through the door, and we took aluminum steps up into the shed. Except it was not truly a shed. I was hit by the scent of chlorine as I took in the huge swimming pool that dominated the space. Like in the main arena, the deck was a soft, nonslip material that ran the length of the pool. But unlike the arena pool, there were only six lanes. It was still a hell of a thing. Where there had once been cracked and faded asphalt, they had dug a pool and filled it with water. Given the temporary feel of the shed, I wondered if they planned on putting all the dirt back in afterward. It felt like a wasteful exercise.

  No one was in the water, but there was a group of crime-scene technicians in full-body PPE hovering over a blanketed mass on the deck. Beyond them I noted an open area where a gym had been set up—dumbbells, barbells, and weights plus a handful of machines and benches and balance balls. On either side of the gym area were doors.

  One of the techs came over to Detective Faust and removed her hood and mask.

  “Jones,” said Lorraine Catchitt.

  I wasn’t surprised to see the forensic investigator from the medical examiner’s office.

  “How are you, Lorraine?”

  “Finally got one in air-conditioning, so I can’t complain. Detective, can I share something with you?”

  Faust followed Lorraine and then pointed to the spot where I was standing. She might have been telling me not to move, but I decided it was unclear. As the two women bent over the sheet on the pool deck, I wandered along the other side with my hands in my pockets. It was one thing to take a little walk around; it was another to get my fingerprints on anything.

  I took a look at the gym stuff. It was all new and smelled like plastic wrapping. A long mirror covered the rear wall so those in the gym could watch their form. I didn’t see any athletes in the mirror, just a guy with messy blond hair looking back at me with his hands in his pockets.

  In front of me, on the right side of the pool, the door was marked Women’s Showers. I assumed the one on the left was the men’s, but I didn’t want to walk over near the detective, so I went into the ladies’. I figured they wouldn’t be in use with everyone congregating in the stands.

  I figured right. It wasn’t huge—enough for six stalls divided by shower curtains and a further area with two more showers out in the open. There was a separate section that had a few toilet cubicles and wash basins. Against the wall back out toward the pool was a row of four sparkling-new recycling cans on wheels—the big ones, ninety-five gallons. Like everything else, they were blue. How much recycling got done in a women’s locker room? Beside them was an ice machine, the sort of thing you find on each floor of a midrange hotel.

  I exited the bathroom, and Detective Faust locked her eyes on me. She didn’t do the thing with her eyebrow. She didn’t have to. Her mouth was a straight line, and it told me all I needed to know. She pushed up off her haunches, then marched around the pool and over to me.

  “Do you have a learning difficulty?”

  “That depends on who you speak to.”

  “This is a crime scene. You can’t go wandering around in here.”

  “I didn’t touch anything.”

  “You didn’t drop a hair or have any skin cells flake off into the air?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “No, you don’t. When I tell you to stay put you do it, you got me?”

  “If you tell me that, I will.”

  “Don’t get smart with me, pal. You’re not as stupid as you look.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a backhanded compliment or not.

  “Point taken.”

  “Is it? Because I don’t need some cowboy contaminating a potential crime scene.”

  “Potential crime scene? You don’t know if a crime has been committed?”

  “It’s potential until we collect evidence to prove a crime has been committed. Is this your first one?”

  “Unfortunately not. My wife is in law enforcement.”

  “With who?”

  “FDLE. But she used to be with the PBSO.”

  “You’re married to Danielle Castle?”

  “You know her?”

  “I know of her. We haven’t met. Does she know how bad you are at this?”

  “She’s got a fair idea. So, you wanted me in here.”

  She glanced away and then back again. “Your client received a threat?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he might have done something to warrant the blackmail.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know what’s under that sheet, right?”

  “I can guess.”

  “I need an ID.”

  “You think it might be my client?”

  “I have no idea, but it wouldn’t be the first time two things were linked. And if it is, it’ll save me some time if you can ID him.”

  “All right.”

  I didn’t want to look. Dead bodies are not my stock-in-trade. The truth was, despite the movies and television shows, private investigators almost never got involved with dead bodies. That was strictly police business. We did missing persons and insurance fraud and even blackmail on occasion. But it wasn’t the first time I had cause to ID a body, so I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth. Then, I followed Faust around the pool.

  The detective directed one of the forensic team to pull back the plastic sheet. Underneath was a young man. About the right age and height and build for my client, Greg Baxter. I squatted down by the body and studied his face. It was more than stating the obvious to say the life had gone out of him. A dead person didn’t look like they were sleeping. There was no rise and fall in their chest, but it was more than that. Humans glow. They say it about pregnant women because it’s true—they radiate an energy that the rest of us can’t—but we all have a life force in some way. Our skin deflects and absorbs light in a particular way. Maybe it’s the blood vessels or something. I had no idea. But I knew the glow was real because I was looking at someone who no longer had it. He could have been made of silicone.

  I stood and wiped my hands on my pants. “It’s not him.”

  “Not your client? You’re sure.”

  “Hundred percent. It’s not Greg.”

  “Okay.”

  “But Margrave will know him.”

  “Maybe. He said he didn’t know everyone.”

  “He’ll know this guy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he said he knew all the national team members, and this guy has been on the national team.”

  “Because he’s in swim trunks?”

  “No. Look at his bicep. The tattoo. Five interlocking rings.”

  “It might just be a tattoo.”

  “No, not here. Not in this company. You get that tattoo when you’ve been to a Games. Not because you hope to, not because you tried to. Because you went.”

  Faust turned to a deputy and asked him to find Mr. Margrave. “He’s the one wearing a suit in ninety-degree heat.”

  The deputy marched away, and the detective told the forensic tech to cover the body again, then she turned back to me. “Maybe you’re not so bad at this.”

  “I’m not Sherlock Holmes. No supernatural powers. I’ve just learned to look at things.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Sometimes I can put the pieces together.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Sometimes I can’t.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Can I ask what happened?”

  “Apparent suicide,” she said.

  “Drowning?”

  “That’s how it seems.”

  “Can you do that? I mean, wouldn’t you hit a point where your body just forces you to breathe?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never tried. But it’s not uncommon.”

  “But it’s what, six feet deep? How do you override the instinct to survive, even if you think you want to die?”

  “In this case, he tied a kettlebell to his ankles.”

  I shook my head. “But still, wouldn’t you undo it?”

  “You ever tried to undo a tough knot? Now do it wet, underwater, and in a panic.”

  “I see your point.”

  We both glanced from the sheet to the water.

  “Who found him?” I asked.

  “Pool technician. Came in to check the chemicals.”

  “Poor guy.”

  “At least he threw up outside.”

  “Why would you do this at the beginning of the trials?”

  “We’ll have to figure that out. Let’s hope he left a note. But you’re free to go.”