Bodies by Robert Barnard Read Free Book Online

records of him—for payment of fees and so on?”
    â€œCordle did all the paying, cash. An income tax dodge, I wouldimagine. All these models were a bit on the fringe—morally, legally, you know what I mean.”
    â€œOh, I know what you mean. Actually, I met a lady at the Wild West whose fringe was her only badge of respectability . . . Have you got a telephone directory there, Garry? Or, better still, a trades directory?”
    â€œWhat are you after?” asked Joplin, burrowing in a pile of reference material and coming up with a large yellow book.
    â€œJust an idea . . . What would it be under? Gymnasia? Ha! They call them gymnasiums. See under Health Studios . . . Health Studios, see also Solariums. Whatever happened to a classical education? . . . Here we are: Jim’s Gym . . . 14A Little Moulson Street. Where’s that, Garry?”
    â€œOther side of Shaftesbury Avenue. Not more than a hundred and fifty or two hundred yards away from Bodies.”
    â€œLet’s give it a try. Two-two-seven-five-four.”
    â€œJim’s Gym,” said a London voice promptly at the other end of the line. “Can I help you?”
    â€œYes. I wondered if Wayne was there.”
    â€œNo. Hasn’t been in today, or yesterday. Probably got one of his colds. Is it the modeling? Can I take a message?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “I rather think I shall have to come round.”
    We were there in three minutes in the car. Jim’s Gym was on the first floor of one of those poky Soho establishments, over a theatrical costumer’s that specialized in the sort of costume that is made to be taken off. Jim’s Gym, however, seen through its windows from the other side of the street, looked far from dingy—plenty of light, and pinewood on the walls. We went up, and the door was opened by a large young black man, whose muscle was certainly not mere showcase stuff. Not someone I’d care to cross unnecessarily. He seemed friendly enough, though I felt a trifle nervous as I flashed my warrant at him.
    â€œHere, was it you on the blower ten minutes ago?” he asked.
    â€œYes. Why?”
    â€œWell—” he led the way into the tiny outer office and pointed a large hand at that morning’s edition of the Daily Grub. The headline was STRIP MAG HORROR SLAYING. That was the Grub. They could say it all in four words.
    â€œWhy should you think it had anything to do with that?”
    â€œBecause of Wayne. He did posing for that mob. I’ve often taken messages for him. Was it him?”
    â€œThat’s what we’re trying to establish. You said on the phone that you hadn’t seen him for two days.”
    â€œThat’s right. I assumed it was one of his colds, or one of his slight aches. They’re right hypochondriacs, some of this mob, and Wayne was—is—one of the worst.”
    â€œHow well did you know him, Jim—is it Jim?”
    â€œHa! I should be so lucky! Jim’s a myth, or if he exists he sits in an office in the City. We’re part of a chain, floated on the Stock Exchange and all that. I’m Charlie. How well did I know Wayne? Well, fairly well on the surface. He was in here most days, though it was only now and again that we’d actually swap more than the time of day. Once they’re into their routines they’re not really communicable with.”
    â€œYou could identify him, presumably?”
    Charlie grimaced. “You mean the body? I suppose so. It’s not something I’m dying to do. Are you sure it’s him, then?”
    â€œNo, we’re not. Do you know if he was going with a girl called Debbie?”
    â€œDon’t know anything about his private life, mate. Here, there’s people here who knew him a lot better than I ever did. Come along through.”
    He led the way from the office through into the gym proper. He looked around to