Michael watched a crowd of women with yoga mats troop from the lift to the martial arts school. The bloke on reception nodded to each of them as they flashed their membership cards. He looked a whole lot brighter than Baz.
“Can I help you, mate? Are you looking to learn ju jitsu? Or yoga?”
Michael tore his eyes from all the pertly curved yoga pants to look at the receptionist. “What?”
“Are you here for a yoga class or ju jitsu?” the bloke repeated.
Michael tossed up whether he’d get more information after a sparring session or just from a few questions. Eyeing the bloke’s black belt, he itched to take him on, but decided he didn’t have time. Questions it would have to be.
Michael introduced himself and laid out the photos on the desk. The bloke in the black pyjamas peered at the pictures for a few seconds before he lifted one up.
“The only one I know is this one and not because I’ve seen her here,” he announced.
Michael felt the slow slide of dread deep in his stomach as he looked at the held-up photo. She looked familiar to him, too, but he’d hoped he was wrong.
“How do you know her?” he asked patiently.
The bloke snorted. “She was all over the news, for months. The same face. How could I not recognise her?” He turned the photo so he could stare at it. “Even with her hair half over her face, it couldn’t be anyone else.”
“Can you tell me her name?” Michael enquired, a pen in his hand, ready to write it down.
The bloke screwed his face up, obviously thinking hard. “Kate…something.”
He held the picture up close to his face, as if he thought she could tell him the answer.
“No, that’s not it.”
Michael waited, resisting the urge to click his pen in impatience. He didn’t want the man to say the name, but it was better coming from a member of the public than from him. Multiple identifications were better, especially when…
“It’s Caitlin! Caitlin Lockyer! The girl who was left for dead on a beach but some bloke found her and saved her!”
Fuck. I knew it was her. I just wanted to be wrong.
Michael took down the martial arts instructor’s name and thanked him, before he tucked the photos back in his folder. He trudged back to the lift, punching the button angrily more times than he really needed to.
“Going…down,” the lift voice announced.
Got that right, Michael fumed, as he descended.