Rider Read Free Page B

came up and sat on the edge of his desk. Jill Ruthers was middle-aged but could still pass for twenty-something.
    ‘Kane,’ she said.
    He kept his face in his hands, his elbows on the desk.
    ‘I just…We all wanted to say…’
    He looked up at her, nodded, begged her with his eyes not to finish her sentence.
    She saw his desk phone was on hold and said, ‘Finish the call and go home. I’ll pay you for the rest of the week. Call me on Friday afternoon and we’ll talk about next week, see if you need any extra time off.’
    Jill had met Ryan on several occasions when he had stopped by after work to catch a ride home with Kane. They had got talking one day as they waited for Kane to finish a call and had managed to arrange a night out, but it had never happened.
    Kane closed his eyes and Jill touched his shoulder. ‘Go home,’ she repeated.
    He watched her as she walked away, called after her. When she turned back to him, he said, ‘Thanks.’ He put his headset back on and took the call off hold. ‘John, mate, good news. I’ve spoken to my manager and she’s agreed to extend the discount until tomorrow. Can we give you a call around noon?’
    As he hung up, his mobile phone buzzed silently in his pocket. He took it out and answered it.
    But the line went dead.
    * * *
     
    To take his mind off everything, Kane went to the gym. Margaret was due back from Spain in the early hours of tomorrow morning; it was the first available flight she could secure. He didn’t know how he could face her. Ryan was her only child and they had relied on each other through Ryan’s father’s descent into and eventual consumption by dementia praecox and a brain tumour that swiftly killed him in his early forties. They had nursed each other through the ensuing heartache while Ryan was nothing more than a child but suddenly the man of the house. When Margaret’s new husband came along, it was a welcome relief for all.
    Only a couple of people worked the machines—a woman on a rowing machine, her short ponytail swinging behind her head, and a man, muscles straining beneath sweaty skin, puffing air in time as he bench-pressed.
    Kane started up on a treadmill at the other side of the gym, his earphones in, iPod strapped to his arm, his feet slapping out a rhythm to match the music. He stared blank ahead, could feel sweat trickling down his back. It was total focus. When he ran, he felt nothing. His legs did all the hard work.
    He wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead, running like he was going somewhere, running like he was leaving somewhere.
    On the floor beside the treadmill, sitting on top of his sports bag and almost lost in the folds of a towel, his phone lit up from an incoming call. It caught his eye and he glanced at it, but he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. He looked straight ahead again, his feet punishing the treadmill, and he cranked up the speed on the display.
    The phone kept flashing, ringing.
    Kane kept running.
    And the phone stopped, its screen dimming, a small light flashing to tell him he’d missed a call.
    He ran faster. Going nowhere. Going anywhere.
    When the phone started ringing again, he shook his head. He wouldn’t stop. But he did. He slowed the pace, looked at the phone, hopped off the treadmill and pulled his earphones out.
    He picked up the phone and the towel, wiping sweat from his face before answering it. ‘Hello?’
    He raised a leg, folded the knee—it felt stiff—and someone skinned past him, knocking him off balance. He dropped his foot to the floor for support and the phone slipped from his hand. The man, in a hoodie and baggy black jeans, pushed his way into the male changing rooms at the far end.
    It was him. He knew it was. The man who killed his boyfriend was in his gym.
    Momentary shock gave way and Kane ploughed across the gym after him. When he burst into the changing rooms, a man with a towel round his waist was about to remove it but he stopped. He stared at Kane but Kane