Page 72 of The Change
“You are such a pain in the ass,” Tony said, not unappreciatively.
“Oh man, you have no idea,” she said.
“I pity your poor husband.”
Jo had to laugh at that one. “Really? I think he’d tell you he’s got it pretty damn good. Now let’s go. Get the bolt cutters and leave the kid at the desk. It’s just you and me from here on out.”
Jo peeked into the changing room to make sure it was empty. Then she guided Tony to locker 288, which was secured with a simple combination lock. A single snip of the bolt cutters and the lock fell to the ground at their feet. Jo stood back and watched as Tony retrieved a pair of sneakers, three sports bras, and a pliable purple item that resembled a small closed funnel.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, holding it up to the light.
“That, my Neanderthal friend, is a menstrual cup.”
“You mean it’s been—” With a grimace of disgust, he tossed the cup across the room into a garbage can.
“Probably should have worn gloves,” Jo noted. “That it?”
Tony turned back around and ran his hand along the bottom of the locker. “Guess so.”
“No drugs or stacks of cash or amateur porn. Still, can’t say it was wasted time.” Jo patted him on the back. “You learned a little something new today, didn’t you, Sparky?”
She walked Tony back to the front desk, where he was reunited with his young partner, who seemed a bit miffed he’d missed out on the fun. Jo watched through the window as their cruiser drove away. Then her smile fell, and she turned to the young woman behind the desk. “Do me a favor, please. Print out a list of all the lockers that are rented by the month.”
With the paper in hand—and a pack of Post-its—Jo returnedto the changing room. Around a third of the lockers were rented on a monthly basis. The rest were free to be used by anyone who supplied her own combination lock. It was against the rules to keep your stuff in a locker overnight unless it was rented, but Jo had never been one to strictly enforce the rules. Sometimes she even used the lockers to stow Hanukkah and birthday presents that she didn’t want her nosy little girl detective to find.
Jo suspected that was why the police had been sent to clean out Rosamund’s gym locker just a few short hours after she’d been declared dead. Her husband was worried that she’d stashed something in it. Jo wondered if he was hoping they would return with something specific—or if he’d be relieved when they didn’t.
Jo went locker by locker. She opened the ones without locks—finding nothing more than an occasional tampon or pair of shower shoes. Whenever she came across a combination lock, she checked the locker number against the rental list. She’d brought the pad of Post-its with the idea of marking each locker that wasn’t officially rented but was still being used. In the end, there were only two, and one of them held a pair of riding shoes she’d purchased as a surprise gift for Lucy, who’d soon be heading to summer sleepaway camp. The second locker was in an unpopular spot in the middle of a bottom row. The lock was a simple five-letter-combination sort that would be no match for a pair of bolt cutters. Jo pulled out her phone to text an employee to run out and pick up a pair at the hardware store. Then she stopped midsentence and put the phone down on a nearby bench. She squatted in front of the lock and dialed the letters until they read FAITH. Then she closed her eyes, gripped the base of the lock, and pulled downward. When the lock opened, Jo fell back on her ass in surprise.
Before she’d had time to fully recover, she was on her knees and inching forward. Jo peeked inside the locker and immediately slammed it shut again. Her fingers were trembling so violently thatshe could barely replace the lock. Then she grabbed her phone and fled to the opposite end of the changing room. She wanted to be as far as possible from what she’d just seen.
“Nessa,” she said when her friend answered. “Get Harriett and come to the gym.”
“I’m in the middle of—”
“Leave your daughters in charge of the reception,” Jo said. “You need to get over here right away.”
Then she hung up the phone and went outside to wait. Ten minutes later, she was still pacing back and forth when her friends pulled into the parking lot.
“Come with me,” she told them.
Nessa caught Harriett’s eye. She’d never seen Jo in such a state.
“Rosamund Harding died this morning,” Jo said as she marched through the gym. “They say she crashed her car into a pole. Her husband had the police come collect her things from her locker. After the cops were gone, I started wondering if she might have been using another locker off the books.” Jo pointed down at locker 165. “This one was never officially rented. There’s no way to know whose stuff is inside. Except for one thing.” She showed them the combination lock that read FAITH.
“Whoa,” Harriett said.
“Exactly,” Jo agreed. “There’s more.”
She pulled off the lock and took a step back.
Nessa hesitated. “Tell me there’s not a severed head in there,” she pleaded.
“Just look,” Jo ordered.
Nessa stepped forward and opened the locker. Inside was a Polaroid of a naked girl. She stared blankly at the camera, her eyes wide with terror and her arms held out to the sides as if someone had ordered her not to cover herself. “Oh my God.” Nessa dropped down onto a bench. “Is that her?”
Harriett, wearing a pair of latex gloves she’d found in the supply closet, was the one to pull the photo out. “It’s her,” she announced.
