The Murder That Never Was: A Forensic Instincts Novel (2 page)

“Big-time.” Julie cleared her throat. “Anyway, I think we have an understanding.” She reached across the table to shake Lisa’s hand. “Do you have a cell phone?”

Lisa’s brows rose as she met Julie’s handshake. “I’m a street kid, not a dinosaur,” she replied. “Of course I have a cell phone. I know what to save my lousy salaries for. And a state-of-the-art smartphone was number one on the list.”

Julie’s lips twitched. “What’s your number?”

Lisa gave it to her.

“Good. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, after I talk to Kristen.”

Lisa finished her stroll around the house and plopped down on the sofa.

She and Julie had made a fair amount of progress this week, getting the place in order. She didn’t mind doing it, because Julie was really being great to her. Even the job at the gym wasn’t too bad, if you ignored the vapid conversations about wallpaper and vacations. Just as she’d promised Julie, she’d read the rule book, dressed right, and played the part. The reward was acceptance by the clientele and an occasional whopper of a tip.

And finally—a friggin’ paycheck.

The only thing that worried her a little was Julie’s change in attitude these past couple of days. She’d seemed like such a sunny, bouncy person. Now, she spent longer hours at her other gym. When she came home, she was quieter, more pensive, and clearly deeply bothered by something. Lisa only hoped it wasn’t her. She’d really been trying. Sometimes her mind went to the scariest possibility—that by some horrible fluke, Julie had found out the full story of her past. But when that thought popped up, Lisa nipped it in the bud by reminding herself that someone as straightforward as Julie would have confronted her and tossed her out. No, she would not let herself go there.

Thinking about Julie’s state of mind, Lisa decided it was time to extend herself a little bit more. She stood up, walked into the kitchen, and checked out the freezer. There was a Styrofoam package of chop meat in there—just enough to make some of her A-plus meatballs. And she knew there were boxes of pasta and cans of tomato sauce in the house, because she’d arranged the pantry last night.

Maybe a good, homemade dinner would make Julie’s mood brighten.

Pulling out the chop meat to defrost, Lisa glanced at her watch. Julie had left over an hour ago, saying she had to do some errands and pick up a few things at the corner convenience store. It must have been a lot more than a few things for her to be gone so long.

Lisa opened the front door and peeked down the street. The sun was starting to dip down toward the horizon, and there was still no sign of her benefactor.

The May evening was still warm enough to sit outside, and Lisa needed the air anyway. After a full day of waiting on rich women and a few hours of deep house cleaning, she was ready to relax.

She poured herself a glass of iced tea and went out to the front porch, sitting on the top step to enjoy the evening and wait for Julie to arrive.

About a half hour later, she spotted Julie coming down the street. She was striding angrily, gripping a bag in her hands. Even from a distance, Lisa could see that something was very wrong. As she approached, Lisa could see that she was shaking.

This wasn’t a bad mood. This was bad.

Lisa’s stomach clenched. She rose and put her iced tea on the small outdoor table.

She was just about to hurry down to see what was wrong when a car sped down the street, stopping right next to Julie. The passenger door flew open, and a barrel-chested man with tattoos on his arms stepped out. He was holding a gun.

Julie turned, startled, and dropped the bag she was carrying to the sidewalk.

She didn’t even have time to scream.

It happened in two seconds. Pop. Pop. Two muffled gunshots, straight into her head. The killer grabbed the bag off the sidewalk and jumped back into the car, which then screeched off.

Julie had crumpled to the street, blood gushing from her skull, the contents of her purse spilling out around her. Cosmetics, wallet, cell phone—everything rolled onto the street.

For an instant, Lisa froze, bile rising in her throat.

Then, she raced down the stairs and straight to Julie’s lifeless body.

She squatted down. No pulse. No sign of life. Julie was gone.

Had those bullets been meant for her? Had they found her after all these years?

Lisa’s head flew up, and she looked all around. The block was deserted. The killer had used a silencer, and no one had heard the shots but her.

It was just her.

What the hell should she do? If the drug ring was after her, they’d come for her again as soon as they realized they’d killed the wrong girl.

Unless they never found out.

Self-preservation took over. Lisa reached over and grabbed Julie’s wallet, cell phone, checkbook, keys—anything that could identify her as Julie Forman.

Digging into her own pocket, Lisa pulled out her ID wallet and dropped it next to Julie’s purse.

That’s all the time she had. She could already hear sirens approaching, which meant that someone had heard the screech of tires, and maybe even seen Julie’s body, and called for help. She prayed they hadn’t spotted her. She couldn’t wait around to find out.

Shaking violently, with tears of sorrow and panic splashing down her cheeks, she glanced one last time at Julie’s body.

Then she took off.

Downtown Chicago, Illinois

May 14th

Three days earlier…

Julie Forman couldn’t believe how quickly her luck had changed.

Just as she was about to fulfill her dream of buying her own gym with the inheritance her parents had left her, just as she had made huge strides in helping sixteen-year-old Shannon Barker move one step closer to realizing her Olympic dream, everything had turned to shit.

Shannon had been counting the days until her birthday—and not for the same reasons most sweet-sixteeners did. She’d wanted to become eligible for the US women’s gymnastics team.

Julie was just Shannon’s personal trainer, albeit at the hard-core gym Training Elite, which was Julie’s second place of employment. Specifically designed for athletes with a purpose, the gym—located just a couple of miles away from Designer Fitness—was the complete antithesis of the latter. No Pilates, aerobics, spin, or yoga classes. Just pushing to the max, sweating, and moving up level by level, working toward a competitive goal. Julie worked with Shannon on comprehensive strength and cardio training, catering her workout to a professional gymnast’s needs. Shannon was at Training Elite six days a week religiously, training for three hours in the morning and two in the evening.

In addition to that, Shannon’s daily highest-level workouts were conducted at the Apex Olympic Gymnastic Center, which was one step away from officially training at one of the three United States Olympic Training Centers.

Her manager/coach was Yuri Varennikov, who was practically a celebrity in the world of Olympic-training gymnastics. He was all about blistering hard work, discipline, and results. He managed Shannon’s upcoming career, pushed her to the limit, and turned her over to Jim Robbins, top-notch trainer to professional athletes. Jim’s job was to mold Shannon into the star she wanted to be. He did everything, from stretching her to perfecting her technique on every piece of gymnastics equipment. He seemed to know just how much his pupil could take, because Shannon always rose to the challenge.

In the past few months, Julie had truly started to believe that Shannon had a real shot. Her strength and her endurance had peaked. And, having watched Shannon train with Jim, Julie could see that her form and skill had peaked right along with them.

Julie’s star pupil was on the brink of something wonderful.

Until three days ago, when the whole world had shifted.

Shannon had run into Training Elite wearing a shoulder brace, tears streaking her cheeks. She’d begged Julie to talk to her alone.

They’d gone into Julie’s small private office and shut the door.

“Honey, what’s the matter? What happened?” Julie had been truly alarmed—and not only by the injury. The young girl had been sobbing and shaking and running trembling fingers through her hair again and again. She could barely catch her breath, she was sobbing so hard.

“It’s over,” she gasped. “My whole life. Everything. It’s over.”

A chill shot up Julie’s spine, and she sucked in her breath. “How did you get hurt, and what did the doctor say?” she forced herself to ask calmly.

“During practice. I tore my rotator cuff.”

“Okay. Okay. Let’s try to calm down. That’s going to set you back. But it’ll heal, Shannon. Even if it requires surgery, it will heal.”

“No, it won’t.” Shannon began sobbing anew, dropping into a chair and covering her face with her hands. “The X rays showed that the rotator cuff muscles and tendons are really weak and not likely to repair well. But it’s worse than that. They ran more tests and an MRI. They say that my heart muscles are enlarged. They say that whatever is wrong will weaken my heart function over time.”

“Cardiomyopathy,” Julie murmured, feeling her stomach turn over.

Shannon’s head came up. “Julie, I’ll never compete. Never. They told me so. It’s over. Just like that. It’s over forever.”

Julie’s breath was coming fast, and her mind was racing. She walked around and wrapped an arm around Shannon’s good shoulder, holding her while she wept. Her thoughts converged on the most likely cause of this sudden and severe situation. She hated sounding accusatory, but she had no choice.

“Shannon,” she asked quietly. “Have you been taking anything? Any performance-enhancing drugs?”

Shannon didn’t answer.

Julie squatted down so she could stare directly into her student’s eyes. “Tell me the truth. I’m not here to judge you. I want to help you.”

Shannon’s lips quivered. “There is no help for me. My life is over. I just want to die.”

“Did you take something, Shannon?” Julie repeated.

Shannon reached across Julie’s desk with her good arm, plucked a tissue from the box, and blew her nose. “He said they weren’t drugs. They were all-natural supplements. I Googled the name of them, at least the one he gave me, and it was exactly what he said. They were helping me so much—building up my stamina, building up me. I felt great. I was training great. Julie, I was ready. And now this…”

“He?” Julie repeated. “Who is he?”

Shannon was silent for a moment. Then she whispered, “Jim.”

Julie tried to hide her shock. Jim? Jim Robbins? Shannon’s Olympic trainer and trainer to so many other professional athletes? “Jim Robbins has been giving you supplements?”
Supplements, my ass
, she thought silently.
They were PEDs.
“For how long?”

“Ages. And they’ve been working great. I never thought…”

Julie rose and wiped her own tears away. She wanted to beat that man senseless. How in God’s name could he have given a young girl PEDs under the guise of supplements, knowing full well what they could do to her? How many other athletes had he done this to? And why the hell didn’t someone know about it?

“Shannon,” she said gently. “Who else knew about the supplements?”

Shannon shook her head from side to side. “No one. Jim told me to keep it between us, because other people might misunderstand and think I was taking steroids. So I did.” Her eyes narrowed on Julie’s face. “But they were PEDs, weren’t they? They had to be. Supplements don’t destroy a person’s body like that. Oh my God.” A fresh batch of tears. “I’m going to go right back there and confront him. I’m going to tell him that…”

“No, you’re not,” Julie interrupted. “Jim is a despicable man. I don’t think it’s safe to threaten him.” Julie took Shannon’s hands in hers. “I want you to trust me. I’m going to take care of this. I’ll find evidence to bring Jim down without endangering you. You’ve suffered enough. Just rest your shoulder. Follow the doctor’s orders. And call Phyllis Hawke.” She grabbed a Post-It and scribbled down her name and number.

“Who’s that?” Shannon sounded like a lost child.

“A therapist. She works with young women in situations just like yours.” Julie paused. “Wait a day or two until I speak with your parents and get their permission.” Julie knew damned well that she would be calling the Barkers the instant Shannon walked out her door.

“They’ll give it to you. They’re so worried about me. That’s why they let me come to you now. They knew you’d understand. This was my dream, my everything. I have nothing left.”

“Yes, you do. I know you don’t believe me now, but there’ll be a new dream one day. I promise you. In the meantime, please, just do as I say. Promise me you won’t go to Jim.”

“I promise,” Shannon said woodenly. Her eyes were filled with disbelief and devoid of hope. “I couldn’t face him, or anyone, right now anyway.” A pause. “My parents think I should take time off from my schoolwork and just rest.”

“I agree,” Julie said. Shannon was home-schooled and, in addition, had a personal tutor. It was the only way for her to get an education in between the rigorous hours of training.

“I don’t care about school. Honestly, Julie, I don’t care about anything.”

Julie was fighting with everything in her to stay calm. “That’s how you feel now. And it’s completely justified. It’ll change. I promise.” Julie turned her head and glanced out the window. “Is your driver here?”

A nod. “He drove me here. And he’s driving me straight home.”

“Good.” Another squeeze of her hands. “I’ll visit you tomorrow. In the meantime, just rest. Don’t think. Don’t plan. Just let yourself feel what you need to feel. If your parents agree, I’m sure Dr. Hawke will see you right away. She’s a compassionate and understanding woman. You can trust her to listen and to help you.”

“Okay,” Shannon said in a small voice.

“I’ll walk you to the car.”

Julie led Shannon through the gym and to the waiting chauffeur. She wouldn’t let Shannon put herself in harm’s way.

But Julie herself was another story. No one was going to hurt this wonderful, joyous young girl, strip her of her hopes and dreams, and get away with it.

She was going to get the proof she needed and lock the bastard away.

Alexei took a final drag of his cigarette and then tossed the butt out his car window. He’d kept the souped-up black Civic idling in neutral so he could take off at a moment’s notice if he was approached. Hands on the steering wheel, he leaned forward, peering inside the gym’s bay window. His stare was fixed on the glass wall of the small back office, giving him a clear view of the occupants inside. The little gymnast was shaking with sobs and talking to Julie Forman. There was no doubt that she’d told her. The trainer was hugging and consoling her. He couldn’t make out much else, but it didn’t take a brain surgeon to know what was happening.

Shannon Barker had spilled her guts to Forman. All that mattered now was what that nosy bitch planned to do about it.

He ducked down as the two of them walked to the front door. Another hug, and the teenage girl left the gym and gingerly slid into the backseat of the waiting Town Car. The driver eased out of the parking lot.

Alexei followed close behind. He had to make sure that the kid was going straight home like a good girl. After that, Slava was expecting a phone call. Alexei would report in while he drove back from the kid’s house. But he knew what his boss would say.

Keep a close eye on Julie Forman. And make sure her mouth stays shut.

Julie went through the motions for the next few days, biding her time and planning her course of action. Shannon was in therapy. She’d be okay—eventually. She was an astonishingly strong young woman. And Julie wasn’t about to screw up the girl’s life—or maybe even threaten it—by giving in to the burning urge to beat the shit out of Jim Robbins. What she had to do was quietly find the evidence she needed, and then use it to destroy his career—and him.

So she waited.

She forced herself to go through her regular days, planning to leave several days between Shannon’s meltdown and her own purposeful intervention. Let Jim think he was safe. Let him figure that Shannon had locked herself in her bedroom and was curled up in a small ball of self-pity, sobbing buckets of tears. As long as he believed that she was keeping her mouth shut, he’d relax.

And that’s when Julie would act.

On the day in question, Julie worked her regular hours and then headed home. She listened to Lisa’s amusing stories of the Rich Ladies’ Club, as she called the gym members she catered to each day. Then, as the evening approached, she told Lisa she was going out to the convenience store and running a few other errands.

She didn’t take her car. She took the bus. That way, if someone was following her, they’d have trouble picking her out if she exited with a group of people.

The expansive Apex Center—where Shannon did her hard-core Olympic training with Yuri Varennikov—was fairly quiet when Julie arrived. There were, of course, some athletes training, but today was Jim’s day off. She’d made sure of that. She walked through the front door, waving at the security guard. He waved back, recognizing her from the many times she’d been here to watch Shannon run through her dizzying workouts.

Once inside, Julie headed down to the hallway to where the business office was located. She didn’t have the skills to hack into their computer system, but Jim wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist. Hopefully, he would file his records in an old-fashioned file cabinet, rather than scan and save them electronically. There wouldn’t be anything overt, obviously, but Julie was willing to bet she could find something incriminating—even the tiniest scrap of paper alluding to “special” transactions he’d made, whether through a doctor, a pharmacist, or some other scummy medical products dealer.

Jim wasn’t a professional drug dealer. Dollars to donuts, he’d be sloppy enough to make a mistake. And she was going to find it.

She waited in an alcove until she saw Martha Peele, former Olympian and owner of the Olympic Center, walk out of the office and head down the hall to the ladies’ room. Then, she peeked through the pane of glass on the door.

The room was dark. Julie turned the knob.

Unlocked.

She had to work fast—before Martha returned to finish her work and lock up for the night.

Julie yanked open the file drawers, looking only for the ones with labels on them indicating they belonged to Jim. Most of the papers inside were reports on his athletes, recommendations for future training, and injury treatment regimens. Nothing unusual—except that a half dozen of the athletes’ reports had little red stickers in the upper right-hand corner.