Page 95 of The Guilty Girl
‘If only what?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah, I don’t want to get the kid into trouble.’
‘I doubt you will now.’
‘Oh?’
Lottie kept her gaze fixed on him. He sat on the edge of the tiny desk.
‘We’re trying to trace Jake’s movements. Was he training here yesterday?’
Reynolds threaded his knobbly fingers along his stubbled chin. ‘Is he in trouble?’
‘Just answer the question,’ Kirby said.
‘No, Jake wasn’t training yesterday. Saw him Friday. He was here from two till four.’
‘Do you have any idea where he was Friday night or yesterday?’ Lottie pressed.
The scarred smile never wavered, and though his hands ceased stroking his jaw, Reynolds’ gaze refused to meet hers. ‘I don’t have a clue.’
She couldn’t be certain, but she thought his eyes were shifty. ‘Are you aware of any link between this club and a group of youngsters who go round on bikes pushing drugs?’ It was a long shot, but what the hell.
Even though his smile remained fixed, Reynold’s ruddy complexion deepened in colour. ‘Jake has nothing to do with them wasters.’
Lottie pushed on. ‘I have reason to believe he was selling drugs for this gang. Know anything about that?’
‘Jake’s ambitious. He wouldn’t get caught up with that crowd. No way.’ Reynolds was incandescent.
‘Are any of those kids involved in the club?’
He seethed, knuckles whitening as he grasped the edge of the desk behind him. She thought he would surely crack the light timber.
‘I’d never allow that scum to be associated with my club. If it turns out Jake is involved with them, he’s out on his ear.’
Changing direction, Lottie asked, ‘Do you know a girl called Lucy McAllister?’
‘Of course I do. Her father funded this place to get it up and running. Terry Starr pumped in a few quid too. He’s a champion boxer.’
‘Lucy ever show up here?’
‘You’re joking me, right?’
‘I’m conducting a murder investigation, so no, Mr Reynolds, I’m not joking.’
‘Murder?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’re really confusing me now.’
‘Lucy McAllister was found murdered at her home yesterday morning. I can’t be any clearer than that.’
‘You’re taking the piss.’ He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bouncing under the skin. ‘You’re not, are you?’
‘I’m deadly serious.’
‘Poor Albert. Why did no one tell me? I’ll have to ring him. Christ, where’s my phone?’