Free Killer Physique (A Savannah Reid Mystery) by G. A. McKevett

don’t we al in the end?” John said. “I wish she had been a bit more specific.” Savannah took another drink of the sherry and then spoke the news she had dreaded sharing. “She did mention that there were problems inside his body—damage that suggested the long-term, heavy use of steroids.”
    “Sad to say, I expected as much.” John laid his pipe on a nearby end table. “I was afraid it would turn out to be something like that—the result of some bad lifestyle habits and not some unavoidable medical condition.”
    Ryan sighed. “Personal y, I was hoping for a congenital heart condition or something like that.”
    “At least,” Savannah said, “there’s no obvious sign of foul play. I was relieved to hear that, because I was wondering if, you know . . .” Dirk cleared his throat. “Yes. We were al wondering. We al had a feeling.” He looked at Ryan, then John. “Didn’t we?” At first they said nothing. Then John final y broke the awkward silence. “Yes. And I’d wager we al stil do. We have that sinking sense that something’s amiss.”
    “Then let’s go over it together,” Savannah said. “Last night at the premiere, when the two of you were alone with him, did anything happen that was out of the ordinary? Does anything stick out in your mind?”
    “Yes,” Ryan said right away. “When he asked us to come by the hotel later.”
    John nodded. “That was strange, indeed. Even at the time, I could feel a bit of a shiver down my back. I knew he wasn’t asking us over just to have a pint and chat about the old days.”
    “Exactly when and where did this happen?” Savannah asked. She could hear her own voice change as the old cop’s investigatory tone replaced the personal, down-homey one.
    Once an interrogator, always an interrogator.
    “It was right after the movie ended,” Ryan replied. “We’d gone into the men’s room in the VIP lounge. John and I had finished our business and washed our hands. So had Jason. But he was taking a lot of extra time, washing his face and combing his hair. Then he took forever, fiddling with one of those pain patches he wears sometimes—taking it off, putting it back on, repositioning it. I think he was deliberately stal ing.”
    “Yes,” John agreed. “It was as if he was biding his time until everyone else in the WC had left.”
    “And final y,” Ryan said, “when it was just the three of us, he bent over and glanced up and down the line of stal s, like he was looking for feet.
    When he was sure we were alone, he said, ‘Listen, guys. I’m gonna ask you for a big favor. I’d real y appreciate it if you’d come by my room at the Island View tonight after you drop off Savannah and Dirk. I know it’l be late, but there’s something I real y need help with. And you two are the only ones I can trust with something like this.’ ”
    “No wonder your antennae went up,” Savannah said.
    “He didn’t give you any idea at al what he was talking about?” Dirk asked.
    “Not a clue.” John shook his head. “No sooner had he said that than a couple of blokes walked in, and that was the end of the conversation.”
    “Do you think it might’ve had something to do with you dudes being bodyguards?” Dirk suggested.
    “Yes,” Ryan answered. “I remember that’s what I thought at the time. He sounded sort of nervous, a bit scared. And I thought maybe he intended to hire us for security. Not that we would’ve taken his money.”
    “Most certainly not,” John added. “He was family to us . . . like the two of you.” Savannah smiled. “You say he was wearing a pain patch?” she said, changing the subject.
    Ryan nodded.
    “I’ve seen him use those many, many times,” John said. “With his training regimen he was always pul ing or straining something. He said they didn’t take the pain away completely, but they made it a bit more bearable for him.”
    “Where was the patch?” Savannah asked.
    “About here,” Ryan said, pointing to