Fifteen minutes later, he gave up. Back in the car, Mac found her case notes on the floor. He opened the file, appreciating her thoroughness and attention to detail. “How long has Dena Miller been married?”
“Five years, but you shouldn’t be reading that file,” she said but didn’t make a move to take it away from him.
Mac speed-read through her notes. He was of the ask-for-forgiveness-later mindset, and she seemed resigned to his intrusion. “What do you know about the husband?”
“We’re still investigating him.” Stella’s tone was curt.
“You don’t like him.”
“I don’t know enough about him to form an opinion.”
Ten minutes later, they stopped at a day spa. Dena’s massage therapist, Laura, verified she’d finished Dena’s massage around one and stated that Dena had acted normally. She didn’t seem to know her client on a personal level and didn’t have anything interesting to say. On the way out of the building, the receptionist gave Stella a printout of Dena’s receipt showing a one-oh-five p.m. checkout.
Stella parked in front of Active Physical Therapy and Personal Training, and they went inside. A door on the right led to a gym room. Weights clanged as a short, ripped guy grunted his way through a set of bicep curls.
Stella showed her badge at the reception desk and asked for Lyle Jones. They were shown into a small patient room to wait. Mac paced. Small spaces didn’t agree with him.
The door opened and a short, jacked dude walked in. His skin bore the deep orange of a bottle tan over a scattering of acne.
“I’m Lyle.” He shook their hands. “You want to talk about Dena?”
“Yes.” Stella produced her badge.
Lyle barely glanced at it. “I can’t give out any medical information, even to the police. We’re under strict guidelines about that.”
“We know,” Stella assured him. “Dena is missing. We’re just trying to find her. I know you can’t tell me anything about her condition, but we know she was here yesterday.” Stella probed. “Did she seem upset or under any unusual stress?”
“Well . . . It’s just that . . .” Lyle scratched his shaved head. “Well, her husband calls all the time to check up on her. Yesterday, he called just after she left.”
Interest piqued in Stella’s eyes. “What did he say?”
“He asked if she was still here.” Lyle folded his arms over his chest, disapproval on his face. “Dena always got upset when he called. Once she asked me to please not say anything personal about her to him.”
Stella asked, “Did that strike you as strange?”
“Very,” Lyle agreed.
“Did you ever meet Adam Miller?” Mac asked.
“Yes. In the beginning of her therapy, Dena couldn’t drive, and Adam would bring her to her appointments. He got really annoyed when I told him I couldn’t discuss his wife’s medical issues with him.” Lyle’s mouth tightened. “Of course, I could have if Dena had agreed, but I just didn’t like the guy.”
“Thanks for your help. We’ll let you know if we have any additional questions.” Stella moved toward the door.
Mac trailed behind them. He stopped and pointed to a picture on the wall. “I see you’re a professional bodybuilder.”
Lyle stopped. “Yes. I’m also a personal trainer. I’m fascinated by the way a body can be altered, shaped by diet and exercise.”
Diet, exercise, and steroids, Mac thought.
They left him in the main lobby. Back in the car, Stella pulled out a notebook and scribbled some notes.
She lifted her pen. “What did you think about Lyle Jones?”
“Besides the fact that he hates Adam Miller?” Mac asked. “Not many people can get that bulky and cut without artificial hormones.”
“Do you think he uses steroids?” Stella’s brow wrinkled.
“Probably. It’s basic biology. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but the human body can only get so big. The kind of muscle Lyle was carrying. . .” His acne was another indication he was supplementing with hormones.
Stella closed her notebook. “So what does that have to do with Dena Miller?”
“Probably nothing.” Mac pulled Dena’s photo from the file and stared at it. No smile for the camera. The woman looked like she was about to get a root canal. “But Lyle likely uses illegal drugs, and he seems to know a lot more about her than the massage therapist did.”
“Good point. I’ll run a deeper background check on him.”
“What now?” he asked.
“I have an idea.” She dialed her phone. “Yes, is Laura available? Thank you.” She studied her notes while she waited. “Laura? This is Detective Dane. I have a quick question for you. Did Dena’s husband ever call to check up on her while she was at the spa? He did? Did he call yesterday?” Stella flashed Mac a predatory smile, thanked the woman, and ended the call.