Ruth Cole 41

At forty-one, Ruth was ten or more years older than any of the other women in the Rokin gym – nor did Ruth wear the stretched-tight workout gear that the younger women favoured. She wore a tucked in T-shirt and the kind of loose-fitting athletic shorts that are made for men. Ruth was conscious of having more of a belly than she’d had before Graham was born, and her breasts were lower than they used to be, although she weighed exactly what she had when she was still playing squash.

Most of the men in the gym on the Rokin were at least ten years younger than Ruth, too. There was one older guy, a weight lifter whose back was usually turned to her; what she’d seen of his tough-looking face was partial, briefly glimpsed in the mirrors. He was very fit-looking, but he needed a shave. On the third morning, she recognized him as she was leaving the gym. He was her cop. (Since seeing him in the Athenaeum, Ruth had begun to think of him as her very own policeman.)