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repeated Christopher. ‘The steroids?’
    â€˜In soft-sided suitcases with false bottoms. Disguised as health products. Hidden as pills with the wrong labels.’ Tom glanced around the Customs Hall. ‘They’re here somewhere.’
    Amy remembered Mr Muscles’ vitamin bottles. But they might just be ordinary vitamins. passed by security. He certainly looked as though he ate extra of everything.
    â€˜Some steroids are legal, if prescribed by a doctor,’ Tom added.
    â€˜But they’re just for people who are VERY small. Steroids help them grow.’
    If Mr Muscles grew any more, he’d need a whole plane to himself, thought Amy. Or at least a double seat with extra leg room and a seat belt extender. And there weren’t any small people amongst the sports teams on board today. It must have been difficult for the airline clerk giving the seat allocations.
    They all had long legs.
    â€˜Are they worth much? The steroids? ‘ Christopher liked talking about money. And money liked Christopher. He kept most of his.
    Amy spent hers. That’s why she’d never have enough for a sleuth’s hi-tech communications kit. But maybe one day she’d have enough for a tiny recorder like Tom’s. Just for sleuthing work.
    â€˜Street prices for fifty tablets range from $50 to $200.’ Tom rewound the tape and put it in his top pocket.
    â€˜That’s a lot of money.’
    â€˜Some ampoules cost $200.’ Tom stepped out and looked back along the queue. More people had joined them from another plane which had touched down just after the Singapore flight. Several parallel queues had formed. Some Islander women in brightly coloured skirts holding babies, waited in the queue.
    â€˜Wow. Two hundred dollars!’ That would buy lots of art paper and pens and paint and nibs. Calligraphy was something Christopher wanted to try soon. But the special pens cost a lot.
    â€˜A competing body-builder could spend $400-700 per week.
    Easily.’
    Christopher flipped back the pages. He found his drawings of Mr
    Muscles. If the body builder spent that much on steroids, how did he earn it? Christopher glanced across at the real Mr Muscles who was looking closely at Tom.
    â€˜Some sell steroids to others to pay for their own.’ Tom peered around the queue trying to see ahead. It hadn’t moved much. Custom officers were making most people open their cases. Tom’s voice seemed quite loud all of a sudden. ‘They’re pretty slow here today. The Green lane is usually fast. Customs must be checking everything. Perhaps it’s because of Gloria’s tip-off?’
    In the queue alongside, Mr Muscles overheard. ‘Tip-off? What sort of tip-off?’

Chapter 7
The Tip-off
    â€˜What tip-off?’ he repeated.
    Tom Savvas turned and looked at him. It was a bit difficult not to notice Mr Muscles’ muscles. ‘About steroids. Thought to be on this flight. Know much about them, do you?’
    Christopher looked quickly from face to face. Should Tom Savvas have given away that information about the tip off? Why did he tell Mr Muscles? Was he just researching for his story? Or was he warning him? Previously Tom Savvas’ voice was very soft. Why had he spoken so loudly when talking about the steroids tip off? Others in the queues nearby could hear, too. In between fussing with their jewellery, Mrs Silver and Mrs Gold might have heard. The priest was close, too. And the soccer player was just standing nearby, watching the customs queue.
    â€˜I know a bit. Steroids are legal in other countries,’ Mr Muscles said to Tom. ‘And before that law was passed in ‘91, it was okay here too. Some elite athletes like to build up their muscles quickly. They like to look good. What’s wrong with that?’
    Tom Savvas looked at Mr Muscles’ muscles.’ I can understand how you feel, but there are special dangers.’
    â€˜What kind of