‘All my life.’
She pointed halfway up the wall over towards the deep end of the pool where two rusting brackets stuck out of the wall like miniature gallows, the type you draw when playing hangman. ‘So can you tell me what those are for?’
‘It was a platform. Had a wooden seat, see?’
‘What for?’
‘Why all these questions?’ he suddenly snapped.
‘Sorry,’ said Jessie. ‘Just curious. Occupational hazard.’
‘I expect you’d like to see where the slipper baths were. People used to wash there because they didn’t have no bathrooms at home.’
Jessie looked at her watch; it was late.
‘It won’t take long.’
Jessie followed him out through the foyer and into an impressive Art Deco stairwell. ‘They aren’t there any more, of course. It’s all exercise rooms now. I’ve seen everything: keep-fit, Jane Fonda workout, step, karate, judo, Callanetics … The best was the karate. I liked the teacher. He said I had special powers.’
‘Really?’ said Jessie, running her hand along the wooden banister as they mounted the central stairway. From a small landing Don pushed open a carved wooden door to a circular room she now recognised as the one the junkies had broken into. ‘They got in here via the roof,’ he said, pointing to the broken glass in the domed ceiling. It was a beautiful wood-panelled room with benches all the way round.
‘This was the first-class bathers’ waiting room. They’d pay their two and sixpence and that gave them unlimited hot water. When a tub became free, they’d come on in here –’ he led her through to where most of the addicts had congregated. It was longer than Jessie remembered from the video that morning. ‘On either side were baths, each sectioned off by more wood panelling. In they’d go for their weekly soak. Can’t even imagine it now, can you – public bathing? Sometimes,’ he said, ‘when I turn my back, I can still hear them, singing away, soaping up, shaving, the doors slamming, the steam …’ He looked at Jessie for confirmation. All she saw and smelt was human detritus. She wanted to go home.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Upstairs was where the second-class bathers went. No refills for their shilling. Sometimes you can’t concentrate for all their chattering.’
Jessie heard footsteps above her.
‘Just the pipes,’ he said quickly.
Didn’t sound like pipes to her. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.
‘There’s no one there, Jessie. There never is.’
‘I’d still like to see for myself.’
The long narrow room above matched the one before. It had old rubber flooring in a lurid shade of green. As Don had said, it was empty. But even in this deserted exercise room there was something strange. Preserved buildings were like preserved people, their very refusal to decay, their obstinacy, could teach you something. Something of the past. If you were prepared to read the signs.
‘He doesn’t come up here.’
‘Who?’
‘What?’
‘Are you feeling all right, Don?’ He’d only just come out of hospital and this had been no ordinary day.
‘They said it wasn’t my fault.’
‘Of course not. People with drug addictions are desperate, they’ll go wherever they can,’ said Jessie. ‘It wasn’t your fault you got ill.’
‘I’m not ill,’ said the caretaker defensively.
‘Sorry, my mistake.’
‘I get the wobblies sometimes, that’s all.’ He put his finger in his ear and rubbed it as if he were clearing some wax.
‘It’s been a long day,’ said Jessie. ‘It’s time to go home.’
He stared at her. Her phone rang, making her jump. It was a number she didn’t recognise.
‘Best stay up here,’ said Don, quickening his step as he made it back to the stairwell. ‘Only place you’ll get reception on those things. I’ll go and start the locking up. You stay up here where you …’ He’d gone down the stairs so fast, she didn’t hear the rest.
‘Hello? Is anyone there?’
‘DI Driver,’ said Jessie into the phone.
‘Hi, my name is Dominic Rivers. I just wanted to tell you I’ve had a quick look at your body – sorry, that didn’t come out right. The stiff, um, the –’
‘The mummy?’
‘Yeah, the mummy, right. Thanks for sending it my way – it’s fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s perfectly preserved. Didn’t find it in a peat bog, did you?’
‘No. A lead-lined ash pit.’
‘He’s very clean.’
‘It was empty and sealed.’
‘Well, I won’t know why he is this beautifully preserved until I’ve done some tests, so why don’t you come by in the morning? By then I should be able to tell you a little more about this bloke.’
‘How he died?’
‘And if I’m doing my job correctly, how he lived.’
‘Damn!’
‘Sorry, isn’t that what you wanted?’
‘No, it’s not you – there’s been another power cut. Don!’ Jessie heard someone moving about on the floor below.
‘Where was he found?’
‘Marshall Street Baths,’ said Jessie, feeling for the banisters. ‘Sorry, I can’t see anything, I’ll have to call you back.’
‘No worries, just come by in the morning. About nine.’
‘Nine it is.’
‘That’s a date. Have a good one.’
Yeah right, thought Jessie, feeling her way back down the stairs in the darkness. She cursed the fact she’d left her bag in the foyer.
‘Don!’ She called out. ‘The lights have gone again!’ The yellow streetlights oozed through the windows, reflected and repeated a million times by the raindrops that clung to the dirty panes. She looked down the central well.
‘Oh, you’re there,’ said Jessie. The figure looked up. It wasn’t Don.
‘Detective Inspector Driver.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘Who
