Gay Longworth - The Unquiet Dead

‘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 are you?’

‘My name is Father Forrester. Anglican. Good and high,’ he said with a smile. He removed a brown felt trilby from his head and performed a small bow. A shock of white hair hovered around his crown in wisps as thin as clouds. ‘At your service,’ he said, his face dissected by laughter lines. Even in the dim light, Jessie could see his eyes sparkle.

‘What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be in here.’

‘I was hoping I might be able to help you.’

‘How did you get in here?’

‘The door was open.’

‘Don!’ shouted Jessie again. It was a ruse, to let the man know they weren’t alone. ‘Well, it wasn’t supposed to be. I’m afraid I’m going to have to escort you out. This building is closed to the public. It’s unsafe.’

He looked around the small atrium. ‘Unsafe. Indeed, especially to those who remain here. I expect you can feel it.’

‘Feel what?’ Jessie walked slowly down the last couple of steps, stopping a few feet away from him when she reached ground level.

‘The heavy atmosphere, a terrible feeling of regret.’

‘No,’ she said. Actually, now you come to mention it … ‘No,’ she said again. The strange old man stared over her left shoulder.

‘Have we met before?’ asked Jessie, resisting the temptation to check behind her.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You look familiar to me. Have you been in trouble with the law, Father Forrester?’

He chuckled. It sounded like someone shaking a bag of marbles. ‘Not since leaving Oxford University when there was an embarrassing moment with some underpants and a flagpole. You could say I am a reformed character.’

She moved round him to the door that led to the entrance. Never let the unknown entity stand between you and the exit. Especially in a dark, derelict building. ‘Are you sure? You aren’t wearing a dog collar.’

‘I am now retired, but not redundant. I think I can help you.’

‘And how is it that you can help me, Father Forrester?’

‘Someone in here needs forgiveness. As it happens, I am in the forgiving business.’

‘Don’t you normally knock on the door with leaflets?’

His faint smile didn’t falter. ‘Does the name Ann mean anything to you?’

Oh dear, thought Jessie. One of those. It was extraordinary what human peculiarities crime scenes conjured up. From nowhere gypsies with crystals would arrive; wailing women, pagans, hippies, spiritualists offering to talk to the dead, housewives who’d had vivid dreams. Body-bags brought out the supernatural in everyone, it seemed. Personally, Jessie liked to stick to the facts.