Billy didn't have a clue what Stan was talking about, but thought it seemed irrelevant anyway. He was still trying to work out how the victim was put into the pool, and, if he wasn't drowned, how was he killed?
Stan was saying, 'You see, the chorine doesn't mix so well otherwise. You soon get people complaining about sore eyes and itching.' He stopped talking and flipped a switch to demonstrate the electric hoist. 'We'd never manage it without this. It's worth its weight in gold.' He lovingly patted the hoist's electric switch. 'Mind you, the panels have to be in the right sequence. If not, they wain't go down properly. It causes all sorts of buggerment. We had a bit of trouble the last time cos somebody had moved one of the trestles out of order. We never found out who it was; probably one of them daft buggers in t’office.'
Billy climbed half way up a trestle and leaned back over it to look up through the hole in the ceiling where the hoist travelled. High above was the bright glazed lantern roof of the main bathing hall. The cries and laughter of unseen swimmers bubbled down in its bluish glow.
'Anyway, I decided to start pumping without waiting for 'em to get here. I knew they'd be pissed off, but I'd waited long enough, and it served 'em reight for not being here on time.' He laughed shaking his head. 'You should have heard 'em. The air were blue. I think I learned about ten new swear words, and there was only a couple of feet of watta in the deep end when they got here. It were nowt to get fussed about. They just had to paddle about a bit. Of course, I stopped pumping as soon they arrived. And then the shout went up. They'd found the guy floating in the deep end. Somebody rang the coppers.'
Billy followed him back into the boiler room. Stan tapped a couple of gauges and balancing his tea mug, adjusted a wheel valve along the way.
'Well, I still don't see how did the killer got him in under that floor?' Billy said.
'Yeah, that's got me flummoxed an' all. You'd either have to be up there in the baths, and lift up one of the end floor panels so you could drop him in underneath it. But one man can't do that on his own. It's at least a two man job.'
'And what's the other way?'
'What?'
'You said "either", so what's the other one?'
'Er – no, I can't think of another – there int one.'
Billy scratched his chin. 'When they put the floor down, do they start at one end?'
'Yeah, the deep end. The trestle numbers run that way.'
'So you could have half the floor down, and the other half just trestles waiting to be covered over.'
Stan scratched his head. 'I suppose so but …'
'So somebody could hide a body under the covered half and you'd never see it.'
'No, that'd never work. You couldn't carry a body in and shove it under the floor with all them blokes working there? They'd see thee.'
'Only if they were there,' said Billy. 'But what if they weren't?'
'What d'you mean?'
'What if they were down in the store loading the hoist or sommat? Or, what if it was their tea break, or better still, what if they were all having their snap?' Billy's face brightened. 'Where do they go for their dinner break?'
'If it's nice, some of 'em sit out in the sun. They come in here if it's raining. Sometimes they go round to the pub - the Raven, for a pint.'
'That means they leave the bath hall empty for at least half an hour at midday.'
Stan nodded slowly, his face creased in a fading frown. 'Aye, but you'd have to hide the body somewhere else until you could bring it out to shove it in there.'
Billy frowned and flashed a glare of annoyance at Stan for puncturing his theory. He ran the problem through his mind again, always coming back to the same dead end. The murder must have been committed somewhere very close by. The killer then had to keep the body out of sight until he could hide it in the pool without the dance floor fitters seeing him.
He remembered that the body had been naked except for a towelling bathrobe. That almost certainly placed the victim in the Turkish bath immediately before his death. Billy knew there was a connecting door between the main swimming bath and the Turkish bath. That could have been the killer's route in and out. But how? Once open for business the Turkish bath was always occupied.
'Can I have look round up there?' Billy asked, pointing to the door behind which he knew the service staircase led up to the Turkish baths. He recalled his escape from Longden.
Stan frowned. 'Aye, but don’t say I knew owt about it if tha gets caught.'
Billy left him and charged up the stairs to the door at the top. He eased it open and peered in. Steamy warm air hit him in the face. He wiped the ensuing fog from his spectacles and crept through onto the balcony that ran around the main hot room. He could see down into the curtained alcoves edging the room. A slumbering figure occupied almost every bed and chaise; none were moving, except to snore or yawn.
He descended the stairs, confident that all the bathers would be dozing peacefully. Sweat dripped off his nose as he stepped into the middle of the tiled room and stood on the star patterned mosaic floor and looked about. Nobody noticed him, not even when he extended his arms and twirled around in a balletic challenge to them all. Nobody moved in the soporific clouds of steam, save to snore and mutter unintelligibly.
As expected, he found the door to the main bath hall. He softly cracked it open and slipped through. The snorers in their sweaty, sweet dreams remained undisturbed. Once in the main bath hall he ducked into a vacant changing cubicle and hid there, watching the swimmers. Had the killer done the same? he wondered. He sat down on the cubicle's little bench seat, and gazed, unseeing, at the graffiti carved into its wooden walls.
That's how it was done, he told himself. The killer hid the corpse on a chaise in the Turkish bath. He bundled it up in towels. Nobody would see it was a corpse, even if they looked straight at it. Apart from the snoring, they all looked like corpses anyway. Then, when the contractors went for their midday meal, the killer crept back into the Turkish bath, made sure everybody was dozing peacefully, and dragged the corpse out and hid it under the half-finished dance floor. It remained there throughout the summer ball and overnight - in the dry, empty pool space.
On that morning when Stan was cross at the contractors for being late, he had started filling the pool. The corpse floated on the rising water. When the contractors finally arrived, there was a blinding row with Stan, who turned the water off. The contractors made a start on the floor. They take up the shallow end first so that everything will be in the right order for the next time. After taking up half of it, they find the body floating in about a foot of water. Somebody called the police.
Billy released a sigh of satisfaction. His theory worked perfectly, he thought. 'Simple,' he told himself, certain he had cracked it. He gazed at the cubicle’s foldable walls and ran his mind through the whole process again. This time, however, his confidence suffered a slow puncture, and he felt himself slumping lower on the bench seat. The certainty that the corpse had been hidden in full view of the Turkish Bath’s clients leaked away. Even worse, the inconvenient question of where the drowning had actually taken place, inflated massively. He puffed out his cheeks and headed back gloomily to the boiler room. He might be a little closer to an answer, he told himself, but he still had far to go.
0o0o0
Chapter Nineteen
In the greenhouse, his two friends listened with rapt attention as Billy reported his latest findings. Yvonne chalked up, rubbed out, rewrote and revised the MOM board eager to capture every nuance of both Billy's evidential and theoretical conclusions. Kick fulfilled the role of MOM board easel to perfection, except for leaning over and putting his head in the way whenever Yvonne tried to write on it.
'But even if he was drowned somewhere else, in the way you say, it still doesn’t tell us who did it,' Kick said. He was thinking aloud, his face riven in concentration.
'What about that Longden bloke, the one you said walks like a sergeant major?’ Yvonne asked. She was gazing at the
whitewashed glass panes above her head, chalk poised, ready to write. ‘If he’s always in the Turkish bath, like you say, he might know sommat.'
'He might have done it,’ Kick warned. 'Is he the same Longden that Professor Darnley was with in the Marples’ cellar?'
'He could be,’ said Billy, ‘but whether he is or not, why would he kill Hepburn?' They're not connected to each other. Hepburn wasn’t in the cellar that night.’
‘Yeah remember, means – opportunity – motive,’ said Kick, tapping the MOM board. ‘What's his motive?'
'Well, they knew each other; they were both regulars at the Turkish bath. That means Longden had the opportunity to kill him and, with all that water, the means.'
'Opportunity is nothing if you don’t have the motive. What’s his motive? They’re just two old toffs who like dozing in the steam baths. ‘Billy argued. 'Without motive you've got nowt – zip - zongo – zoodle – err - zerrrr - nowt!'
'We need to find a connection between Professor Darnley and Longden,' said Yvonne. ‘We know they were friends. How long for? Where did they meet? There has to be more to it than that. If we could find that out for a start, maybe we can begin to fill in the other gaps.' She drew a line under Longden’s and Darnley’s names. 'One of these fellers is the key.’
‘Yeah, burrits three men not two; Hepburn, Darnley and Longden, said Kick. ‘Only Longden is still alive. That makes him number one suspect as far as I’m concerned.’
Yvonne gaped at him for a second then sneered with disbelief. ‘You think Longden killed them both? That’s stupid, why would he?’
‘Exactly!’ cried Billy. ‘And until we know if he had a motive we‘ll not be able to prove anything. But, remember this, Longden knew them both and he had the means and the opportunity to kill them. He also knew Mary Scott. He could have killed her too. He was there in that old tunnel on that terrible night ten years ago. Maybe he stole sommat that night; cash, gold, jewels, and Mary saw him, so he killed her to keep her quiet. Maybe this is all about Mary’s murder and not the dance floor drowning. We need to find out the killer’s motives. Once we know that, the rest is easy.’
Billy stood up and moved to the greenhouse door. Yvonne and Kick were staring at the MOM board as if willing it to give up its secrets. ‘What time is it?' Billy asked. 'I need to tell the doc what I've found out.'
'Oh crickey!' cried Kick, leaping up suddenly. 'I bet it's late. I've not been home for me tea yet. Me mam'll kill me ageeyan. She killed me yesterday an' all.'
Billy shot him a worried glance. 'Me too.'
Yvonne, whose mother was never entirely sure what planet she occupied, let alone what the time might be, looked at the pair with mild amusement. 'He should be home by now. Surgery closes at seven.'
At the mention of the hour, Billy’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. 'Chuffin eck! I've missed Dick Barton ageeyan.'
*
'Where the devil have you been until now?' Billy's mam was not pleased. He ducked as he sidled in through the door, just in case she was packing cucumber again. 'You know your tea's at six when your dad's on days. It's on the kitchen side - as cold as charity.'
'Ayup Billy. You missed Dick Barton,' his dad said with a wink. 'It worra brilliant one an' all. Snowy's really had it this time. He's tied up in a cellar that's filling up wi’ acid. Thiz no way Jock can get out of the furnace before he burns to death, and Dick's unconscious in a Spitfire plummeting to earth.'
Billy sat at the table grinning. He knew his dad hadn't really heard the broadcast, because he told him the same thing every time he had missed one. Missis Perks set a plate of steaming hot tripe and onions in front of him. His favourite meal; pieces of tripe simmered for ages in milk and onions, seasoned with sage, parsley and pepper, and served with boiled potatoes that should just be about ready to fall.
'You don't deserve it piping hot,' she said. 'I really will let it go cold next time, so make sure you're in at six, or you'll get what for.' She brushed a hand over the back of his pullover as she passed by. 'What this mark?' She rubbed harder. Billy twisted round trying to see over his shoulder.
'Take it off. It looks like paint, or sommat.' She pulled his tank top off over his head and held it up to the window to inspect it in the evening sunlight. Billy juggled his glasses back onto his nose and peered where she was rubbing at the woolly. He saw a faint blue line about six inches long. It did look like blue paint, he thought, but powdery and dry, not fresh. It was like the mark he'd seen on the sports coat. On closer inspection, he saw it was flaky old paint, the same colour and texture as that on the battered surfaces of the dance floor trestles. He remembered leaning back over one of the trestles and guessed he had picked it up then.
*
At noon the following day Billy finally ran Doctor Hadfield to earth. He found him in his tiny living room cum kitchen, cooking eggy-bread. It smelled delicious.
'Can I have some?' he asked, peering into the doctor's frying pan.
'No.'
'Mardy arse!'
The doctor cast him a despairing glance. 'You're such a barbarian, Billy, even despite my best efforts to civilise you.' He flipped eggy-bread onto a plate and carried it to his table. A single rose, displayed in the sort of jar used for taking urine samples, shed its last few petals onto the table as the eggy-bread was set down beside it. 'Be quick, old lad. Tell all. I daren't be late back. I'm at the top of my dreaded leader's death list at the moment.'
'Hepburn wasn't drowned.'
'Yes he was.'
'No he wasn't. There were no watta in the pool.'
'Billy, old thing, his lungs were full of water. I've seen the pathologist's report. I can assure you, the poor man drowned – in water – chlorinated.'
Billy bit his lip and gazed at the sad little scatter of rose petals. 'Then the killer must have drowned him somewhere else and stuffed him into the pool later to make it look like he was drowned there.'
Hadfield chewed, eyeing him steadily. He swallowed and took a swig of tea. 'Hum, it's an interesting theory. It could be why that idiot Longden wants Sarah to let it seem like suicide. Drowning in a large public swimming pool instead of the cold plunge, used only by a small elite, would be far less troublesome for the police. It gives them more variables with which to confuse we lesser mortals.'
‘What are you talking about?’
Hadfield was blushing bright pink. ‘Nothing, forget it. Forget I said anything.’
'Huh, Longden again, isn’t it?'
The doctor looked about him stricken, mouth full of eggy-bread.
'He gets everywhere. I think he’s the same bloke who goes to the Turkish baths and was also in the cellar when Marples was bombed?'
Hadfield groaned, dropped his knife and fork with a clatter and struggled to swallow before answering. 'Oh flip! I wasn't supposed to say anything. I promised Sarah...' He blew a sigh and shook his head, furious with himself. 'Look, old bean, I'm sorry, but I can't say another word.'
'You have to!' Billy cried. 'The bloke who was with Darnley in the Marples bombing was called Longden. I have to be sure if it’s the same bloke.'
'Darnley? D’you mean the Rivelin victim? Man’s Head?'
'Yes.’ Billy sat closer and stole a bit of eggy-bread. ‘Him and someone called Longden were old pals. I know a bloke who was with 'em in that bombed cellar.'
Hadfield looked worried. 'Crickey! I'd better warn Sarah.'
'I'll come wi thee,' Billy said, a determined frown on his face. 'I want to see her me sen.'
Hadfield gaped, horrified by the idea. 'Good lord! That's absolutely out of the question, old bean. Why on earth would I introduce you to normal people, especially one's friends?'
'I've got to question her; it's vital. You won't tell me owt cos you've promised her not to, burrif I meet her me sen, she'll soon tell me everything. It's called charm. I'm brilliant at it.'
Hadfield almost choked on his lunch. He laughed aloud, trying not to spray Billy with eggy-bread. 'Billy, old bean, forgive
me but - charm – are you quite sure about that?'
'Oh don't thee worrit thee sen, the lasses like me when I turn it on.'
'I don't mean to doubt you for a second, dear boy. I'm sure you're the very epitome of gallantry and courtly love. However, nothing could induce me to take you anywhere near Sarah. It just wouldn't be cricket. She's very upset about the whole unpleasant business. She'll barely speak to me about it. She wants to forget it all, and I respect her wishes.' He chuckled at some afterthought and wiped his mouth on a crumpled napkin. 'No matter how undoubtedly charming you are, Billy, you are not meeting Sarah.'
Billy glared at him. It was happening again, he thought. As soon as a young woman appears on the scene, it renders Hadfield useless – unhelpful - dopey. It was just the same when they were investigating the Star Woman's murder. As soon as Yvonne's sister, Marlene, arrived on the scene, he started keeping secrets and holding out. Just like a lap dog, Billy reminded himself, He had caved in to Marlene's every wish. Now it was Sarah. He glared at Hadfield and tossed his head disdainfully. 'Never mind,' he said. 'I'll just have to question her without your help. It's a free country. You can't stop me seeing who I want to.'
Hadfield shrugged, more amused than threatened. The idea was ridiculous.
*
Grumbling under his breath, Billy left Hadfield to his eggy-bread. He knew where Sarah Becket worked, and immediately set off on his bike to find her. As he pedalled into town, he reviewed what little he knew about her and tried to work out how he should approach her.
At the hospital, he hid his bike in some bushes and slipped into the main building, unopposed. At a long, cluttered reception desk, a trio of harassed receptionists were dealing with injured and worried members of the public, as well as lots of paperwork, nurses and doctors. Billy marched swiftly by and looked round for direction signs to "Pathology". He tried various routes unsuccessfully, returning each time to the main entrance to start again.
Dance Floor Drowning Page 18