Niaz smiled graciously. ‘She is a truly remarkable detective. She was also right about February 23rd.’
‘What about February 23rd?’
‘The date the watch stopped. The date Jonny Romano died.’
‘Who?’ asked a sleep-deprived Burrows.
‘Jonny Romano, the boy who drowned.’ Burrows frowned more deeply. ‘Didn’t you go with DI Driver yesterday?’
‘Yes. To the vicarage.’
‘The vicarage?’ Now it was Niaz’s turn to look confused.
‘Then I dropped her off at the library, where I thought she was meeting you.’
‘Correct. At the library we ascertained that on February 23rd, 1989, a boy called Jonny Romano drowned as a consequence of a fit, most probably induced by a reaction to amphetamines.’
Burrows shook his head. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘The drugs were sold by a middle-aged man called Ian Doyle, who subsequently disappeared.’
Burrows shrugged.
‘The man in the morgue.’
‘Ah,’ said Burrows, finally enlightened. ‘Great, so we know who he is.’
‘Indeed. DI Driver returned to Marshall Street Baths to question the caretaker, but obviously discovered nothing. However, there is good news: I have the address of the dead boy’s father.’
‘Why did Driver want to talk to that old man?’
‘He would have known all about the incident. He had access to the basement and possibly chains. Doyle was tied up by a chain before he drowned. I thought you were meeting her there?’
The words hung like icicles in the air: still, sharp and dangerous. Niaz waited hopefully for his senior officer’s confirmation. Instead, Burrows ran his hand nervously through his hair.
‘And you haven’t heard from her since?’ asked Burrows.
‘No fear,’ said Niaz confidently. ‘She is most likely to be found in the canteen at this time of the morning. Caffeine. She cannot start the morning …’ His voice trailed off. Burrows was already halfway down the corridor. Niaz waited patiently for his return. His boss had left no clues to her whereabouts on the desk. Her computer showed that she had messages waiting. Niaz clicked the mouse. The first e-mail awaiting her attention had been received from Dominic Rivers at 10.28 a.m. the previous morning. Niaz started to tap his foot. Then, on a whim, he picked up the phone and dialled Driver’s mobile from memory. It rang. And rang. And rang. He left a short message. A few moments later he heard footsteps hurry back down the passageway. Burrows pushed open the door. Niaz had only to look at him to know DI Driver was missing. The phone rang, making them both jump. Burrows got to the receiver first.
‘DI Driver’s phone.’
‘Hi, is she there?’
‘Who’s calling, please?’
‘Bill Driver – her brother. It’s not important.’
‘She hasn’t arrived in the office yet,’ said Burrows, playing for time.
‘Oh,’ said Bill. ‘Could you tell her I rang?’
‘Certainly. I believe we nearly met the other day, in the pub.’
‘Oh yes, um …’
‘DS Burrows, I work under DI Driver’s command.’
‘You poor sod,’ said Bill. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean –’
‘You’re staying with the DI, aren’t you?’
‘Yup.’
‘May I ask whether you saw her this morning?’
‘Actually, no, I was just calling to explain my whereabouts last night – out with mates, got a little out of hand …’ Burrows looked up at Niaz who was almost leaning over him as he listened. ‘She’d gone by the time I got home.’
‘Okay,’ said Burrows, trying to sound light-hearted. ‘Thanks.’ He mouthed three words to Niaz. Marshall. Street. Baths.
‘Anything the matter?’ asked Bill.
‘No, no,’ said Burrows, wanting to end the call as quickly as possible.
‘But she isn’t there yet?’
‘I’ll let her know you called as soon as she gets in.’
‘Hang on a sec.’ Burrows heard Bill Driver’s heavy footsteps on bare wooden boards. A door hinge squeaked. ‘The bed doesn’t look slept in,’ said Bill, returning to the phone. ‘Now do you want to tell me what’s going on?’
‘I’m afraid I really have to go. I’ll get her to call you as soon as I see her.’
Jessie’s brother didn’t respond immediately. Burrows paused for a second too long.
‘Don’t dick me about here,’ said Bill. ‘She’s my sister and I’m no fool.’
Niaz arched his long neck and pointed to the door. Burrows swallowed. ‘DI Driver may have gone to question a suspect alone yesterday. She hasn’t been back to her office and, according to you, she hasn’t been home. There is probably a perfectly logical explanation to this …’ he faltered slightly.
‘But you can’t think of one at the moment?’
‘No. And the longer you keep me on the phone, the longer I am from getting to where she went.’
‘Well, goodbye then.’
The phone went dead. Burrows and Niaz ran down the hallway, down the stairwell and out on to the street. Burrows hailed an IRV driver, told him to drive first and asks questions second. They pulled up outside Marshall Street Baths three and a half minutes later. Burrows pushed the door, expecting to find it locked, but it swung open. He half fell, half ran into the foyer of the decaying building.
‘DRIVER! DI DRIVER!’ What the bloody hell was she thinking?
Niaz walked solemnly past him and pushed open the double doors that led to the giant crater of the empty pool. A man was walking along the middle lane. Slowly and methodically, swinging his arms, one by one over his head. He reached the stagnant pool, turned and began his return length.
Burrows’ call rang through the cavernous room. ‘DRIVER!’
‘Excuse me,’ said Niaz. The man stopped and appeared to tread water. ‘Do you mind stepping out of the pool so that I can ask you some questions?’
‘More questions?’ said the caretaker.
‘Sorry, but yes, more questions.’
Niaz watched as the slightly stooped, moustached man walked back up the swimming lane. Once at the shallow end, he cut across to the ladder, climbed out, smoothed his hair back and walked towards Niaz.
‘I like to do my lengths,’ he said. ‘It’s important to keep fit.’
The door opened behind them. Burrows looked angrily towards the caretaker. Niaz placed himself between his colleague and the much smaller, frailer man.
‘We were wondering where our boss, DI Driver, was. Do you have any idea?’
‘She went to casualty,’ said the man quickly. ‘The rats got her. I told her, you’ll need an injection for those. Get a nasty infection, she will. I tried to help her – you see, I’ve done a lot of first aid.’
‘When was this?’
‘About sixish, I think. It was still raining. The water level had come up, see.’
Burrows took a step forward. ‘Perhaps my colleague didn’t make himself clear. DI Driver is missing. You were the last person she was with.’
‘She went to casualty,’ repeated the caretaker, his eyes darting nervously between the two policemen.
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes, well, no, not sure …’
‘What do you mean, not sure?’
The man was beginning to stutter. ‘M-m-maybe she didn’t go.’
‘Where is she then?’
‘I don’t know, you s-s-said –’
Niaz placed his hand on the caretaker’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps DS Burrows can go and have a look around, just in case.’
Don nodded. Burrows didn’t like it, but he knew when to back off.
‘I’ve been reading a lot of old newspapers about this place,’ said Niaz.
The caretaker looked at Niaz suspiciously.
‘All those sponsored swims.’
‘And I had the best view for every race.’
‘So you weren’t caretaker back then?’ aske
d Niaz.
He shuffled nervously. ‘My shift starts soon. Need to get changed. Big responsibility. Excuse me.’
‘What did you do, Don, before they closed the pool?’
‘Questions, questions, she was asking me all those questions.’
Niaz took a piece of folded paper out of his jacket pocket. He opened it up carefully and passed it to Don. The caretaker looked at the article and the photograph above it. The page began to shake.
‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ said Niaz.
‘Red,’ said Don. He looked back up at Niaz. ‘You can’t tell in this photo that the shorts were red. You should see my scrapbook.’
‘You worked as a lifeguard at the pool for nearly twenty years.’
He nodded. ‘I still do my lengths. It’s important to keep fit.’
‘What happened when Jonny Romano died, Don?’
‘I could always hold my breath longer than any of the other cadets.’
‘What happened?’
‘They told me he was messing around. It was their fault, they should have let me do my job, but they said he’d soon get bored if we didn’t pay him any attention. I shouldn’t have listened. All those years and when I am finally tested, I fail. It was my fault, whatever the judge said, it was my fault. They all know.’ He looked around the empty pews. ‘They won’t let me forget.’ Don’s eyes travelled upwards to the set of rungs embedded in the crumbling wall. Two rusty brackets remained bolted in place. ‘What good is a pair of red swimming shorts and a whistle if you can’t save a young boy’s life?’
‘Did you tell DI Driver all of this?’
He continued to stare at the brackets. ‘She guessed.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘I’m not supposed to talk about it. It rattles me. The doctors say I shouldn’t be rattled.’
‘What happens when you’re rattled?’ asked Niaz.
‘It all goes black,’ he said quietly. ‘She promised she wouldn’t tell, you see. But here you are already, making noise. I don’t like noise.’
The double doors opened again. Burrows held up a black rucksack. ‘I found it on the steps leading to the basement. Tell me what you’ve done to DI Driver.’
‘It wasn’t my fault.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Don’t push him, he’s confused,’ said Niaz.
Burrows threw down the rucksack, ignored Niaz and strode up to the shrinking man. ‘What have you done? I swear to God, I’ll –’
‘All right, all right, I killed him,’ cried the caretaker.
‘He thinks you’re talking about the boy who drowned,’ said Niaz, more loudly.
‘Where is she?’
‘He doesn’t know.’
‘I killed him, by doing nothing I killed him. You see, they know, they’ve always known. I may as well have chained him up and thrown him in the pool myself. I sat there, I did nothing, I killed him. They know, they all know –’
‘What the hell is going on?’
The three men turned. Jessie stood in the doorway.
‘A million praises,’ exclaimed Niaz. ‘You are safe.’
Don sobbed. ‘You said you wouldn’t tell. I don’t like to be rattled. It isn’t good, the doctor said.’
Jessie walked towards the uneasy caretaker and put an arm around his shoulders. ‘It’s okay, Don, it’s still our secret.’ She looked at Burrows, who was staring angrily at her. ‘There must be some sort of misunderstanding here.’
‘Where have you been?’ asked Burrows.
‘A & E.’
‘You didn’t go home last night,’ continued Burrows.
Horrified, Jessie turned her back on him. ‘Come on, Don, let’s go and get you a nice cup of tea. I brought you a tin of biscuits to say thank you for rescuing me last night.’ He dropped his shoulders a little. ‘I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come along and saved the day.’
‘Seems you don’t need red shorts or a whistle to be a lifeguard,’ said Niaz.
‘Well said, PC Ahmet,’ said Jessie, still rubbing Don’s shoulders.
‘I don’t like to be rattled,’ the old man said again, sounding tired but less strained.
‘I know. It’s over now. The police officers are leaving.’
‘Look, boss –’
‘Now. I will see you back at the station in half an hour.’
There was the clatter of a door slamming from the foyer.
‘Hello?’ called out a man’s voice.
Jessie recognised the voice immediately, pulled nervously at her shirtsleeves and then called out her brother’s name. He had stubble, bloodshot eyes and smelt of stale beer, but he smiled broadly at Jessie.
‘What are you doing here, Bill?’
‘Checking to see if I still had a sister. Seems I do. Very good. Now I can go back to bed.’
Jessie looked angrily at Burrows.
‘Your brother didn’t think you’d been home. We hadn’t heard from you,’ pleaded Burrows.
‘You weren’t answering your phone,’ said Niaz, coming to Burrows’ defence.
‘I left my bag here by mistake.’
‘And your bed didn’t seem slept in,’ offered Bill helpfully.
‘I make my bed in the morning, Bill.’
‘But I didn’t –’
Jessie glared at him. ‘I don’t want to have this conversation right now. We have disturbed Don enough –’ As she said the words a phone rang. Everyone looked towards Jessie’s bag lying on the floor by the double doors. Jessie knew immediately it wasn’t her phone. She wouldn’t have a personal ring-tone that played a P. J. Dean song if her life depended on it. From behind the double doors she heard a woman swear quietly to herself just as the ringing stopped. Jessie pulled back the doors. The news reporter Amanda Hornby stood in the foyer.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said, nervously looking over Jessie’s shoulder. ‘I was wondering if you had any information on the body you pulled out of here?’
Jessie crossed her arms slowly in front of her chest. ‘Nice little ring-tone that,’ she said. ‘Immediately identifiable.’
‘Yes, well, it helps in the newsroom when all the phones are going at once.’
‘You should remember to put it on silent when you’re stalking people,’ said Jessie.
‘I don’t know what –’
Jessie cut her off. ‘You’ve been following me.’ She was about to deny it. ‘I heard your phone.’
‘I was interested in the story, that’s all.’
‘Really? Funny that, everyone else is still stuck on the Klein case.’
‘I like to be a bit different.’
‘You could have just come to the station, or called me like an ordinary reporter does, rather than skulking around in the dark.’
Amanda suddenly stood up straight. ‘Your boss was denying you’d even found a body, so I suggest you get off the moral high ground.’
Bill put his hand on Jessie’s shoulder. ‘Hey, I know who you are –’
‘Not now, Bill –’ said Jessie.
‘– Amanda Hornby,’ he said, grinning. ‘You look even better in the flesh.’
The news reporter purred like a cat. ‘Your sister has told me all about you.’
‘Jess, you didn’t tell me you knew Amanda.’
‘I don’t. And she’s leaving.’
‘What a coincidence,’ said Bill, ‘so am I. Fancy a coffee of something?’
Jessie watched in horror as Bill offered Amanda Hornby his arm and she took it with a gloat visible only to other women. There was nothing Jessie could do without appearing like a crazed incestuous freak. Instead she turned back to the pool. ‘Don, help – I need rescuing again.’
9
Niaz, Burrows and Jessie drove to the Romanos’ flat on the Lisson Grove Estate in silence. Even Niaz’s diplomatic skills couldn’t break the standoff between his two senior officers. Jessie was furious with Burrows for reporting her missing to her brother and wading in with two left feet at th
e Marshall Street Baths, and he in turn was furious with her for putting herself in danger and ignoring police procedure. She hadn’t been in danger, she insisted over and over again. But she could have been, he retaliated. Jessie felt like Burrows had pried into her personal life, had overstepped the boundary. What she did at night was her own business. She certainly didn’t want him knowing whether she’d slept in her own bed or not. Too much information. Too close. Too personal. Jessie stared out of the window. Was she really angry with Burrows for prying, or angry with herself for straying? Bill was right, she hadn’t made it home, but she wasn’t going to tell him or anyone else that. To be truthful, she was glad to have something else to think about.
Jessie had not left the baths until she had made sure Don was calm. It had taken three cups of tea and a look through his scrapbook. Don – or Michael ‘Donnie’ Firth, as he was known back then – had had an exemplary record as a lifeguard. For twenty years he had perched on that seat, twenty feet above the water, in his red shorts. In all that time, no one had drowned, no one had even come close to drowning. The man was married to the job. He was Marshall Street Baths. All the children knew him as Donnie and treated him as one of their own. All the parents and teachers trusted him and treated him as one of their own.
On that fateful Tuesday, the class of teenage boys had been getting steadily out of control. They were boisterous, rowdy and aggressive. Don was told by the teachers to ignore their increasingly farfetched cries for help. It was a decision that would steal his sanity. Jonny Romano cried wolf three times; on the fourth he was dead. It wasn’t until the boy sank below the surface and lay like a stone on a riverbed, that Don realised this drowning had not been an act. He performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation for forty-five minutes, but the boy never regained consciousness. Michael ‘Donnie’ Firth had to be physically removed by the paramedics. He went with the boy to the hospital. From there he was taken directly to the police station. The questioning had been intense and relentless, they needed someone to blame. The press clawed over his professional and personal life, the mob shouted insults outside his cell for three days and three nights until the drug story broke. By then it was too late. The lifeguard had a massive nervous breakdown from which he never recovered. Two years later, management agreed to give him a job as caretaker. He had been working the boiler room ever since. According to his doctors he heard voices, saw people when there was no one there and told tall tales to anyone who would listen. When this happened too frequently, they upped his medication and the voices died down.
The Unquiet Dead Page 12