Chapter Twenty Three

 

William Phillips was a creature of habit. On Sunday evenings, except when he was out of town on business, he took the lift down to the gym located on the first floor of the Panorama Apartment block and swam thirty laps of the twenty-five metre pool. The centre was equipped with a pool, spa and steam room. Down a corridor behind another set of doors was the gym, equipped with treadmills, rowing machines and exercise bikes.

Bryan and Julie Sykes were regular Sunday-nighters at the gym and ignored the Strata Body notice glued to the wall. The Strata Corporation by-laws placed a prohibition on alcohol, the use of glass containers within the pool area, unnecessary running, excessive splashing, nude bathing and the presence of children under the age of sixteen who were not under the direct supervision of an adult. There was only one by-law they didn’t take exception to, and that was the restriction of unsupervised children. But as William knew, some rules were meant to be broken and he turned a blind eye to the couple’s drinking, especially when they were considerate enough to bring along an extra champagne flute for him.

William inserted his pass key into the electronic reader and the glass door clicked open. The centre was deserted. He had the place to himself and he was relieved. He didn’t feel like socialising with Bryan and Julie tonight. He stripped off his track suit top and pants and placed his towel and keys on the timber bench under the sign that said ‘no diving’. His swimming goggles slipped easily over his head, fitting snug against his face. With his swimming costume adjusted and the white cord tucked neatly into them, he dived into the deep end of the pool. As his face broke the surface, his body slid effortlessly through the water and he relaxed as his powerful arms and legs settled into a swimmer’s rhythm. Stroke after effortless stroke his breathing kept in time with his heartbeat. Up and down, lap after lap, he glided through the pool. When he rolled into his thirtieth lap, he caught sight of someone standing by the edge of the pool. When the tips of his fingers touched the northern end of the pool, he planted his feet on the bottom, turned and looked behind him. Whoever was watching him, wasn’t there now.

He flicked his head to one side, a shower of water droplets sprayed into the air just like a wet dog shaking itself after a bath. His broad shoulders took his weight as he eased his body out of the water. He snatched up his towel from the bench, dried off and headed towards the steam room.

He punched the green start button next to the door with his fist and closed the heavy door behind him. Cedar timber slats poked into his spine as he flattened his body against the bench. With his knees bent, he rolled up his towel to form a pillow and tucked it under his head. The room was already warm and it wasn’t long before the temperature gauge began to climb to sixty-five degrees Celsius. William felt the effects of the heat and knew it was doing his body good. Rivulets of condensation dribbled down the walls and across the small square boxed window on the steam room door. Beads of sweat trickled down his body as he set the alarm on his waterproof watch for ten minutes. William tilted his head back, closed his eyes and felt all the muscles in his body relax.

Ten minutes later his alarm beeped, slowly, quietly at first, then it escalated in pitch, singing off-key to William, urging him to take notice, to open his eyes, to wake up. He was slow to move, he opened his eyes, his breathing was laboured. As he sat upright, he was immediately overcome by nausea, his chest tightened but he managed to get to his feet and reach for the timber handle on the back of the door. He pushed at it, but it wouldn’t budge. He pushed again.

The door remained firmly shut. He looked around for an emergency button. He’d never paid much attention to the workings of the steam room before, but now he wished he had. A timber bucket was tucked away in the corner of the room. He heaved. After he regurgitated the soupy contents of his stomach into the bucket, he wiped his mouth with his towel and wished he had some water to rinse away the foul taste of vomit and bile.

Wasn’t there some safety mechanism that was supposed to come into play here? William banged on the glass window with his fists. He was sure there was an automatic timer switch that was supposed to cut in after ten minutes. Surely it wasn’t on the outside of the door. ‘Fucking door!’ he yelled, as he kicked it with the last of his remaining strength.

He yelled at the top of his voice. Where was his mobile phone? He realised he’d left it with his clothes by the pool. William pressed his face up hard against the window. But he knew no one would hear him, after all it was Sunday night, the pool complex was deserted. He wished now that Bryan and Julie had come to the pool. They were always here on Sunday nights. Where were they?

William sat down on the floor. His skin was on fire, his throat was dry. The humidity of the steam room was overwhelming and as he sat quietly with his towel wrapped around his head, he began to pray. Not that William Phillips was a religious man but he had run out of options. What else was there left to do? Praying for someone to enter the pool complex and rescue him was all that he could think of to get out of the mess he was now in. He didn’t want to die, not like this, but William knew that was exactly what was about to happen if someone didn’t rescue him soon. Suellyn had gone out for the evening and he didn’t even know if she was planning to come home.

William’s heart rate was rising, his core temperature was soaring. In desperation he searched under the bench looking for the pipe which injected steam into the room. He heard it hissing, spluttering. Would he reach it in time before he passed out? Sweat was dripping off him in bucket loads and was streaming down his chest. His body was cooking, he felt like a pig roasting on a spit. The pain was excruciating, his skin was turning lobster-red. He sensed that he was about to lose consciousness. His head fell forward, his body rolled into a tight ball. A large crack sounded as his head landed hard against the tiled floor.

 

*****

William had no idea that his prayers had been answered as he lay unconscious on the floor. The shut off switch sprang back and the switch turned off. A limp strip of grey electrical duct tape dangled from the switch.

Jock Kelly came on duty five days a week, Monday to Friday, at six am sharp. It was now six-ten, Monday morning. It had taken him ten minutes to unlock his office in the basement, check his emails and take the flight of stairs to the first floor. As he walked briskly towards the Fitness Centre the first thing he noticed was the typed notice taped to the door - Closed for Maintenance. He grabbed the notice and screwed it up into a ball and wondered who the practical joker was.

The affable Scot had been the building superintendent at the Panorama Apartments for almost five years. He was meticulous in the way he carried out his duties and he shook his head when he saw the pile of clothing on the bench at the northern end of the pool and he wondered what had gone on the night before. Jock picked up the set of keys and the mobile phone which was tucked under a pair of grey tracksuit pants and realised he would have to put the car park key through the DKS reader to see who the keys belonged to. The mobile phone was dead.

Jock cast his eye around for anything else that looked amiss as he made his way towards the edge of the pool. It was all clear. Checking the pool was one of the items on his mental checklist. Last summer an elderly resident suffered a heart attack while doing laps and Jock had discovered his body spread-eagled at the bottom of the pool.

But everything seemed in order today and for that, Jock Kelly was grateful. He turned to leave knowing he still had to inspect the rest of the building before returning to the basement to check the garage roller doors and put the key tag through the reader to find out who the clothes and mobile phone belonged to. The garage doors had been playing up recently and he was fed up with being called out late at night to let someone into or out of the building.

He checked his watch. If he hurried he’d make it across the Bridge before the traffic got too heavy. He stopped as he turned to leave. Something had caught his attention. He looked at the wall next to the steam room and tried to make sense of the strip of grey electrical tape dangling from the automatic shut off switch. When he reached the steam room he tugged at its heavy timber door and wondered why it wouldn’t open. He looked down at his feet and saw the thin wedge of timber which had been placed under the door. He kicked it away with his foot and looked through the window.

‘What tha fawk?’

William Phillips was lying on his side on the floor, unconscious or perhaps dead. The white floor tiles where he lay were smeared with a pool of sticky blood. He pushed against the door, it opened and he bent down and shook William violently. ‘Wake up marn for Christ’s sake!’ he yelled.

William opened his eyes, groaned and looked up at Jock.

‘You took your bloody time.’