Who Wants to Live Forever?

by Steve Wilson

“No, not at all. But public transport seemed to want me to stay at home in the dry. Have I missed a lot?”

  “No, hardly anything really. We haven’t covered any new material, but we’ve been having a recap about the previous few weeks.”

  That’s a pity,” I said, “but never mind. At least I’m here for the new bits. What is the topic today?”

  “We’ve moved forward again, to wartime Lancashire now. Once again, this murder occurred in what would now be Greater Manchester, but at the time was part of the county. I know you’ve just arrived, Ethan, but we’re about to break for coffee. I thought it best to have a drink before we begin tonight’s session in earnest. Come on, class,” she added, looking rather pointedly towards Emma in my opinion, “let’s all go and get ourselves a drink.”

  I followed along and chatted with Trish about Louise’s recap while we took our brief respite. I noticed that Debbie was attempting to engage Gail in conversation, but she didn’t seem to be having much success. Instead, Gail spent most of her time glaring at Emma, who sat apart from us, as usual. She had the collar of her coat turned up and appeared small and almost waiflike. I wondered what was going through her mind; there was something about her that didn’t quite seem right. I looked across at Gail again, and saw what looked like intense hatred in her face. What had I missed?

  “What’s with those two?” I asked Trish.

  “I don’t know, but when I arrived the two of them were already here and they looked as if they’d had an almighty row. Gail looked so angry. It’s been simmering ever since.”

  “Any idea what it was about?”

  “No…well, perhaps. You see, I remembered where I’d seen him.”

  “Seen who?”

  “That man last week. The one who Emma was talking to when we were leaving.”

  “I don’t know who you…” Then I remembered him, and I remembered the look on Gail’s face that night as well. Things were beginning to make sense. “Gail’s husband,” I whispered.

  Trish looked annoyed. “How did you know that? You hardly saw him last week, and you certainly didn’t see him at the burger bar. Did you?”

  “No. No, I didn’t. It just seemed to fit, somehow.” I changed the subject and we chatted some more about Louise’s review of events for the remainder of the coffee break, but on the way back I passed close to Emma and managed to get a good look at her. From a distance, it wasn’t noticeable, but up close I could see the layers of make-up that had been applied in a vain attempt to cover up the yellowy-blue discolouration below her eye and on her left cheek. There was no doubt whatsoever about it this time.

  As I watched her she glanced towards Gail. There was unmistakeable fear in her eyes. I realised that I was making some huge guesses based on little or no evidence, but I thought that I was probably along the right lines. It was possible that Gail was reacting like this because she didn’t want any of the group to meet her husband, but I didn’t think that was likely. It seemed much more feasible that something was going on between her husband and Emma, and Gail had found out. If so, I felt sympathy for her; for somebody who was so obviously struggling with her own identity, to be passed over for a girl some forty years her junior must have been the final insult. I couldn’t blame her for lashing out if that were the case. But was it that simple? Why would Emma, who was a pretty — albeit a little surly at times — girl, be interested in a man three times her age? What if it had all been entirely innocent, and she had just exchanged a few words with Gail’s husband as she was leaving? Had Gail misinterpreted what she had seen? I wondered if I’d ever find out what had really happened, as I doubted whether either of them would ever volunteer the facts.

  Back in the classroom, Louise handed out the sheets for this week. “Once again, if you read the factsheets after the class, hopefully they will answer any questions and fill in any missing gaps. So, to begin, as I was about to say before we discussed the previous cases, this murder took place in Bolton, now part of Greater Manchester. The victim was thirty-three-year-old Virginia Lee, who was found drowned, fully clothed, in her bath. The murder occurred on Friday, August 25th 1944.”

  Louise noticed my look of interest when she said the date, and responded with, “Yes, I know it is another Friday murder, but that’s just coincidence. The ones I will talk about for the remainder of the course occurred on different days of the week.” But I hadn’t been aware of the day, more the year. Once again, the murder had occurred after a gap of eleven years. What was the significance of that? I hadn’t time to ponder that for now, though, as Louise was continuing with her summary of what happened that Friday.

  “The murder took place during the latter part of the war, and could easily have gone unnoticed. We touched on this briefly during our second week, when we had a discussion about crime during wartime. Although I said that much of what went on was little more than mischief, that doesn’t mean that violent crime didn’t occur at all. I was attempting to portray the spirit of the times, and I stand by what I said as a generalisation. But, evil has existed throughout history. Consequently, there was quite a lot of crime during wartime, including violent offences. None of that should come as a big surprise, as many of the men who would normally be there to prevent crimes were fighting for their country.

  “So one more death at a time when death was commonplace could almost have gone unnoticed. Virginia Lee was married with two young children. Her husband, Jeremiah, had taken part in the D-Day landings two months earlier. He landed at Juno Beach along with the rest of the No. 46 RM Commando unit.

  “While her husband was overseas, Virginia was helping with the war effort at home. She worked at Fletcher’s paper mill at nearby Kearsley, and had responsibility for taking all the old books, letters and papers that came in and pulping them for reuse. But, like several wives in wartime, she also had her own life. By all accounts, she loved dancing, and was regularly seen at the Palais de Danse, which was but a short walk from her home on Bridge Street.

  “Also to be seen at the dancehall were American soldiers from the RAF Burtonwood base, which was close to Warrington; although it was twenty miles away, their liberty trucks were regularly spotted parked by St Mary’s Church. So it doesn’t take a great stretch of the imagination to infer that Virginia was enjoying the company of the Yanks for more than just providing a dancing partner.

  “That, apparently, is what Jeremiah supposedly thought. He had returned home unexpectedly, and found out about his wife’s reported infidelity. He was a tough man, a coal miner in peacetime who worked at the Montcliffe Colliery at Horwich. He was very handy with his fists, and he liked a drink. Everybody assumed that when he heard about his wife’s behaviour, he drank himself into a rage. Then, when she came home, he threw her into the bath to wash away the smell of the US soldiers who she had been with, holding her under the water until she stopped breathing. It was obvious from the splash marks all over the bathroom floor that she had fought strongly, but unsuccessfully, to get free.

  “Jeremiah denied it, of course. He claimed he had come home, found the house empty — Virginia wasn’t a great mother, and had deposited the children with a neighbour while she was out enjoying herself — and had gone to the pub, where he stayed all night until he collapsed in a corner. He denied any knowledge of the supposed infidelity of his wife. He said that he met an Irishwoman called Maeve O’Hara at the pub and she would confirm his story, as she had stayed with him until he became senseless.

  “Maeve was known in the town, but after the death of Virginia Lee nobody could find her. Consequently, the police concluded that Jeremiah had invented the meeting. At this, he became vehement, insisting that Maeve was a friend of Virginia's and she had offered him comfort and company when he found out what his wife had been up to — the police seized on this admission, for it directly contradicted his earlier claim that he was unaware that his wife was supposedly having an affair.

  “As for Maeve — and I’m sure you can see the pattern here — very little was know
n about her. As she was Irish, many people were suspicious of her, even calling her a Nazi sympathiser because of Ireland’s neutrality. Certainly all who talked about her claimed she was anti-British, although there is no evidence to support that allegation other than hearsay.

  “Jeremiah’s defence fell apart even more when he admitted he had never heard of the woman before, despite earlier claiming she was a close friend of his wife. None of the people who knew of Maeve could say anything other than she had been around for a few months and they were deeply suspicious of her. Those that didn’t accuse her of being a sympathiser even went as far as to suggest she was a spy, and she had fled back to Germany to give her paymasters her report.

  “Jeremiah had kept his wife’s letters, but they were no help to him as they made no mention of Maeve O’Hara whatsoever; the police said that if she had been such a good friend, surely she would have merited at least one sentence. Jeremiah attempted to pass the blame on to Maeve, suggesting she got him drunk, then drowned Virginia so she could have him all to herself. But if that had been the case, why did she disappear so completely? It even made people think that perhaps Jeremiah had killed her as well. Despite being a war hero, Jeremiah was found guilty of murder and was hanged, leaving seven-year old Katherine and nine-year old Benjamin orphans; two more victims of the horrors of wartime.”

  Louise paused, her summation complete, and waited for responses. She wasn’t to be disappointed. “So,” said Trish, “you think that Maeve O’Hara was the real killer and somehow she managed to make everybody think that Jeremiah was the guilty one, then she disappeared into the night.”

  “It isn’t what I think. What do you think?”

  “I think you are very aware of our thoughts,” I said. “You’ve told us about four murders, happening at eleven-year intervals, and in each case there is a mystery woman involved, yet nobody can trace her after the body has been found. The question is, why concentrate on these four isolated cases? Or are they really isolated?”

  “No, I don’t agree,” said Debbie. I was surprised at the insistence in her voice, especially as she usually didn’t make too much of a contribution to the discussion.

  “And why is that, Debbie?” asked Louise.

  “Because it seems to me that you’re trying to make a case for this O’Hara woman to be guilty, yet you’ve nothing to base it on. In fact, from what you’ve told us, I don’t see how you can come to any conclusion other than the fact that her husband drowned her.”

  “Go on,” said Louise. “I’m prepared to be convinced. What brings you to that conclusion?”

  “For a start, he lied about not knowing his wife was supposedly having an affair with one of the American soldiers. That is what led to his conviction — you already told us that. But there must be some things you haven’t told us. For instance, he said he went to the pub and drank himself stupid. Didn’t anybody see him there?”

  “Several witnesses did see him in the pub earlier in the evening, Debbie, but none could remember when he left. They noted that he was in a foul temper and just let him be. Besides, most knew about his wife’s shenanigans, and reasoned that, if he had found out about them, they didn’t want to be within an arm’s length of him in case he erupted.”

  “Okay, Louise. But he also said he collapsed in a drunken stupor — in a corner, I think you said. So did anybody find him when it came to closing time? Or had he mysteriously disappeared?”

  “Now that you mention it, Debbie, I don’t think anybody could corroborate that part of his story. Perhaps he meant he staggered into an alley and collapsed there.”

  “But that isn’t what he said, is it?” Debbie took the factsheets out and skimmed through them. “There. It said he collapsed in a corner. Or are you suggesting that this woman took him outside, left him somewhere while she killed his wife, then went back and dragged him into the pub after it was shut so that when he woke, he’d think he’d been there all night? And what about the O’Hara woman? Did anybody see her talking to him?”

  “As far as she was concerned, nobody wanted to say much at all. As I’ve already said, they looked down on her anyway. Perhaps she was one of those sorts who is almost invisible in their actions?”

  “That’s a little too convenient, don’t you think, Louise?”

  I had to admit that Debbie made some good points, and she put them across forcefully. But something she had said triggered a response from me. “Debbie,” I interrupted, “I think you could be on to something there. Not intentionally, I appreciate, but you could still have hit on it.”

  “Oh,” said Debbie, sounding puzzled. “What did I say?”

  “That part about Maeve dragging him out. In fact, the whole Maeve thing. You see, if he was in as bad a mood as has been suggested, and if he was a burly coal miner, I can well understand the customers in the bar paying no attention to him. In fact, they would likely keep well out of his sight in case he tried to pick a fight with one of them. So it is quite likely that, if Maeve did come and sit with him at a corner table, nobody would have taken any notice. Besides, there would have been so much tobacco smoke that it’s doubtful that anybody could see more than a few feet in any direction — unlike today’s smoke-free and atmosphere-free pubs.”

  Debbie didn’t say anything, perhaps considering the possibility of truth in my words, but Trish did speak. “I know you mentioned it last week, but I didn’t think you were still a smoker, Ethan. Do you miss the old pubs where you could chew the atmosphere?”

  “No, I’m not, and no, I don’t. But neither do I enjoy having the nanny state decide what is good for me and everybody else. I can make up my own mind about such things.”

  “Good,” said Trish. “Not that I’ve anything against people who smoke, but I’m happier with people who don’t. Coming back to what you said, I can see what you’re getting at, and it does make sense. I’ve been in packed pubs plenty of times, but ask me who else is in there and I wouldn’t have a clue. And that’s without tobacco smoke clouding the issue. But that still doesn’t explain what happened to Jeremiah. Why didn’t anybody find him in the corner of the pub if that’s where he said he was? And—”

  “Because he didn’t actually say that was where he was,” interrupted a quiet voice.

  “Go on, Emma,” said Louise. “You haven’t said much tonight. I was wondering if everything was all right.”

  “I’ve something on my mind, that’s all.” I noticed that she flicked her eyes nervously across the room — only half looking at the rest of us but her glance lingered perhaps a fraction too long on Gail — before expanding on her interruption. “From what it says here,” she said, holding up the A4 sheet, “Jeremiah didn’t say he collapsed in the pub. He says he collapsed in a corner, but that could have been any corner. Unless, of course, this is only a summarised report of the actual case.”

  Louise looked thoughtful. “No, I’ve given you the report as I read it. It definitely just said a corner. I just assumed he meant the pub, but you’re right, he would have been found if that were the case, and that would have been his alibi. So perhaps he was taken outside, as Debbie said—”

  “I wasn’t being serious,” she interrupted.

  “Maybe you weren’t,” I said, “but you might also have hit on the truth. If Maeve did help him out, he could have fallen in a corner of the alley, where nobody would have found him. By the time he came round, his wife was dead, Maeve had disappeared, and he would find himself as the only suspect.”

  I thought Debbie would have been pleased that her light-hearted suggestion now looked a possibility, but when I looked at her she didn’t appear to be happy at all. Had I stolen her thunder? Did she think I was trying to take the credit for making a possible breakthrough on this case? After the progress we had made last week, now I felt as if a barrier had been erected between us. Then she smiled, and the spell was broken. “Yes,” she said, “it does kind of make sense when you put it that way.”

  The conversation continued for several
minutes as we discussed the relative merits of the various theories, but, as Louise said, we needed to look at the whole rather than the isolated part. As we packed up ready to leave, Louise broke my jocular mood. Once again, Emma headed off immediately, looking nervously behind her all the time, and Gail hurried to pack up as if she wanted to keep her in sight at all times.

  “Remember,” Louise said, “there isn’t a class next week as it’s half-term and the college is closed.”

  I groaned. Although we’d been told about the break when we enrolled, and we’d even discussed it while we were at the pub a couple of weeks earlier, I’d completely forgotten about it.

  “It can’t be that bad,” said Trish, linking arms with me as we walked out. “Anyway, I know the perfect remedy: a nice cold glass of lager in good company at a local hostelry.”

  “Yep, I’m all for that too,” added Debbie, and I noticed a slight look of something that I took to be disappointment cross Trish’s face. “How about you, Gail? Are you joining us this week?”

  Gail had finished packing her things away and was clearly in a hurry. “No, I’m afraid I won’t be able to. As I said before, we’re flying out to Chicago tomorrow and I’ve a lot to get ready yet.”

  “Tomorrow?” I asked. “I thought you told us you were flying out on Friday, the twenty-first.”

  “No, I distinctly remember saying it was the day after the course and we were going for ten days. Now I must be off. Enjoy your drink, you three.”

  “Bye, Gail,” we answered in unison. “Have a good trip,” I added, before the three of us looked quizzically at each other.

  “Fancy getting the date wrong! It must be an age thing. Come on, it’s time for a drink.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said. “It must be all those Friday murders that made me think she was flying out on a Friday as well.”

  Debbie strolled onwards and Trish and I joined her as we wound our merry way to the pub.

  ***

  In a change from the previous week, Trish said she’d get the first drink in. While she was at the bar, Debbie and I found a table. Once again, she had made it clear that she didn’t want to talk about the murders tonight, but we had plenty of other things to discuss. “So what do you think is up with Gail and Emma?” she asked. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at them, and I guess you’ve a fairly good idea.”