Who Wants to Live Forever?

by Steve Wilson

  When the strikes began in 1984, Frank was one of the many ‘scabs’ who opposed Arthur Scargill’s ill-fated campaign. In fact, not only had he continued to work, he had been a vocal leader of the anti-strike campaign, and had repeatedly laughed at the strikers as the buses drove through the picket lines. There is a photograph of Frank taken at the time, and he can clearly be seen waving his pay-packet at the pickets, many of whom were by now almost on the verge of starvation as the strike continued into 1985 and funds dried up.

  He carried on working until shortly after the strike ended in March 1985, and a year after his retirement he returned to Wigan. It was at this point that he began to receive threats, as he was no longer under the protective umbrella of Nottinghamshire and the Union of Democratic Mineworkers, a breakaway trade union unrecognised by the TUC. The threats became more venomous, and Uttley was eventually forced to leave Wigan, heading for the relative safety — or so he hoped — of the Lancashire coast.

  It wasn’t totally clear, though, who was making the threats. Not only had he infuriated those opposed to the breakaway union, but his new colleagues were feeling less than happy with the way things had gone following the end of the strike. Nottinghamshire minefields were not protected from the closures that were taking place across the country, and Sutton Colliery was shut in 1989, the year Uttley was murdered. The police investigation considered the strong possibility that one or other of the factions baying for his blood had managed to track him down. Unfortunately for them, although they had plenty of circumstantial evidence and enough motives to convict a host of people, in reality there were too many suspects and it became impossible to prosecute any single person.

  To begin with, Golborne Colliery also closed in 1989, which would have resurrected the festering wounds that have still never completely healed to this day. Knowing that what should have been perceived as one of their own was actually a traitor could have tipped some of the militants far enough over the edge to track down and murder Uttley.

  But in Nottinghamshire, he could also have been viewed as a betrayer. He headed an alliance that comprised several Nottinghamshire pits. As well as Sutton Colliery, the alliance consisted of Moor Green, Pye Hill, Babington, Whitwell, Newstead, Linby, Mansfield, Blidworth and Warsop. Every single one of those pits closed between 1985 and 1989. The Nottinghamshire miners, who had been told their jobs were safe, now believed that the Tory government had just used them in order to break the strike, and as Uttley was the common denominator in that every mine he was associated with had been closed he was viewed as a fifth columnist.

  The actual murder took place on a Thursday evening in early summer. It was believed that Uttley had decided to go out for a walk along the seafront. An elderly gentleman, called Geoffrey Timmins, had also gone out to take his dog for a walk to Heysham Head that evening, and took the path from St Peter’s Church to the remains of St Patrick’s Chapel, overlooking Morecambe Bay. Mr Timmins heard screaming, and went to investigate — although he was elderly, his dog was a German Shepherd, and he felt perfectly safe. He found Frank’s body lying on one of the eight unique rock-cut graves at the chapel and there was a pillow lying on the ground next to him. There were no visible wounds, so Timmins assumed Frank had been suffocated by the pillow.

  There was no sign of anybody else around, but as only a short period of time had passed between Mr Timmins hearing the scream and finding the body he didn’t see how the murderer could have fled the scene. Within minutes, he was joined by two others who also claimed to have heard the scream while out walking — Miss Sarah Moore and Mrs Andrea Walter. Mrs Walter went back along the trail to find the nearest telephone box, while Mr Timmins and Miss Moore stayed beside the victim.

  Miss Moore later said in her testimony that Frank Uttley was definitely dead when she arrived at the graves, but Mr Timmins couldn’t be certain about that. He had initially assumed that Uttley was dead, but while Miss Moore was leaning over the body he thought he saw a wisp of breath leave his mouth. This statement wasn’t given any credibility by the authorities, as it was a warm evening, and the breath wouldn’t have been clouded and visible.

  What is beyond dispute is that Uttley was dead by the time Mrs Walter returned and the emergency services arrived. The inquest could only conclude that Frank Uttley was murdered by person or persons unknown. The suspicion that it was connected with the pit closures wasn’t universally accepted. Four years had passed since the strike had ended, and, although feelings still ran high in many areas, it was felt that there had been many better opportunities to mete out vengeance during the preceding years. There was also no evidence to suggest that Frank’s whereabouts in Heysham had been discovered.

  Taking into consideration that Mr Timmins had been adamant that the murderer hadn’t time to escape unseen, then he or she must still have been in the vicinity — as the entire area was searched and nobody else was found, the only possible suspects were, therefore, Mr Timmins, Miss Moore and Mrs Walter. But the police dismissed Mr Timmins’ theory, claiming he was an elderly man who was confused and mistaken. They concluded that in all probability Frank Uttley had been dead for up to half an hour when Mr Timmins found him, and the scream he heard was nothing more than the squeal of one of the many seagulls that circled the area. Mrs Walter later conceded that she couldn’t be certain that she had heard a scream. There is no record of Miss Moore’s opinions on this matter.

  Mr Timmins denied this vehemently, claiming that as a war veteran, he knew the difference between the scream of a dying man and the call of a bird, but nobody took him seriously and he died several months later, a broken man.

  As to Frank Uttley’s time in Heysham, little is known. He had lived there for five months, taking a flat in the centre of town, and he was often to be seen at the harbour watching the ferries to-ing and fro-ing between Heysham and the Isle of Man. His neighbours described him as almost secretive in the way he kept himself to himself. They did agree that they occasionally heard him talking with a woman in his home, but nobody could really say much about her — those who claimed to have seen her calling round couldn’t even agree on her age, some putting her at around thirty whereas others insisted she was twice that age.

  All of which leads to the conclusion that his murderer had to be one of the two women who had joined Mr Timmins at the side of his body. As Mrs Walter was absent for some time while she alerted the emergency services, I have to conclude that Sarah Moore was the antagonist. Unfortunately, I have been able to find nothing more about either Mrs Walter or Miss Moore, and this is where Louise’s help has been sadly missed. I am certain that she would have been able to add much more information, and her enquiries would have uncovered more indisputable evidence, but, given the short time that I have had available to spend on this investigation, I feel that this summary is as complete as it could ever be.

  Satisfied with the details, although still a little unsure if I had come to the correct conclusion, I closed the notebook and finally made myself something to eat. I was basing everything on the claim of an old man that Frank Uttley had been alive when the only people around him were Timmins and Moore. Was I looking for a culprit and twisting the facts to fit my theory?

  ***

  I was no clearer in my mind when I awoke the next day, Thursday. I considered calling Debbie and telling her what I’d discovered, but I decided against it. I knew that Louise was the only person I could realistically speak to about this; I didn’t want to discuss this with Julie in case I let slip about my accident. The last thing I wanted to do was to cause her to worry.

  I decided to phone the accident and emergency department at the hospital, and they put me through to the clinical investigations unit. They traced the ward Louise had been admitted to and told me the visiting times. I rang Debbie to let her know, but I couldn’t bring myself to inform Trish. Although I couldn’t find it in myself to believe that she was really responsible for the attack on Louise, or the attempted attack on me, there was still that element of
doubt.

  ***

  I made plans to go to the Friday evening visiting slot at seven p.m., and went shopping in Ansdell in the afternoon to buy chocolates, flowers and grapes — the traditional gifts from the hospital visitor. Then I waited patiently, trying to work out what I would say to Louise when I saw her.

  I awoke with a start; I had fallen asleep in my chair. Yawning, I looked at my watch. Seven-twenty p.m. Damn, I cursed. I hadn’t eaten, needed a shave, and still felt half asleep, but there was no time to do anything about that. I rushed out, forgetting even to pick up the gifts I had bought for Louise, and ran to my car. I covered the eight-and-a-half mile journey in less than twenty minutes, a remarkable time considering the traffic conditions. Even so, by the time I’d parked, it was just after ten minutes to the hour.

  I sprinted towards the hospital and dashed along the corridors towards the ward, knowing that I would pay for this in the morning with severely aching muscles. As I pushed open the doors to the ward, the visitor’s bell sounded. I looked at one of the nurses, and my anguish must have been clearly visible. “That’s the five-minute bell,” she said. “There’s still time, but you’ll have to be quick.”

  “I’m looking for Louise James,” I panted. “Can you tell me which bed she is in?”

  “She’s in one of the side rooms. Here, follow me,” and she led me to the room. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but you really will have to leave when the next bell sounds, for there’s an awful lot that we have to get done in the next hour and a half.”

  I thanked her for her help and pushed the door open. Louise appeared to be asleep, and I could see the vivid yellow bruising across her temple. She looked very weak. She must have heard the door, for her eyes flickered open and she flashed me a brief smile that suggested perhaps she wasn’t as ill as it appeared. Then I noticed that Trish and Debbie were also in the room. I hadn’t anticipated that, and they looked equally surprised to see me.

  “Hello, Ethan,” said Trish. “It looks like all three of us had the same idea. I would have rung you to ask if you wanted to come, but you looked so weary on Tuesday night that I thought it best to let you rest.”

  “Yes, and I rang the hospital after you spoke to me last night,” said Debbie, glancing sideways at Trish as she spoke. “They told me it was best to come tonight. I was surprised when you weren’t here.”

  “You told Debbie?” said Trish. “Why didn’t you call me as well?”

  I had been expecting this question, so I was prepared for it. “I did ring, but there was no answer. It must have been while you were out delivering your sandwiches. I would have rung this afternoon to tell you I was coming tonight, but I fell asleep in my chair — you were right when you said I needed to rest. That’s why I was late arriving.”

  Just then, the second — and final — bell sounded. Almost immediately, the staff nurse opened the door and came in. “Oh, I didn’t realise there were three of you here. I’m afraid you’ll really have to leave now, as Miss James needs her rest. She’s on tablets anyway, so you probably haven’t been able to talk to her much. I’m sure she’ll be a lot better tomorrow, and if she keeps up this level of improvement she’ll probably be able to go home after the weekend.”

  “Yes, Nurse,” I said. “Thank you. I only wanted to check she was all right.”

  “We’re about to go now as well,” said Trish, and she walked towards the door, flashing me a look that said I’ll not forgive you for telling her and not me. Debbie followed slowly behind her.

  Nothing had gone the way I had intended it to. I had wanted to see Louise without the others being there, to tell her what I had discovered. But I realised that even if I had been there on time and I were the only visitor, with Louise on drugs to aid her recovery I wouldn’t have been able to have that conversation. But I still needed to let her know what I’d discovered. With Trish halfway down the corridor, I mumbled, “Damn, I left them behind,” and rushed back into the ward. Louise looked up as I entered, and I whispered, “I know. Frank Uttley. Sarah Moore. Where is the last one?”

  Very softly, Louise whispered, “Darwen…” just as Debbie popped her head back round the door.

  “What are you doing, Ethan?” she said. “You heard what the nurse said. Louise needs her rest.”

  “I’m not bothering her. I just realised I’d left these on her bedside table,” I said, holding up a pair of gloves that I had taken from my pocket. I let Debbie lead me out, but when I glanced back as the door was closing, I saw Louise smile.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Week 10 — Darwen — Electrocution

  Tuesday 29th November 2011

  I spent the weekend researching details of deaths in Darwen on September 14th 2000, and by Sunday evening I had uncovered enough information to convince myself I had found the correct one. I spent Monday morning writing up my notes, and by teatime I was satisfied that I had done all that I could; now I needed to speak to Louise again. I called the hospital mid-afternoon on the Monday, and was pleased to hear that she had been allowed home.

  I then took the opportunity to think about my actions over the past week, particularly in relation to Trish. I realised that I had been extremely judgemental, based on very little evidence. Louise had been burgled and attacked, that was true, but unfortunately in our haves-and-have-nots society that sort of thing did happen with depressing regularity. My own accident was surely what I had first thought it to be: the result of my own carelessness. At the time, I had glimpsed the car driver and nothing had made me think of Trish at all. It was only because both she and the driver had red hair that I was blaming Trish, when the truth was I was trying to deflect attention from my own crass stupidity in crossing the road without looking. I resolved to make it up to Trish, and to include her in all future discussions.

  Rather naively, I expected Louise to be taking the class the following evening, and I strolled in as if absolutely nothing had happened. I had taken the chocolates along with me to give to her; they were all that remained from the gifts I had meant to take to hospital, as I had eaten the grapes, and the flowers were beginning to wilt. It was a huge disappointment, therefore, when I walked into the room and found Roger already there, briefcase open and copious notes in his hands. Debbie and Trish arrived almost immediately afterwards, and Roger began his lesson.

  I found it quite ironic that his chosen topic for the week was “Boundary changes in Lancashire from 1974 as a result of the 1972 Local Government Act”. It was a very dry subject, and I found my mind wandering, back to the beginning of the course when what was and what was not part of Lancashire resulted in a long discussion. I doubt that any of us would have thought that so much would have happened just a few weeks later.

  Eventually, it was time for our break, and I took full advantage to get out of the stuffy classroom environment. As Trish, Debbie and I queued for our drinks I mentioned that I had expected Louise to be here; they both looked at me as if I were crazy. “Didn’t you see her on Friday night?” asked Trish. “I’d be surprised if she comes out of hospital before next Friday.”

  “She came out yesterday,” I said, to Trish’s obvious amazement. For a second, my doubts about her motives resurfaced, but Debbie then spoke and made me realise that, once again, I was so eager to see Louise for my own personal reasons that I had ignored the obvious signs.

  “She might be out,” said Debbie, “but I find it quite astounding too. I imagine it’s only because they need the bed. She’s probably on bed rest at home for the next few days.”

  “I don’t envy her,” Trish said. “I don’t think I’d like to go back to my home after something like that. Especially as I live alone too.”

  “No,” I muttered. “And she is on her own, isn’t she? Perhaps we should offer to go and sit with her, at least until she’s better?”

  “Only one problem,” said Trish. “We don’t know where she lives.”

  “We could ring up and ask the education department,” I suggested.

&nbs
p; “No chance,” said Debbie. “Have you never heard of data protection? There’s no way they’d give you her address, especially given the circumstances.”

  That seemed to be that, and I felt disheartened as I sipped my tea. Tomorrow was November thirtieth, the date I had calculated for when the next murder would take place. I had no idea where it was going to be, or who the intended victim was, so, despite everything I had learnt, I felt totally useless. Louise was the only person who might be able to help, and she was laid up in bed, barely able to look after herself. I had to speak to her; I just didn’t know how to go about it.

  We trooped back to the classroom for the final hour of the course. I don’t even remember what Roger talked about, as my level of concentration was non-existent. As Roger formally ended the class, he pointed at the box of chocolates on the desk, and — unusually for him — attempted a bit of humour. “Are those chocolates for me, or were you holding them back until you’d heard my lesson? If so, do I pass? I could do with them after finding out in today’s mini-budget that I’ll have to work an extra year before I can collect my pension.”

  I wondered what he was talking about for a second, then realised. “Oh, no. Sorry. I didn’t know what you meant. Yes, that’s bad news about the rise in the pension age. Will you be striking tomorrow?”

  “I never have done before, but I’ve had enough of being pilloried by this government just because I work in the public sector. So, yes, regrettably, I will be.”

  “I understand how you feel,” I said. “As for the chocolates, go on, help yourself.”

  “It’s all right, Ethan, I’m only jesting.”

  I smiled with relief. “I actually brought them in for Louise. I thought she might be back tonight.”