Who Wants to Live Forever?

by Steve Wilson

  “She’s at home in bed as far as I understand it. But I’ll be calling to see her at the weekend. I can take them round if you like?”

  I seized the lifeline that had been thrown to me. “I’d really like to take them round myself, for a thank you in addition to a get well present. I think we’d all like to,” I said, encompassing Debbie and Trish in my plan. “If you could tell us where she lives, we could call and see her during the week.”

  “Ethan!” I heard Debbie exclaim, but Roger didn’t seem fazed at all by my request.

  “Certainly,” he said. “She lives in Jellicoe Close, overlooking the airport and St Annes Old Links golf course. Here, I’ll write the address down.” He scrawled the details on a scrap of paper and handed them to me. “Give her my regards when you go to visit, won’t you? You know, I’ve always enjoyed listening to her passion for history, and I’m looking forward to seeing her and chatting on Saturday.”

  I left the class, still amazed that I held Louise’s address in my hands. I began to run elaborate scenarios through my mind, and it took Trish tugging on my sleeve to bring me back to reality.

  “So what’s the plan now you know where she lives? And are we included in it?”

  “I suggest we go and see her, I suppose. And yes, of course you’re included. Three Musketeers and all that.”

  “I still can’t believe he gave you her address,” said Debbie. “He could face instant dismissal for that.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let Louise know that it came from him, so he’ll be fine.”

  “From the way he was talking at the end,” said Trish, “I think he might have a thing for our Louise. Perhaps he isn’t as totally boring as he appears to be. You don’t think he’s the R… do you? But that isn’t what I want to know. When are you planning on going to see her? It’s too late tonight.”

  I looked at my watch. “Yes, I suppose it is. It’d be best to go tomorrow.”

  “Don’t forget we’re at work,” said Trish. “You weren’t thinking of going without us, were you?”

  “Yes,” said Debbie. “And I’ve an early start at work on Thursday. Wouldn’t we be better leaving it until the weekend?”

  “We could do, but I think I want to go tomorrow. It’s the thirtieth, after all. Remember?” Both women nodded. “I can go during the day, and we can all go on Saturday if you like.”

  “I’d rather we all went together,” said Trish. “How about it, Debbie? We can always leave early.” Debbie shrugged her acceptance, and Trish looked at me. “Is that settled, then? Tomorrow evening? You don’t mind waiting for us, do you?”

  “No, of course not,” I lied. “Why don’t we go at half six? I can come and pick you both up if you like. Anyway, before we go to see her, there are some things I want to talk to you about. Shall we go for a final course drink?”

  ***

  Once we were all settled in the pub, I took my notebook out. “I know this goes against all of our principles, but I think we are living in exceptional times and so tonight we need to make an exception.”

  “What are you going on about, Ethan?”

  “Sorry, Trish, I’m not being very clear, am I? Let me explain, then. You know when we were here a couple of weeks ago and Louise told us the next case would occur in Heysham. Well, I did some research of my own after her accident, and I’ve found this out.” I then proceeded to tell Debbie and Trish everything I had discovered about the Frank Uttley case, pausing at the end for effect.

  There was silence for a few moments, then Trish said, “But how can you be sure that you’ve found the case Louise was looking into? You only had a few days to check your facts, and there are plenty of gaps. Your conclusion that Sarah Moore is a murderess is based on assumptions; you said you haven’t been able to corroborate any of the data. Sarah Moore might still be living in Heysham, which would mean she is nothing like the other women suspects.”

  “Good points, Trish. But I do have some corroboration. Remember when I accidentally left my gloves in Trish’s room on Friday night? That was just an excuse to speak to her. I said “Frank Uttley” and “Sarah Moore”, and asked her where next. And she told me, then she smiled.”

  “What did she tell you?” asked Debbie.

  “I’m coming to that. I spent most of the weekend researching this, and I have found another case that fits the pattern.” I opened my notebook and began to read out the jottings I had made.

  “I found out about the sudden death of Alan Ingleby in Darwen on Thursday September fourteenth 2000, in his terraced house just off the busy A666 route between Blackburn and Bolton. He lived on Anchor Road, a short walk from the local football ground and the Anchor Hotel. Louise mentioned Darwen. I had to trawl the Internet to find the rest.”

  “So you could have picked an incorrect case, then,” said Debbie. “I mean, a sudden death could be anything.”

  “How did he die?” asked Trish.

  “He was electrocuted. And yes, I agree, it was a sudden death. It could have been caused by anything, but if you’ll just wait until I’ve finished you’ll see that there is some substance to my claim.”

  “You’re even beginning to sound like Louise now. All the little you’ll find out eventually hints.”

  “Sorry, Trish. But I’ve begun to realise how this all works, and I understand why Louise has been so secretive at times. Shall I continue?”

  “Yes, go on,” came the joint reply.

  “The report said that the body of fifty-five-year-old Alan Ingleby was discovered by his daughter when she came to take him to work on the morning of Friday fifteenth September.”

  “So it was the fifteenth, not the fourteenth,” said Debbie.

  “That was when he was found. But he passed away the night before. He was lying on the bathroom floor, and at first it appeared that he had died from a simple heart attack. But when the police began to investigate, one or two things didn’t seem quite right. There were damp towels in the laundry basket, yet the bath and floor were clean. But Alan’s body wasn’t; he still had an odour of paint about him, so the conclusion was that he hadn’t had a bath for at least a day.”

  “Paint?” asked Trish.

  “Yes, from his job. He was an office worker at Crown Paints in Darwen. He was responsible for the Paint Manufacturing Enterprise Resource Planning software package used by the company. His role was to facilitate the flow of information across the various business departments, both within the company and with the external stakeholders. But even though he was an office worker, his job entailed regular visits throughout the factory, and by the end of the working day anybody who frequented the shop floor smelt strongly of paint. All of the employees needed to bathe daily to try and get rid of the odour. Anyway, back to the investigation. They also found a teaspoon in with the towels, which was unusual.

  “The coroner concluded that Alan had died of a heart attack, but it was no longer thought to be due to natural causes. Further investigations deduced that an electrical fault had occurred, probably in the bath, and he had been electrocuted. Ingleby had slight burn marks on his right hand, consistent with an electric shock. The entire bathroom was dismantled while the checks were made. There was nothing wrong with the wiring, which eventually led to the supposition that somebody had tampered with it, then put it right again. Alan must have gone to turn the tap on and been hit by a charge of a hundred and seventy-five volts. A lack of earth bonding under the enamel bath combined with a faulty electric-powered oil heater resulted in the metal bath taps becoming live electrical conductors. And, although the volt trip-switch to the main fuse board was working, forensic evidence showed that it had been worked on within the last few days. The oil heater was still laced with faults, as it had a damaged flex and the wrong-sized fuse had been fitted in the plug, but these wouldn’t have been enough to kill Alan if there had been sufficient earth bonding in the bathroom. So, if Alan had — as was suspected — filled the bath and then touched the tap with his wet hand, it would have caused
the surge of power that killed him.”

  “Okay,” said Trish. “That all sounds plausible. So where’s the woman suspect? Or are you saying there isn’t one in this case?”

  “No, she’s there all right. One of the women who worked in the office with Alan — she’d only been there a few months — left the Friday before his death and nobody knew where she had gone. Her name was—” I flipped the notebook back, as I’d forgotten that piece of information “—Amber Davore.”

  “Da-vor-ez,” said Debbie, “not Da-vore.” When she saw us looking at her, she added, “It’s unusual, I know, but I once worked with somebody with the same surname.”

  “Anyway,” I said, “this woman, Amber, fits the pattern of all the other cases. I’m positive that this is what Louise has been trying to get to all this time, and somehow she is trying to prevent the next murder.”

  “But how can we stop it?” asked Debbie. “We only have until tomorrow from what you said. And we still have no idea what the connection is between all these dates and places. Or are you saying you do?”

  “No, I don’t,” I admitted. “But we can’t just give up and do nothing. How would you feel if we ignored it and then on Thursday morning we read about a murder we could have prevented?”

  “Yes,” said Trish, “but as Debbie said, how can we prevent it? We might know the date, but we don’t know the location. And even if we did, how could we find the one person in that town or city who was going to be killed? Or how could we find the killer? It isn’t like the cartoons, where the villain has a mask and carries a bag with ‘swag’ written across it. Unless your satchel has ‘Swag’ written on the back, Debbie?”

  Debbie snorted contemptuously, while I didn’t have an answer to any of the questions. The women were correct; I knew that. But I knew I wouldn’t — couldn’t — stop searching, not while there was still time. We finished our drinks and said our goodbyes, each knowing that when we went to visit Louise the following evening it could well be the last time we would all be together.

  ***

  I spent the remainder of the evening and much of the next day trying to make sense of all the notes I had taken. I knew that the murder could take place at any time during the day, and I felt as if I was waiting helplessly for it to happen. I watched every news bulletin avidly, but all they were reporting on was the disruption caused across the country by the public sector pension strikes; normally, that would have been a burning issue for me, but not on this occasion. There wasn’t a single mention of a murder, or even an unexplained death, but I knew that didn’t mean much. The killer was an expert, and could make it appear to be natural causes if she wanted to.

  If it hadn’t been for the importance of her presentation, I would have called Julie, just so I could talk to somebody. She might even have been able to knock some sense into me. Twice I set off to visit Louise; both times I turned back. I’d promised to wait for Debbie and Trish, and there was nothing I could do anyway. Louise had barely been able to speak when we visited her; I didn’t want to overburden her with worries, especially as I’d no positive news to give her.

  I sat, head in hands, and tried to make sense of it all. How could one person have committed all of these crimes? They couldn’t. If I was even contemplating it, then I was becoming unhinged. So what was happening? Maybe they were copycat killings? But what was anybody copying? Most of the cases seemed straightforward on the surface, so why would several different killers — all women — think it was a pattern worth following? The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it all sounded.

  I pulled all my notes together once more, as if staring at them would force the answer to leap off the page; it didn’t. As the words blurred into one another I knew I would never find the answer this way. I looked at my watch: half past five. Reluctantly, I closed my notebook and began to get ready for the final night that the four of us would be together.

  ***

  It was approaching seven p.m. by the time I parked in the small car park adjoining Louise’s residential block of flats. “What if she’s in bed and can’t get up to let us in?” asked Trish.

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “But it’s too late now. We’ll just have to go and try.” I led the way to her address, checking the numbers of each block that we passed. “There it is.” I pointed. “Now to see if we can get any further.”

  “Hey, isn’t that Emma?”

  I looked in the direction Trish was pointing. She was right, as the unmistakeable figure of our former classmate turned the corner. “Yes, it is. I wonder where she’s heading?”

  “Let’s take a look,” and despite my protests, Trish hurried on after her, before stopping. “She’s disappeared.”

  “She must have gone into one of the flats from the back. Don’t you remember how Louise said Emma called at her flat to tell her she was dropping the course? If she knows somebody who lives here, then that will be how she knew where Louise lived.” But even as I said it I began to question the truth of my words. Was Emma there for a more sinister reason? Might she be in Louise’s flat right now? “Come on, let’s get inside. I’ll feel easier once we see Louise.”

  There was an intercom on the door panel, and I pressed the button underneath Louise’s name. A weak voice answered, “Who is it?”

  “It’s the gang from college,” said Debbie. “We thought we’d call round to see you, but we can come back another time if you’re not up to receiving visitors.”

  “Debbie? And are Trish and Ethan with you? I’d love to see you all. There, I’ve buzzed you in, just come up the stairs and I’ll let you in my flat.”

  Louise was waiting for us when we reached the door. She was wearing a long flowery pink dressing gown and her hair looked dishevelled. Without her make-up, she looked ten years older than the Louise who taught us in class. As we followed her into her living room I thought how she must have looked very similar when we saw her in hospital, but because that was a different environment I hadn’t noticed the change in her appearance.

  “Let me make you all a drink,” she said.

  “No!” insisted Trish. “You’re to do nothing. We’ll make you a drink. Just tell us where everything is and we’ll see to it.”

  “Thanks, Trish. You’re a star. You all are. Do you know that you’re the only visitors I’ve had? You don’t realise how alone you are until something like this happens. I thought Roger, at least, might have come to see me.”

  “Roger Boulding?” I asked. “He is coming to see you. In fact—” and I shot a glance at Debbie as I spoke “—he offered to bring you these,” I said, holding out the box of chocolates, “but I said we were coming to see you anyway.”

  Louise seemed to brighten up at the news. She took the chocolates gratefully, and Debbie handed over a bunch of flowers that the women had brought. “I’ll go and help with the tea,” she said.

  “Er, is it okay if I use your loo?” I asked.

  “Course you can, Ethan, it’s…”

  “I know where it is — I saw it on the way in.” I left quickly, taking the opportunity to check each room to see whether Emma was somewhere in the flat. I sighed with relief when it was clear that she wasn’t. As I washed my hands I suddenly thought — why was I wondering about Emma being here? I shrugged, laughing quietly at my foolishness. I’d spent too long trying to solve this case, and now I was seeing murderers everywhere.

  No sooner had I returned to the front room than Trish and Debbie returned with the tea, and we chatted amiably for the next half-hour.

  I decided that we had spent far too long on small talk, so I changed the subject. “We’ve followed your course through to the end, even though you weren’t there. We know about Frank Uttley in Heysham and Alan Ingleby in Darwen. And we also know that—”

  “Ethan!” interrupted Debbie. “Really, have you no sensitivity at all? Louise is recovering from a very serious attack. This is supposed to be a light visit, that’s all. If you want to talk about your theories, leave it
until another time when she’s feeling a lot better.”

  She was right, of course, but how could I leave things when today was the last possible time when we could prevent another tragedy? Then I looked at my watch. It was approaching eight o’clock; with only four hours remaining in the day, it was already too late. Even if it hadn’t happened yet, and I miraculously discovered the details of the next murder in the next five minutes, I’d be hard put to get to the place and prevent it occurring. I sighed and finished my drink.

  “Debbie’s right, Ethan,” said Louise. “I really do want to talk about the course, but I find I can’t concentrate properly. I know this meant a lot to you,” she said, putting her hand consolingly on my forearm, “but you’ll just have to let it go. You did your best. Nobody could ask for more. I’ve been researching this for years and I don’t know what is going to happen next.”

  “Louise is getting tired,” said Trish. “I think we should go and let her rest. Come on, gang. Let’s promise to remain in touch, and we’ll come and visit again in a few days.” The three of us stood up to leave.

  “No, wait,” said Louise. “Don’t go. Not just yet.” We all paused, wondering what she wanted to tell us. “I know you’ll think I’m silly, but I really don’t want to be on my own tonight. Can you stay?”

  “That isn’t being silly at all,” said Trish. “It’s very understandable after what happened. I’m impressed that you’ve even come back here.”

  “I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter once the hospital discharged me.”

  “You should have told us,” said Debbie. “You could have come home with me. You still can if you want.”

  “No, I’m here now and I’m settled. But I would like you to stay, please.”

  “Of course we can stay,” I replied. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  “You really are going to think I’m strange,” said Louise. “I’m feeling very tired now and I want to go to bed. But I don’t want to be in the flat by myself. Can you make yourselves at home and watch television? Just for a few hours.”