Who Wants to Live Forever? (11 page)

“Oh, so your teacher is a woman? That explains everything.”

“I’ve told you, it’s not like that at all. Yes, she’s a woman, but she’s at least twenty years younger than me. I might be many things, but I’m not a cradle-snatcher. Give me some credit for knowing where the boundaries lie.”

“I see. It was just — well, you know, I was hoping that you might meet somebody, to stop you being all alone.”

Julie sounded genuinely disappointed, so I decided to tell her about the others. “I know you were, but there’s no need. I’ve been perfectly content with the way things are,” I lied. “But, if it makes you feel any better, another reason why I didn’t ring last night was because I didn’t get home until quite late. I went for a drink after the course with Trish and Debbie. And before you ask, they’re both single and in their fifties.”

Julie gasped. “Two of them? I’m surprised at you, Dad!”

“They’re only friends from the class, so don’t go imagining anything smutty. But yes, I do enjoy their company, and they are part of the reason I’m enjoying the course so much. But that’s by the by. I really am becoming fascinated by the details of the murders. I know you think I’m daft, but what if there is a link, and what if I can find it?”

“Dad,” she said, a tone of regret in her voice, “when I pushed you to go on a course, it was because I wanted you to get out and meet people. I wanted you to get involved, immersed even, in the subject. But aren’t you being a little unrealistic? Listen to yourself — three murders taking place in different decades, committed by the same person?”

“I didn’t say that it was the same killer, did I? What if it was a copycat killing a decade after the first?”

“And then another one ten years later? And, I suppose, there’ll be another one ten years on from that? That’s not very likely, is it? Everybody would have heard about it if it was that unusual.”

“That’s the thing,” I said, slowly. “There’s nothing in any of the killings to suggest a link between them, so it wouldn’t have been picked up by the media. In fact, there’s nothing unusual about any of the murders when you look at them in detail.” I realised how weak my thought processes must sound when verbalised, but I knew that, deep down, there was something there. I decided to change the subject before Julie began to doubt my sanity. “Maybe you’re right, love. I’m not used to interacting with others so I’ve let myself get carried away a bit. Anyway, that’s more than enough about me, tell me what’s going on in your life.”

We chatted about the pressures of her job for the next few minutes, and she kept me updated on Gary’s current whereabouts, but, whatever the subject, I could still detect a tone of smugness, and, perhaps, even admiration, in her voice.

***

Despite my eagerness to see Trish and Debbie again, I was late arriving for the fifth week of the course, due to a combination of heavy rain and a bus that didn’t turn up. I eventually arrived at half seven, mumbling apologies about my tardiness.

“We thought the weather had put you off,” said Louise, handing me the evening’s reading material as I sat down.

“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 25
^th
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 known 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?”