Steve Wilson - Who Wants To Live Forever?

“I take it you don’t think it was like that,” I suggested.

“No, I don’t. And for one reason — the brutality of the murder, where Len Phillips was, by all accounts, barely recognisable when he was found. He must have been hit repeatedly and venomously; if Wimbush had done it, under the circumstances I just described, then he would most likely have delivered a single blow.”

“But you’re making assumptions,” said Debbie. “Wimbush was a drunk and a thief…that’s what you said, I think…so he was already a criminal. You’ve already said you couldn’t find much out about him following the murder, so how do you know he didn’t sink further into debauchery and crime?”

“You’re right, of course. That could have happened. It’s just that I don’t think so. No, I’m more interested in the Ashmere woman. You see, although I could find out snippets concerning Wimbush, there is nothing about Bea Ashmere anywhere.”

“Didn’t you say, though,” interrupted Trish, “that she hadn’t been working at the church for more than a few months, whereas Wimbush had been there for years? Naturally, you’d expect to find out more about Wimbush.”

“That is correct, but I’ve checked the census records, gone through registry entries, and I couldn’t find a thing about Bea anywhere.”

“You’re making an assumption, though, aren’t you?” said Gail. “First, if she had only recently moved into the area, you wouldn’t find her records in the local parish register. Second, was she married? And if so, where did the marriage occur? Should you be searching the register and the census looking for her maiden name? There are so many unknowns, especially — as you said — when you are trying to investigate something that happened almost ninety years ago.”

“You’re right, I suppose, but I have this instinct that there’s something more. But I think that’s enough for the moment. Let’s go and have a coffee and we’ll talk about this in more detail afterwards.”

***

We spent the coffee break and the remainder of the class discussing the various characters and analysing the proven facts — as well as those that were just assumed. It was evident that Louise was convinced that Bea Ashmere was the guilty party, and nothing we said could make her change her opinion. I found it slightly frustrating, but also quite exhilarating to have such an intellectual debate, and I was saddened when Louise said it was nine o’clock and time for us to go. No sooner had she spoken than Emma had packed her things away and was out of the classroom, not even pausing to say goodbye before she left.

As the rest of us were leaving we chatted about the evening’s events, with Trish and Debbie engrossed in one conversation while Gail and I exchanged ideas. It was Trish who made the suggestion: “I don’t know about you three, but I’m not ready for home just yet. All these ideas are racing round my mind, and I could do with relaxing a little before going back. Does anybody else fancy going for a quiet drink and chat?”

“I’m up for that,” I answered, perhaps a little too eagerly.

“Me too,” said Debbie. “After all, there’s nobody at home waiting for me, so the company would be nice.”

We all looked at Gail. “My husband is expecting me. He’s flying to Stockholm first thing in the morning — it’s his work, you see — and there’s a lot to do.”

“We won’t be out long,” said Trish. “Surely you can spare a half-hour. Besides, I thought you said he wasn’t going off anywhere while the course was on?”

“Oh, he wasn’t supposed to, but these things happen when you’re a high-flying executive. He’s only away for a few days this time, else I’d have gone with him.”

“Whereabouts do you live?” I asked.

Gail looked a little perplexed, before answering, “I hope you don’t think I’m being awkward, but I never tell anybody my address. We live in a very exclusive area, and if somebody innocently let it slip that we were away, well, I’m sure you know what I mean. There are a lot of envious people in this world.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I said. “I was only going to suggest that if you didn’t want to join us because you had a long way to travel home afterwards, I could always go and get my car and give you a lift.”

“Oh, I see, Ethan. Well, thank you, but there’s really no need for that. But I do appreciate the offer.”

“He’s very gentlemanly,” said Debbie. “He even offered to carry my bag for me.”

“Why didn’t you let him, then?” asked Trish. “What’s the good of a man if you don’t take advantage of him?”

“I know, but, like I said before, I’m kind of attached to it and I don’t feel comfortable if anybody else carries it.”

“Fair enough. Okay, then,” said Trish, looking at Gail, “are you going to join us for a drink?”

Eventually, Gail agreed to come with us; I think she was a little worried about missing out on some of the chat, and that was what finally swung it for her.

“Good,” said Debbie, “but just one rule, eh? I’m like you, Trish, with all these gory details running round my head, so let’s agree — no talk about the class or the cases. We’ll just have a quiet evening getting to know each other. Okay?”

We all agreed, although I was a tad disappointed as I really wanted to discuss what we had just heard; in particular I wanted to know what the others thought about Louise exhibiting almost obsessional tendencies, as if she was determined to solve the case. But I was happy enough to go along, and when we entered the lounge bar of the local pub I went to get the drinks.

“Just a small sherry for me,” said Gail. “I mustn’t stay out too late.”

The three women found a table in the corner, and I carried over the tray containing the drinks — Gail’s sherry, two glasses of red for Debbie and Trish and a pint of lager for myself. There were half a dozen other drinkers in the bar, which I supposed would be fairly normal for a Tuesday evening, and it afforded us the chance to have a nice conversation without having to shout to make ourselves heard. I took a mouthful of the lager and emitted a hum of satisfaction. “I needed that,” I said, rather unnecessarily.

“So what are we going to talk about?” asked Gail. “I mean, if we aren’t going to discuss the class at all.”

“Why don’t you tell us about your husband’s trip?” suggested Trish. “After all, it seems like it’s the most interesting thing that is happening around here at the moment.”

“Oh, it isn’t that interesting,” she replied. “In fact, it becomes a bit tedious after a while, always having a suitcase packed in readiness for the next journey.”

“So how often is he away?” I asked.

“He’s away most weeks, although usually he’s just at Head Office in London. But once a month he’ll fly to Chicago to meet the other international organisation heads, and every now and then he flies to Stockholm for a European summit meeting. I always go with him to Chicago, as he’s usually there for a week, but I don’t go with him on all of the European visits. To tell you the truth, I get a little fed up of all the travelling. An airport is an airport after all, and after a while they all look the same. Sometimes I can’t even tell if I’m at O’Hare or Landvetter. They’re the main airports in Chicago and Stockholm,” she added in case we needed clarification. I was about to say something, but Debbie was already talking.

“I thought you said he had no long trips lined up while the class was on, but if he goes to Chicago every month, that has to clash surely?”

“No, as it turns out, not at all. We were away in the first week of September, and we fly out to O’Hare again on the twenty-first of this month — I won’t miss a class because it’s half-term. We come home at the end of October and fly back again in early December.”