Who Wants to Live Forever? (21 page)

“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 14
^th
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.

“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.”

“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.”