Who Wants To Live Forever?. Steve Wilson

have been guilty, for at the time of the murder he was actually visiting that other St Paul’s church in Sussex. That was indisputable, but it didn’t prevent the tongues wagging amongst the locals, and mud sticks, whether it has any right to or not. Some would say it was his own fault, and if he hadn’t been such a mean-spirited person, then nobody would ever have thought him capable of such a wicked act.”

      “So if it couldn’t have been him, then who was it?” I asked, forgetting that I’d been the one who suggested we let Louise finish her tale before questioning her.

      “That’s where the police gave up,” she answered. “It seems that once they had concluded that the reverend was innocent, they lost the will to continue the investigation as it didn’t seem that anybody else could have done it.”

      “But you think differently, don’t you?” said Gail.

      “Yes, I do. And I think the police would have thought so too if they had continued the investigation. After all, there were only two other likely suspects: the curate and the second churchwarden. If they had taken the time to investigate the matter fully, I’m convinced they would have found the murderer, and — who knows? — perhaps saved other lives in the process.”

      “Do you mean to say the killer struck again?” asked Emma, joining in for the first time.

      “I can’t say that for certain, but surely it’s possible. It really depends if the brutal act was premeditated, or if perhaps the killer struck out blindly in panic for some reason. If it were the former, then I would expect the killer to go on and kill again. Anyway, let’s look a little more into the curate, Godfrey Wimbush, and the second churchwarden, Bea Ashmere.

      “More is known about the curate than the churchwarden, simply because he had been at the church for several years. Now I’ve pieced this information together after quite a lot of research, but, when you are investigating something that happened more than eighty years ago, it isn’t possible to be totally certain that the facts are accurate. However, from what I’ve found, it appears that Wimbush had a drink problem, and he used to take money from the collecting plates in order to fund his excesses. So it is always possible that Phillips discovered what Wimbush was doing, challenged him over it, and Wimbush struck out with the first object he grabbed hold of and killed Phillips. From what I have been able to find out, Wimbush left his role in the church after the death of Len Phillips, but he doesn’t appear in any other records that I could find.

      “So, as I said, it’s a possibility that Wimbush was the murderer, and if the scenario I suggested happened, then I don’t think it was a premeditated act. If it happened like that.”

      “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