Will to Live

by Rachel Amphlett

  Sometimes, Kay envied Sharp the ability to be able to close his office door and block out some of the noise, although it was rare that he did so. He preferred to be involved at all times; happy to delegate, but always keeping a close watch on the progression of the case and the team’s approach to it.

  She dumped her bag under her desk and placed her coffee cup on top of a beer mat she’d acquired from the local pub on a night out with the team a few months ago. Barnes had persuaded her to try half a pint of the latest guest ale, and although she found it was an acquired taste and not one she was likely to attain, she’d loved the artwork for the pump clip and promotional material the brewery had provided to the pub. The landlord had handed her half a dozen of the cardboard squares, and she’d worked her way through them since, tossing them into the waste bin as they gradually fell apart over time.

  The DI stalked from his room, handed a stack of paperwork to one of the administrative assistants, and waved the team over.

  ‘Tasks for today,’ he said as they formed a semicircle opposite the whiteboard. ‘We’ll review the names we pulled from the list of suicides on railway tracks in the area yesterday, and research the circumstances. Before we do so, and in order that we don’t assume that every single one is a murder victim, I’d like Sergeant Walker to provide some background information to you all regarding suicide statistics on railways.’ He grimaced. ‘Unfortunately, it’s more common than any of us would like. Dave?’

  ‘Thanks. I’ve put together a one-page summary for each of you, if you want to pass these around?’ He waited a moment while the documents were shared out. ‘For a start, over seventy-five per cent of all rail fatalities are suicides. Sadly, year on year, we’re seeing an increase in overall numbers, and out of those suicides, eighty per cent are men.’

  ‘Age range?’ said Kay.

  ‘Typically between thirty and fifty-five. These men have often been unemployed for a long period of time, or in financial difficulties.’

  ‘What’s being done to try and stop them?’ said Carys.

  ‘There have been a lot of stations around here fitted with mid-platform fencing to stop people walking in front of express trains, and they’ve been spending money erecting cameras at popular suicide spots to alert staff,’ he said. ‘All of the station staff are trained in suicide prevention. They have a good success rate, too.’

  Barnes took the handout Debbie passed to him and ran his eyes over the information. ‘These stats say there are still over two hundred suicides on railways in the UK every year though.’

  Walker shrugged. ‘No system is perfect and, let’s face it, if someone wants to kill themselves, they’re going to find a way.’

  ‘Okay, thanks, Dave,’ said Sharp. ‘Barnes? Give us a summary of yesterday’s findings.’

  ‘Looks as if things have gotten worse over the last six to twelve months,’ said Barnes, and waved one of the reports. ‘Some were prevented by railway staff – but then it’s escalated.’

  ‘Could be to do with the fact there’s less funding for programmes to address mental health?’ said Carys.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Sharp, taking the report from Barnes and scanning it. He glanced up at the whiteboard. ‘Three of those eight people up there are within the past twelve months. The last one only two months ago. Have we got names for all of these, Ian?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve already drawn up a list of the relations and other contacts listed in the inquest reports for those three. I'll make some phone calls this morning and arrange for us to go and speak to them this afternoon or tomorrow, if you want?’

  ‘That’d be good, thanks. What about background for them?’

  ‘The first one, Stephen Taylor, was unemployed – his mother said he had a history of depression spanning two years before he jumped from a bridge into the path of a London-bound express train early one morning seven months ago. Nathan Cox died when he was hit by a train late one night over near Aylesford four months ago, and then there’s the one from two months ago – Cameron Abbott. In and out of work as a labourer, apparently. Both Stephen and Cameron had been on antidepressants, and no one seemed surprised that they chose to end their lives.’

  ‘What about doctors?’

  ‘Different GPs. But, and this is something I’m going to follow up, both Stephen and Cameron had attended the same workshops organised by the local council after being found guilty and charged for drunk driving. Might be something there.’

  ‘Let me know as soon as you find out anything. Work with Kay on that.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Carys, can you work with Dave and get the inquest reports for the three suicides and speak to the investigating officers?’ Sharp added the briefing notes to the whiteboard. ‘I’ll remind you to keep an open mind, ladies and gentlemen. If we have a killer on the loose who’s done this before and got away with it, we need to stop him before he does it again.’

  ‘You’ve got to admit, it’s a perfect way to cover his tracks,’ said Barnes, and then ducked as Gavin threw a soft stress ball at him while the others groaned in unison.

  Nine

  Kay hit “send” on the last email of her backlog, still fuming at Larch’s attitude towards her the previous day, even though she knew he riled her on purpose.

  Despite Sharp agreeing with her that two lines of enquiry would be prudent, it was obvious their DCI thought it was a complete waste of time.

  She opened up a folder within her email inbox and scrolled through the text. Although several months old, it still managed to infuriate her.

  Your application for the role of Detective Inspector has been unsuccessful at this time.

  When she’d emailed back to enquire why, the HR team had been cagey, citing an oversubscribed application process. Kay had called foul on the response, stormed into Sharp’s office and shut the door before demanding an explanation.

  It was then that she had found out that Larch had been responsible for having the ultimate word in her career ambitions.

  It had been the final blow, and one that had dire consequences for her health – and that of the baby girl she’d only recently discovered she was carrying.

  She had never understood Larch’s animosity towards her. Since the last investigation where they had crossed paths, he had mostly ignored her – something for which she was grateful.

  From time to time his name would crop up in a conversation and she would wonder where he was, almost tempted to check over her shoulder at times. For the past several months, he had been no more than a ghost. Often his whereabouts had been unknown, and when she had asked Sharp he had shrugged and denied all knowledge before making some excuse that the detective chief inspector was working on a special project for the chief superintendent. ‘That’s all I know about it, Kay. At least he’s out of our way.’

  She had been inclined to agree with him, and it was only now that he was involved in this latest investigation that she realised how much she had enjoyed not having him breathing down her neck. She glanced up as Barnes cleared his throat.

  ‘Come on. Let’s go grab some lunch. You look like you could use some fresh air.’

  Twenty minutes later, standing in line at the pub counter to order their food, Kay peered across at her colleague and took in his new suit and tie.

  He caught her staring at him. ‘What?’

  ‘New clothes?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘It was my daughter’s idea. I’ve lost a bit of weight, and she said my old suit was looking a bit baggy.’

  Kay raised an eyebrow. ‘Losing weight and new clothes?’ It struck her then that she hadn’t seen Barnes having his usual takeaway lunches of burgers and chips since he’d returned to work. As it was, he’d just ordered a chicken salad. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you seeing someone?’

  ‘No.’

  Kay said nothing more, grabbed her change and made her way across to the table where Carys and Gavin set.

  As Barnes approached, Gavin gave a low wolf whistle. ‘Looking qu
ite suave there, Ian. Hadn’t seen the new jacket this morning.’

  Barnes glared at him, but Kay noted the sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

  ‘Who’s the lucky girl?’ said Carys.

  ‘There isn’t a lucky girl. And mind your own business.’

  Kay burst out laughing.

  * * *

  ‘This is what I was telling Sharp about,’ said Barnes from the opposite desk after they’d returned from lunch.

  He leaned over and pushed a printout across to Kay, who was fighting a losing battle with the paperwork strewn across her workspace.

  She glanced up, shook her head to clear her thoughts, and reached out for the page.

  ‘This is the rehab programme?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, and moved around the desks to join her. ‘Two of our suicide victims attended the same rehabilitation programme after being caught drink-driving,’ he said, and stabbed at the page with his forefinger. ‘Stephen Taylor and Cameron Abbott. Each of them lost their driving licence for a period of six months, and a condition of their sentence was to attend a weekly rehabilitation session about the dangers of drink driving for a period of four weeks.’

  ‘Who else was on the programme at the same time?’

  ‘Four others. I’ve made arrangements for Carys to go and speak with them later this morning with Gavin, if we talk to the families of the suicide victims.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan. You hear Gavin’s studying for his detective exams?’

  ‘Yeah. Carys mentioned it. Didn’t seem too happy.’

  ‘I think our golden child might be getting a bit anxious about some competition in the team.’ Kay smiled and lowered her voice. ‘I’ve been making a point of trying to split the caseloads equally between them, so they can’t accuse me of favouritism.’

  Barnes chuckled. ‘That bad?’

  ‘No, not really, and I can see it from her point of view. But Sharp isn’t taking sides, so nor should we.’

  ‘Interesting dynamic.’

  ‘It is.’ Kay lowered her gaze back to the document in her hand. ‘What were the circumstances for our victims being on this rehabilitation programme in the first place?’

  ‘Taylor was doing a few miles an hour over the speed limit on the A20 near The Landway – his car was caught by a speed trap, and when the officers pulled him over and breathalysed him, he was caught driving drunk as well. The magistrate took into account the fact that he was taking antidepressants at the time, but if he was on those he shouldn’t have been drinking in the first place, so she confiscated his licence and put him on the programme.’

  ‘Any previous history?’

  ‘None at all. The only other information I’ve been able to find out is from the court records. Taylor was unemployed at the time, and had been for a few months. Looks like he was in and out of work before that.’

  ‘What about our second victim?’

  ‘Cameron Abbott was spotted by a uniform patrol in the centre of Maidstone. He came out of a pub on the High Street, wobbled his way down to The Mall car park, and got into his car. They arrested him as soon as he turned the key in the ignition. Apparently, it was a first time offence, and he was contrite enough that the magistrate slapped him with a fine and a six month ban, plus the rehabilitation programme. Again, no prior record.’

  Kay handed back the printout of the names. ‘What did the rehabilitation programme entail?’

  ‘Group discussions, safety videos, things like that. They try to re-educate offenders about the dangers of drunk driving, in the hope they won’t reoffend once they get their licence back.’

  ‘Good success rate?’

  ‘Seems to be, although whether that’s down to the rehabilitation programme, or people not wanting to risk all the hassle of losing their driving licence again can’t be proven.’

  ‘Who runs it?’

  ‘It’s outsourced to a company called “Mending Ways”. Basically, a couple of psychologists teamed up and pitched the idea. They’ve been running it for a year and a half at the community hall in Shepway.’

  ‘Anyone spoken to them yet?’

  ‘Not yet – do you want it?’

  ‘Yeah. Give me the number. I’ll give them a call and see if we can drop by to see them before speaking to the families.’

  Ten

  Kay steered the car around the roundabout, and took the second exit. The road ran alongside the back of a school, and soon the community hall appeared on the left-hand side.

  Half a dozen cars filled the parking spaces outside the low-set building, and Kay pulled into one of the spare spaces.

  ‘My daughter used to come here for karate lessons when she was little,’ said Barnes. ‘I can’t believe it’s still here.’

  ‘Good job it is. I don’t think some of these groups would have anywhere else to meet otherwise.’

  Kay led the way into the hall’s entrance through a set of double doors, and was immediately struck by the distinct smell of sweaty training shoes. She wrinkled her nose and peered around the small atrium. Two sets of doors faced her, both of which were shut. She checked her watch.

  ‘According to the website, they have a session running at the moment that should be finished in the next couple of minutes,’ she said, ‘so we shouldn’t have long to wait.’

  They paced the entrance hall, and Kay ran her eyes over the various community notices pinned to a cork board that ran the length of the wall. She turned as one of the doors opened, and a small group of people began to file out past her and Barnes, heading towards the car park.

  She gave it another minute to allow for any stragglers, and then led Barnes through the door and into the hall.

  The smooth surface of the floor had borne the brunt of various indoor sports over the years, its shiny surface pitted and scratched in places. Kay hovered at the threshold, unsure whether she should walk on the surface in her heels. As she was debating whether to proceed, one of two men remaining in the room saw her hesitate, and called out.

  ‘You must be the detective I spoke to on the phone. Come on over – this floor has seen plenty of wear and tear. One more pair of shoes won’t hurt it.’

  Kay couldn’t help but smile and led Barnes across the room where the two men were stacking the chairs from the session and placing them against the far wall out of the way. They turned as Kay and Barnes approached, and the man who had spoken held out his hand.

  ‘I’m Malcolm Bannister. You must be Detective Sergeant Kay Hunter?’

  ‘That’s right. And this is my colleague, Detective Constable Ian Barnes. Thanks for taking the time to speak with us this morning.’

  The man shook Barnes’s hand and gestured to his colleague. ‘This is Ethan Aspley. He helps me with the sessions for our drink driving cases.’

  ‘It echoes a bit too much in here,’ said Aspley. ‘There’s a small office on the mezzanine level. Why don’t we go and use that instead? It’s more private, too.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Kay. ‘Lead the way.’

  She and Barnes followed the two men out of the hall and up a short flight of stairs onto a low mezzanine floor. Open plan, it consisted of a couple of desks in the middle of the room, filing cabinets labelled with the name of each club that used the hall, and an array of sporting equipment in various states of disrepair.

  She waited until they’d pulled out chairs and Barnes had extracted his notebook from the inside of his jacket. ‘How long has this programme been running?’

  ‘Just over two years now. We first pitched the idea to the council three years ago, but it took nearly seven months for them to implement it. Something about budget management and the new financial year at the time.’

  ‘Whose idea was it?’

  ‘We’d both been practising psychology for a number of years,’ said Bannister. ‘Then, my sister was killed by a man who was later found to be three times over the limit. I remember seeing the man’s family at the magistrates’ court. It seemed such a waste. He was happily married, h
ad a really good job, and had thrown it all away because he’d had too many drinks before getting in his car. It preyed on my mind for months, and then Ethan here mentioned that perhaps we could do something in my sister’s memory, and that’s when we came up with the idea for this programme.’

  ‘If it was my sister that had been killed, I don’t know if I could have envisaged doing something as noble as this.’

  A faint smile crossed his lips. ‘It hasn’t been easy, Detective, I’ll grant you that. But we have a good success rate, and it’s rare that attendees reoffend.’

  ‘What about you, Ethan? What was your interest in starting this up?’

  ‘I was engaged to Malcolm’s sister. He was falling apart and so was I, to be honest. We both needed something to focus on.’

  ‘Tell me about when Stephen Taylor and Cameron Abbott killed themselves. When did you find out?’

  Bannister ran a hand through his hair. ‘It was a shock, that’s for sure. I mean, we address the issue of the drink driving offence, and we do take into consideration any other issues a client might be having. But to find out that two men have chosen to end their lives only months after leaving us? I had no idea. When I heard through the newspapers, I spent hours wracking my brains trying to recall whether either of them gave any indication they would do something like that. I couldn’t.’

  ‘Do you keep in touch with people, once they leave the programme?’

  ‘No. We provide them with the support they need during the rehabilitation period. Once they leave here, that’s it – although we do provide them with contact details for places like Alcoholics Anonymous, and we encourage them to speak with their GPs if we believe there are underlying issues that ought to be discussed.’

  ‘And you never saw Steven Taylor or Cameron Abbott again?’

  ‘No. Never.’

  Kay turned to Aspley, but he shook his head.

  ‘Me neither.’

  Kay rose from her chair. ‘In that case, gentlemen, I think we’re done here. Thank you for your time.’