Will to Live

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘I won’t.’

  She averted her gaze and instead concentrated on willing all the strength she could muster. Beside her, Barnes grunted and shifted his weight. She sensed the strain being taken off her own arms, and then the roar of the train passed.

  She lifted her head, to see the rear lights of the train disappearing through the station and into the fog.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you up,’ said Barnes.

  He was already pulling McIntyre back towards the railing, and Kay realised that without the force of the train passing beneath, McIntyre’s body was no longer being dragged out of reach.

  She gritted her teeth, leaned over, and grabbed the man’s belt as Barnes heaved him over the edge.

  He landed in a crumpled heap at their feet, and it was all Kay could do not to collapse next to him.

  Instead, she propped herself up on shaking legs and leaned against the side of the footbridge while Barnes crouched down and read McIntyre his rights.

  ‘Kevin McIntyre, you’re under arrest for the murders of Nathan Cox, Cameron Abbott—’

  ‘It wasn’t me – you’ve got this all wrong!’

  ‘—Lawrence Whiting and Jason Evans. You do not have to say—’

  ‘It’s Alison’s dad – he killed them all! Please – listen to me.’ Kevin shrugged off Barnes’s grip on his arm and glared at them both. ‘I agreed to meet with him here. His car is in the car park near mine – I’ve been trying to work out who could be killing all our friends, and I made the mistake of trusting him. When we got here, he said to me he wanted to talk about Alison. He suggested we walk while we spoke.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m an idiot. I began to have doubts about my theory, and then when we got up here, he overpowered me.’

  ‘Where’s Peter Bailey?’

  ‘I paid for him to stay at a motel in Ashford. He’s safe. I told him not to go anywhere or answer his phone or the door. Not unless it was me.’

  Kay narrowed her eyes. ‘So, where’s Martin Campbell?’

  Kevin pointed over her shoulder into the darkness. ‘He saw you coming, shoved me over the edge of the bridge, and then ran – he headed off down the tracks that way.’

  Fifty-One

  ‘Stay here with him, Ian,’ said Kay, and ran along the length of the footbridge.

  She tore down the steps as fast as she could, nearly colliding with Carys at the bottom.

  ‘It’s Alison’s dad, Martin Campbell. He’s our killer. Come with me. You two – tell that off-duty officer to stay here and make sure Campbell doesn’t try to escape back along the platforms or get back to his car. Have you got torches we can use?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Thanks. Radio through and get a car over to Campbell’s house. Have them get a search warrant organised and secure the scene. They’ll need to question his wife as well. Get yourselves up to the main road in case he tries to climb up the embankment from the railway.’

  ‘Will do.’

  The two uniformed officers handed over the torches before running back to their car, the older of the two with his radio to his mouth.

  Kay spun on her heel and crouched down, dropping to the tracks before helping Carys, and then the pair began to run in the direction McIntyre had indicated.

  ‘What if he’s lying, Kay?’

  ‘Can’t take that risk. I thought I saw someone up on the bridge with McIntyre but I couldn’t be sure because of the fog. If that person is innocent, why run?’

  In response, Carys cursed as she stumbled on one of the sleepers.

  ‘Careful! The third rail is electrified. Slow down.’

  They continued to sweep their torch beams across the undergrowth to either side of the track, their breathing the only sound in the still of the night.

  ‘I can imagine what Larch said when he found out we wanted the train stopped.’

  ‘They haven’t stopped them.’

  Kay swung around. ‘What you mean, they haven’t stopped the trains? I thought that was the last one to go through here?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sarge. Sharp tried his best, so did Dave Walker. Larch said you don’t have a strong enough case to stop the trains. They cost too much money. If you’re wrong, Larch said there could be all sorts of political fallout. He says we have no proof apart from an abandoned car that our suspect is here.’

  ‘Hold my torch.’ Kay turned her mobile phone in her hand and hit the speed dial.

  Sharp answered within seconds. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Martin Campbell is the killer. He threw McIntyre over a footbridge. McIntyre’s with Barnes now. Carys and I are trying to catch up with Martin Campbell. What’s this about the trains not being stopped?’

  ‘Larch says he’ll only arrange for the trains to be stopped if he can be convinced the killer is there. I’m sorry, Kay. Where are you now?

  ‘On the bloody tracks.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Martin Campbell took off along here only a few minutes ago. I’m in pursuit with Carys. You have to stop the trains.’

  There was a rustling sound at the end of the line, and Kay realised she had been on speakerphone all the time. The next voice she heard was Larch’s.

  ‘You have no proof that Martin Campbell is your killer. Return to Barnes and arrest McIntyre.’

  ‘McIntyre was hanging from the footbridge when we found him. He nearly died,’ Kay yelled. ‘What more proof do you bloody need?’

  She ended the call, fuming.

  ‘I can’t see anything in this fog,’ Carys muttered.

  ‘Me neither.’ Kay cursed. ‘If we don’t find him, we’ll have to put out a request for everyone to be on the lookout for him at ports and airports. Ashford International station, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to make a run for it over the Channel.’

  ‘At least he can’t get too far too fast – his car’s still back at the station.’

  Kay’s torch beam bobbed over the rails as she swept it across her line of vision, and she glanced over her shoulder.

  The mottled lights from the railway station illuminated the ghostly form of the footbridge in the distance, and the damp air clung to her skin and hair.

  Doubt began to claw at her mind.

  Had she really seen a second figure on the footbridge, or had the fog obliterated her view so much that she’d been mistaken.

  What if McIntyre was lying?

  What if he wasn’t?

  The unmistakeable sound of a train horn cut through the fog.

  ‘Off the tracks, Carys.’

  They moved to the wayside, the uneven ballast slowing their progress.

  Kay led the way, keeping her torch lowered so they could watch where they trod, while Carys swept hers from side to side, illuminating the sides of the embankment. Kay lifted her eyes and swallowed.

  A smaller bridge rose out of the gloom ahead, the cutting underneath it narrow and steep.

  She checked over her shoulder.

  No trains approached the station from behind.

  Decision time.

  If they entered the cutting and were still there when the train roared through, they’d only have the other track to move on to.

  If another train was coming from the opposite direction, they’d have nowhere to go.

  If they didn’t enter the cutting, they might never catch up with Campbell.

  Carys bumped into her.

  ‘Kay?’

  She shook her head. ‘We’re going to have to wait here until the train passes.’

  The ballast began to shake and shift under her feet, and she threw out her arms to steady herself as the rails started to sing.

  Carys cried out, and then the beam from her torch spun in the air and then died.

  ‘Shit, sorry – I’ve lost my torch!’

  Her voice was muffled in the thick air, but Kay could hear the sense of panic.

  ‘It’s okay. We’ve still got this one.’

  A branch cracked a few metres along the track in front of them,
and Kay swung the beam around.

  A figure stepped into the torchlight, his right foot hovering over the third rail.

  ‘Martin, move away from the rail.’

  He emitted a shaking breath, his shoulders slumped.

  Kay held up a hand to shield her eyes from the headlights of the oncoming train, and began to walk towards him. She realised the driver wouldn’t see him until the last minute; visibility was so bad.

  The train would be moving at a slower pace due to the weather, but it was still too fast. The railway company had a timetable to keep, if it was going to convey its passengers home on time.

  ‘Martin, move out of the way,’ she yelled. We need to talk.’

  ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  Kay picked up her pace, the sound of her and Carys’s shoes crunching across the ballast now diminishing in the wake of the enormous force bearing down on them at speed.

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he shouted.

  She stopped within a metre of him, and checked to her right.

  The train’s headlights now clearly illuminated the track where Campbell stood, and the sound of the horn blasted through the night air.

  A screech of brakes reached her ears, but she knew it would be no good.

  The train wouldn’t stop in time.

  She had seconds.

  She reached out her hand and shouted over the noise of the train as the driver hit the horn once more. ‘Martin, please!’

  His face blank, he turned back to face the oncoming train.

  Kay cursed under her breath. If she tried to grab him and he overpowered her, they’d both be sucked under the train, and she had no wish to die today.

  But she did want justice.

  ‘He’s going to get away with it!’

  Carys brushed past her.

  Before Kay could react, the young detective launched herself at Martin and barrelled into him, knocking him over as the front of the locomotive roared past and they disappeared from view.

  Kay screamed.

  ‘Carys – no!’

  Fifty-Two

  Kay paced the wayside, the flash of light from the first passenger carriage creating a strobe effect around her while the people inside looked up askance at the train’s sudden braking motion.

  She locked eyes with one of them as he looked out the window, his mouth distorting into an “o” of shock when he registered the pale face that flashed past his field of vision.

  ‘Come on,’ she muttered.

  She couldn’t risk moving any closer to the tracks to check underneath – not that she wanted to contemplate what she would see.

  Kay pushed her hair out of her face, the downdraught from the train tugging at her clothing and filling her nostrils with hot air that held a remnant of oil and grease. She swallowed, trying to counteract the fear and the bile that threatened to rise.

  She had to hope.

  She turned away in an effort to shield her ears as the driver increased the pressure on the brakes, the loud squealing boring into her skull while she tried to retain her balance on the uneven ballast that bucked under the weight of the train. She pointed her torch towards the ground, making sure she was nowhere near the live rail and then swung it round so she could count the carriages that passed.

  The light rebounded off the thick fog around her, the liveried sides of the carriages a blur that emerged from the cutting before the back of the train roared past, its rear lights an explosive red beacon in the fog as it finally began to decelerate.

  Kay’s attention snapped back to the bare tracks in front of her.

  There was no sign of Carys, or Martin Campbell.

  She ran a hand over her mouth, stepped onto the track, and checked there wasn’t a train approaching from the opposite direction, before sweeping her torch over the rails.

  No clothing. No sign of anything. Or anyone.

  She raised her gaze to the back of the train, and fought back a whimper.

  Was it possible for two people to be swept away by the force of the train? The horrifying thought that the young detective could be trapped underneath one of the carriages turned her stomach.

  How would she ever face the woman’s parents to tell them their daughter had been so intent on proving herself to her colleagues that she’d risked everything to bring a suspect to justice?

  She ran along the sleepers towards the rear of the train, its mechanical parts clicking and creaking as it cooled after such a rapid deceleration.

  A chill began to crawl down her neck.

  Reaching the back of the train, she turned and began to wave the beam from left to right over the tracks between the train and her original position.

  She pushed the memory of Lawrence Whiting’s remains to the back of her mind, and concentrated instead on the detritus to each side of the track that had been thrown from the road above the cutting by passing motorists and fly-tippers. Each time the beam fell upon an item of clothing, she moved closer to check it didn’t resemble the trouser suit Carys had been wearing, and moved on.

  Approaching the point where she and the detective constable had been standing when the train had passed by, she stopped.

  ‘Where are you, C—’

  A groan emanated from the undergrowth in front of her, and she stepped back in shock.

  She aimed the torch beam left and right, trying to locate the origin of the sound, but it was impossible in the poor light.

  Then, movement, and a trouser-clad leg raised into the air as someone tried to right themselves.

  Another groan.

  Kay held the torch higher and made her way forward, her brow creasing.

  Was it possible—?

  ‘Get off of me, you bitch.’

  Carys’s head emerged from the undergrowth, and then the rest of her as she rolled into a crouching position. ‘Stay where you are, Mr Campbell. You’re under arrest.’

  Kay’s jaw dropped open as she neared.

  Carys had landed on top of Martin Campbell and now had him face-down in the bracken, reading him his rights.

  Relief shot through her system, and she crouched down to help Carys to her feet, and then Campbell.

  Keeping a firm grip on Campbell’s arm, she quickly assessed the scratches to the detective constable’s face. ‘Anything broken?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Carys said, her voice breathless. She reached up to straighten her hair, and Kay noticed the woman’s hands shaking.

  She had to get her checked out by a doctor as soon as possible, to make sure she wasn’t going to go into shock.

  She glanced up at the sound of sirens, and familiar blue flashing lights appeared on the bridge above them moments before the sound of screeching tyres reached her.

  ‘Cavalry’s here,’ she said, and turned her attention back to Campbell. ‘Come on.’

  She took him by the arm and frogmarched him over the tracks, careful to ensure he didn’t purposely step on the live third rail, and shoved him towards the embankment.

  ‘Climb.’

  She scrambled up the steep slope beside him, and kept a guiding hand on his arm as they progressed towards the road above. At one point, as she reached out to steady him, he snatched his arm away.

  ‘Don’t touch me.’

  Kay bit back the urge to push him to the bottom of the cutting, and instead breathed a sigh of relief as they reached the barbed wire fencing that separated the railway land from the patrol car.

  Two uniformed officers climbed out of the vehicle as a second patrol drew to a standstill behind theirs, and began to make their way across the road to meet Kay. One of them pulled out a pair of wire cutters and began to snip away at the fencing until they had a hole big enough to climb through.

  Kay pushed Campbell towards the two uniformed officers and then turned back to help Carys.

  ‘My legs won’t stop shaking,’ she mumbled.

  Reaching the top, Kay waited while Campbell was handcuffed and led to the first vehicle, and then r
eached out and helped Carys towards the second.

  ‘Carys?’

  ‘Yes, Sarge?’

  ‘Don’t ever scare me like that again.’

  Fifty-Three

  Kay grabbed a bottle of water and her notes from her desk in the incident room before hurrying towards the interview suites on the ground floor.

  Swiping her card across the security panel, she heard someone ending a phone call before Larch emerged from one of the meeting rooms, a harried expression on his face.

  She checked to make sure the corridor was empty behind her, and then stalked up to him and stabbed her finger at his chest.

  ‘You’ve gone too far. Sir.’

  He looked down at her hand and then back to her. He cocked an eyebrow. ‘I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Detective Sergeant Hunter. Are you threatening me?’

  ‘You put our lives at risk out there. You didn’t stop the trains. We nearly lost an officer today because of your actions. I don’t care if you’ve got a personal vendetta against me, sir, but I do care when you put one of my officers, one of my colleagues, at risk.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘It was your decision to pursue the suspect. You were the most senior officer at the scene. It was your responsibility to ensure she was safe. As it is, I understand that Detective Constable Miles had a very lucky escape.’ He swiped her hand out of the way. ‘Be careful, Hunter. You’re walking on thin ice.’

  She stormed past, knowing in her heart she’d made a mistake to let her emotions get the better of her, but unable to excuse her DCI’s choice to gamble with their lives to prove a point.

  She took a moment to compose herself, adjusted her suit jacket, and looked up as Barnes appeared.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Let’s do this.’

  When she entered the interview room, Martin Campbell was engrossed in a conversation with his solicitor.

  His own clothes had been removed when he had been booked in by the custody sergeant, and he now wore standard issue coveralls and soft slip-on shoes. Cuts and scratches covered his face where he had tumbled into the undergrowth with Carys, and despite the fact he ran his hand over his hair every few minutes, it remained unruly.