On Borrowed Time Read online

  On Borrowed Time

  Adam Croft

  Copyright © 2020 by Adam Croft

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

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  Acknowledgments

  A special thank you to my patrons

  Adam Croft

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  Adam Croft

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  For more information, visit my website: adamcroft.net

  1

  Gary Stoddart quite liked the early shift. It meant departing Nottingham at four minutes to five in the morning, but would see him home not long after lunch. Besides, what could be better than watching the sun rise as he drove his train through the beautiful East Midlands countryside?

  He watched a small number of early-morning commuters boarding the carriages as the 5.49am service came to a brief rest in Oakham, before it would set off again, along the South Shore of Rutland Water and on to Stamford.

  There’d been a stunning mist sitting on the fields between Melton Mowbray and Oakham — something which’d probably have cleared within the hour, and which drivers working later turns wouldn’t get to admire. There was always something about crisp early mornings that excited him. And this early morning was as-yet unbroken. Although this was the first eastbound service of the day, there’d usually been at least two earlier westbound trains by now — not to mention a slew of overnight freight. But nighttime engineering works further along the line meant Gary’s train was the first of the day, breaking through the virgin mist of the Rutland countryside.

  With his new set of passengers on board, Gary pulled away from Oakham Station, pleased to see he hadn’t caused too much frustration on the level crossing in the centre of town, and started to gather speed as the train headed south.

  This was his favourite part of the run. Once the train was clear of Oakham it’d follow the A6003 and enter the tunnel which ran under the village of Manton, before the track split and headed east between Rutland Water and the A47, then dipped under the Great North Road and into the picturesque market town of Stamford.

  He’d always found it rather odd that the train line went directly underneath Manton, when it could just as easily have gone round it. Then again, he only drove the things; he hadn’t built the line.

  The overnight engineering works meant speed restrictions had been put in place on this stretch. Gary didn’t mind, even if his passengers did. The joy of driving a train wasn’t connected with speed. And in any case, it gave him more time to enjoy his surroundings — something he knew he’d never grow tired of.

  The train gathered speed, piercing through the mist as it began to soar over the A6003, the entrance to the Manton tunnel opening up ahead. As it did, Gary noticed something that caught his eye. His instincts kicking in, he cut the throttle and hit the brakes, praying he’d spotted it early enough.

  The morning had been damp, and the friction wasn’t kicking in anywhere near as quickly as Gary would’ve liked, despite the speed restrictions that were in place. In a split-second, he made the decision to slam on the emergency brakes, adrenaline pumping in his chest and his stomach lurching as he realised what was about to happen.

  He did exactly what he’d been trained not to do, and closed his eyes. He waited for the inevitable, sickening noise as the train screeched to a halt, jolting him in his seat.

  Silence. A brief moment where he wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing.

  Slowly, Gary opened his eyes and looked out through the windscreen of his cab.

  It was the detail that struck him first. The fabric. The gentle sway. The milky whites of the eyes. It was only a second or two later that his mind registered the dead body hanging just inches away from him.

  2

  Caroline Hills groaned as she felt the cold porcelain against her chest. It had become a familiar sensation, along with seeing the slight chip on the inside of the rim, where she’d dropped a slate toothbrush holder on the day they’d moved into the house.

  It would be fair to say there were quite a few downsides to dealing with cancer, and making friends with the toilet bowl was certainly one of them. Her original treatment had been relatively easy to deal with, but it hadn’t been altogether successful. As a result, the doctors had taken the decision to step it up a gear, and it’d hit Caroline hard.

  ‘Are you okay?’ her husband, Mark, mumbled through the door of their en-suite bathroom.

  ‘I’m fine. You go back to bed.’

  Although she felt exhausted, there was no way she’d be able to get back to sleep. Once she was up, she was up. Even if it was only half six in the morning. Mark, on the other hand, could steal an extra hour or two’s kip. It’d do him good. He’d had to take up the slack when Caroline had been unable to be at her best, and had supported her through every step. At least, he had once he’d actually known about it.

  Caroline had made the decision shortly after being diagnosed with ovarian cancer to deal with it herself. Mark had only recently lost his own brother and father to cancer, and the family had
been through more than enough. It was something she believed she could fight on her own, but she’d been proven wrong.

  Fighting battles alone was something she was used to. The irony wasn’t lost on her that her private life was so different from her work, in which she was used to being part of a team, sharing information and collaborating for the greater good as a Detective Inspector with Rutland Police. When it came to her private life, things were different.

  She and Mark had always been close, but there were aspects of her past even he didn’t know about. She hadn’t kept them from him for any other reason than to protect him and keep the peace, but even so, the growing feeling of guilt was starting to gnaw away at her. She often wondered if the reason why she and Mark were so close was that they didn’t need to rely on each other for emotional support. Until Mark’s dad and brother died, they’d had no major tragedies to deal with. There’d been ups and downs, of course, but never anything big and never anything which had needed a heart-to-heart. Their deaths had hit Mark hard, and Caroline hadn’t wanted to burden him any further.

  She’d always been good at keeping her work close to her chest. When they’d lived in London and she’d worked for the Met, it had been drummed into her to not divulge details of cases she was working on. More often than not, those cases involved powerful gangs and underground criminal networks. In Rutland, that was rarely the case. Indeed, in Rutland it was almost impossible to keep anything confidential. She sometimes wondered if the locals should be briefing her on what had happened. It was a different way of working; a different pace of life. But it was one she was starting to respect and enjoy.

  She certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be dealing with cancer and chemotherapy whilst living in Cricklewood. Here, the peace and quiet, the scenery – and, yes, the people – were selflessly and unknowingly providing ample comfort and support. Trips to Peterborough City Hospital were just part of the package.

  The last wave of nausea disappeared at the same time she registered the sound of her mobile phone vibrating on her beside table. She flushed the toilet, opened the door and walked over to answer it. She could see from the name on the screen it was Dexter Antoine, a Detective Sergeant on her team.

  ‘Morning, Dex. I’m guessing this isn’t a polite wake-up call?’

  ‘Nope. Fix up, look sharp. We’ve got a body.’

  ‘Dex, it’s Monday morning. Listen, you’ve got good community relations round here. Can you tell people to stop dying so early in the morning please?’

  ‘I’ll do my best, but we might be a bit late for this chap. On the plus side, it’s been called in as a suicide, so you might still be home for brunch.’

  ‘Little mercies, eh? And why am I being called out to deal with a suicide?’

  ‘Ah yeah, I forgot there was a word before “suicide”.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘“Suspicious.”’

  ‘Wonderful. Who decided that?’

  ‘First responders. One of them reckoned there’re a couple of things that don’t look right. I’m on my way down there now. Apparently they tried to get hold of you, but there was no answer. I told them you’d probably had a heavy night.’

  ‘Oh great, thanks Dex.’

  ‘Pleasure!’

  ‘So where am I going?’ she said, opening her wardrobe and pulling out some clothes.

  ‘Do you know Manton?’

  ‘Loosely. I know where it is.’

  ‘Right. When you get there, you want to head down Cemetery Lane.’

  ‘Cemetery Lane? Is this some sort of joke?’

  ‘Well, no. There’s a cemetery on it.’

  ‘And that’s where the body is?’

  ‘Nope. That’s where I’ll meet you. Bring a decent pair of shoes, won’t you?’

  3

  A little over fifteen minutes later, Caroline parked her Volvo in a bay outside the Horse and Jockey pub in Manton.

  She vaguely recognised it as being on one of Mark’s favourite cycle routes, and noticed the bike racks outside, ready to welcome the day’s cyclists when the pub opened later that day. Dexter was sitting propped against a low wall at the side of the Horse and Jockey, his hands in his pockets. He nodded as she approached him.

  ‘Morning. Find it alright?’

  ‘Sat nav,’ Caroline replied, holding up her phone.

  ‘Where we’re going, we won’t need a sat nav.’

  ‘Never had you down as a Back to the Future fan, Dex.’

  ‘No, I mean literally. You heard what I said about the shoes, right?’

  Caroline followed Dexter down Cemetery Lane – a narrow, winding track to the side of the Horse and Jockey. Before long, the promised cemetery appeared on their left, before another track spurred off to their right.

  ‘Up here,’ Dexter said. ‘It doglegs back on itself a bit as it goes uphill. Hope your calf muscles are warmed up.’

  Dexter strode up the cycle path with Caroline in tow. After a few seconds, she noticed the train line down below, with some clear activity happening in the mouth of the tunnel.

  ‘Dex, stop. I’m having trouble holding onto my stomach this morning as it is. Tell me now: have we got a jumper?’

  ‘Nope. A dangler.’

  ‘In the tunnel?’

  ‘Sort of. In the mouth of it. The tunnel runs right underneath Manton and comes out the other side. The whole village is built over the train line. Our customer was found hanging in the mouth of the tunnel.’

  ‘Christ. Who found him?’ she said, marching after Dexter again.

  ‘Train driver.’

  ‘Dex, stop again.’

  ‘No need. He hit the brakes. Your stomach’s fine.’

  At the top of the hill, the path turned to cross the railway, then banked back down along the far side of the track, in the direction from which they’d just come, but east of the railway.

  ‘Where does that go?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘Joins the A6003 by the bridge. Popular cycle route, apparently.’

  ‘Not today, it won’t be.’ She looked down at the path, noticing what looked like fresh tyre marks in the dirt. ‘Look at that, Dex. Looks recent.’

  ‘Yeah. I know. I was hoping you weren’t going to say that.’

  Caroline said her hellos to the officers at the scene and took in everything in front of her. From her position, she could see along the railway line in the direction of Oakham as it ran right under her feet. Behind her, the village of Manton. From here, she couldn’t see the mouth of the tunnel, but she could easily see how someone could access it. A small fence separated the path from a bank of scrubland, which sloped down towards the mouth of the tunnel, with only a cursory metal barrier at the edge.

  ‘Has someone been down here?’ Caroline asked, gesturing to the trodden-down foliage on the bank.

  ‘Yeah, it’s the only way to get access. But I know what you’re thinking, and yes, it was fairly well trodden when we arrived,’ PC Joe Lloyd said. ‘That’s what made us think it wasn’t quite right. Looks to me like someone’s dragged him down from here, then tied him to the metal barrier and lobbed him off.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Caroline said, crossing her fingers and hoping that wouldn’t turn out to be the case. ‘I’ll need a list of everyone who’s been down there for elimination purposes. We’ll need SOCO to comb it all for fibres. There’s no way someone’s got down there and back without leaving a trace. It looks brutal.’

  ‘Nettles, brambles, the lot,’ PC Lloyd said. ‘Wouldn’t fancy my chances without a decent pair of boots and some waders. We can get to it round the side now, if you like. They’ve closed the line.’

  Caroline and Dexter followed PC Lloyd further along the track as it snaked back down on the far side of the railway line. As they reached the bottom of the hill, she noticed someone had already rigged up a set of steps for getting over the low fence and onto the train line. She looked to her right, at the diesel locomotive stopped on the track, having been reversed back from the tunnel entra
nce.

  ‘Where’s the driver?’ she asked.

  ‘Having a sit down behind the train. He didn’t fancy seeing the body again, funnily enough.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Caroline asked as they approached the mouth of the tunnel.

  ‘Our boy the driver, Gary Stoddart, he’s left Oakham station and is on his way to Stamford. He says there was a speed restriction in place because of engineering works, and that’s the only reason he’d managed to stop in time. Otherwise, it’d be a proper messy job,’ PC Lloyd said.

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘A few minutes before six. The train left Oakham around five-fifty. Probably takes a minute or two to get here. Maybe a bit more with speed restrictions.’

  ‘And when was the last train to come through here before that?’

  ‘Yeah, we thought of that. The lad was hanging right in the middle of the tunnel, so he’d have been hit by any train coming in either direction. There was overnight engineering works, though. This train was the first one of the day.’