Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller (13 page)

‘Are
you sure you’re well enough to do this? Doctor Graham has strongly advised
against it. He reckons you need at least another day in here.’

‘I’m fine, Sarah,
honestly. Sergeant Calloway told me that he couldn’t detain the kid forever. If
I don’t go down there now and identify him, it’ll increase his chances of
getting away with it.’

‘What about the video
evidence from the bridge? Surely that will be enough to prosecute him.’

‘Maybe, but it’ll help
the prosecution if I can verify that this is the same kid who was bad-mouthing
me on the train. Besides, I want the little shit to see what he’s done to me.’

‘I don’t think he
cares. He doesn’t sound like the remorseful type.’

‘Maybe not. Anyway, I’m
hoping that getting out of this place will clear my head a little.’

‘Is it still hurting.’

‘That’s putting it
mildly. The pain…honest-to-God, Sarah, I swear it’s getting worse.’

‘That’s why you’re
better off here where they can keep an eye on you. What if it’s something
serious?’

‘It’s not. Doctor
Graham told me. They’ve run a whole series of scans, including an MRI, and they
can’t find anything wrong with me apart from superficial bruising and
inflammation. They can’t do anything for my headache that I can’t do myself. Pills
and time, that’s what they said.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘I am. I want to get
this over with, and after that I want us to take the first available train back
home. I want my house, my bed, and most of all I want to see our son.’

‘Okay.’

‘Good. Come on…let’s go.’

Arm in arm, they made their
way gingerly across the ward to the corridor, Sam’s head pounding in harmony
with every footstep. They eventually arrived at a bank of lifts that would take
them to the ground floor, and before long they were walking out into a fresh, December
breeze and heading towards the taxi rank. Sam breathed in the cool, refreshing
air, hoping it would prove the perfect antidote to his pain, but sadly it was
not to be. The doctors and nurses were right: pills and time; he just had to be
patient.
Easier said than done
, he thought, wincing in agony for the
hundredth time that day.

Thankfully, it was only
a short distance from the hospital to the police station, although this didn’t deter
Sam from accusing the driver of intentionally driving his taxi over every pothole
and bump on the way. Sarah apologised on behalf of her husband, explaining that
he was just being grumpy because he had a headache. The taxi driver ignored
them and drove on. He was used to far worse levels of abuse in his line of
work.

As they climbed the
four concrete steps to the station, Sarah stopped and turned to face Sam. ‘Are
you sure - I mean
absolutely
sure - that you want to go through with
this? You don’t have to go in there. Maybe we should just go home and leave
this boy’s fate in the hands of the authorities.’

‘And what if they
decide to let him go?’

‘They won’t.’

‘But what if they do?’
Sam insisted, raising his hand to his forehead as yet another excruciating tremor
passed through him. ‘Look,’ he said, trying hard to suppress his growing
irritability. ‘If I don’t stand up for myself now, who knows what might happen.
You’re right, they probably do already have enough evidence to prosecute him,
but what if he gets off because I was too chicken to confront him? I can’t do
that, Sarah. I owe it to all the other victims of assault out there, especially
the ones whose assailants were never caught and punished. Now enough of this,’
he said, opening the door for her. ‘Let’s get this over and done with.’

Sarah nodded and
entered. She didn’t like to admit it, but she knew he was right. Besides, she
couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for her husband’s condition: if it
wasn’t for her infidelity, he wouldn’t have left London in the first place. And
if he hadn’t left London, he wouldn’t be walking into a police station covered
in cuts and bruises, summoning up the courage to confront his attacker. With
every passing hour, it was becoming increasingly clear to her just how stupid
she was to have gotten involved in a relationship with Tom Jackson. She
realised now that she had never loved him at all. Tom was a man whose character
was steeped in pride, vanity and greed; values which on the surface could
appear so enticing and devilishly attractive, but which underneath amounted to
nothing more than superficial and meaningless bullshit. So what if Sam could
sometimes be pedantic and frustratingly level-headed in his approach to life?
At least he had morals, at least he had integrity and decency and a depth to
him that made him a far more loyal and caring husband than Tom could ever be. She
only had to look at how he treated his poor wife, Jane. Imagine how terrible it
must be to be married to a man whose primary aim in life is to slot himself into
as many different women as possible. And to think that she was dumb and
gullible enough to have been one of those women. Not only that, but she had
been one of those women for four fucking years! How blind must she have been?
It wasn’t as if her sex life with Sam had been particularly dull or
unadventurous. Granted, it was fair to say that Tom probably held the ace card
in the bedroom department, but surely there was more to life than a guaranteed orgasm…wasn’t
there?

She smiled at Sam and
took his hand. What was it that someone once said, something about always
hurting the one you love. Well, she’d hurt Sam more than she’d ever know, and it
was entirely her fault why he was here. And if he had the balls to go ahead
with this, then who was she to stand in his way?

The
station’s entrance area was unmanned; a plastic doorbell glued to a Perspex
screen preferable to the cost of paying a real-life receptionist. A laminated
sign next to the bell read:
Press and take a seat. A member of staff will
shortly be on hand to assist you.
Sam read the message, his mind
automatically reconfiguring the words to a more customer-friendly format. He’d
barely given work a thought since finding out about the affair. He knew he
couldn’t remain unemployed forever, but right now, finding another job was low
on his list of priorities.

Surprisingly, it was Sergeant
Calloway himself who came to the desk. He was holding a cup of coffee, and
despite his headache, Sam had to laugh when he saw the slogan on the cup:
crime
pays…until we catch you
!

Calloway grinned at
Sam’s reaction. ‘Never a truer word spoken,’ he said, setting the cup down on
the table. ‘Grab that door handle, will you? I’ll buzz you in.’

Two minutes later they
were sat around a rectangular, Formica table in
Interview Room 3
. ‘I’m
sorry I can’t offer you anything more salubrious,’ Calloway said, directing his
apology at Sarah. ‘I’m afraid this is the only available room. December’s
always a busy month for the burglars, what with all those gift-wrapped goodies
tucked away in people’s garages awaiting Christmas. Can I get you something to
drink? Coffee? Tea? Brandy? I’m joking about the brandy…sadly those days are long
gone.’

‘We’re fine,’ Sam said,
shielding his eyes from the glaring light-bulb above them. ‘If you don’t mind,
I’d like to get this over and done with as soon as possible.’

‘Of course. How are you
feeling? You look slightly chirpier than yesterday.’

‘I’m getting there,’
Sam said. ‘Slowly.’ He didn’t mention the headaches.

‘Good…good.’ Smalltalk
over. ‘Well,’ he said, opening a file and placing it on the table, ‘I’m pleased
to say that our suspect confessed an hour ago to assaulting you. Not that he
had much of a defence after I showed him the CCTV footage.’

‘Is there anything you
can tell me about him?’ Sam asked.

‘His name is Stephen
Gilchrist, he’s fifteen years old, lives with his parents in a village just
outside Darlington. You may be surprised to hear that this is his first
offence.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Uh-huh. His record
is…was…spotless. Even I was quite surprised when I found out, given the way he
laid into you.’

‘Did he say why he did
it?’ asked Sarah.

‘He claims there was
somebody on the bridge who
told
him to do it.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know, but it
turns out that before Mr Gilchrist boarded the train he’d consumed three capsules
of something called
Stir Crazy
.’

‘Drugs?’ Sam asked.

‘It’s one of those
trendy new legal highs being sold over the internet. They’re everywhere
nowadays, and new versions are popping up all the time. Totally unregulated and
untested.  
Stir Crazy
is marketed as some kind of stimulant; apparently
it’s popular with college kids pulling all-nighters to complete their homework assignments.
In my day it was Coca-Cola and jelly beans. I guess times have changed.’

‘Do you think there’s
any way this
Stir Crazy
could have led to this?’

‘It’s possible, but I
doubt it.
Stir Crazy
is fairly common. It’s a stimulant, not a hallucinogenic,
which discredits his claim that somebody on the bridge told him to attack you.
Besides, there was nobody else in the footage. We did find a couple of extra pills
in Mr. Gilchrist’s possession. We’ve sent them away for testing.’

‘So why do you think he
did it?’ asked Sarah.

‘It’s quite simple. I
reckon that you embarrassed Mr Gilchrist on the train in front of all his
friends, and this was made worse when the guard dragged him away kicking and
screaming. I think that when the guard threw Mr Gilchrist off at York, he hid
behind a bin or a pillar and waited for you to come off the train. When you
did, he followed you up onto that bridge and jumped you from behind.’

‘So you don’t believe
he saw anyone else? You don’t believe that somebody told him to do it?’

‘No, I don’t. Mind you,
I don’t think he intended to put you in hospital either. According to him, his
plan was  to lay a few quick punches and scarper, but when you fill a fifteen
year old kid with alcohol and drugs…well…in my experience anything can happen.
You know, in some ways you’re lucky to be alive.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘I’m not joking. I’ve known
people who’ve been killed for an awful lot less than embarrassing a drunken teenager
in front of his friends. It’s a good job he wasn’t carrying a knife.’

‘Do you still need Sam
to identify him, then?’ Sarah asked. ‘I mean, if he’s already confessed and you
have the video evidence…surely that’s enough?’

‘You’re right,’
Calloway replied, turning his attention to Sam. ‘It’s entirely up to you, but
we have enough evidence to press charges. If y-’

‘I want to see him,’
Sam said.

‘Very well. I’ll take
you to him. He’s in a juvenile cell at the end of the corridor. His lawyer is
with him.’

The three of them stood
up to leave, but Sam placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder to stop her. ‘Not you,’
he said. ‘I want you to stay here. I’d rather do this on my own.’

‘But-’

‘Please, Sarah. Stay
here.’

She shook her head in
disappointment but didn’t protest. ‘Fine. You go ahead, but please be careful.
I don’t want anything else happening to you.’

‘Thanks,’ Sam said,
giving her a reassuring smile. He turned to Sergeant Calloway. ‘Let’s go,’ he
said. ‘Let’s see him.’

The
two men made their way side-by-side along the corridor towards the cells, too
wrapped up in their own thoughts to make conversation. Sam was imagining how terrified
Stephen Gilchrist must have felt as he was being marched along here only a
couple of days earlier. Fifteen years old and with a clean record; he must have
been scared stiff. Images of overcrowded prison cells – the kind depicted in
all those American crime shows from the seventies – sped through Sam’s mind,
and despite what had happened, he couldn’t help but feel a modicum of pity for
the kid.

As if Sergeant Calloway
could read Sam’s mind, when they reached the end of the corridor he turned to him
and said: ‘The cells are behind this door. For first time visitors, the
experience can sometimes be upsetting. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe, but
I need to warn you, okay? People detained against their will can become excitable,
if you know what I mean.’

‘How can you be so sure
I’ve never been behind bars myself?’ Sam joked, trying to calm his nerves.

If Calloway found the
joke amusing, he didn’t let on. ‘Forgive me for saying this, Mr Railton, but
you don’t strike me as the sort of man who’d stray very far from the straight
and narrow.’

‘Am I that
predictable?’

‘Afraid so. Now…are you
ready?’

‘I think so.’

Calloway nodded and
punched a code into a keypad on the wall beside the door. A buzzing sound
coincided with the lock clunking open and the door opened towards them. Sam
drew a deep breath and followed the sergeant inside.

Fortunately for Sam,
any clichéd images he had of gangs of caged, angry-looking men hurling abuse
and threats of sexual violence were quickly dispersed. Overall, this corridor
didn’t seem particularly different to the one they’d just left; with one exception.
The doors. Whereas the doors to the rooms in the first corridor had handles and
nameplates and looked as if they were constructed from flimsy, painted
chipboard, the doors in this corridor were made of steel and had been designed
with security in mind. There were no handles or nameplates here; the only way
of identifying the cells was via a stencilled number above a keypad to the
right of each door. Each door had a hatch: a small, square, sliding hatch that
could only be opened from the outside.

‘Well,’ Sam said, as
Calloway led him further down the corridor, ‘it’s not as bad as I expected.’

And then, as if on cue,
the shouting started. At first it was restrained: an urgent request to speak to
a wife, a demand for something to eat; but almost like a ripple effect, as soon
as it became clear that there was an officer walking by, the entire corridor
seemed to explode into a torrent of desperate men clamouring to have their
voices heard.

‘Pipe down, you lot,’
Calloway bellowed. ‘The duty officer will be along to deal with you soon
enough. There’s no point banging on to me about your problems. I’m not here for
you.’

His request for calm
was only half met. The shouting eventually subdued, but not completely. Sam stayed
close to Calloway, relieved that Sarah wasn’t with him.

They reached the end of
the corridor and turned left into a section marked
Juvenile Facility
. Here
there were only two doors:
J1
and
J2
.

‘Only two cells?’ Sam
asked.

‘Despite what you see
on the news, it’s still relatively uncommon to detain juveniles. Kids get a bad
press these days,’ Calloway replied, checking the paper record stuck to the
door. ‘He’s in here.’ He slid back the hatch and peered inside. ‘Good morning, Stephen.
You have a visitor here to see you.’ He slid the hatch back into place and
looked at Sam. ‘It’s just him and his lawyer. Are you absolutely sure you want
to go in?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Okay.’ Calloway
punched a four digit code into the keyboard, and immediately there was a reassuring
clunk as four steel bolts slid back and the door swung open.

As soon as he saw the
boy, Sam knew he had nothing to fear. He was sitting on a bench with his head
in his hands, either too scared or too embarrassed to sit up and look his
victim in the eye. Sam drew a certain degree of confidence from this, but there
was something about the boy’s reluctance to face him that saddened him. He was expecting
to meet the same defiant, menacing kid who had so aggressively threatened both
him and the old lady on the train. That, in a way, would have been easier to
deal with. But this was a different kid. Physically he was the same – there was
no mistaking him – but emotionally? No. There was no hostility, no
alcohol-fuelled arrogance. This boy was broken.

‘Mr Railton,’ Sergeant
Calloway said, beginning the introductions. ‘This is Mr Smethwick, the lawyer
acting on behalf of Stephen Gilchrist. Mr Smethwick, this is Mr Railton, the
man your client assaulted two days ago.’

‘
Allegedly
assaulted,’
replied Smethwick, holding out his hand for Sam to shake. ‘Let’s not be so
hasty to jump to conclusions, eh?’

Calloway smiled. ‘Come
off it, Bill. You’ve seen the evidence. Not even a slippery eel like you can
work your way out of this one. He’s as guilty as sin,’ he said, turning to the
boy. ‘Aren’t you, lad?’

The boy didn’t look up,
but acknowledged the officer’s question with a nod. ‘Yes, sir,’ he mumbled.

‘See?’ Calloway said.
‘He’s admitted it himself. There’s no-’

‘Sergeant Calloway,’ Sam
interjected. ‘Can I talk to Mr Gilchrist? Please?’

Calloway stared at him,
annoyed to have had his victory speech so abruptly cut off. Nevertheless, he
could see the urgency in Sam’s eyes, so allowed him to continue. ‘Fine by me.’

‘Thanks,’ Sam said. ‘Mr
Gilchrist…Stephen,’ he said, returning his attention to the boy. ‘Look, I don’t
want to have a go at you, okay? I can see that you’re upset, but I’d like to
talk to you for a minute. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?’

‘I didn’t do it, Mr Railton,’
replied the boy, maintaining his focus on the cell floor. ‘I admit I was there
on that bridge, but it wasn’t me, I swear. I only wanted to frighten you…give
you a scare for embarrassing me in front of my friends. That’s all it was, I
promise.’

‘Come off it, Stephen,’
Calloway said. ‘We have it all recorded. Besides, you’ve already confessed,
so-’

‘I know,’ the boy said,
beginning to sob through his words. ‘It was me who threw the punches, but he
was forcing me to…he said if I didn’t do it to you then he would do it to me,
only worse…much worse. I didn’t have any option. He was so…scary.’

‘Most likely the
drugs,’ said Calloway, turning to Smethwick, who accepted the officer’s theory
with a resigned nod.

‘It wasn’t the drugs, I
swear it wasn’t! It was him!’

‘Who?’ asked Sam,
lowering his voice in an attempt to deescalate the rising tension in the cell.
‘Who made you do it?’

‘A man,’ replied the
boy, still refusing to look up. ‘I couldn’t see him very clearly, but there was
this man. At first he was following me, and then he appeared out of nowhere
right in front of me. I was terrified,’ he said, crying now. ‘He was so angry
and…and mean-looking. His suit was all torn and he was wearing this weird old
hat.’

Sam’s pulse raced as
the boy described him. He’d almost managed to convince himself that everything
he’d seen – his sister, the dark figure…everything – was entirely due to the enormous
pressure he’d been under. But now here was somebody else claiming to have witnessed
the same damn figure, describing him the exact same way. Especially the hat:
that was too much of a coincidence to be passed off as the drug-addled
hallucinations of a young kid. Maybe this figure, this man, that they’d both
seen
was
real. Maybe for some unknown reason he’d taken it upon himself
to follow Sam around like a deranged stalker, and then to threaten the kid if
he refused to beat him up. But why? If that was the case, then who was he and
what was his motive? What did he have against Sam? And why hadn’t the CCTV
picked him up?