The Will To Live

By Katrina Deverill

Get ready to dive into a thrilling mystery that will keep you on the edge of your seat. The Will To Live follows the journey of a young scientist Matthew Harding, who finds himself at the centre of a murder investigation. But he's not the only one with a stake in the outcome. The love interest, a family feud, an attempted theft, and a kidnapping all add to the chaos as a determined detective tries to track down the killer. Meanwhile, the detective's retired mentor, stuck in a residential home, struggles with boredom but may hold the key to unlocking the truth, giving him one last crack of the whip. With a scientific breakthrough that brings its own set of challenges, the tension builds to a crescendo in this fast-paced novel that combines drama, action, and romance to create a page-turner. Will they stop Matt's research falling into the wrong hands? Or will they risk a weaponised version being unleashed? It's all to play for in The Will To Live!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katrina Deverill
• Release date: Mar 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215860847

Katrina Deverill

I live on the beautiful island of Cyprus where the sea is cobalt blue, and it rarely rains.  Because I believe some of the best books are the ones that have yet to be discovered, I read on average four novels a month, sometimes more, but I schedule my writing time into each day. It’s a full-time job. There’s something special about curling up with a book and being transported to another dimension. Although I write in several genres, they all have one thing in common: mystery. I’m a sucker for whodunits and whether there’s a ghost, some historical data, a smattering of magical realism or a full-blown serial killer, the characters guide me through all the way to the end. If you enjoyed this title, all my books are on my website in my portfolio, where you’ll find both my current titles and those soon to be released. You can also sign up for early-bird offers, news and giveaways, but if you're more interested in leaving a comment or asking about a particular character, I’d be happy to respond. I look forward to hearing from you when you visit my home from home https://katrinadeverill.com Katrina Deverill

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

It was dark outside , but Matt and Sam hadn’t noticed. They had been working longer hours than usual. Neither had noticed the time because it got dark so early. They became so consumed by their work that the normal human need to eat and relax had evaporated. It never occurred to them until it was past eleven-thirty; food and sleep were always on the periphery. Charlene, the young victim, was close to death. Matt and Sam knew it was only a matter of time before they achieved their goal, so they had pushed on, regardless.

At the very least, lives like Charlene’s depended on it. It would take all Matt and Sam’s commitment to reach the completion of their scientific journey. It wasn’t a simple matter. They were doing everything they could to find an answer, a way to manipulate foreign bodies, like a bullet or a sliver of metal. The goal was to manipulate metal objects so they would leave a wound without causing further damage. They needed to get there sooner rather than later, especially if Charlene and others like her were to have a chance of survival.

Matt had read about the mindless attack on Charlene in the morning paper. That had been exactly two months ago. It was a brutal and senseless act that led to her lengthy stay at the City Hospital. Although this hadn’t been the event that sparked his interest in this line of research, it certainly fuelled his commitment. He believed it would change many medical procedures, making them safer; he’d be saving lives. Initially, Matt's research was prompted by a similar asinine attack on a small, delicate-looking boy. That kid had been the victim of a vicious stabbing by an older pupil at school. Of all things, he had refused to hand over his lunchbox. It had only contained, amongst other things, a chocolate bar. The attacker had withdrawn the blade from his victim’s flesh in a hurry and ran. He’d need to lose the weapon with his prints on to avoid detection.

The papers reported the incident the following day. They confirmed the assailant was yet to be caught and that the police were still searching for the weapon. The media ran their usual blistering accounts of anything newsworthy. They continued the sickening over-exposure and sensationalism daily. The papers recounting details that still only amounted to speculation; unproven.

Likewise, The TV crews did their incessant 24-hour vigil outside the home of the distraught parents. They practically accosted anyone who passed, interviewing anyone who’d speak to them on camera. Photographers and camera crew alike jostled for what they considered ‘prime spots.’ They snapped with abandon, shutters clicking away nineteen to the dozen. Whenever one of the distraught parents or a relative or even a friend came into view, the cacophony rose once more. And so it continued. The media turned this latest tragedy into a familiar and desperate bid for the best story. All wanted the money-spinner and ‘the one’ that would make them, their newspaper, or network, famous. Hardened newshounds seemed unaffected by the reality of the situation. But it sickened Matt to the core. He didn’t need any reminders, until they found the killer, he knew it would continue. They pitched camp outside and preyed on their latest victims. They were like vultures. The media, like a bad smell, hung on until they’d milked the situation for all it was worth.

Matt hadn’t been identified as a witness by the police and for that, he was grateful. Still, he felt sick to his stomach as he recalled the events of the previous day. As much as he yearned to put the events aside, he knew deep down that he couldn't.

It was this no matter how wretched, that would be the catalyst, his driving force. Each time he tried to push the memory away, it sprung back with a vengeance. It was crystal clear, like seeing through a pristine camera lens. His memory only sharpened and came into focus with every conscious effort to expel it ...

Matt had been walking to work as he always did on that fateful day. He was much later than usual after a mad rush to finish his report the previous night. It was a subject he was glad to see the back of his work was becoming mundane. The Board of Trustees dictated everything he researched. The Board didn't have Matt's vision for the important scientific breakthroughs or the reasons that had driven him to become a scientist. Keen now to get his lab coat on and start analysing his latest results, he walked with a sense of purpose. The sooner he started, the quicker his day would end. His specialisation was in Molecular Science. Of late, he hadn’t achieved anything spectacular; truth be known, he was just wrapping up a fairly mundane report. As a scientist, Matthew Harding was still to prove his worth. Working for the Foundation although he didn’t get to choose the subject, he shouldn't complain. It gave him a good, steady income and the chance to be on the frontline of any inspiring projects. Of course, any discovery had the potential to put him at the forefront in his chosen field; he prayed that day would come soon; very soon, before boredom tipped him over the edge.

Matt had taken the same route for the past four years. Walking through City Park daily gave him the only exercise he was likely to get. He always cherished those moments when he could take in the freshness of the morning. It was the unique aromas that each season presented. Late Summer always provided Matt with a new visual and sensory experience. It heightened his senses, filling him with renewed optimism. City Park, with its wide-open spaces, was where the locals played fetch with their dogs and where the birds sang amongst the well-spaced oak trees. It all added a pleasant and soothing start to Matt’s Day. Although today he was late, it was already 12.30, and he needed to get a move on. Stepping through the gates and onto the street, he passed Saint Augustus' primary school. The children always seemed happy, playing in the yard before the bell would call them back into the structure of a typical school day. As a single man, Matt had no children of his own, but he didn’t dislike them. After all, he’d been a kid once without a care in the World. As he walked with purpose, as he recalled his childhood with a reserved fondness. His thoughts often took him down memory lane, as they did on that day. Unlike these kids, he’d always been a bit of a loaner the school geek. He took in the scene before him. Glancing through the railings at the kids squealing and shrieking in delight. Some kids were playing chase as others huddled in groups, talking and laughing. Not that these were activities he could relate to. He’d never been invited to join in, but it had looked like fun none the less.

Then Matt’s gaze fell on something that looked, well, you know, out of place. He saw what looked like an old, discarded coat left across the bench in the school playground. As he drew closer, he felt a stab of recognition as he realised ‘the old coat’ was a child’s frail body slumped over the bench in the schoolyard.

The picture before his eyes seemed surreal. The other kids played close by without a care in the world, oblivious to the attack that none of them had seen. It was the small dark pool of blood that had provided the first clue that this child was in trouble. Matt reached for his mobile and, with composure, dialled 999. ‘Emergency Services’ he heard a voice at the other end state, Police and Ambulance. Saint Augustus Primary School it’s a child bleeding. I think it’s serious. There’s a lot of blood.

He didn’t even stop to give his name. He hung up, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Then, as if by magic, the school bell rang out. He rushed through the latched gate and across to the bench where the child lay. He needed to do what he could before help arrived.

To his surprise, no one seemed to miss the child. He went mechanically through his newly remembered first-aid training. Surprised that it came back to him so naturally, he calmly checked airways, breathing, and circulation. He found the wound and applied pressure. He was unable to put the child into the recovery position, but at least the kid was still breathing. albeit shallow, he could see the rise and fall of his little chest and as the minutes ticked by, he said a silent prayer.

It was only then that he sensed the young woman approaching, first at a walk and then at full stretch. By the time she arrived at her destination, her breathing was fast, and anger rose from her reddened face. As her arm raised, he felt the full force of her wrath, although she didn’t strike him. Like a statue, she completely froze and as quickly as her anger had appeared to strike, it dissipated. In a flash, she had taken in the horror of the events that had met her eyes. Then she realised, this stranger wasn’t the attacker but a Good Samaritan.

The young woman knelt at his side as he tried to stem the bleeding. What can I do to help? she asked. He turned and said, Can I have your coat? He couldn’t think about chivalry. Although there was a chill in the air, losing her white coat could not cause her any more anxiety than she was already showing. Of course, here, she said in a subdued voice as she tried to hand it to him, Hands are a bit full at the moment, he said with a grimace and a slight shrug. Sorry, I’m not thinking straight. Is he still breathing? she asked as she draped her coat over the small child as Matt continued to stem the flow. Yes, but he’s lost a lot of blood. Where’s the damn ambulance? He said a little too sharply. Time always seemed to slow to a crawl when there was an immediate need for alacrity.

Matt was a scientist. He was not an alarmist; he was a professional, a well-groomed and level-headed man. But Matt wasn’t a patient man. He looked for immediate results when ‘time’ was of the essence. Some would say Matt was even a little cold on first appearance. His social skills were not as well-developed as some. The ambulance, with siren blaring, arrived with the school bell still pounding in his ears. Lunchtime was over and the children ran to their classes without a backward glance.

The kid had a deep wound, but it had looked like a non-fatal knife wound. Joe Manson was only eight years old, as Matt was later told. He might even have lived if it hadn’t been for the cruellest twist of fate: As the knife was withdrawn from his small limp body, the old worn tool had disintegrated. It had left a sliver of metal from the blade lodged deep within his small, lifeless body. Matt, cold and austere as he seemed to the outside world, had decided to travel with the victim on his way to the hospital and to wait a while to see how things went. He even questioned his reason for going.

Empathy was not one of his usual strengths, but this was a child, and his parents were yet to be told; Matt reasoned he was alone. As they carefully lifted the child onto the stretcher and delivered him into the waiting ambulance, the woman turned to Matt. In a cracked but well-spoken voice, she said, I’ll provide the police with the boy’s details. You go. She would have thanked him for his kindness, but tears welled up in her eyes and there were no more words to offer. Matt removed the once pristine handkerchief from his pocket with his bloodied hand. He offered it to the woman before he climbed onboard for the short but difficult journey to the hospital.

The ambulance fled with the siren screaming a warning to the traffic to move out of the way. Cars pulled over, and they continued the journey at speed.

Sam gave the police as much information as she could and led them into the school to provide the parent’s details and anything else that might help. She put the handkerchief in her trouser pocket and made a mental note to return it.

It was the Principal that brought Sam out of her thoughts. What do we know about the man that found Joe? Not much. He gave his name to the police as Matthew Harding, that’s as much as I know, she replied. We need to assess our security. Not only did a child in our care end up hospitalised today, but a complete stranger could simply walk into the playground. Apparently, no one noticed, until you saw him crouched over the child. We’ll be under scrutiny and a lot of questions will be asked. His anger was palpable, though not directed at Sam. It still made her feel uncomfortable. Looking at the secretary that had dealt with the information requested by the police, he said, Ms Jordan, please ensure all the staff are called to a meeting as soon as the bell goes and the kids have left; an emergency meeting was needed, and he would not procrastinate. Yes sir, she said as she hurried off to send the missive out as soon as possible. Turning to Sam, his anger tempered now. He suggested she take the rest of the day off. He’d let her know about the new security protocol personally, and she did not need to wait for the meeting. Adding, Thank you Miss Chisolm, at least one of my staff is on the ball, and he sighed as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sam nodded. As she was leaving, she wondered how Joe was doing and if the man, Matthew, had stayed at the hospital. She even considered going there herself, but she shook off the thought and headed for home.

As Matt waited to hear how the child was doing, a considerate policeman by the name of Tom Davies took down notes and tried his best to keep the atmosphere light. I’m grabbing a coffee; would you like me to get you one? Matt wasn’t the kind of guy that took kindly to polystyrene cups and scalding hot water. Vending machines coffee was usually an unsavoury concoction with a muddied hue and no taste, so he declined graciously, That’s very kind of you, but I’ll pass thanks.

When PC Davies returned with the lone coffee, he found Matt in the same place and sat down next to him. He tried to coax him to talk, but Matt sat, not offering anything. Thankfully, he answered the questions as Tom. put them to him, No, I didn’t see the attack; I saw no one running away or, indeed, anyone near the kid. I was on my way to work. It’s the same route I take every day. I saw the kids playing and then, well.... I saw something that struck me as odd. As he gave his account to Tom, the policeman wrote notes in his little pocketbook and Matt simply relayed the events. All I saw was what I first thought to be an old coat, then I realised it was the frail, limp body of a child.

The shock was plain to see on Matt’s face, but PC Davies prompted him to remember the scene. It would help later when he had to make a formal statement. As I'd got closer, I could see a small but prominent pool of dark red, In his mind, he could still see the steaming liquid that had oozed out onto the tarmac-covered ground, blood. I had never seen the woman before and I don’t know her name, but I can only presume she’s a teacher. PC Tom Davies confirmed her name was Miss Samantha Chisholm, and she worked in the school, but she wasn’t a teacher. Sam worked in the labs as a technician. Tom told him she had already confirmed Matt’s story from the time she had witnessed him entering the gate of the school ‘til the ambulance arrived.

The silence now was palpable: Questions over PC Davies sat with the parents waiting for the Doctor to return with news.

Matt sat for what seemed like hours. Though not a word passed between those waiting to hear how Joe was doing the hospital carried on as normal, but for them it was as if time had slowed to a painful crawl one long second at a time, each feeling longer than the last as the waiting continued.

Nurses shot past as doctors paused, casually retrieving notes as they wandered back-and-fore along the corridor; They disappeared into rooms to check on each of their patients in turn. The police officers thinned out from the original four, leaving PC Tom Davies there to talk to the parents who had arrived shortly after they had called them. The bareness of the hospital clawed at Matt’s emotions. It was getting late,