I Let You Go

by Clare Mackintosh

  I picked you up from your halls of residence, ignoring the interested glances from students walking past your door, and I was pleased to see you come out in an elegant black dress, your long legs encased in thick black tights. When I opened the car door for you, you gave a start of surprise.

  ‘I could get used to this.’

  ‘You look lovely, Jennifer,’ I said, and you laughed.

  ‘No one ever calls me Jennifer.’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. It just sounds funny.’

  The restaurant didn’t merit the early rave reviews I had read, but you didn’t seem to mind. You ordered sautéed potatoes with your chicken and I commented on your choice. ‘It’s rare to find a woman who doesn’t care about putting on weight.’ I smiled, to show you I was making light of it.

  ‘I don’t diet,’ you said. ‘Life’s too short.’ But although you ate the creamy sauce on your chicken, you left your potatoes. When the waiter offered the dessert menus I waved them away.

  ‘Just coffee, please.’ I saw your disappointment but you did not need fat-laden puddings. ‘What will you do when you graduate?’ I asked.

  You sighed. ‘I don’t know. Some day I’d like to open a gallery, but for now I just need to find a job.’

  ‘As an artist?’

  ‘If only it were that easy! I’m a sculptor, mostly, and I’ll try to sell what I make, but it’ll mean getting any old job – bar work, perhaps, or stacking shelves – to pay the bills. I’ll probably end up moving back with Mum.’

  ‘Do you get on with her?’

  You wrinkled your nose the way a child does. ‘Not really. She’s very close to my sister, but we’ve never really seen eye to eye. It was her fault my dad left without saying goodbye.’

  I poured us both another glass of wine. ‘What did she do?’

  ‘She threw him out. She told me she was sorry, but that she had a life to live too, and she couldn’t live this one any longer. Then she refused to talk about it. I think it’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever come across.’

  I could see the hurt in your eyes and I reached over to rest my hand on yours.

  ‘Will you write back to your dad?’

  You shook your head violently. ‘He made it quite clear in his letter I should leave him alone. I don’t know what Mum did, but it was bad enough for him not to want to see us again.’

  I laced my fingers through yours and stroked my thumb across the smooth skin between your thumb and forefinger. ‘You can’t choose your parents,’ I said, ‘more’s the pity.’

  ‘Are you close to yours?’

  ‘They’re dead.’ I had told the lie so often I nearly believed it myself. It might even have been true – how would I have known? I’d never sent them my address when I moved down south, and I can’t imagine they lost much sleep over my departure.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  You squeezed my hand and your eyes became shiny with compassion.

  I felt a stirring in my groin and I dropped my eyes to the table. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘We have something in common then,’ you said. You gave a brave smile which showed you thought you understood me. ‘We’re both missing our fathers.’

  It wasn’t clear if your ambiguity was intentional – you were wrong on both counts – but I let you think you had worked me out. ‘Forget him, Jennifer,’ I said. ‘You don’t deserve to be treated like that. You’re better off without him.’

  You nodded, but I could tell you didn’t believe me. Not then, anyway.

  You expected me to come home with you, but I had no wish to spend an hour in a student bedsit, drinking cheap coffee out of chipped mugs. I would have taken you back to mine, but Marie’s things were still there, and I knew you would object to that. Besides, this felt different. I didn’t want a one-night-stand: I wanted you.

  I walked you to your door.

  ‘Chivalry isn’t dead, after all,’ you joked.

  I gave a little half-bow, and when you laughed I felt absurdly pleased to have made you happy.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been taken out by a proper gentleman before.’

  ‘Well then,’ I said, and I took your hand and brought it briefly to my lips, ‘we must make a habit of it.’

  You flushed and bit your lip. Lifted your chin a fraction, ready for my kiss.

  ‘Sleep well,’ I said. I turned and walked back to my car, and didn’t look back over my shoulder. You wanted me – that much was obvious – but you didn’t yet want me enough.

  23

  Ray was floored by Jenna Gray’s lack of emotion. There was no cry of outrage, no fierce denial or rush of remorse. He watched her face carefully as Kate carried out the arrest, but all he saw was the faintest flicker of what looked like relief. He felt oddly uneasy, as though his legs had been taken from under him. After more than a year of searching for the person who killed Jacob, Jenna Gray wasn’t at all what he had expected.

  She was striking, rather than pretty. Her nose was slim, but long, and her pale skin covered with freckles that joined up in places. Her green eyes slanted fractionally upwards, giving her a cat-like appearance, and dark auburn hair swung about her shoulders. She wore no make-up, and although her baggy clothes concealed her figure, narrow wrists and a slim neck indicated she was slightly built.

  Jenna asked if she could have a few moments to gather her things. ‘I have a friend here at the moment – I’ll need to explain this to him. Could you leave us alone for a minute or two?’ She spoke so quietly Ray had to lean forward to hear.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said. ‘We’ll come through with you.’

  She bit her lip and paused for an instant, then stepped back to allow Ray and Kate into the cottage. A man stood in the kitchen, a glass of wine in his hand. Any emotion that was missing from Jenna’s face was writ large upon the face of the individual Ray assumed must be her boyfriend.

  The place was so small it was hardly surprising he’d overheard, Ray thought, glancing around the cluttered room. A line of carefully arranged rocks was gathering dust above the fireplace, in front of which a dark crimson rug was spattered with tiny burns. A blanket covered the sofa in a kaleidoscope of colours, presumably in an attempt to brighten the place up, but the lighting was dim and the cottage’s low ceilings made even Ray duck his head to avoid the beam between the sitting area and the kitchen. What a place to live. Miles from anywhere and freezing, despite the fire. He wondered why she had chosen it; whether she thought she would be better hidden here than anywhere else.

  ‘This is Patrick Mathews,’ Jenna said, as if they were standing around at a social gathering. But then she turned her back on Ray and Kate, and Ray immediately felt as though he were intruding.

  ‘I have to go with these police officers.’ Her words were clipped and flat. ‘Something terrible happened last year and I have to put it right.’

  ‘What’s going on? Where are they taking you?’

  Either he knew nothing about what she had done, or he was an accomplished liar, Ray thought. ‘We’ll be taking her to Bristol,’ he said, stepping forward to hand Patrick a card, ‘where she’ll be interviewed.’

  ‘Can’t this be dealt with tomorrow? I could give her a lift into Swansea in the morning.’

  ‘Mr Mathews,’ Ray said, his patience wearing thin. It had taken three hours to get to Penfach and another hour to track down Blaen Cedi Cottage. ‘Last November a five-year-old boy was knocked over and killed by a car that failed to stop. I’m afraid that’s something that can’t wait until the morning.’

  ‘But what’s that got to do with Jenna?’

  There was a pause. Patrick looked first at Ray, then at Jenna. He shook his head slowly. ‘No. There must be some mistake. You don’t even drive.’

  She held his gaze. ‘There’s no mistake.’

  Ray felt a shiver run through him at the coldness in her voice. For the last year he had tried to imagine who could be cold-hearted enough to drive away from a
dying child. Now that he was face to face with her, he was battling to remain professional. He knew it wasn’t only him: his colleagues would find it equally difficult to deal with, just as they found it a challenge to be polite to sex offenders and child abusers. He glanced at Kate, and saw she felt it too. The sooner they got back to Bristol, the better.

  ‘We need to get moving,’ he said to Jenna. ‘When we get to the custody suite you’ll be interviewed and you’ll have an opportunity to tell us what happened. Until then we can’t talk about the case. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jenna picked up a small rucksack from where it had been slung across the back of a chair. She looked at Patrick. ‘Would you be able to stay and look after Beau? I’ll try to call when I know what’s happening.’

  He nodded, but didn’t speak. Ray wondered what he was thinking. What must it be like to discover you had been lied to by someone you thought you knew?

  Ray placed the handcuffs on Jenna’s wrists, checking they weren’t too tight, and noticing there was not even a flicker of reaction as he did so. He saw a flash of scarred tissue on her palm, but she closed her fist and it was gone.

  ‘The car’s quite some way away, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘We couldn’t get any closer than the caravan park.’

  ‘No,’ Jenna said. ‘The road ends half a mile away.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Ray said. It had felt longer when he and Kate were inching their way along it. Ray had found a torch rattling around in the boot of the car, but the batteries were dying and he’d had to shake it every few metres to get it to work.

  ‘Call me as soon as you can,’ said Patrick, as they escorted Jenna outside. ‘And get a solicitor!’ he called after them, but the dark night swallowed up his words and she didn’t answer him.

  They made an awkward trio, stumbling along the path to the caravan park, and Ray was glad that Jenna was cooperative. She may have been slim, but she was as tall as Ray, and she clearly knew the path far better than they did. Ray was thoroughly disorientated and not even sure how close they were to the edge of the cliff. Every now and then he heard a crash of waves so loud he half expected to feel spray on his cheek. He was relieved to reach the caravan park without mishap, and he opened the back door of the unmarked Corsa for Jenna, who got in without a murmur.

  He and Kate moved a few metres away from the car to talk.

  ‘Do you think she’s all there?’ Kate said. ‘She’s hardly said two words.’

  ‘Who knows? Maybe she’s in shock.’

  ‘I guess she thought she’d got away with it, after all this time. How can anyone be so heartless?’ Kate shook her head.

  ‘Let’s hear what she’s got to say, first, shall we?’ Ray said. ‘Before we hang her.’ After the euphoria of finally identifying the driver, the arrest had felt peculiarly anticlimactic.

  ‘You know that pretty girls can be murderers too, right?’ Kate said. She was laughing at him. But before he could reply, she had swiped the car keys from his hands and was striding towards the car.

  The drive back was tedious, with nose-to-tail traffic crawling along the M4. Ray and Kate talked in low voices about harmless topics: office politics; the new cars; the advert in Weekly Orders for Major Crime jobs. Ray had assumed Jenna was asleep, but she spoke as they were approaching Newport.

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘It wasn’t that hard,’ Kate said, when Ray didn’t answer. ‘You’ve got a broadband account in your name. We double-checked with your landlord to make sure we had the right place – he was very helpful.’

  Ray looked back to see how Jenna was taking this, but she was looking out of the window at the heavy traffic. The only sign that she was anything other than perfectly relaxed was the fists bunched in her lap.

  ‘It must have been tough for you,’ Kate continued, ‘living with what you’d done.’

  ‘Kate,’ Ray said warningly.

  ‘Tougher for Jacob’s mother, of course…’

  ‘That’s enough, Kate,’ Ray said. ‘Save it for interview.’ He shot her a cautionary glance and she glared back defiantly. It was going to be a long night.

  24

  In the dark of the police car I let myself cry. Hot tears fall on to my clenched fists as the detective speaks to me, making little attempt to disguise the contempt in her voice. It’s no less than I deserve, but even so it’s hard to take. Not once have I forgotten Jacob’s mother. Not once have I stopped thinking about her loss – a loss far greater than my own. I hate myself for what I’ve done.

  I make myself breathe deeply and evenly, hiding my sobs; not wanting the police officers to pay me any more attention. I imagine them knocking on Iestyn’s door, and my cheeks burn with shame. News that I was going out with Patrick spread so fast round the village: perhaps the gossips already have hold of this latest scandal.

  Nothing could be worse than the look in Patrick’s eyes when I walked back into the kitchen with the police. I read the betrayal on his face as clearly as if it had been written in letters ten-foot tall. Everything he believed of me was a lie, and a lie built to cover up an inexcusable crime. I can’t blame him for the look in his eyes. I should have known better than to let myself get close to anyone – to let someone get close to me.

  We’re already on the outskirts of Bristol. I need to clear my thoughts. They will take me into an interview room, I imagine; suggest that I call a lawyer. The police will ask questions and I’ll answer them as calmly as I can. I won’t cry, or offer excuses. They will charge me, I’ll go to court, and it will be over. Justice will finally be done. Is that how it works? I’m not sure. My knowledge of the police is gleaned from detective novels and newspaper articles – I hadn’t ever expected to end up on this side of the fence. I see a stack of newspapers in my mind, my photo blown up to show every line on my face. The face of a killer.

  A woman has been arrested in connection with the death of Jacob Jordan.

  I don’t know if the papers will print my name, but even if they don’t, they’re sure to run the story. I put my hand on my chest and feel the hammering of my heart against my palm. I’m hot and clammy, as though I’m coming down with a fever. Everything is unravelling.

  The car slows and turns into the car park of an unattractive cluster of grey buildings, set apart from surrounding office blocks only by the Avon and Somerset Constabulary crest above the main entrance. The car is expertly manoeuvred into a tiny space between two marked police cars, and the female detective opens my door.

  ‘Okay?’ she asks. Her voice is softer now, as though she regrets the harsh words she threw at me earlier.

  I nod, pathetically grateful.

  There isn’t space for the door to open fully, and it’s awkward getting out with my wrists cuffed together. The resulting clumsiness leaves me feeling even more frightened and disorientated, and I wonder if that’s the real purpose of handcuffs. After all, if I ran off now, where would I go? The backyard is surrounded by high walls, with electric gates blocking the exit. When I’m finally upright DC Evans takes hold of my upper arm and guides me away from the car. She doesn’t grip me hard, but the act makes me claustrophobic and I have to fight the urge to shake her off. She leads me to a metal door, where the male detective presses a button and speaks into an intercom.

  ‘DI Stevens,’ he says. ‘Zero nine with one female.’

  The heavy door clicks open and we walk through into a large room with dirty white walls. The door slams behind us with a noise that seems to stay in my ears for a full minute. The atmosphere is stale, in spite of a noisy air-conditioning unit fixed to the ceiling, and a rhythmic banging comes from somewhere within the warren of walls that lead away from the central area. At the edge of the room is a grey metal bench screwed to the floor, where a young man in his twenties sits, biting his nails and spitting the results on to the floor. He wears blue tracksuit bottoms with frayed hems, trainers and a filthy grey sweatshirt with an indiscernible logo. The stench of his body odour catches the back of my throat
and I turn away before he can see the mixture of fear and pity in my eyes.

  I’m too slow.

  ‘Get a good look, did you, sweetheart?’ The man’s voice is high and nasal, like a boy’s. I glance back at him but don’t speak.

  ‘Come and check out the goods, if you like!’ He grabs his crotch and laughs, the burst of sound incongruous in this grey, cheerless box.

  ‘Cut it out, Lee,’ DI Stevens says, and the man smirks and slumps back against the wall, chuckling at his own wit.

  DC Evans takes hold of my elbow again, her nails digging into my skin as she steers me across the room to stand in front of a high desk. Wedged behind a computer is a uniformed officer, his white shirt strained across an enormous belly. He nods at DC Evans but affords me no more than a cursory glance.

  ‘Circumstances?’

  DC Evans takes off my handcuffs and instantly it’s as though I can breathe more easily. I rub the red grooves on my wrists and find perverse pleasure from the twinge of pain it gives me.

  ‘Sarge, this is Jenna Gray. On the twenty-sixth of November 2012 Jacob Jordan was hit by a car on the Fishponds estate. The driver failed to stop. The car has been identified as a red Ford Fiesta, index J634 OUP, registered owner Jenna Gray. Earlier today we attended Blaen Cedi, a cottage near Penfach in Wales, where at 19.33 I arrested Gray on suspicion of causing death by dangerous driving and failing to stop at the scene of a road traffic collision.’

  A low whistle comes from the bench at the back of the custody suite, and DI Stevens turns to shoot Lee a look of warning. ‘What’s he doing there, anyway?’ he asks of nobody in particular.

  ‘Waiting for his brief. I’ll get him out of the way.’ Without turning round, the custody sergeant yells, ‘Sally, get Roberts back in trap two, will you?’ A stocky female gaoler comes out of the office behind the custody desk, a huge ring of keys clipped to her belt. She is eating something, and she brushes crumbs off her tie. The gaoler leads Lee into the bowels of the custody suite, and he flashes me a look of disgust as he rounds the corner. That’s how it will be in prison, I think, when they find out I have killed a child. Disgust on the faces of other inmates; people turning away when I walk by. Then I bite my bottom lip as I realise it will be much, much worse than that. My stomach clenches with fear, and for the first time I wonder if I can get through this. I remind myself I’ve survived worse.