Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

Beau drops to the floor, his body tensed and his ears flattened against his head. But he doesn’t give up. Slowly, inch by inch, he moves towards me, never taking his eyes off me.

The fight leaves me as fast as it arrived.

Beau stops next to me, still crouched close to the floorboards, and rests his head on my lap. He closes his eyes and I feel the weight and the warmth of him through my jeans. Unbidden, my hand reaches out to stroke him, and my tears begin to fall.

13

Ray had put together his team for Operation Break. He had given Kate the role of exhibits officer, which was a big ask for someone who had only been on the team for eighteen months, but he was certain she could handle it.

‘Of course I can!’ she said, when he mentioned his concerns. ‘And I can always come to you if I have any issues, can’t I?’

‘Any time,’ Ray said. ‘Drink after work?’

‘Just try stopping me.’

They had taken to meeting two or three times a week after work to go over the hit-and-run. As the outstanding enquiries petered out, they spent less time talking about the case, and more time talking about their lives outside of work. Ray had been surprised to discover that Kate was as passionate a Bristol City supporter as he was himself, and they had spent many a pleasant evening mourning their recent relegation. For the first time in years he felt as though he wasn’t only a husband, or a father, or even a police officer. He was Ray.

Ray had been careful not to work on the hit-and-run during his normal working hours. He was directly contravening the chief’s order, but as long as he wasn’t doing it on job time, he reasoned she couldn’t have an issue with it. And if they came up with a strong lead that resulted in an arrest – well, she’d be singing a different tune then.

The need to conceal their work from the rest of the CID team meant Ray and Kate had taken to meeting in a pub further away than the usual police haunts. The Horse and Jockey was quiet, with high-backed booths where they could spread out paperwork without fear of being overlooked, and the landlord never glanced up from his crossword. It was an enjoyable way to round off the day and de-stress before going home, and Ray found himself watching the clock until it was time to leave the office.

Typically, a phone call at five delayed him, and by the time he reached the pub, Kate was halfway through her drink. The unspoken arrangement was that whoever got there first got in the drinks, and his pint of Pride was waiting on the table.

‘What kept you?’ Kate asked, pushing it towards him. ‘Anything interesting?’

Ray took a gulp of his pint. ‘Some intelligence that might end up coming our way,’ he said. ‘There’s a drug dealer on the Creston estate using six or seven smaller pushers to do his dirty work – it’s looking like it’ll shape up into a nice little job.’ A particularly vocal Labour MP had taken to using the drug problem as a basis to pontificate as publicly as possible about the threat to society posed by ‘lawless estates’, and Ray knew that the chief was keen that they be seen to be taking a proactive stance. Ray was hopeful that if Operation Break went well, he might be sufficiently in the chief’s good books to lead on this one, too.

‘The Domestic Abuse team has had contact with Dominica Letts,’ he told Kate, ‘the girlfriend of one of the dealers, and they’re trying to convince her to press charges against him. Obviously we don’t want to spook him by bringing the police in for that when we’re trying to put together a job, but at the same time we’ve got a duty of care to his girlfriend.’

‘Is she in danger?’

Ray paused before answering. ‘I don’t know. DA have graded her high risk, but she’s adamant she won’t give evidence against him and at the moment she isn’t cooperating with the unit at all.’

‘How long before we can move?’

‘It could be weeks,’ Ray said. ‘Too long. We’ll need to look at getting her into a refuge – assuming she’ll go – and holding the assault allegations until we get him in for the drugs job.’

‘Hobson’s choice,’ Kate said thoughtfully. ‘What’s more important: drug-dealing or domestic violence?’

‘It’s not as simple as that though, is it? What about the violence caused by drug abuse? The robberies committed by addicts looking for their next fix? The effects of dealing might not be as immediate as a punch to the face, but they’re far-reaching and just as painful.’ Ray realised he was speaking louder than normal, and he stopped abruptly.

Kate put a calming hand over his. ‘Hey, I’m playing devil’s advocate. It’s not an easy decision.’

Ray gave a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry, I’d forgotten how wound up I can get about this sort of thing.’ In fact, it had been a while since he had thought about it at all. He had been in the job for so many years, his reasons for doing it had become buried beneath paperwork and personnel issues. It was good to be reminded of what really mattered.

His eyes met Kate’s for a moment, and Ray felt the heat of her skin against his. A second later she pulled her hand away, laughing awkwardly.

‘One for the road?’ Ray said. By the time he returned to the table, the moment had passed, and he wondered if he had imagined it. He put down the drinks and tore open a packet of crisps so it lay flat between them.

‘I’ve got nothing new on the Jacob job,’ he said.

‘Me neither,’ Kate sighed. ‘We’re going to have to give up, aren’t we?’

He nodded. ‘It looks that way. I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you for letting me carry on for as long as you did.’

‘You were right not to give up,’ Ray said, ‘and I’m glad we kept working on it.’

‘Even though we’re not any further forward?’

‘Yes, because now it feels right to stop, doesn’t it? We’ve done everything we possibly could have done.’

Kate nodded slowly. ‘It does feel different, yes.’ She looked at Ray appraisingly.

‘What?’

‘I guess you’re not the chief’s yes-man, after all.’ She grinned, and Ray laughed. He was glad to have gone up in her estimation.

They ate the crisps in companionable silence, and Ray checked his phone in case Mags had sent a text message.

‘How are things at home?’

‘Same old,’ Ray said, tucking his phone back in his pocket. ‘Tom still grunts his way through meal-times, and Mags and I still argue about what we should do about it.’ He gave a short laugh, but Kate didn’t join in.

‘When are you next seeing his teacher?’

‘We were at the school again yesterday,’ Ray said grimly. ‘Barely six weeks into the new school year and it seems Tom’s been skipping lessons.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘I don’t understand that kid. He was fine over the summer, but as soon as he went back it was the same old Tom: uncommunicative, surly, uncooperative.’

‘Do you still think he’s being bullied?’

‘The school says not, but then they would, wouldn’t they?’ Ray didn’t hold a particularly high opinion of Tom’s head teacher, who had been quick to place the blame on Mags and Ray for not presenting a ‘united front’ at parents’ evenings. Mags had threatened to come to Ray’s office and forcibly drag him to the next meeting, and Ray had been so worried he would forget that he had worked from home all day, so he could drive to the appointment with Mags. Not that it had made a blind bit of difference.

‘Tom’s teacher says he’s a bad influence on the rest of the class,’ Ray said. ‘Apparently he’s “subversive”.’ He gave a derisive snort. ‘At his age!’ It’s bloody ridiculous. If they can’t deal with uncooperative kids they shouldn’t have gone into teaching. Tom’s not subversive, he’s just bloody-minded.’