Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

‘Why did she stop work for so long?’ There was genuine curiosity in Kate’s eyes and Ray remembered Mags being similarly incredulous, in the days when they were both young in service. Mags’ sergeant had left to have children and Mags had told Ray she didn’t see the point of a career if you were only going to give it all up.

‘She wanted to be home for the kids,’ Ray said. He felt a stab of guilt. Had Mags wanted that? Or had she simply felt it was the right thing to do? Childcare was so expensive that Mags stopping work had seemed an obvious decision, and he knew she wanted to be there for the school runs, and for sports days and harvest festivals. But Mags was just as bright and as capable as he was – more so, if he was honest.

‘I guess when you marry into the job you have to accept the crappy conditions with it.’ Kate switched off the desk lamp and they dropped into darkness for a second, before Ray walked into the corridor and triggered the automatic light there.

‘Occupational hazard,’ Ray agreed. ‘How long have you been with your chap?’ They walked down towards the yard where their cars were parked.

‘Only about six months,’ Kate said. ‘That’s pretty good going for me, though – I normally dump them after a few weeks. My mother tells me I’m too fussy.’

‘What’s wrong with them?’

‘Oh, all sorts,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Too keen, not keen enough; no sense of humour, total buffoon…’

‘Tough critic,’ said Ray.

‘Maybe.’ Kate wrinkled her nose. ‘But it’s important, isn’t it – finding The One? I was thirty last month, I’m running out of time.’ She didn’t look thirty, but then Ray had never been a great judge of age. He still looked in the mirror and saw the man he’d been in his twenties, even though the lines on his face told a different tale.

Ray reached into his pocket for his keys. ‘Well, don’t be in too much of a hurry to settle down. It’s not all roses round the door, you know.’

‘Thanks for the advice, Dad…’

‘Hey, I’m not that old!’

Kate laughed. ‘Thanks for your help tonight. See you in the morning.’

Ray chuckled to himself as he eased his car out from behind a marked Omega. Dad , indeed. The cheek of her.

When he arrived home Mags was in the sitting room with the television on. She wore pyjama bottoms and one of his old sweatshirts, and her legs were curled up beneath her like a child. A newsreader was recapping on the events of the hit-and-run for the benefit of any local resident who had somehow missed the extensive coverage of the past week. Mags looked up at Ray and shook her head. ‘I can’t stop watching it. That poor boy.’

He sat down next to her and reached for the remote to mute the sound. The screen switched to old footage of the scene, and Ray saw the back of his own head as he and Kate walked from their car. ‘I know,’ he said, putting an arm round his wife. ‘But we’ll get them.’

The camera changed again, filling the screen with Ray’s face as he delivered a piece to camera, the interviewer out of shot.

‘Do you think you will? Have you got any leads?’

‘Not really.’ Ray sighed. ‘No one saw it happen – or if they did, they’re not saying anything – so we’re relying on forensics and intelligence.’

‘Could the driver have somehow not realised what they’d done?’ Mags sat up and turned so she was facing him. She pushed her hair impatiently behind her ear. Mags had worn her hair the same way since Ray had known her: long and straight, with no fringe. It was as dark as Ray’s, but unlike his it showed no sign of grey. Ray had tried to grow a beard shortly after Lucy had been born, but had stopped after three days when it was clear there was more salt than pepper. Now he stayed clean-shaven, and tried to ignore the sprinkling of white at his temples that Mags told him was ‘distinguished’.

‘Not a chance,’ Ray said. ‘He went straight on to the bonnet.’

Mags didn’t flinch. The emotion on her face he had seen when he came home had been replaced by a look of concentration he remembered so well from their days on shift together.

‘Besides,’ Ray continued, ‘the car stopped, then backed up and turned round. The driver might not have known Jacob had died, but they couldn’t have missed the fact they’d hit him.’

‘Have you got someone on to the hospitals?’ Mags said. ‘It’s possible the driver sustained an injury too, and—’

Ray smiled. ‘We’re on it, I promise.’ He stood up. ‘Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s been a long day and I just want to have a beer, watch a bit of TV and go to bed.’

‘Sure,’ Mags said tightly. ‘You know – old habits, and all that.’

‘I know, and I promise you we’ll get the driver.’ He kissed her on the forehead. ‘We always do.’ Ray realised he had given Mags the very same promise he refused to give Jacob’s mother because he couldn’t possibly guarantee it. We’ll do our best, he had told her. He only hoped their best was good enough.

He walked into the kitchen to find a drink. It was the involvement of a child that would have upset Mags. Perhaps telling her the details of the crash hadn’t been such a good idea – after all, he was finding it hard enough to keep a lid on his own emotions, so it was understandable Mags would feel the same way. He would make an extra effort to keep things to himself.

Ray took his beer back into the sitting room and settled down next to her to watch the television, flicking away from the news on to one of the reality TV shows he knew she liked.

Arriving in his office with a clutch of files scooped up from the post-room, Ray dumped the paperwork on top of his already laden desk, causing the entire pile to slide to the floor.

‘Bugger,’ he said, eyeing his desk dispassionately. The cleaner had been in, emptying the bin and making a vague attempt to dust around the mess, leaving a skirt of fluff around his in-tray. Two mugs of cold coffee flanked his keyboard and several Post-it notes stuck to his computer screen bore phone messages of varying degrees of importance. Ray plucked them off and attached them to the outside of his diary, where there was already a neon-pink Post-it reminding him to do his team’s appraisals. As if they didn’t all have enough to do. Ray fought an ongoing battle with himself about the bureaucracy of his day-to-day job. He couldn’t quite bring himself to rail against it – not when the next rank was so tantalisingly within his grasp – but neither would he ever embrace it. An hour spent discussing his personal development was an hour wasted, as far as he was concerned, especially when there was a child’s death to investigate.

As he waited for the computer to boot up, he tipped his chair on to its back legs and looked at the photo of Jacob pinned to the opposite wall. He had always kept out a photo of whoever was central to the investigation, ever since he started on CID, when his DS had reminded him gruffly that fingering a collar was all well and good, but Ray should never forget ‘what we’re doing this shit for’. The photos used to be on his desk, until Mags had come to the office one day, years ago. She’d brought him something – he couldn’t remember what now; a forgotten file, maybe, or a packed lunch. He remembered feeling annoyed by the interruption when she called from the front desk to surprise him, and the annoyance turning to guilt when he realised she’d gone out of her way to see him. They had stopped en route to Ray’s office so Mags could say hello to her old guv’nor, now a superintendent.

‘Bet it feels odd, being here,’ Ray had said, when they reached his office.

Mags had laughed. ‘It’s like I never left. You can take the girl out of the police, but you’ll never take the police out of the girl.’ Her face was animated as she walked about the office, her fingers trailing lightly over his desk.