Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

‘What’s wrong with Judge King?’

‘Let’s just say he’s not known for his leniency,’ Ruth replies, with a humourless laugh that shows perfect white teeth.

‘What will I get?’ I ask before I can stop myself. It doesn’t matter. All that matters now is doing the right thing.

‘It’s hard to say. Failing to stop and report an accident is a straightforward driving ban, but since the minimum ban for death by dangerous driving is two years, that’s irrelevant. It’s the prison sentence that could go either way. Death by dangerous carries up to fourteen years; guidelines would suggest between two and six years. Judge King will be looking at the upper end, and it’s my job to convince him two years would be more appropriate.’ She takes the lid off a black fountain pen. ‘Any history of mental illness?’

I shake my head and catch the flash of disappointment in the barrister’s face.

‘Let’s talk about the incident, then. I understand conditions made visibility very poor – did you see the boy before the point of impact?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have any chronic medical conditions?’ Ruth asks. ‘They’re useful in these cases. Or perhaps you were feeling unwell that particular day?’

I look at her blankly and the barrister tuts.

‘You’re making this very hard, Ms Gray. Do you have any allergies? Did you suffer from a fit of sneezes prior to the point of impact, perhaps?’

‘I don’t understand.’

Ruth sighs and speaks slowly, as though to a child. ‘Judge King will have already looked at your pre-sentence report and have a sentence in mind. My job is to present this as nothing more than an unfortunate accident. An accident that couldn’t be avoided, and for which you are extremely sorry. Now, I don’t want to put words in your mouth, but if for example’ – she looks pointedly at me – ‘you were overcome by a sneezing fit—’

‘But I wasn’t.’ Is this how it works? Lies upon lies upon lies, all designed to get the lowest possible punishment. Is our justice system so flawed? It sickens me.

Ruth Jefferson scans her notes and looks up suddenly. ‘Did the boy run out in front of you with no warning? According to the mother’s statement, she released his hand as they approached the road, so—’

‘It’s not her fault!’

The barrister raises carefully groomed eyebrows. ‘Ms Gray,’ she says smoothly, ‘we’re not here to agree whose fault this is. We’re here to discuss the extenuating circumstances that led to this unfortunate accident. Please try not to get emotional.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘But there are no extenuating circumstances.’

‘It’s my job to find them,’ Ruth replies. She puts down her file and leans forward. ‘Believe me, Ms Gray, there’s a big difference between two years in prison and six, and if there’s anything at all that justifies you killing a five-year-old boy and driving away without stopping, you need to tell me now.’

We look at each other.

‘I wish there was,’ I say.

44

Not stopping to take off his coat, Ray marched into CID and found Kate scrolling through the overnight jobs. ‘My office, now.’

She stood up and followed him. ‘What’s up?’

Ray didn’t answer. He turned on his computer and put the blue business card on his desk. ‘Remind me who had this card.’

‘Dominica Letts. The partner of one of our targets.’

‘Did she talk?’

‘No comment.’

Ray folded his arms. ‘It’s a women’s refuge.’

Kate looked at him, confused.

‘The house in Grantham Street,’ Ray said, ‘and this one here.’ He nodded at the pale-blue card. ‘I think they’re refuges for victims of domestic violence.’ He sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. ‘Dominica Letts is a known victim of domestic abuse – it’s what nearly put Operation Falcon in jeopardy. I drove by the address on this card on my way into work and it’s exactly the same as Grantham Street: motion sensors at the front; nets up at all the windows; no letter box at the door.’

‘You think Jenna Gray’s a victim too?’

Ray nodded slowly. ‘Have you noticed how she won’t make eye contact? She’s got that jumpy, nervous look about her, and she clams up whenever she’s challenged.’

Before he could continue with his theory, his phone rang and the screen flashed with the extension for the front desk.

‘You’ve got a visitor, sir,’ Rachel told him. ‘A guy called Patrick Mathews.’

The name didn’t ring any bells.

‘I’m not expecting anyone, Rach. Can you take a message and get rid of him?’

‘I’ve tried, sir, but he’s insistent. Says he needs to talk to you about his girlfriend – Jenna Gray.’

Ray widened his eyes at Kate. Jenna’s boyfriend. The checks Ray had done into his background hadn’t revealed more than a caution for drunk and disorderly as a student, but was there more to him than met the eye?

‘Bring him up,’ he said. He filled Kate in while they waited.

‘Do you think he’s the abusive partner?’ she said.

Ray shook his head. ‘He doesn’t look the type.’

‘They never do,’ Kate said. She stopped abruptly as Rachel arrived with Patrick Mathews. He wore a battered waxed jacket and carried a rucksack over one shoulder. Ray gestured to the chair next to Kate, and he sat down, perching on the edge as though he might stand up again at any time.

‘I believe you have some information about Jenna Gray,’ Ray said.

‘Well, not information, really,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s more of a feeling.’

Ray glanced at his watch. Jenna’s case was listed for immediately after lunch and Ray wanted to be in court when she was sentenced. ‘What sort of feeling, Mr Mathews?’ He looked at Kate, who gave a barely noticeable shrug. Patrick Mathews wasn’t the man Jenna was afraid of. But who was?

‘Call me Patrick, please. Look, I know you’ll think I’m bound to say this, but I don’t think Jenna’s guilty.’

Ray felt a spark of interest.

‘There’s something she’s not telling me about what happened the night of the accident,’ Patrick said. ‘Something she’s not telling anyone.’ He gave a humourless laugh. ‘I honestly thought there might be a future for us, but if she won’t talk to me, how can there be?’ He held up his hands in a gesture of hopelessness, and Ray was reminded of Mags. You never talk to me , she’d said.

‘What do you think she’s hiding from you?’ Ray asked, with more sharpness than he intended. Did every relationship have secrets, he wondered?

‘Jenna keeps a box under her bed.’ Patrick looked uncomfortable. ‘I wouldn’t have dreamed of going through her things, only she wouldn’t tell me anything about what happened, and then when I touched the box she snapped at me to leave it alone … I hoped it might give me some answers.’

‘So you took a look.’ Ray eyed Patrick thoughtfully. He didn’t seem to be an aggressive man, but snooping through someone’s possessions was the act of someone wanting control.

Patrick nodded. ‘I have a key to the cottage: we agreed I’d go and pick up her dog this morning, after she left for court.’ He sighed. ‘I half wish I hadn’t.’ He handed Ray an envelope. ‘Look inside.’

Ray opened the envelope and saw the distinctive red cover of a British passport. Inside, a younger Jenna looked back at him, unsmiling, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. To the right, he saw a name: Jennifer Petersen.

‘She’s married.’ Ray glanced at Kate. How had they missed that? Intelligence checks were run on anyone coming into custody – surely they wouldn’t have missed something as basic as a name change? He looked at Patrick. ‘Did you know?’