Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

‘Go ahead.’

She spoke directly to the pair of officers at the rear of the premises. ‘Any sign of movement?’

‘Negative.’

‘Copied. Stay put for the time being.’

‘Will do.’

‘Obliged for talk-through, Control.’ Kate slid the radio back into her pocket and turned to Ray. ‘Time for the big red key.’

They watched as the Method of Entry team swung the red metal battering ram in a semi-circle towards the door. There was an almighty bang and a splintering of wood, and the door flew open, slamming against the wall of a narrow hallway. Ray and Kate stood back, and the public order officers ran in, fanning out in pairs to check each room for occupants.

‘Clear!’

‘Clear!’

‘Clear!’

Ray and Kate followed them inside, keeping each other in sight and waiting for confirmation that Petersen had been located. Barely two minutes had passed before the public order sergeant came down the stairs, shaking his head.

‘No joy, guv,’ he said to Ray. ‘Place is empty. The bedroom’s been cleaned out – wardrobe’s empty and there’s nothing in the bathroom. Looks like he’s done a runner.’

‘Shit!’ Ray thumped his fist on the banister. ‘Kate, call Jenna’s mobile. Find out where she is and tell her to stay put.’ He strode out to the car, and Kate ran to keep up.

‘It’s switched off.’

Ray got into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

‘Where to now?’ Kate said, putting on her seat belt.

‘Wales,’ Ray said grimly.

As he drove he barked instructions at Kate. ‘Get on to AIT,’ he said, ‘and get them to pull anything they can on Petersen. Contact Thames Valley and make sure someone visits Eve Manning in Oxford: he’s threatened her once already, and there’s every chance he’ll go back. Get in touch with South Wales and log a fear for welfare relating to Jenna Gr—’ Ray corrected himself: ‘Petersen. I want someone to go to the cottage and make sure she’s okay.’

Kate scribbled down actions as Ray listed them, updating him after every call she made.

‘There’s no one on duty at Penfach tonight, so they’ll send someone out from Swansea, but they’ve got Sunderland playing at home today and the whole place is rammed.’

Ray gave an exasperated sigh. ‘They do know the history of domestic violence?’

‘Yes, and they’ve said they’ll make it a priority, they just can’t guarantee when they’ll be able to get to it.’

‘Jesus,’ Ray said. ‘What a joke.’

Kate tapped her pen on the window as she tried Patrick’s mobile. ‘It’s ringing out.’

‘We need to get hold of someone else. Someone local,’ Ray said.

‘What about the neighbours?’ Kate sat up and brought up the internet on her phone.

‘There aren’t any neighbours—’ Ray looked at Kate. ‘The caravan park, of course!’

‘Got it.’ Kate found the number and pressed it to dial. ‘Come on, come on…’

‘Put it on speakerphone.’

‘Hello, Penfach Caravan Park, Bethan speaking.’

‘Hi, this is Detective Constable Kate Evans, from Bristol CID. I’m looking for Jenna Gray – have you seen her today?’

‘Not today, love. She’s in Bristol though isn’t she?’ Bethan’s voice took on a note of caution. ‘Is something wrong? What happened at court?’

‘She was acquitted. Look, I’m sorry to rush you, but Jenna left here about three o’clock and I need to make sure she arrived safely. She was being driven by Patrick Mathews.’

‘I haven’t seen either of them,’ Bethan said, ‘but Jenna’s definitely back – she’s been down to the beach.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I’m not long back from walking the dogs, and I saw some of her writing in the sand. Not her usual style though – it was most peculiar.’

Ray felt a sense of unease creep across him. ‘What does the writing say?’

‘What is it?’ Bethan said sharply. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

‘What does it say?’ He hadn’t meant to shout, and for a moment he thought Bethan had hung up. When she eventually spoke, the hesitation in her voice told him she knew something was badly wrong.

‘It just says, “Betrayed”.’

49

I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the knock at the door makes my head jerk upwards, and I rub my stiff neck. It takes me a second to remember that I’m at home, and I hear another, more insistent knock. I wonder how long I have kept Patrick waiting. I clamber to my feet and wince as cramp seizes my calf.

As I turn the key I feel a whisper of fear, but before I can react the door flies open, slamming me into the wall. Ian is flushed and his breathing is ragged. I brace myself for his fist, but it doesn’t come, and I count my heartbeats as he slowly draws the bolt across again.

One, two, three.

Fast and hard, banging against my chest.

Seven, eight, nine, ten.

And then he’s ready, and he turns to me with a smile I know as well as my own. A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes; that hints at what he has in store for me. A smile that tells me that, although the end is coming, it won’t be swift.

He rubs the nape of my neck, his thumb pressing hard against the bone at the top of my spine. It’s uncomfortable, but not painful.

‘You gave my name to the police, Jennifer.’

‘I didn’t—’

He grabs a handful of my hair, yanking me towards him so fast I screw up my eyes, waiting for the explosion of pain as he breaks my nose with his forehead. When I open them again his face is an inch from mine. He smells of whisky and sweat.

‘Don’t lie to me, Jennifer.’

I close my eyes and tell myself I can survive this, although every part of me wants to beg him to kill me now.

He grips my jaw with his free hand, and strokes his forefinger over my lips, slipping a finger into my mouth. I fight the urge to gag as he presses down on my tongue.

‘You double-crossing bitch,’ he says, the words as smooth as if he is paying me a compliment. ‘You made a promise, Jennifer. You promised you wouldn’t go to the police, and what do I see today? I see you buying your own freedom by taking mine. I see my name – my fucking name! – all over the Bristol Post .’

‘I’ll tell them,’ I say, the words thick around his finger. ‘I’ll tell them it’s not true. I’ll say I lied.’ Saliva escapes my mouth to coat Ian’s hand and he looks at it with revulsion.

‘No,’ he says. ‘You won’t say anything to anybody.’

With his left hand still gripping my hair, he releases my jaw and slaps me hard across the face. ‘Get upstairs.’

I clench my fists by my sides, knowing I mustn’t lift a hand to feel my face, which throbs in time with my pulse. I taste blood, and swallow quietly. ‘Please,’ I say, my voice sounding reedy and unnatural, ‘please don’t…’ I search for the words to use, the words least likely to provoke him. Don’t rape me , I want to say. It has happened enough times for it not to matter, and yet I can’t bear the thought of his body pressing down on mine again, being inside me, forcing sounds from me that belie how much I hate him.

‘I don’t want to have sex,’ I say, and I curse the cracking of my voice that will tell him how much this means to me.

‘Have sex with you?’ he spits, flecks of saliva hitting my face. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Jennifer.’ He releases his grip on me and looks me up and down. ‘Get upstairs.’

My legs threaten to buckle under me as I walk the few paces to the stairs, and I cling to the banister on the way up, feeling his presence behind me. I try to calculate how long before Patrick will be back, but I’ve lost all sense of time.

Ian propels me into the bathroom.