Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

The stony path is hard to run on with bare feet, but the noise behind me seems fainter and I think I’m gaining ground. I try to hold my breath as I run; to make as little sound as possible.

It’s only when I hear the waves crashing against the shore that I realise I’ve missed the turning for the caravan park. I curse my stupidity. I have only two options now: take the path down on to the beach or turn right, and carry on along the coastal path away from Penfach. It’s a path I’ve taken many times with Beau but never in the dark – it runs too close to the cliff edge and I’ve always worried he might lose his footing. I hesitate for a second, but the thought of being trapped down on the beach is terrifying: surely I have more chance if I keep running? I turn right and take the coastal path. The wind has picked up and as the clouds shift the moon lets out a little more light. I risk a quick glance behind me, but the path is clear.

I slow to a walk, and then stop to listen. It is silent, apart from the sounds of the sea, and my heart begins to calm a little. Waves crash rhythmically on the beach and I hear the distant blare of a ship far out to sea. I catch my breath and try to get my bearings.

‘There’s nowhere to run to, Jennifer.’

I whirl around but can’t see him. I peer through the gloom and make out scrubby bushes; a stile; in the distance a small building I know to be a shepherd’s hut.

‘Where are you?’ I call, but the wind whips my words away and carries them out to sea. I draw breath to scream but in an instant he’s behind me, his forearm across my throat, drawing me up and backwards until I start to choke. I jab my elbow into his ribs and his grip relaxes enough for me to take a breath. I will not die now, I think. I have spent most of my adult life hiding; running; being afraid, and now, just as I’m feeling safe, he has come back to take it away from me. I will not let him. I feel a surge of adrenalin and I lean forward. The move unbalances him enough for me to twist away from him.

And I don’t run. I have run enough from him.

He reaches for me and I push out my hand, smashing the heel of my palm into the underside of his chin. The impact pushes him backwards and he teeters for what feels like seconds on the edge of the cliff. He reaches for me, clawing for my dressing gown, and his fingers brush against the fabric. I cry out and step back, but I lose my balance and for a moment I think I am going with him, crashing against the cliff on the way down to the sea. But then I’m face down on the edge of the cliff, and he’s falling. I look down and see a glimpse of his rolled-back eyes, before the waves suck him under.

52

Ray’s phone rang as they were skirting Cardiff. He glanced at the screen.

‘It’s the South Wales DI.’

Kate watched Ray as he listened to the update from Penfach.

‘Thank God for that,’ Ray said into the phone. ‘No problem. Thanks for letting me know.’

He ended the call and let out a long, slow breath. ‘She’s okay. Well, she’s not okay, but she’s alive.’

‘And Petersen?’ Kate said.

‘Not so lucky. By all accounts Jenna was running along the coastal path when he came after her. They struggled and Petersen went over the edge.’

Kate winced. ‘What a way to go.’

‘No less than he deserved,’ Ray said. ‘Reading between the lines, I don’t think he “fell” exactly, if you know what I mean, although Swansea CID have got the right approach: they’re filing it as an accident.’

They fell silent.

‘Do we go back to the nick now, then?’ Kate asked.

Ray shook his head. ‘No point. Jenna’s in Swansea hospital and we’ll be there in less than an hour. Might as well see the job through to the end, and we can grab a bite to eat before we head home.’

The traffic freed up as they got further into their journey, and it was a little after seven when they arrived at Swansea hospital. The entrance to A&E was thronged with smokers with hastily assembled slings, bandaged ankles and assorted unseen injuries. Ray sidestepped a man bent double with stomach pain, still managing to take a deep drag from the cigarette his girlfriend held to his lips.

The smell of smoke hanging in cold air was replaced with the clinical warmth of A&E, and Ray showed his warrant card to a weary-looking woman on reception. They were directed through a pair of double-doors to C ward, and from there to a side room, where Jenna lay propped up on a pile of pillows.

Ray was shocked to see the deep purple bruises that crept out of her hospital gown and up her neck. Her hair was loose and fell lankly on her shoulders, and her face was etched with tiredness and pain. Patrick sat next to her, a discarded paper open at the crossword.

‘Hey,’ Ray said softly, ‘how are you doing?’

She gave a weak smile. ‘I’ve had better days.’

‘You’ve been through a lot.’ Ray came to stand by the bed. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t get to him in time.’

‘It doesn’t matter now.’

‘I hear you were the hero of the hour, Mr Mathews.’ Ray turned to Patrick, who raised his hand in protest.

‘Hardly. If I’d been an hour earlier I might have been some use, but I was held up at the surgery and by the time I got there … well…’ He looked at Jenna.

‘I don’t think I’d have made it back to the cottage without you,’ she said. ‘I think I would still be lying there, staring down at the sea.’ She shivered and Ray felt a chill, despite the stifling hospital air. What must it have felt like, out there on the edge of the cliff?

‘Have they said how long you’ll be in here?’ he asked.

Jenna shook her head. ‘They want to keep me in for observation, whatever that means, but I’m hoping it won’t be longer than twenty-four hours.’ She looked between Ray and Kate. ‘Will I be in trouble? For lying to you about who was driving?’

‘There’s a small issue of perverting the course of justice to think about,’ Ray said, ‘but I’m pretty confident we won’t consider it to be in the public interest to pursue.’ He smiled and Jenna gave a sigh of relief.

‘We’ll leave you in peace,’ Ray said. He looked at Patrick. ‘Take care of her, won’t you?’

They left the hospital and drove the short distance to Swansea police station, where the local DI was waiting to speak to them. DI Frank Rushton was a few years older than Ray, with a physique that suggested he would be more at home on the rugby pitch than in the office. He welcomed them warmly and showed them into his office, offering coffee, which they declined.

‘We need to get back,’ Ray said. ‘Otherwise DC Evans here will be putting undue strain on my overtime budget.’

‘Pity,’ Frank said. ‘We’re all heading out for a curry – one of our skippers is retiring and it’s a bit of a send-off for him. You’d be welcome to join us.’

‘Thanks,’ Ray said, ‘but we’d better not. Will you be keeping Petersen’s body here, or do you need me to contact the coroner’s office in Bristol?’

‘If you’ve got the number on you, that would be great,’ Frank said. ‘I’ll give them a ring once the body’s recovered.’

‘You haven’t recovered it?’

‘We haven’t found it yet,’ Frank said. ‘He went off the edge about a half-mile from Gray’s cottage, in the opposite direction to Penfach Caravan Park. I believe you’ve been to the premises?’

Ray nodded.

‘The guy who found her, Patrick Mathews, took us out there and there’s no doubt it’s the right place,’ Frank said. ‘There are marks on the ground consistent with Gray’s account of a struggle, and the edge of the cliff is freshly scuffed.’

‘But there’s no body?’

‘To be honest, that’s not unusual.’ Frank noticed Ray’s raised eyebrows and gave a short laugh. ‘That is, not finding a body straight away isn’t unusual. We get the odd jumper, or a walker slips when he’s coming back from the pub, and it takes a few days – often longer – for them to be washed up. Sometimes they never come back at all; sometimes just a bit of them does.’