Free I Let You Go by Clare Mackintosh

hidden beneath thick black tights.
    Ray rubbed his palms on his trouser legs to make sure they were perfectly dry. He had heard a rumour that the chief had once blocked a promising officer’s promotion to chief inspector because the poor man’s sweaty palms didn’t ‘inspire confidence’. Ray had no idea if it was true, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. They could get by on his inspector salary, but things were a bit tight. Mags was still on about becoming a teacher, but Ray had done the sums, and if he could manage another couple of promotions, they’d have the extra money they needed without her having to work. Ray thought about the morning’s chaos and decided Mags already did more than enough – she shouldn’t have to get a job just so they could afford a few luxuries.
    ‘You can go in now,’ the PA said.
    Ray took a deep breath and pushed open the door. ‘Good morning, ma’am.’
    There was silence as the chief made copious notes on a pad in her trademark illegible handwriting. Ray loitered by the door and pretended to admire the numerous certificates and photographs that littered the walls. The navy blue carpet was thicker and plusher than in the rest of the building, and an enormous conference table dominated one half of the room. At the far end, Olivia Rippon sat at a big curved desk. Finally, she stopped writing and looked up.
    ‘I want you to close the Fishponds hit-and-run case.’
    It was clear he wasn’t going to be offered a seat, so Ray picked the chair closest to Olivia, and sat down regardless. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
    ‘I think that if we just had a little more time—’
    ‘You’ve had time,’ Olivia said. ‘Five and a half months, to be exact. It’s an embarrassment, Ray. Every time the Post prints another of your so-called updates, it simply serves as a reminder of a case the police have failed to solve. Councillor Lewis rang me last night: he wants it buried, and so do I.’
    Ray felt the anger building inside him. ‘Isn’t Lewis the one who opposed the residents’ bid for the limit on the estates to be dropped to twenty miles per hour?’
    There was a beat, and Olivia regarded him coolly.
    ‘Close it, Ray.’
    They looked at each other across the smooth walnut desk without speaking. Surprisingly, it was Olivia who gave in first, sitting back in her chair and clasping her hands in front of her.
    ‘You are an exceptionally good detective, Ray, and your tenacity does you credit. But if you want to progress, you need to accept that policing is about politics as much as it is investigating crime.’
    ‘I do understand that, ma’am.’ Ray fought to keep the frustration out of his voice.
    ‘Good,’ Olivia said, taking the lid off her pen and reaching for the next memo in her in-tray. ‘Then we’re in agreement. The case will be closed today.’
     
    For once Ray was glad of the traffic that held him up on his way back to CID. He was not looking forward to telling Kate, and he wondered why that should be his overriding thought. She was so new to CID still, he supposed: she wouldn’t yet have been through the frustrations of having to file an investigation in which so much energy had been invested. Stumpy would be more resigned.
    As soon as he got back to the station, he called them into his office. Kate came in first, carrying a mug of coffee she put down next to his computer, where three others sat, each half-full of cold black coffee.
    ‘Are they from last week?’
    ‘Yep – the cleaner refuses to wash them up any more.’
    ‘I’m not surprised. You can do them yourself, you know.’ Kate sat down, just as Stumpy came in and nodded a greeting to Ray.
    ‘Do you remember the car Brian and Pat saw on the CCTV for the hit-and-run?’ Kate said, as soon as Stumpy was sitting down. ‘The one that seemed to be in a hurry to get away?’
    Ray nodded.
    ‘We can’t make out what type of car it is from the footage we’ve got, and I’d like to take it