The Witness Page 10

  The effort exhausted her. Her eyes were too heavy to focus on the light.

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  When Sinclair arrived, the men reported that they’d hardly seen her during the day. She had stayed in her room except for dinner and a brief stint in the sitting room. She’d slept a good deal. At mealtimes she’d been quiet and hadn’t had much appetite. He went with Casey to her room. “You left the light on?”

  “She’s afraid of the dark, sir,” Casey answered.

  Sinclair approached the bed. The lamp on the nightstand cast an amber glow on her face but did nothing to mask her bruises. The teddy bear Bridges had given her was next to her. Afraid of the dark—he should have anticipated that. What else had he missed in this precipitous move?

  CHAPTER 3

  After her medicine and morning tea, Jenny wanted to get dressed, to cover herself with layer upon layer of clothing. The chest of drawers wasn’t far from the bed; she could get there. Big mistake—her legs didn’t support her, and she hit hard, jarring her ribs. She bit back a sob and waited for the pain to subside before opening the drawers. None of her slacks or jeans looked loose enough to fit comfortably over her bruised and sore leg. She hadn’t packed any dresses for her trip abroad, planning to wear slacks, jeans, or skirts with a variety of blouses, and her blouses wouldn’t fit over the cast on her arm.

  The bed looked very high. She hadn’t thought about how to get back in it, but now she realized she might as well have tried to climb Mt. Everest. She was useless. “Hello?” she called. “Hello?”

  She heard heavy footsteps approaching, and her heart started to pound. It was Constable Davies. Mt. Everest was coming to her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “Did you fall?”

  “No, but I can’t get back in bed. Could you call Danny, please?”

  “No, I’m here. It’s no bother.”

  “No, please,” she pleaded, but he bent down and easily scooped her up.

  “Better?”

  She nodded so he would not stay.

  The morning dragged on. She asked Sergeant Casey how long her cast would have to stay on, and he replied that it would be another four to six weeks. That was a blow. She had only hospital attire. Would she have to dress like an invalid for another month? She couldn’t parade around the apartment in her nightclothes! And how could she get home if she had nothing to wear?

  Danny was in the kitchen washing up from the lunch she’d barely touched. She was left with the two silent types, and she wished they were sitting farther away. “People are people, Jennifer. Go the extra mile,” her mother had said when she was shy. She felt a deep ache. It was so awkward. They were strangers—she certainly didn’t want to talk to them about what had happened to her. And they weren’t even American! If she mentioned sports, they wouldn’t know the names of the players. If they told her where they were from, she wouldn’t recognize the places. But she had to try. She was stuck here. “Why did you become a policeman?” she asked Brian.

  He leant back in his chair and put his feet on the coffee table. “I grew up on a farm, with a sister and two brothers, but I didn’t want to be a farmer, and I wasn’t clever enough for university. After I took my exams, I worked for a couple years, mostly unskilled labour jobs because of my size.”

  His size. She didn’t need reminding of what someone his size could do.

  “I wanted to do more than that, so when I was old enough, I applied to the police.”

  “Do you like having a gun?” she asked, realizing too late what a stupid question it was.

  “I’ve been with the Met almost ten years, and for a good portion of that time I didn’t carry a firearm. And I’ve yet to fire it on a mission.”

  She could feel the tension in her chest, but she pushed herself to continue. “What about you, Sergeant Casey?”

  “I don’t discuss weapons with civilians.”

  “Throttle back, mate,” Brian advised. “She’s not asking that. Tell about your family.”

  “There’s just my mum and my brother.”

  “Why’d you join the Royal Marines?” Danny asked.

  “A judge’s recommendation. I was a bit of a tearaway, and he thought military structure might teach me discipline and respect for authority.”

  “Did it?” A disciplined Sergeant Casey was scary enough. She didn’t want to imagine what an undisciplined sergeant would be like.

  “Not straightaway,” he admitted. “There was a certain sergeant major who had to teach me the facts of life all by himself.”

  Danny chuckled, but Jenny didn’t understand.

  “I was supposed to maintain a certain attitude while in uniform,” Casey explained. “Before his instruction, I wasn’t doing it. After his instruction, I was. Let’s just say that his instruction was rather physical.”

  “Did he hurt you?” she asked, her voice rising.

  Casey paused. “He made his point. He taught me a valuable lesson. I was a better Marine after.”

  She paled. “Are you going to do that to me? Teach me a ‘valuable lesson’ so I’ll measure up?”

  He could hear the panic. He checked his watch. She was overdue on her pain meds. “Sullivan, my kit. Davies, a glass of milk for the lady.” Fear and pain—a bad combination.

  She took the milk and swallowed the tablets quickly.

  Brian and Danny were looking on, silent specters, but she could not keep an eye on them and watch Sergeant Casey, too. When the pain eased, she leaned back on the sofa. Her eyes grew heavy, and her breathing slowed.

  “We should move her to her room, shouldn’t we?” Sullivan asked quietly.

  “I’ll do it,” Davies said. He gathered her up, shaking his head at the multitude of deep bruises he saw. He set her gently on the bed and covered her bare feet and legs with the blanket. He stood for a moment watching her then turned on the light before leaving the room.

  CHAPTER 4

  At the Yard, Sinclair was having a constructive day. Fingerprints at the crime scene had confirmed Scott’s presence and identified two other men. Leonard “The Brute” Stark, 38, was an American, an ex-boxer and bodybuilder whose physical services were now on a different sort of market. The Met’s counterparts in Las Vegas, Nevada, were well acquainted with him, having arrested him several times on suspicion of assault. No convictions had resulted, however. The other fingerprints belonged to Anthony Michalopolous, 43, a petty thief and drugs user. Photo arrays were being prepared for friends and families of the six murder victims to see as well as for Jenny.

  On his way home he stopped in at the protection flat. He watched Jenny pick at her food while the men devoured theirs. When the dishes had been cleared away, he had a word with her. “Are you having difficulty here? You’re safe, you know. Only a handful of people have been made aware of this location.”

  “You dumped me here with King Kong and the Terminator. I didn’t want to come,” she stammered.

  He hadn’t prepared her; that was true. “It’s not easy being in an unfamiliar place, is it? Even for a short period of time. Tell me how I can help.”

  Something in his gentle tone touched her, and she began to cry. “I’m a freak. I’m crippled. I can’t do anything. I can’t even get dressed.”

  He handed her his handkerchief. “I need to know more, Jenny.”

  “None of my clothes will fit over my cast. And I’m scared of your men. I’m defenseless.”

  “Have they done anything to frighten you?”

  “I’m okay with Danny—he helped me in the hospital, so I don’t think he’d hurt me here, but I don’t know Constable Davies. I don’t want Sergeant Casey, either—I want a real nurse. And I want to go home, and you’re not letting me.”

  “Davies won’t harm you, Jenny. He’s the one who took you from the van and brought you up the stairs to this flat.”

  She was appalled. “You let him touch me when I was asleep?”

  “I allowed him to carry you, yes. Case
y, Sullivan, and I were there. You were perfectly safe. Shall I tell you about Sergeant Casey?”

  “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “We’d be dead in the water without him. Do you realise what being a combat medic means? He went into combat with a medical kit.”

  “He had a gun, too—you can’t tell me he didn’t! He was probably born with one.”

  “Jenny, I’m speaking of priorities.”

  “But he looks—like a hit man!”

  “He was in the special forces. He has seen things no man should have to see.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but he saw them happening. When a man died, he took the loss personally. I see things after the fact. There’s a big difference, believe me. Jenny, he is a dedicated officer. He will put your needs ahead of his every time.”

  Her cheeks burned. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s my mistake. I should have briefed you about them.” He paused. “I’ll see what I can do about the clothes problem. And Jenny—about going home—at the moment you’re not well enough for travel. You don’t have the stamina. And you’re not eating enough to regain your strength.” He called for Davies to bring her a sandwich.

  Sergeant Casey watched her carefully.

  “Are you counting my bites?”

  “Something like that.” He watched her head turn, like a startled animal’s. A motorcycle was going down the street, and she had reacted to the noise. “A lad delivering pizza, most likely,” he said.

  When Sinclair left, Casey helped her into the bathroom and then into bed. “I’m going to give you a bit of a cleanup. Your sutures.”

  “Do you have to? I don’t want you to see.”

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “But I haven’t!”

  “Best to get it over.”

  She held her breath and tried to think of something besides what he was doing. “Where did you learn all this?”

  “As part of my training, I spent some time each year in the casualty ward of a civilian hospital.”

  “You’re overqualified for this job.”

  “I expect so.”

  “What day is it?”

  “28 September.”

  “What day of the week?”

  “Monday.”

  “Two weeks ago today,” she whispered and then couldn’t keep the tears from coming. “Two weeks ago today, I had a life. Now I can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand, running his thumb up and down her small, slim fingers. “You’re cold. You should have told me.”

  “I wasn’t sure it had anything to do with the temperature.”

  She’s sad-on, cold in her soul, he thought.

  CHAPTER 5

  In the morning Casey came in with jog pants and a t-shirt on and a towel around his neck. He was carrying a radio. “Shall I help you up? You can do it yourself, but your ribs will hurt.”

  She didn’t want to need this man, but in the alien world that was her new life, she did. She took the glass of milk and her morning medicine. “Have you been exercising?”

  “Running. Davies and I go in turn, early, before you wake up.”

  “What’s the radio for?”

  “To make vibrations against the window so people can’t eavesdrop.” He plugged it in. “It has to stay on all the time.”

  “But it will keep me from hearing things,” she argued. “I won’t have any warning.”

  “That’s what we’re here for, love.”

  Then it was time for the long march to the kitchen. Brian made her a cup of tea and offered his short-order cooking skills, but she wasn’t hungry. “Where’s Danny?”

  “Sleeping.” Casey helped her into the sitting room, and she discovered that daytime TV in England was just as bad as daytime TV at home, if not worse. The monster wouldn’t have to shoot her. She’d be assaulted by boredom and die a lingering death. It was all very strange—strange not knowing where she was, strange being with policemen, strange not being able to take care of herself, and strangest of all, hardly recognizing herself, with the landscape of her body altered, as if someone had taken it apart and then put it back together without the directions. Even these thoughts were strange: She’d never been this melancholy. She used to be able to connect with people. She remembered the lines from Macbeth and wondered if all the tomorrows she spent here would “creep in this petty pace from day to day.” The rest of that speech was depressing, too. The lines about sound and fury reminded her of the monster, and others implied that life had no meaning.

  Danny woke after lunch, made himself a sandwich, and brought her a dish of ice cream. “I’ve got two older sisters,” he told her while they ate. “Samantha’s a hairdresser, and Gemma’s learning to be a secretary. If she can type as fast as she talks, she’ll do fine.” He laughed. “I also have a younger sister still in secondary school. It’s secondary school, all right—boys are primary!”

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  After dinner, the men heard the chief inspector’s knock on the door. When both Danny and Sergeant Casey went, she asked Brian, “Why does it take two of you to answer the door?”

  “One to open it and one for backup,” he explained. “We like to err on the side of caution. And the chief always phones ahead so we know when to expect him.”

  Sinclair quickly briefed Casey. “You’re in charge of this mobile phone. Jenny’s only authorised calls are to her parents or to me. The numbers are preprogrammed. I don’t expect her to like it.”

  “I have some surprises for you,” he told Jenny, holding out two carrier-bags. Andrews’ wife, Susie, had done the shopping.

  “I always thought caftans were for older women, but these are gorgeous,” she said, holding up the contents. One was kelly green with gold embroidery around the sleeves, v-neck, and leg slits; the other, a deep blue with white satin trim. They would cover her completely. The nightgown was long, a Lanz with the signature small print and eyelet trim, and it looked warm, as did the nightshirt. The soap had a lavender scent.

  Sinclair was relieved. They’d looked like two shapeless dresses to him. He hadn’t realised women wore such things. He took the hospital envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “My earrings! I wondered what had happened to them.”

  He watched her put them on, entirely by feel. “Lovely.”

  “Mr. Sinclair, thank you so much. How can I repay you?”

  “Tell us about growing up in Texas,” Sullivan prompted.

  “Sounds a fair trade to me,” Sinclair said.

  She shifted her weight to make herself more comfortable. “I grew up in Houston. My dad’s a college professor. He teaches American history. My mom’s just a mom. I have two younger brothers. I miss all of them.”

  She paused and took a deep breath, wincing when her ribs reminded her that they had not healed. “I liked growing up in Texas. I didn’t mind the heat and humidity. And it’s a modern state. Don’t believe the stereotype! There are universities, sports arenas, symphonies, and shopping malls. There aren’t as many ranches as there used to be, but there are still cowboys, and some cities have rodeos in the summer. I can’t remember when the last Indian raid was exactly, but it was much later than you would think—1917 or 1918, maybe. Texas was the biggest state in the U.S. until Alaska came in. Texans swagger, though, as if it’s still the biggest.”

  “How far is it from Houston to Dallas?” asked Sullivan. “And who shot J.R.?”

  She laughed. “Is that program still showing over here? It’s so fake! I’ve seen the set, and that swimming pool is tiny. The corral isn’t real, either—no working corral would be that small or that clean.”

  “Davies, Sullivan, it’s time I had a word with Jenny,” Sinclair said. “Casey, stand by.”

  She watched them leave.

  “Jenny, you need to have a wash.”

  “A bath?” Was that why he’d brought
soap? And she’d thought that having scented soap was such a luxury.

  “Yes, the sergeant and I will help you.”

  “Two against one isn’t fair.”

  “One of us then. It’s your choice.”

  “I don’t like those choices,” she said, trying to be brave. “Can I have two more choices?”

  That made both men smile, and she noticed that Casey didn’t look quite as fierce when he smiled. It didn’t make any difference, though. She tried another tack. “Mañana!”

  Sinclair gave her a questioning look.

  “That’s the Spanish word for tomorrow. But sometimes it can be used to mean a tomorrow you hope never comes.”

  “Jenny,” Sinclair said softly, “you must let someone help you. You can’t take a real bath or shower until your cast has been removed.”

  “It’ll be like last night,” Casey said, “with you in bed. Only more thorough.” She was looking at him like he was the enemy. Damn. This assignment was turning into a hearts-and-minds op. “Jenny.”

  It was the first time Casey had used her name, so she paid attention.

  “We’ll do it in turn. There are some places I am not going to touch you.”

  Her heart pounded, and the dread stretched her muscles tight, making each injury throb with new intensity.

  “I’ll deal, sir,” Casey said.

  “I’ll leave you to it then,” Sinclair said and departed.

  Sergeant Casey helped her into the bedroom. He brought a bowl of warm water, a bar of soap, a face cloth, and several bath sheets. He removed the sling from her left arm.

  The preparations did nothing to ease her anxiety. “Will Danny and Brian come in?”

  “No, they’ve been briefed.”

  Was that good or bad? They wouldn’t watch, but what if she needed them? “I wish my mother were here.”

  “I don’t want to do this any more than you do,” he said. “Can we agree to make the best of it?”

  Her look of despair told him she wouldn’t. He proceeded by degrees, uncovering only one part of her body at a time. She must have worn a bikini in Texas—the strap lines were evident on her tan skin. There were still marks of the attack everywhere as well, and he kept his movements economical, working as quickly as he could. From time to time he brushed the face cloth across her cheeks to clear the tears away. He cleansed both feet and legs, being particularly careful with the angry contusions on her left leg. She was the shapeliest patient he’d treated; most had been soldiers with legs as hairy as his own, not with this small waist and soft skin. And those same soldiers would think he was playing without a full pack if they saw him now—alone in a bedroom with a half naked woman and not pushing the envelope, not even a little bit. “No totally unnecessary breast examination? I’m disappointed in you, Doc!” But he was on duty, and besides, he didn’t get off on battered women. After he rinsed the face cloth in the bathroom, he handed it to her. “Your turn now. I’ll close your door and give you about ten minutes.”