The Witness Page 18

  Sergeant Casey was asleep, so she did her exercises after lunch. He seemed the same; in fact, all the men did. She was the only one who felt different. She watched while the three of them played poker. The terms weren’t the same in England, and that and her poor concentration had put her at a disadvantage when she played with them. At first they had staked her with pence, but they had won their money back in no time. Then they had played for matchsticks and even small pieces of chocolate candy, which she had really hated losing. When they played without her, they played for serious money.

  “Did you ever know any policemen before you met us?” Danny asked.

  “No,” she answered, “but when I was in Brownie Scouts—that’s Girl Scouts for younger girls, Brian—we had a field trip to a police station. They locked us in a cell, and when the door clanged shut, we all screamed. That poor officer! It hurt my ears, and I was one of the ones screaming.” She fingered some of the British coins while they talked. Sergeant Casey was winning, and he had a representative sample. All the coins had the Queen’s profile on one side.

  “We have sworn allegiance to her,” Casey said.

  Interesting. In the U.S., allegiance was sworn to the Constitution. “Why is the one-pound coin so much thicker than the others?”

  “You can tell what it is without taking it out of your pocket,” Brian answered.

  “The two-pound coin is fancier,” she observed. It was a two-tone coin with a series of capital letters around the edge: DEI GRA FID DEF REG. “I haven’t had Latin since high school, but the first one means ‘of God,’ I think.”

  “No, that’s the last part,” Danny said. “REG—for Queen—comes first. Read them in reverse order, and you’ll get it.” He had folded his hand. It was between Brian and Sergeant Casey now.

  “Queen—Defender—Faith or Faithful—Grace—of God,” she guessed.

  “Queen, the defender of the faith, by the grace of God,” Danny said. “I had Latin, too.”

  “I call you,” Brian said. Casey laid his cards down.

  She watched Brian sweep up his winnings. It was amazing that those huge hands could mince onions.

  CHAPTER 28

  Everything about Jenny’s trip to the hospital was cloudy in her mind. It was time for her cast to be removed, Sergeant Casey said, and he wanted to give her some medication to ease her nerves. She tried to tell him she didn’t need it, but he spoke to her in his insistent voice so she swallowed the tablets as instructed. She had expected to be curious about seeing things outside, but it was long after dark when they left, and she was very sleepy. All three men were armed and dressed for cold weather; she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and huddled in the back seat. The drive seemed to take forever, and she had no idea whether the flat was a long way from the hospital or the driver had followed a very indirect route.

  Colin and Sergeant Andrews were waiting at the casualty entrance. They had a wheelchair for her, and she was glad. It had been a long walk down the flights of stairs from the flat to the street, and Casey had been impatient with her. Sergeant Andrews pushed her straight through the double doors and into an examining room, the other men on either side of her.

  She sat under the bright lights on the treatment table, her shoulders sagging, and waited to be called for her x-ray. The room was small, so only Colin and Sergeant Casey waited with her. The others stood watch outside.

  After the radiographer had finished, she lay down. Dr. Adams’ entrance woke her. He was brisk, as usual, giving her an examination and questioning Casey about her condition at the same time. “You’re healing beautifully,” he told her, and she smiled sleepily at his stock phrase. “No need for you to tote this thing about any longer.” The saw wasn’t loud, and she found that if she closed her eyes, she didn’t worry about it cutting into her skin.

  “The itching under the cast drove me crazy,” she told the doctor while he worked. She wanted to ask him if she could be pregnant, but she was never alone with him.

  Then it was back to the wheelchair and into the van. She slumped against Brian. Finally they were back among the narrow streets and dark houses. “Stand by,” Casey told Davies.

  “Clear,” Sullivan said.

  “I can walk,” she said wearily.

  “Not fast enough,” Casey said. His hand was on his gun, and his eyes scanned the street. “Take her now, Davies.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Time passed slowly, and Jenny was often lonely, even in an apartment full of men. She felt more secure with them than she had at first, but her fear symptoms hadn’t abated. If anything, they were worse, coming upon her suddenly and with an intensity she had expected to fade. Sometimes she woke from a nightmare not sure where she was. And not having a period had become a nagging worry. Was there an embryo inside her, growing like a cancer? How could she find out? What would happen if she put pregnancy test on the grocery list?

  Desperate for distraction, she suggested that they celebrate Movie Week. She asked each of them to think of his favorite movie, explaining that they could rent the video, pop popcorn, and eat chocolate bars. Danny laughed at the way she always tried to bring chocolate into everything, but the movie idea didn’t work very well. Casey said he had been away on extended missions, he wouldn’t say where, and he couldn’t remember any recent films except Lawrence of Arabia, which had been reissued the previous year. Brian liked the James Bond films but couldn’t think of any specific titles. Danny couldn’t think of a favourite, either, but said he’d look for Men in Black since he liked science fiction. Somehow an air of enthusiasm was lacking.

  Movie Week was followed by War Week, Jenny regretting her movie idea. She was disturbed by all the scenes of men dying violent deaths. The blood on screen reminded her of her own wounds, and her dreams reflected her distress. The monster was standing over her, his hands on his belt, his face a dreadful mixture of anger and anticipation. He struck her, and she screamed. She woke suddenly. She was in her bed at the flat, and Sergeant Casey was there. She hugged Colin’s blanket to her chest. “Sergeant Casey, did you ever think you were going to die?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “People probably think that when you’re dying, the fear blocks everything else. Or the pain. But it doesn’t override everything.”

  He was still quiet.

  “It ought to be a gift, a good thing, that you still have senses left when you’re close to death. Maybe if you’re dying in the arms of someone who loves you, it is a gift. Maybe seeing with such intensity that it will last forever—”

  “Get to it, Jenny.” It was The Voice, but throttled back.

  “It’s still so vivid. I had never really begged for anything in my life, the way I begged him to stop. But he didn’t. All my senses went into overdrive. It was cold in that room, but my blood was warm. I felt his fingers digging into my thighs. He needed to trim his nails; they were sharp. The salt from my tears made the cut on my cheek sting. I remember his smell, not of his aftershave, but of his sweat.”

  “And in hospital?”

  “It was the same. Another small room. Another violent man. I was in pain, and I couldn’t get away. It happened very fast at first. I saw his eyes, cold and hard, darker than walnuts—I screamed—I saw the syringe—Danny hit him with his nightstick. Then—then—” She choked on her words.

  “Steady on, Jenny.”

  “His hand was on my throat, and time slowed down. He had large pores on his face and a network of blood vessels under his skin. He was trying to squeeze the life out of me, and it was an eternity before Danny pulled him off.” She brushed her fingers across her cheeks. A terrible fear gripped her chest. What did he think of her now? She shouldn’t have said anything.

  “It was bitterly cold,” he said quietly. “Windy as hell. There were four of us. I was the team medic. We’d almost made it to the extraction point. We’d been moving fast, and we were well tired. My Bergen—my pack—was heavy, and my sides hurt from the exertion. One of my mates—behind me—was hit.
I turned to grab him. Took a couple rounds in my thigh. Laid it open.”

  The scar he had shown her. The fear in her chest rose, and a single sob escaped her.

  “I fell backward, onto the frame of my pack. There was steam rising from the wound in my leg, and the grains of sand that blew against my skin felt like needles. I had a cramp in my calf I couldn’t relieve, because I couldn’t straighten my leg or bend my ankle.”

  “Who took care of you?”

  “I did, until I passed out. I slipped out of my pack and managed to get my kit. It was a nasty, dirty wound.”

  “What happened to the other man?” She held her breath.

  Casey paused. “He should’ve been quicker.”

  “Oh, God.” She felt her stomach turn over. “How did you—does it ever go away?”

  “Not completely, no. It gets better, but there’s no quick fix.” He frowned at her expression. “Are you all right?”

  “My stomach feels funny.”

  He’d drowned his sorrows in a pub sharing countless pints with a mate, but he couldn’t offer that to her. “Time for tea.”

  This whole nation would suffer terminal withdrawal without tea. She took Colin’s blanket with her into the kitchen and watched him heat the water. “How do you keep going?”

  “Focus on the mission. And always keep training. Sometimes on long missions you have to work to keep the edge.”

  “Is that why you brought me those weights?”

  “I’m changing the purpose of your exercises—from physical therapy to physical readiness.”

  “Promise? You’re not just tormenting me?”

  “Physical conditioning prepares you for mental challenges. You’ll have to be alert in court. In order to be ready then, you need to start now.”

  He filled their cups. The warmth melted the shards of ice in her chest and soothed her stomach. “Did you learn all this in the Royal Marines?”

  “Much of it. My medical training began there.”

  “Was it hard, what you had to do?”

  “They kept us busy.”

  Typical Sergeant Casey understatement. “Were you ever afraid?”

  “We called it apprehension,” he smiled.

  “Why did you leave?”

  “After I was injured, I couldn’t regain combat readiness. I wanted it, but I couldn’t do it.”

  “So—an injury prevented you from going back to the way you were,” she said slowly. “Sounds like me. My life has been changed forever by what I’ve experienced. I can’t imagine going to graduate school now. Become absorbed in the study of fictional characters? I don’t think so.”

  “Texas, then?”

  “I don’t know. My family lives in such an innocent world. It’s hard to see myself fitting in there.” She smiled. “I know—no quick fix.”

  They sat together finishing their tea in companionable silence.

  “I’m sorry I was so afraid of you at first.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for. We expected it. Trust is earned, love.”

  “It certainly is,” she agreed.

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  In the morning she was putting on her exercise clothes when she heard an unfamiliar voice. The man it belonged to was too short to be Brian and too wide to be Danny. Besides, he had curly blond hair. When he turned around, she saw that his eyebrows were curly, too, and they gave his ruddy face a look of surprise. She hadn’t been expecting anyone, and it startled her.

  “PC Wilcox,” the man said. “Joseph Wilcox. Didn’t mean to scare you, Miss.”

  “I’m Jenny. Just Jenny.”

  “Nice to know you, Just Jenny.”

  “Tea?” Danny asked. “I’ll be the mum.”

  “No, my stomach’s upset. I’ll have a Coke.”

  Danny poured cups for Wilcox and himself. “Davies took a short leave this morning,” he said. “I’ll take off when he gets back. Wilcox is going to fill in for both of us.”

  She tried to smile. “What dastardly thing did you do to receive this assignment?”

  “Four days with a lovely lass? It’s winning the lottery, isn’t it?”

  Wilcox’s voice had a lilt to it. She didn’t know enough about regional accents to place it, but it was relaxing to hear. Chivalry was not dead: He had called her lovely, and no one looked lovely in sweatpants. “Are you qualified to do this?” she asked him. “You need to be a poor poker player, a good listener, have an endless supply of handkerchiefs, and—”

  “No one’s as poor a poker player as you are, Sis,” Danny teased. “Give the bloke a chance!”

  Wilcox leant forward. He reached toward her cheek, the unmarked one, with a closed hand. She tensed, but he didn’t touch her. “There’s a little something already!” He held a fifty pence coin in his fingers.

  “Magic,” she breathed. “We could sure use some of that around here.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Wilcox’s four day shifts passed quickly. He entertained Jenny with his magic and his accent. Really, it was more than an accent—he was from Wales, and he spoke whole sentences which were unintelligible to her, all while remaining alert and armed.

  Several days later it was Sergeant Casey’s turn to be gone, and another new man arrived. She couldn’t guess Sergeant Nick Howard’s age. He had thick brows and dark hair receding slightly at the temples. There was no gray, but his lean face was weathered, with a myriad of fine lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. She was uncomfortable with his dark stare and couldn’t get a conversation going with him. When she asked where he was from, he replied, “No place in particular. And I go where I’m sent.”

  “What do you tell people when you arrest them? ‘I’m Nick, and you’re nicked’?”

  Howard did not laugh. Perhaps to compensate for his lack of humour, Danny declared it Comedy Week and rented funny movies. Like Gilbert and Sullivan, Monty Python made fun of established customs and rituals, and some of the characters had as much dialogue as a G&S patter song. However, many of the skits embarrassed her with their frankness about sex and bodily functions. She escaped to her room.

  She could hear Danny and Brian laughing, but she had been infected with Sergeant Howard’s sober demeanor. She could no longer ignore the fact that she might be pregnant. It was too much to bear—like having a second and then a third wave crash over you when you hadn’t regained your footing from the first. The beating she’d received at the hands of the monster and his violations of her had crushed her. Now she might be carrying his child. What could she do? Was abortion legal in England? How could she arrange for one? Was it too late? Did she even want an abortion? No, she didn’t think she could go through with it. She didn’t want anyone touching her below the waist, not even a doctor.

  What would happen to her? Would the police buy her maternity clothes? No, they wouldn’t want her—how effective would she be in court if her belly crowded the witness stand? What if she went into labor during the trial?

  She cried until she tired herself out.

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  In the morning Howard was back, and so were her apprehensions. Did she look fatter already? How long could she hide her condition from the men? Casey would feel contempt for her. A good and decent man like Brian would never respect her. Danny wouldn’t be able to find anything funny to say. And Colin: He was too elegant to listen to another sordid tale. She couldn’t go home—Colin hadn’t told her parents she’d been sexually assaulted, and neither had she. If a long-standing boyfriend had gotten her pregnant, they wouldn’t be happy. If pregnancy had resulted from a casual encounter, that would be worse. But being impregnated by a criminal? Inconceivable.

  When Sergeant Casey returned and learned she’d had only a Coke and a few biscuits to eat, he demanded to know why. Davies and Sullivan were clueless—they’d been watching comedies all day. “Howard’s a bit formidable,” Sullivan ventured.

  Casey found her already in bed
. “You have to eat.”

  “Are you going to make me?”

  “If I have to.”

  She managed to get down part of a baked potato before turning off the lamp by her bed.

  In the morning she felt a terrible weight on her chest, and the ghosts from the night haunted her. She’d dreamed she’d been watching Rosemary’s Baby on late-night TV, but she had taken the place of Rosemary. She’d been the one who’d been raped by a monster. She was the one who’d become pregnant.

  She couldn’t keep down the breakfast Sergeant Casey brought, but she had no other kinds of discomfort to report to him. He pronounced her vital signs normal.

  Rosemary’s baby. What would happen to her baby? She couldn’t keep it, but if she gave it up for adoption, some innocent family would be cursed with the devil’s child. Better if it were never born. Better if it died. Better if she died.

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  Sinclair was concerned by Casey’s call. Not one to overact, Casey had described Jenny’s situation as “worrying.” She was withdrawn. Didn’t dress. Wasn’t eating. Wanted sedation. Cried until it took effect.

  “She was functioning, sir, until the last day or two,” Casey reported when Sinclair arrived.

  “Could she have become upset by the change in personnel?”

  “She adjusted to Wilcox. According to Sullivan, she kept out of Howard’s way, but there was no conflict.”

  Sinclair was impatient to speak with her. “How long has she been in the shower?”

  “Too long,” Casey realised. He and Sinclair walked into her bedroom. The bathroom door was locked.

  A catalogue of dire possibilities flashed across Sinclair’s mind. “Let’s have it down,” he said. All it took was Casey’s well-placed kick to break through. When he yanked the shower curtain aside, they saw her huddled at one end of the bath.

  Sinclair put a towel over her shoulders and lifted her out of the water. It didn’t cover her enough, so he took off his coat and wrapped it around her. “There’s no blood.”