The Witness Read online

  “Let’s get her in bed, and I’ll have a look.” Casey stepped close to the bed and opened Sinclair’s coat briefly, revealing the pale skin and soft swell of her breasts. The left bore no scar, no evidence that she had been defiled so cruelly. Her face reflected the same before-and-after contrast, the pure, smooth, unmarred cheek on one side and Scott’s signature on the other. “No new injuries,” he said.

  Sinclair sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand, hoping to create a connection, a bridge, that she could cross. “Will you let me help?”

  “You can’t,” she whispered.

  “I want to try. What is it you want? Tell me, Jenny.”

  The silence lasted so long he wasn’t sure an answer was coming.

  “I want to sleep without dreams, dreams that are real.”

  “I can’t grant that wish, Jenny,” Sinclair said softly.

  “I want to turn the clock back, before all this happened. Before the scars, before the shame. When my body belonged to me.” She was lying on her side, her tears pooling on the bridge of her nose before spilling over.

  Sinclair and Casey waited, neither sure what to do next. They could hear Davies and Sullivan talking in the kitchen, something being set on the counter, a cabinet being closed.

  “Why did you take a shower?”

  “To wash the monster away, but I can’t. He’s inside me. I can’t get him out.”

  “Jenny, you’re safe from him. You’re alive. And I believe God preserved your life for a reason.”

  “For this? How could He? How could He? Damn Him! I don’t even believe in Him!”

  “Jenny, God is there whether we believe in Him or not. When we can’t speak with anyone else, we can speak with Him. He’s where we turn when we come to the end of the road.”

  “It’s a dead end road.”

  “No, Jenny. I don’t believe that. Choose life, the life God has for you.”

  As the mother of the monster’s child? She shook her head very slowly. “Not this life.”

  “We need you, Jenny,” Sinclair said.

  “What about what I need? Sergeant, will you help me? I can’t hold on any longer. Please…”

  Casey retrieved his kit, ready to give her the tablets.

  “That’s not strong enough,” she objected. “Or fast enough.”

  “You want a jab?” She’d never requested an injection before.

  “I want you to knock me out.”

  He looked at Sinclair for permission. At Sinclair’s nod, he filled a syringe.

  The cold alcohol was a shock, but the sting was welcome, because she knew oblivion would follow. “To sleep, perchance to dream.”

  “No, Jenny!” Sinclair protested. “Not that sort of dream. Not Hamlet’s.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  When her eyes closed, Sinclair rose to his feet. “I have an unpleasant task to do, and I could use your help, Sergeant.” He opened the door to her wardrobe. “A search of her personal spaces is in order.”

  “What are we looking for, sir?”

  “Anything that could be dangerous to her. That line she quoted—when Hamlet said it, he was contemplating suicide.”

  Sinclair examined the contents of the closet, including the luggage. He checked every pocket in the neatly-folded clothes in her chest of drawers. Casey was equally thorough in her bathroom and bedside table. They found no loose razor blades but did confiscate her shaver and nail scissors.

  “Any medicines here, even over-the-counter ones?” Sinclair asked.

  “I keep everything,” the sergeant replied.

  “Brief Davies, if you will. I’ll want him to be vigilant if she comes into the kitchen.” He looked at her sleeping form. He knew he couldn’t provide any comfort to her, but he was loath to leave. Strangely, he thought he might be comforted by her, by seeing her chest rise and fall, much the way watching his ill father breathing had given him solace. It had, however, not brought hope. Life was the first and most important step, the foundation for all the rest, but only the first step. A beating heart, a sustaining breath, these were only the beginning. What did the human spirit need to survive? Faith. Hope. Love. A reason for living. Whatever the cause of her upset, he must get to the bottom of it. He rang Dr. Knowles and arranged to bring him to the protection flat in the morning.

  CHAPTER 31

  When Sinclair and Knowles were admitted to the flat, Knowles took a moment to survey the surroundings. The flat was a bit dingy and dark with the curtains drawn; not a beneficial environment for a troubled young woman. PC Davies was rugby size. Sullivan was younger and quite a bit shorter, with a friendly face. Casey’s was lean and stern—hardly the sort to confide in. Jenny’s bedroom had a British flag on one wall. What looked like family photos were displayed on the chest of drawers.

  “Jenny, I’ve brought someone to talk with you. This is Dr. Knowles,” Sinclair said. She was wearing the nightshirt with the torn sleeve. His coat was nowhere to be seen.

  “Sergeant, I’d like you to stand by,” Knowles said. He sat down next to the bed. “I’m a psychiatrist, Jenny.” He noted the shadows under her eyes.

  Jenny saw a slender man with a placid expression, round nose, and graying hair. The lines in his face looked like laugh lines, and that made her feel terribly sad, because she couldn’t remember anymore what it felt like to laugh.

  “I realise there’s a big difference between the absence of fear and the presence of trust, but perhaps together we can bridge that gap.” He waited for a reaction.

  Was she supposed to say something? She couldn’t think.

  “I know rather more about you than most patients I meet for the first time, and I’m sorry about that. I’d have preferred for us to start on an equal footing.” He knew her history, and Sinclair had briefed him on her recent behaviour.

  “Are you a medical doctor?”

  “Yes, I completed medical school before choosing to specialise in psychiatry. I understand how severe your injuries were, both physical and psychological.”

  “I didn’t know it was possible to hurt that much and still live.”

  “Are you in pain now?”

  “I need Sergeant Casey. He puts me to sleep, like a vet putting down a dog, only I wake up.”

  “Listen to the doctor, Jenny.” Casey’s voice was firm.

  “What’s the point?”

  “To ease the anguish you’re feeling,” Knowles answered.

  “Are you going to put me in the hospital?”

  “I’d rather treat you here, if you’ll let me.”

  “It’s no use.”

  Knowles wasn’t discouraged. “What can you tell me about how you’re feeling?”

  How much could she tell him? Colin and Sergeant Casey were both there. Nothing she said would be confidential. “My stomach’s been upset.”

  “That could be a result of anxiety. Are you afraid for yourself?” According to Colin, nothing had happened that would affect her safety, but her perception of it was what mattered.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Are you missing your family? Colin told me that you didn’t go home when your father came. Staying was a very courageous thing to do.”

  “Courage had nothing to do with it. I was afraid to go. I didn’t want to put them in danger.”

  “Jenny, sometimes we take decisions we regret, or circumstances change and the decision we took is no longer right for us. Do you want to go home?”

  “No. I’m different now. I’m tainted.”

  She doesn’t want to be with her loved ones. A result of shame? “Jenny, shame is a normal consequence of sexual attack.”

  Shame wasn’t the worst consequence. “Why didn’t he kill me? Why did I live when other women didn’t? Didn’t he get better at killing? They should have lived, and I should have died.”

  Her most animated discourse thus far, and the subject was death. “Jenny, what you’re feeling is survivor guilt. It’s a symptom of your trauma, and it’s unjustifi
ed. You are not responsible for the deaths of the others.”

  “There’s no way out.”

  “Jenny, why do you feel hopeless? Are you feeling helpless?” He saw her face close. “Would you tell me why you’re so sad?”

  She slid down under the covers.

  “Is there anything you’d like to tell me? To ask me?”

  She turned her face away.

  Somehow he’d lost her. He stood. “I’ll see you soon, Jenny.”

  Davies and Sullivan were waiting in the sitting room. “How’s Jenny?” Sullivan asked. “We’ve been off our heads about her.”

  “Still on crisis.”

  “Sir, how serious is this? Is she—” Davies didn’t want to say the word.

  “Suicidal? Why do you ask? Has she given away her possessions?”

  “She’s hardly got any possessions,” Davies said.

  Knowles nodded. “There are some indicators, but I’ll be working to shift the balance a bit. In the meantime I’d recommend restricting her access to all medications.”

  Casey had followed him out of the bedroom. “I have everything,” he said. “Even the paracetamol.”

  “And one of us is always with her,” Sullivan added.

  “Anything else we can do?” Casey asked.

  “Yes. Continue to check her vital signs. Be alert for any change in coherence. Don’t push her too hard to eat; liquids are more important. But I’d like you to withhold any sedatives. She wants to sleep, but I want her to feel whatever is causing this. Perhaps then she’ll be more likely to disclose it.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Sinclair and Knowles headed to Hampstead Station. “It’s a rather dismal place,” Knowles mused, “and I don’t imagine your officers provide much emotional support. I didn’t see fear or anger—mostly shame and despair. That concerns me. She may equate anger with loss of control, the loss of control her attacker demonstrated. Shame is safer but more difficult to treat. Have there been any changes in the case which could have upset her?”

  “Stark and Michalopolous, Scott’s accomplices, were bailed and released. The charges against them weren’t sufficient for remand. But she wasn’t told. The men censor the newspapers so she isn’t aware of the media attention the Scott case is receiving.”

  “Then something else precipitated this. The best therapy occurs when good training and a strong relationship meet. I don’t have the relationship yet, but it often takes more than one session for any sort of trust to develop.”

  “We found that to be true in the interview process,” Sinclair commented. “We weren’t successful in getting her to speak with us initially.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon then?” Knowles inquired. “I’m booked until three.”

  “I’ll meet you here and escort you.”

  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  At the flat Jenny sipped a little Coke. Her stomach was still queasy from time to time, and the Coke seemed to settle it. She wished she could sleep, but the cold-hearted Sergeant Casey wouldn’t give her anything. As time passed, the air grew thicker and heavier, almost like a fog, and the constant presence of the men ceased to register.

  The pain started as a cramp low in her stomach, where she thought the baby was, an annoying dull ache that wouldn’t go away. Danny was sitting with her, but she said nothing, trying instead to find a position that was more comfortable. Gradually the pain grew and found focus, becoming sharper and broader, insisting on being noticed. She asked Danny for a cup of hot tea, but it didn’t help the throbbing. She broke out in a sweat and brought her knees up to her chest.

  “She’s restless,” Sullivan reported to Casey.

  She was doubled up when Casey went in. “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Hurts. Like knots being tightened in my belly,” she gasped.

  “Where exactly? Near your navel or below?” He lifted her nightshirt. No swelling. She didn’t feel feverish. He felt through her knickers. No tenderness in the lower right quadrant. Not appendicitis then.

  “Any pain when you piss?”

  “No, it isn’t any of that!”

  “Then what the bloody hell is it?”

  “I’m bleeding! I think I’m having a miscarriage! Do something!”

  He wasted no time. “Davies! I need you now. Sullivan, take the watch.” When Davies arrived, Casey took sterile gloves out of his kit. “Hold her still,” he said.

  Davies put the flat of one hand on her chest and restrained her hands with the other. He could not stop her screams.

  Sullivan came running. “What’s going on?”

  “Give us a minute,” Casey growled. His knife cut through her knickers like a scalpel.

  Davies felt her whole body shudder when Casey examined her.

  “I don’t know much about women medically,” Casey said, “but you’re not aborting. Bleeding’s not heavy enough. Must be your menstrual period. I’ll treat you for the pain.”

  She was shaking and sobbing so hard Davies wasn’t certain she’d be able to get the tablets down.

  “How could you?” she cried. “How could you?”

  Casey was stunned. “I did the right thing,” he said with an edge to his voice.

  “You call what you did right?”

  “I placed your security first, yes.”

  “You were keeping me secure?”

  “I was quick. I didn’t hurt you.”

  “Didn’t hurt me? You bastard! You raped me!”

  “I never did!” he yelled, recoiling in shock and outrage. “Damn it, Jenny! You’re bloody minded! Daft! You’ve got it all wrong—it was medical!”

  “I couldn’t stop you,” she sobbed.

  “Bloody hell!” he swore. “Jenny, look at me!”

  Oh God, it was The Voice. If she didn’t obey, there was no telling what he’d do.

  “Don’t—you—know—me?” he demanded.

  She kept her eyes on his clenched fists. “I know you’re really angry,” she stammered.

  He slammed his fist into his open palm, and she jumped. “Damn right! False accusation like that? If you were a man, I’d take you down!” He noted her white face and forced himself to speak more deliberately. “Jenny, I don’t hurt women. Certainly not frightened little rabbits like you. If I’d wanted to grope you, I’d not have used gloves.” He nodded at Davies. “Make Jenny a cuppa. Sweet.”

  Davies brought a cup for Casey also. “JJ, I know you’re frightened, but there are some things you need to understand about Casey. He’s treated men far from modern medical facilities. He was trained to be decisive, to do what had to be done as expeditiously as possible. There wasn’t time for niceties.”

  “Niceties? He cut off my panties with his—his Bowie knife!”

  “Jenny, listen to me. I used the quickest method. I did what I had to do. We’re all here because you’re doing what you have to do. You and I—we’re cut from the same cloth.”

  She hated it when he used her name; it was always bad news. “I don’t scare people.”

  “You will,” he said with a measured tone. “When you testify, the man who hurt you is going to be very afraid.”

  She looked back at him for the first time. His gaze didn’t waver. “Stop using that voice!” she cried. “It’s like a wall I can’t break through, and I feel so alone!”

  “You put the wall up, love. You have to take it down.”

  “Oh, you’ve turned the spigot on now,” she said, tearing up at the word “love” and the gentle tone he used when he said it. She wept because she was in pain, because these men knew intimate things about her, and because she was exhausted. She wept because the fog of fear was still inside her, though dormant, like cool yeast.

  “There’s a difference between anger and violence, Jenny. It’s time you learnt it.”

  “You were in the military,” she countered.

  “I have never fired a weapon solely in anger. My military service taught me to channel my aggression.”

 
She didn’t know what to say. His action had seemed aggressive to her.

  “Anger’s a feeling, Jenny. That’s all it is.”

  “The monster’s anger nearly killed me.”

  “No, his violence did that. Violence is an action, often uncontrolled, like the hurricanes you’ve talked about. Violence results in injury. Anger doesn’t have to lead to violence. People get angry all the time, but they don’t harm each other.”

  “Sergeant Casey—it’s not an excuse, but—I was hurting so badly—and I was nearly naked—and Brian could see—and then it got worse, when you—” She stopped. “I was scared out of my mind.”

  “That’s about right,” he said. “Jenny, I had to rule out spontaneous abortion. That would have required immediate hospitalisation. Instead your body’s working the way it’s supposed to.”

  Sullivan had joined them. “Casey’s action minimised your risk,” he added. “When we took you to hospital to have your cast looked after, we planned well in advance. The time of day, the transport we used, having a treatment room available for you—every detail was prearranged. Taking you on short notice, in traffic, with medical personnel unknown to us, who hadn’t been briefed—you can see how dodgy that would have been, can’t you?”

  “But Danny—”

  “We’ve no transport, Sis. An ambulance would have taken you to the closest hospital. Bad for our security. And there’s one more thing. If I’m ever hurt, I hope that Casey or someone like him will treat me fast. I don’t give a toss what anybody sees.”

  Casey’s medicine was beginning to bring her pain under control. She didn’t need a sedative to sleep.

  “She could charge you with indecent assault, mate,” Davies told Casey later. “She didn’t consent. And if Sinclair hears of this, he’ll relieve the lot of us.”

  “Acceptable risks,” Casey replied.

  CHAPTER 33

  When Dr. Knowles returned with Sinclair to the protection flat, he was surprised to see Jenny waiting in the sitting room, Sergeant Casey beside her. She was not completely dressed, however—covered only by a long robe of some sort—and there were lines of exhaustion in her face. A short session then. “Has something changed since yesterday?” he asked.