The Witness: A Novel (37 page)

Naked to the waist, an elaborate tattoo on his shoulder, and holding a submachine gun in his hands, Hunt did look dangerous. “Would a fry-up help? I’ll get it started.”

“Are you okay, love?” He watched her stand.

When she got to the kitchen, Hunt had some of the breakfast ingredients on the counter and was heating milk in a saucepan, but he still looked coiled and ready to spring. “No tea for you, Little Bit,” he said a little too loudly. “My mum said hot cocoa was just the ticket when something soothing was called for.”

She watched while the men busied themselves. After the crushing quiet, everything they did seemed unnaturally noisy, but their voices were reassuring to her. She sipped her cocoa, so hot it almost burned her mouth but very relaxing when it reached her stomach. She felt her dread melt away, and her eyelids were heavy when she finished her meal. “Thank you, Constable Hunt.”

“Alan,” he said in a firm voice. “Alan.”

She paled. She just couldn’t do it. For better or worse, he was “Even” Hunt. Her chin drooped, her limbs felt like putty, and once again Brian was there to help.

“You spoil her,” Hunt said.

“You bet we do,” Brian agreed.

S
inclair was concerned. The power-cut had been another frightening experience for Jenny, and its coming on the heels of other difficulties could undermine her fragile progress toward recovery. A thunderstorm to the north had left areas without power, but the cause had not been apparent at the time, and the lack of electricity had made the protection flat vulnerable. The response of the team had been appropriate. Any sort of alert required them to execute their procedures.

On the positive side, he had engaged the cooperation of Judge Thomas. Judge Lloyd’s chambers would be unoccupied for a two-week period soon, and Judge Thomas had not pressed him about his timing for their use. He planned to leave the blueprints of the courthouse with the protection team this evening, with Judge Lloyd’s chambers marked, so their final planning could proceed. While they worked, he and Neil Goodwyn would have a chat with Jenny.

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

S
he was reading in her bedroom when they arrived, and Colin brought a third chair from the sitting room so that he and Goodwyn could speak with her privately. The men were working at the dining room table, and with her current state of mind, Colin wanted to prevent her from overhearing their plans and concerns.

“Jenny, how may I help you?” Goodwyn began.

“Why did you come to see me when I was sick?”

“Because Colin thought you needed my sort of medicine.” He smiled. “And you do seem to be much better.”

She looked at Colin. He had such a patient expression on his face. It would hurt him to hear what she had to say, and for a moment she wished she hadn’t spoken to him about her malaise.

“Jenny, I’ve known Neil for some time. He’s helped people who were afraid.”

“I was an Army chaplain for almost ten years before assisting the police,” Goodwyn clarified.

“Are you going to talk to me the way Sergeant Casey does?”

Goodwyn chuckled. “No, that’s not helpful in my mission.”

“You don’t sound tough enough for the Army.”

“There was more than enough toughness to go round. I didn’t need to add to it.”

“Were you ever afraid?”

“Yes, but not of death. At times I’ve been afraid of the process of dying, of what could come before death.”

“There are worse things than death,” she said.

“I agree,” Goodwyn said very quietly.

“What has Colin told you about me?”

She was not giving anything away, Goodwyn noted. No matter. He was used to that. Usually it was his hand that was extended first to those who needed his counsel. “He said that your spirit was wounded, Jenny.”

Even his words hurt, her spirit was so raw. “You said—when you were here before—that God loved me, but I don’t believe you. The police are briefed about everything I do. Terrible things have happened to me, and everyone knows. I have scars from head to toe, and strangers have seen them. Do I look like someone God loves?”

Often people who were disappointed by God challenged Him. Goodwyn was glad that Jenny still had the pluck to do it, no matter how frail she seemed. “Jenny, nothing can separate you from the love of God. Not the height of fear or the depth of despair. Not your anger or resistance. Not gunshots.” He paused before adding very gently, “Not even rape.”

She flinched, and Colin felt it even as he saw it.

Goodwyn leant forward. “Jenny, I don’t seek to embarrass or upset you. I’d like to reassure you with my conviction. In the Army there was no time for lies or dissembling. If I’d given pat answers, I’d not have lasted long. In spite of their arms and fortifications, soldiers are vulnerable, and they know it. It’s necessary to tell the truth.”

“I’m vulnerable, too,” she whispered. “I’m afraid all the time. I saw what happened to Danny, and he’s still not better. I saw what almost happened to me.”

She was desperate to feel safe, and Colin knew he could not guarantee it.

“Why do you think there are so many verses in the Bible about fear, Jenny? Left to our own devices, we are a fearful lot, but that is not God’s will for us. He has not given us a ‘spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’”

Those same verses were in the book of prayers Colin had given her. “What can I do when fear strikes?”

“The Word of God is powerful ammunition. In this case the Twenty-third Psalm is the antidote I would use. Learn it by heart. It tells us, among other things, that even in the valley of the shadow of death, we are not meant to be afraid. The presence of a shadow means that light is close by.”

She had been in that valley more than once, and lately she’d felt threatened even in the flat. There was no safe place to hide. “Danny’s there. Is he afraid?”

“No, little one. I’ve been to see him. There’s no fear where he is.”

“There’s no fear when you’re in a coma?”

“He’s having a little rest in God’s arms. I believe that he will awaken, in God’s time.”

“Why did you visit him? What’s the point, when he can’t hear you?”

“Jenny, it’s his body that’s in a coma, not his spirit.”

She was the reverse: her body awake, her spirit in a coma. Strange—Colin had kissed her and wakened her, but now her fear had anesthesized her again. “I need God to help me, and He hasn’t. Sergeant Casey has, and Colin, and Dr. Knowles, and the other men, but not God.”

“Don’t you know He uses people to accomplish His will? He did in the Bible, and He still does. I also believe that God has magnificent blessings in store for you.”

She shook her head slowly. “I haven’t seen any evidence of that.”

“On the contrary. You are alive. Colin tells me that you had dreadful injuries, and clearly you have recovered from them. You have been well looked after by the police. I hear you have come to trust them. Life, health, loving care—those are all gifts of God.”

“Wait until I tell Sergeant Casey he’s a gift from God!”

Colin smiled. Her sense of humour revealed itself at the most unexpected times.

“There’s a very simple reason that I’m convinced blessings are in store for you,” Goodwyn continued. “Do you want to know what it is?”

She inclined her head.

“By agreeing to testify against your abusers, you have aligned yourself with God’s will. Haven’t you realised that every time your commitment has been threatened, something—or Someone—has strengthened your resolve?”

“You make it sound so personal,” she said. “I was always taught that God loved us, but from a distance.”

“It
is
personal. God knows your name. He knows how many hairs you have on your head. He knows how many tears you have cried. He knows your needs, He has provided for them, and He will continue to do so.”

That was the message of
The Mysterious Island,
she remembered: What you need will be supplied. Danny had been reading a paperback copy before Christmas. At the time it was the concept of being an island that had occupied her. Britain was an island; that had been the most significant element in its history and literature. She had felt like an island, surrounded by savage waters and an ocean away from her family. Now Danny was the island, surrounded by his family but unaware of their presence.

“The most prominent symbol in this room is a cross.”

“My flag? Those crosses belong to St. George, St. Andrew, and St.
Patrick.”

“All saints of God,” Goodwyn said calmly. “Don’t you find its placement interesting? The Bible says that God watches over us while we sleep.”

She had wanted the flag mounted where she could see it. It hadn’t occurred to her that it was a symbol of the fact that God could see her.

“You were chosen to be a witness. We are all witnesses, either to our belief or our unbelief.”

“So far I haven’t been a witness to anything. Colin’s a better witness than I am. He never gives up, and I do.”

“I disagree. You’re a witness to integrity, decency, and the rule of law.”

“Then why—why—does it have to be so
hard?”
she asked, her voice breaking.

“To increase the impact your life has on others,” Goodwyn replied without hesitation. “And I can tell you without qualification that your struggle has affected the men in this flat. They respect you.”

“Why, when I put Danny in a coma?”

“That wasn’t your doing, Jenny, but the light of God is with him, even there.”

“You see God in everything.”

“I certainly do,” Goodwyn agreed. “You’ve heard people recommend that we stop to smell the roses? I like to go one step further—remember Who made the roses and gave them their scent. There are signs of God’s presence all over our world, if we will only look for them.”

Jenny finally smiled. “You’re in the right profession. I just think you give God entirely too much credit.”

“It’s not possible to do that. God is here, Jenny. All you have to do is acknowledge Him.”

S
inclair had a smile on his face as he headed home on the Friday afternoon. Sergeant Casey had rung him earlier in the day to report that Jenny was restless, and they were seeking a way to distract her. As a further complication, her trip to the courthouse was scheduled for the Sunday, and the men needed time to move their gear into position. Casey was concerned that she would be upset further if she saw them preparing and realised that her exposure to danger was imminent. Sinclair had suggested that they bring her to his flat for the evening. He’d provide dinner and a bit of entertainment while the men recced the routes to the courthouse. Casey felt that a four-hour window should be sufficient, so he agreed to escort her downstairs at seven p.m. and pick her up at eleven.

Sinclair stopped by the video store on Finchley Road to rent a film and bought a pepperoni pizza at Domino’s on his way up the hill. Simple fare, but it would do. He had a bottle of red wine at the flat, which Casey had assured him was not contraindicated with the antibiotic medication she was still taking.

He had just popped the pizza in the oven to keep warm when he heard the knock on the door. He was still wearing his work clothes, but he’d taken off his coat and tie and unbuttoned his waistcoat. “Dinner’s warming. Glass of wine?”

She nodded, curious about his flat. It had high ceilings, and his sitting room was larger than the one upstairs, with a fireplace in it. He also had a bay window, which she supposed she shouldn’t approach, and one wall was lined with bookshelves. Instead of wall-to-wall carpet, there were hardwood floors with an area rug between the leather sofa and the fireplace and another beneath the dining room table.

“To easier times,” he said. They sat down on the sofa, and he cued up the video.

“
American President
, with Michael Douglas and Michael J. Fox,” she exclaimed. “I love this movie.” It opened with scenes of previous presidents, and she felt a little homesick. Colin served the pizza when the characters in the movie were enjoying a lavish state dinner at the White House, and both of them looked down at their sliced meal and laughed at the contrast.

“It’s different, seeing this movie from another country. It might be
easy to leave America behind for a vacation, but to be away from it like this—” She stopped. “It’s so good to hear American voices!”

Colin hadn’t seen the film before, but the character of the environmental lobbyist reminded him of Jenny. They both had pluck. When the American president kissed his leading lady, Jenny blushed. Colin found it charming and tried to remember the last time he’d seen a woman blush. It had been Jenny, after he’d kissed her when she was so upset about Sullivan.

As the film progressed, he spent more time watching her than the video. Even her t-shirts were feminine, with lace, ruffles, or embroidery. Tonight she had worn one embellished with lavender flowers which complemented her watch and curved gracefully across her chest. Knowles had said that the assault had destroyed her femininity; was that why she dressed the way she did? Was she attempting to recreate it? He couldn’t ask, but he could compliment her. “You’re lovely tonight,” he said, and was rewarded with a quick smile.

“Will the press hound me like that?” she asked, watching the American reporters harass the President’s girlfriend.

“If they could, they would—if they knew who you were and where you were.”

When the video ended, he made coffee. She was in a pensive mood. “Don’t you wish politicians really sounded like that? He was so inspiring.”

“The lines aren’t scripted for the real ones,” he reminded her.

“And they won’t be for me, in court. When will it be, Colin? Sergeant Casey won’t say.”

“The date hasn’t been determined.”

“I know it can’t be long—I’m pretty much recovered.”

“You gave me a fright, Jen.”

“I’ve never been that sick, but after a while I wasn’t afraid.” She set her coffee cup down. “I dreamed that I was being buried at sea. You were there, and you wrapped me in the flag. The colors were bleeding onto my skin, but I didn’t care because the water was so cool. Dying was like going to sleep.”