The Witness: A Novel (43 page)

“Yes.”

She had dropped the respectful form of address, Sinclair noticed.

“But you were in hospital at the time, were you not?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Did you subsequently identify my client from a photo array prepared by the police?”

“I did.”

“While you were still in hospital?”

“Yes.”

“You never identified him in person?” Rhoads asked in mock outrage.

“No. As you pointed out, I was in the hospital.”

“The medical record shows that you had a concussion. Is it possible that your memory was affected by the concussion, causing you to identify the wrong man?”

“No. I don’t have trouble remembering your client. I have trouble forgetting him.” She heard Casey chuckle under his breath.

“Your Honour, the witness has identified the accused in this court,” prosecuting counsel said.

“Indeed she has,” agreed the judge.

“Miss Jeffries, how old would you say that I am?”

“Your Honour.”

“I’ll allow it, Mr. Benjamin.”

She pressed one of her fists against her belly. “In your thirties.”

“Would you please be more specific?”

“Mid to late thirties,” she guessed.

“Miss Jeffries, I am forty-two. Appearance of age can vary widely, can it not?”

Damn. He had spent too much time in the law library. She had to answer yes.

“The judgement of a witness can be far from accurate, isn’t that so, Miss Jeffries?”

Again she had to answer in the affirmative.

“Would you describe for the court what you were wearing on the day you claim you were attacked?”

“Dark blue slacks with a white blouse.”

“That’s all? No knickers?” he sneered. “Perhaps I did not make myself clear. I am asking you to describe
all
your clothing.”

She turned to the judge. “Do I have to do that, sir? Describe my
underwear?
”

“Miss Jeffries, you don’t have to answer the question if you don’t understand the relevance. You may ask counsel politely what the relevance is,” Judge Thomas answered.

“You want to know about my underwear?” she asked Rhoads.

He gave her a mock bow, arms extended and palms up.

She lifted her chin. “It was clean.”

Laughter rippled through the court.

Rhoads waited a minute before continuing. “Your blouse and your trousers are not listed amongst the evidence recovered by the police. Where are they?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I’m afraid—since we have only your word—that we cannot accept your version of what you were wearing. You are an attractive young woman. Are you certain you weren’t dressed more provocatively?”

“I wasn’t, and I’m sure.”

“Miss Jeffries, are you expecting this court to believe that you don’t choose your clothes to attract men?”

“Mr. Toads, you’re wearing an expensive watch. Do you want to attract thieves?”

There was a restrained chortle from the prosecution barrister and others. Sinclair wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly, but he hoped he had: It was a sign of pluck on her part.

“Your Honour.” Rhoads appealed to the judge.

“You introduced this line of questioning,” Thomas pointed out, choosing to ignore Jenny’s incorrect appellation.

“Miss Jeffries,” Rhoads resumed in a firm tone, “my client has wealth, position, and is very attractive to women. When did you decide to pursue him?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “I’d never heard of him.”

Rhoads feigned surprise. “How can that be? Son of such a well-known British family? He is often pictured in the newspaper for his
participation in various charity events.”

“I’d been in England only a short time when I was attacked by him.”

“But you have a degree—in English, no less—from a well-respected university. You testified to that yourself. Surely you are capable of reading a newspaper?”

“Mr. Rhoads,” she used his correct name to ensure his attention, “can you tell me the name of the son of the current governor of Texas?”

“Your Honour,” objected Rhoads.

“I rest my case,” Jenny said quickly.

This time the laughter was more pronounced.

“I request that these irrelevant comments be stricken from the record!”

“Mr. Rhoads, I’m not going to do that,” Thomas said. “I’m curious. Miss Jeffries, what is the name of the son of the current governor of Texas?”

She smiled up at him. “Sir, the current governor of Texas doesn’t have a son. He has two daughters.”

Even the judge laughed aloud.

Defence counsel began again. “Miss Jeffries, you are making light of very serious proceedings. This is not a time for levity. If I may continue—on the day in question, you went to my client’s family’s residence, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t go willingly to that little room, wherever it was.”

“But you do admit to being in that room?”

“Yes.” She squeezed her fists.

“You admit to being in a private room, fully naked, with my client?”

“He took my clothes!”

“Did he, Miss Jeffries? Can you testify under oath that he—and no one else—removed your clothing?”

Her fingernails dug into her palms. “No.”

“You were hoping to seduce my client into doing something you could blackmail him for, weren’t you?”

“No.”

“You hate my client, don’t you?” Rhoads pressed. “You’d say anything to convict him.”

“Only the truth can do that.”

“And humiliating him—putting him through this distasteful process—isn’t enough, is it? You want revenge on him as well, don’t you?”

Rhoads had raised his voice, but she didn’t think he could hold a candle to Sergeant Casey when it came to using an intimidating tone. “I don’t want revenge,” she declared. “Revenge means my doing to him what he did to me plus some, and that’s not possible. Justice is submitting the facts to an objective body and abiding by their decision. I am here for justice.”

“Your Honour, I object. Miss Jeffries is not a legal professional, and these lines of testimony should be removed.”

“Mr. Rhoads, legal definitions do not harm your case. Besides, it’s as good a description of the two as I’ve heard in a while, so I’m going to let it stand.”

Rhoads paused for a moment before continuing. “Then the truth is, you couldn’t wait to spread your legs for my client, could you? Handsome man that he is!”

She recoiled, feeling shamed by the crudeness of the question.

“No!” “No? Then you desired rough treatment to excite you before intercourse?”

She gasped in shock and did not reply.

“Your Honour, have we disregarded the standards of decency entirely?” asked Mr. Benjamin. “When decency leaves, truth is not far behind.”

“Mr. Rhoads,” remonstrated the judge.

Rhoads either wasn’t aware or didn’t care that she hadn’t answered his last question. “And you wanted more, didn’t you? Tell me—after sexual intercourse, how did you get a clean-cut well-bred young man like my client to participate in deviant sex?” He turned toward the jury with a disgusted expression on his face.

“Mr. Rhoads, I’ll thank you to direct your opinions to the bench,” Judge Thomas said severely.

Her body was beginning to ache again. Even her fists felt sore when she squeezed them. “Mr. Rhoads—I never had sex with your client. Sex is—”

Rhoads started to interrupt, but his objection was waved aside by the judge.

“—what happens between two consenting adults. I never gave my consent. What happened to me was a crime, and that’s why it’s called by other names.”

Sinclair wanted to cheer.

“Miss Jeffries,” scolded Rhoads, “first you ask us to believe that you were a virgin, and now you lecture us about the nature of sex. I find it very difficult to believe that you are as much a victim as you pretend to be.”

“Your Honour, my learned friend is testifying,” objected the prosecutor.

“Indeed,” said the judge.

Her shoulders slumped. All of Sergeant Casey’s medicine was wearing off.

Mr. Benjamin had remained on his feet. “Your Honour, might I suggest that we recess for lunch? It is past the hour.”

“We’ll resume at a quarter to two.” Thomas nodded at the usher.

“All rise!”

They did, some of them even more slowly than Jenny.

N
o one spoke until the door to Judge Lloyd’s chambers closed behind them. Hunt was seething. “How much more of this legal claptrap does she have to endure?”

Sinclair and Andrews joined them, the younger man with their lunches. Sinclair saw the lines of exhaustion on her face.

“They’re wearing me down,” she said. “I just want it to be over—the questions, the rudeness, the attempts to humiliate me—I’m tired of the whole sordid mess.” She turned away, not wanting to face Hunt’s anger, Colin’s expectations, and Sergeant Casey’s intensity.

Colin’s voice followed her. “I know it’s difficult, but you’re the best witness we’ve got. We’d be nowhere without you.”

“Eat a bit,” Casey advised. “Then stay quiet. Save your strength.”

She accepted the sandwich he offered and moved to the end of the sofa. Sinclair watched her take small, slow bites. The men ate noisily, Hunt punctuating the silence occasionally with a comment about the food.

“It’s nearing the time,” Casey told her. “Ready yourself. Splash some water on your face.” He was waiting for her when she returned from the bathroom. “Tell me their names, Jenny. The ones you’re speaking for.”

“Barbara. Clarissa. Emma.” She took a breath. “Marilyn. Patsy. Sally.”

“One more,” The Voice said.

Hers shook. “Jenny.”

He took her arm and nodded at Davies to bring the chair.

They returned to the courtroom, Sinclair and Andrews to their chairs behind the prosecution, Casey, Davies, and Hunt to their appointed positions of observation, and Jenny back to the witness-box.

“Mr. Alford, who will be continuing the cross-examination?” Judge Thomas asked.

“I will, Your Honour.” He faced Jenny once again. “Miss Jeffries, this business about taking the bus—it’s a fabrication, isn’t it? You never took the bus at all.”

“Someone drugged me before I could buy the ticket.”

“Who, Miss Jeffries?”

“I don’t know.”

“Allow me to read from the statement you gave to the police. ‘It was a man’s hand. A man’s arm.’ You can’t do any better than that?”

“No, sir.”

“I submit that you cannot remember—or give a better description—because it never occurred, Miss Jeffries. Now let’s look at the alleged rape.”

Alleged—her heart sank.

“Did my client threaten you with a gun?”

“No, sir. He didn’t have to, he used—”

“A knife?” interrupted Mr. Alford.

“No, sir. He hit me! He kicked me!”

Alford appeared to consider this. “Then we understand correctly that there was no weapon.”

“His ring was a weapon.”

“Are you trying to tell this court that my client aimed his
ring
at you?” Alford asked in a scathing tone. “And you submitted because he had a
ring?
”

I will not answer yes.
I will not
. “I did not submit.”

Alford paused. “Miss Jeffries, did you resist my client’s advances?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I challenge that, Miss Jeffries! According to your statement, and I quote, ‘I didn’t defend myself. I won’t be a good witness.’ Are these your words, Miss Jeffries?”

“Yes, but you’re taking them out of context.”

“I think not! The sex you had with my client was consensual, was it not?”

“No. I was a virgin.”

“Miss Jeffries, it is not rape just because you lost your virginity. If that were the case, many a young man would be arrested and charged before his wedding night.”

There were several chuckles in the courtroom.

“Let’s continue. Miss Jeffries, if you didn’t struggle, it wasn’t rape.”

“He had to pry my legs apart. What does that tell you?”

“That you were a tease, Miss Jeffries—that you wanted to be overpowered.”

“I squeezed my knees together. It was all I could do,” she insisted. “He had broken my arm.”

“Both arms?”

Casey wanted to break Alford’s.

“My left arm.”

“So you had the use of your right arm?”

“No, it was bruised. And the drug made me sluggish.”

“Then—and I must stress that we do not concede that my client caused any injury whatsoever to your left arm—why didn’t you push him away with your right arm? Being bruised doesn’t render one incapable.”

“Because my face was bleeding. He had struck me across the cheek and cut me badly.”

Alford’s patient tone made him sound as if he were genuinely trying to understand. “You could have reached him with your right arm, but he had struck you across the cheek.” He shook his head. “I don’t see the connection—a cheek injury wouldn’t affect your arm, would it?”

“No, sir, I—”

“I have it!” Alford exclaimed. “That blow—the one on your cheek—was of more concern to you than allegedly being forced to engage in sexual intercourse!”

“No, of course it wasn’t, I just—”

“You were more concerned about your appearance! Miss Jeffries, that is your testimony, is it not? In the whole of your statement to the police, and indeed, in all your testimony to this court, you cite only one act of restraint, and it was short-lived, because, in your own words, ‘I was concerned about my face.’”

“You don’t understand, I couldn’t—”

“Miss Jeffries, I understand very well, but perhaps you would like to explain it for the court—why you chose to shield your cheek instead of your vagina.”

She shuddered. She hated hearing him say “vagina” out loud. His intonation made it sound obscene. “No—”

“What does that tell us about you, Miss Jeffries?”

“I was hurt so badly—I couldn’t think clearly—”

“No, Miss Jeffries. I believe it tells us that you, like many women, may have thought no, but you meant, yes. You were not forced. My client did not rape you.”

“Your Honour,” Mr. Benjamin began.

“Save it for your concluding statement, Mr. Alford,” directed the judge.

“Yes, Your Honour.” Alford thumbed through a stack of documents. “One moment, please, Your Honour.”