The Witness: A Novel (49 page)

Emma’s mother took a step back. “You’re lovely, you know,” she smiled, and Jenny realized that no one in this gathering had reacted to the scar on her face.

“Emma is my sister,” Jenny whispered. She turned to the silent onlookers. “They all are. They strengthened me during the trial. They thought of you in their last moments. I don’t know why I lived and they didn’t. I’m so sorry.”

“No dark thoughts now,” Emma’s mother said. “Life’s too short. You find the light, like our Emma would.” She patted Jenny’s shoulder.

“Andrews! Punch for the lady,” Graves ordered. He offered Jenny his handkerchief. It must be part of a detective’s uniform. While she sipped the sweet beverage, Graves made what sounded like closing remarks to the group, thanking the officers for their dedication and the families for their cooperation. He then brought the event to an end, shaking her hand. “Thank you for coming, Miss Jeffries. It’ll be best if you depart first.”

She saw Brian toss back his tea and Hunt stuff one more cookie into his pocket. Sergeant Casey was standing by the door with Sergeant Andrews. Colin led them all downstairs. She sat in the van between Hunt and Sergeant Casey and marvelled at the unusual makeup of families. Her American unit was two parents and two brothers. Her British family comprised of six sets of parents, three flatmates, one recuperating constable, and Colin.

A
nother nail bomb, this time in Brick Lane, Spitalfields, in London’s East End. Leaves were again cancelled, and the men were just as tied to the flat as Jenny was. They all waited for developments in the bombing investigations.

In the fall Jenny’s correspondence with friends had been more frequent. Letters of encouragement had arrived often, filled with news about jobs, recreation, and relationships. They kept her up to date on the latest and greatest restaurant, movie, fashion, you name it. They had lots to write about, and that was part of the problem—they were busy. Over time they chose to live their lives, not chronicle them for her.

If your friends were the people you spent the most time with, then the men in this flat were her friends now. They cooked together, ate together, watched TV together, played games together, talked together. She envied Brian’s equilibrium. Hunt’s mercurial nature kept her on her toes, and Sergeant Casey’s remoteness occasionally blossomed into a humaneness that touched her deeply. Each in his own way had made her face the truth about herself at one time or another, which only a true friend would do.

Her relationship with Rob had begun as a friendship, with instant rapport, shared interests, and similar senses of humor. There’d been a liveliness to his face, as if he were always on the verge of jocularity. They’d told each other the best thing that had ever happened to them and then the worst and laughed because there hadn’t been much difference between the two. They’d talked about what their lives had been like before they knew each other. It had been so simple—they had laughed, and then they had fallen in love. Trust was a byproduct, although untested. There had been no fear and no tears.

She had gone from class to class as if she were skipping across a flower-strewn sidewalk. Even their postponement of sex hadn’t been a problem. They were committed to each other, and they both knew it was inevitable—not a rejection but only a delay until the birth control issue was solved. What difference would a few days make, except to enhance her eagerness?

What would Rob have done, if she’d met a monster in Texas? He would have held her and cried with her. He would have tried to respect and be sensitive to her feelings. He would have been patient about initiating physical contact. That was just what Colin had done, but he had been trained to do it. How much of his tender treatment of her was due to his role as a policeman, and how much to his personal regard for her? He had been gracious, patient, and thoughtful. Would he have behaved that way if he didn’t really care about her?

She looked forward to his visits, but it was more than that—she looked forward to his touch. His kisses were amazing, sometimes so soft that her lips tingled and sometimes so passionate that even the memory left her breathless. Her trust had come in fits and starts, but it was now tested and proved. But trust wasn’t the same as love, was it? Maybe she was imprinted, like the baby geese in the scientific experiment who had fixed on whatever they saw when they hatched. Colin’s had been the first face she had seen when she woke in the hospital. Perhaps what she felt for him was simple dependence.

Colin’s face: He had a studied seriousness. A laugh took him by surprise, but it was no less genuine when it came. He had made her laugh, made her forget for a moment how scarred she was. It was so unfair—all a man had to do to be attractive was roll up his sleeves and expose the dark hair on his forearms. She felt the need to wear something colorful and apply her makeup carefully. But he had kissed
both
her cheeks, even the one with the scar—kissed it, instead of pretending that it wasn’t there. And he had brought her a slim volume of Shakespeare’s timeless and elegant
Sonnets
and suggested that she read the twenty-third because she was twenty-three. The lines described a man who wanted his visage alone to speak the words of love his tongue could not express. She had been too filled with wonder to cry at the sweetness of it.

Rob had been killed before grief or major disappointment had touched him. Colin had experienced loss but had not been defeated by it. He was a mature man, educated, supportive, and stable. He worked hard and understood the importance of family. Rob had been willing to wait until she was ready for a sexual relationship. Colin hadn’t been specific, just saying that he wasn’t in a hurry.

Dear God, what was she doing? It was lunacy comparing them—she was the one with the fears and the flaws. She picked up her journal and turned to a blank page.
Reasons Colin Should Have Nothing To Do With Me,
she wrote.
I’m scarred for life, in lots of places.
She thought for a moment and felt the shame all over again, wishing he didn’t know what had happened to her.
I’m not intriguing. I still have night terrors. I haven’t had a haircut since September.
There was one more:
I’ll be going home
.

C
olin came into the flat with a smile. “Seven life sentences!” he reported to the four expectant faces. “Scott will never spend a day outside the nick as long as he lives.”

“Wow! The judge considered what was done to me to be equal to what was done to the others!”

“There’s more. He adopted your terminology for Scott, Jen—said that the use of the word ‘monster’ was entirely appropriate. He called Scott ‘merciless’ and his actions, ‘contemptible.’ There were shorter terms given for the other related charges, but the number of life sentences imposed mean that Scott will never be a free man.” He shook his head admiringly. “You did it, Jen. You put him away. How do you feel?”

“Ready to celebrate! Can we go out? It’s after dark, Colin. No one would see me. I’ll disguise myself—I’ll fold my collar up. Let the guys take off for a few hours. If I went somewhere with all of you, it would attract attention for sure.”

Her enthusiasm eroded his resolve. Davies would take a twenty-four-hour leave. Casey and Hunt would return to the flat by midnight. “Where will you take her, sir?” Casey asked.

“Somewhere crowded, noisy, and dark. There are several choices on the High Street.”

“I’ll ring you when I’m back, sir.”

Her sweater was bright pink. She saw Colin and Sergeant Casey’s expressions and was afraid Colin would change his mind about the evening. “All
right
! I’ll wear a dull sweatshirt instead.”

Downstairs Colin shed his tie and traded his coat and waistcoat for a pullover sweater and a windcheater. Then they walked down the narrow streets to a wide one that was bustling with people. Colin found a restaurant that fit his specifications, and he and Jenny were given a table in the back. He watched the wine and the buoyant atmosphere bring colour to her face. How could anyone in blue jeans be so alluring? Instead of her usual understated earrings, she was wearing a pair that dangled and moved when she turned her head. He was lost. “I missed you,” he said.

“You seem tense.”

“I don’t mean to put a damper on your good mood, but I’m concerned about the public’s safety. Bombs are an indiscriminate form of violence. Many innocent people have been hurt.”

“Turn about’s fair play, Colin. All I’ve done to you since September is burden you with my feelings.”

As they left the café and climbed the steep streets to his block, he tried to explain. “Jenny, we’ve lived under the IRA threat for a long time. I’ve never got used to it. It’s the helplessness that’s the worst—not knowing anything, not knowing where or when or even if another act of terror will occur. Policemen don’t like to feel helpless. We don’t believe the IRA is behind the recent bombings, but we haven’t found who is. You don’t have this sort of violence where you come from.”

“No, in Texas we just shoot each other.”

When they entered his flat, he took her hand. “Jenny, the time we spend together is very important to me.
You’re
very important to me.” He watched a rosy tint creep over her cheeks. He moved closer to her on the sofa and kissed her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her mouth.

His lips were still close. She brushed his nose with hers then kissed him back. She wanted more than kisses, but she was afraid of what lay ahead. Fortunately Sergeant Casey would act as her curfew.

C
olin was sombre when he came by Sunday afternoon. “I have news, Jenny. Sergeant, I’d like you to stand by.”

“It’s going to take both of you? It must be serious.”

He had waited until the last possible moment to tell her, partly because he didn’t want to disturb her more settled demeanor but mostly because he didn’t want to disrupt the closeness that was developing between them. When she sat down, he realised that she was barefooted. She’d put polish on her toenails, ten little blood-red half moons. He had to force himself to begin. “Leonard Stark has done a runner, Jenny. Fled our jurisdiction. But this week you’re scheduled to meet with Halladay to review your testimony against Anthony Michalopolous.”

“Why is that making you look so grim? He didn’t do much to me.”

“There’s something you need to know about him. About both of them, actually. When you described the room in the cellar, you mentioned a mirror. It wasn’t a mirror; it was a window. Reflective glass was on one side only. The other side opened into a small storeroom. Both Stark and Michalopolous’s fingerprints were found there.”

Her stomach tightened. “What does that mean? Colin, you’re scaring me.”

“We can’t prove exactly when they were in that room, but we believe that it may have been during the time Scott was with you. You reported that they checked on you shortly before Scott entered, and we believe that they were the ones who removed you after he left. It is reasonable to assume that they were on the premises during the time he was attacking you.”

“You think they watched. Watched and did nothing. Saw me bleed and did nothing. Heard my screams and did nothing.” She stifled a sob.

“Not exactly. Stark’s semen was also found in that room.”

Her horror bleached the color from her face.

“As a result the CPS decided to prosecute both of them for rape, conspiracy to rape, and aiding and abetting rape, as well as for false imprisonment and other charges. We consider them equally as culpable as Scott.”

Casey was watching her carefully, and he did not like what he saw.
She had begun to tremble, and she had crossed her hands in her lap, as if she were covering a nakedness they could not see.

“Jenny, I’m so sorry.”

The ground beneath her feet seemed to be shaking. She wanted to run—somewhere, anywhere—but she was afraid that if she stood, she’d lose her balance. And her lunch. “How long have you known this?”

“The window was discovered the day we found the crime scene.”

September. Months and months ago. “Colin, I thought this next trial would be easier.” She shook her head bitterly. “That’s a contradiction, isn’t it? An easy ‘trial.’ How much time do I have to deal with this before the meeting with Mr. Personality?”

He smiled at her ironic term for Halladay. “Three days.”

She asked Casey for a Coke. When he stepped into the kitchen, Colin reached out to touch her hand. “Jenny, I wish I could give you more reassurance, but I’ve got to be a policeman today. You understand, I hope.” He called for Davies and Hunt to lock the door after him.

When Casey returned with the Coke, she barely sipped it. She felt rooted to the spot, as if the information had paralyzed her, preventing any forward movement. Her relief at not having to testify against Stark was overshadowed by Colin’s revelations. Now she dreaded the Michalopolous trial. “That’s it,” she said. “I’ve had it. I’ve done enough. I quit.”

“You can’t do that, Little Bit,” Hunt objected. “You have to come up to the plate again. Think of it as a sacrifice play, like you taught me in baseball. Not good for your stats but it helps someone else. Justice is a team sport.”

“When I’m in the witness-box, I don’t feel like I’m on a team.”

“Not on a team?” he thundered. “Open your eyes! Who the bloody hell do you think we are? And we’re just the team you can see. What about all the coppers who’ve investigated this case and the ones who’ve taken turns minding you?”

“No, I won’t do it. I feel sick just thinking about it.”

“Dinner soon, JJ,” Brian announced. “Something mild for you? Bit of potato?”

Oh, that’ll really do it. Potato. “Their behavior was so obscene! It makes me feel dirty.”

“No, JJ. It was
their
action. You had nothing to do with it.”

Hunt’s face brightened, his anger defused. “Strip off, Little Bit! I’ll help you wash.”

Even Hunt trying to help. Outrageous, inappropriate Hunt.