The Witness: A Novel

by Naomi Kryske

  When he arrived at the hospital, he was glad to see that the additional men he had requested were already by the stairwell and the lift. The armed PCs outside Jenny’s room stood as he approached. They were smiling broadly. “Congratulations, sir!”

  Sinclair raised his eyebrows.

  “The news got round,” one of them reported, “about the arrest. Well done.”

  Those highs didn’t come often enough in policing, so Sinclair accepted the compliment, recognising as he did so the part that Jenny had played in it. “The young woman you’re protecting did all the work,” he replied. “I hope you know—and will pass it on to the next shift—that the danger to her has not diminished. I’m counting on you. More important, she’s counting on you.”

  He went in. He was surprised to see Sullivan still with her, but even more surprised—shocked, even—by her appearance. She looked as frail and weak as she had in intensive care.

  Sullivan rose to his feet immediately, his hat in his hands, his dark eyes sober, his dark hair dishevelled. “She had a bad night, sir,” he said. “The sedative didn’t work very effectively. I didn’t like to leave her alone.”

  Her eyes filled. When bad dreams had fractured her sleep, he had encouraged her to keep at it until she got a good one. When the dragon lady had swept in to take her vital signs—the night nurse whose swift, abrupt movements startled her in the dark—he had called her an old bat and insisted he was scared also. When she had cried from exhaustion and despair, he had distracted her with tea and stories about growing up with too many sisters. He was the first officer who’d talked to her about anything other than police matters.

  “I kept it as light as I could, sir.”

  “Well done, Sullivan.”

  “I’ll just push off then.” He put his hat on. “Time to look like the real thing,” he grinned, giving Jenny a jaunty salute as he left.

  “I’d be dead if it weren’t for him,” she told Sinclair, her voice flagging. “I’ve been here—two weeks? three?—and I’ve almost died twice. I wish I were somewhere else; I wish I were someone else.”

  She was emotionally overwrought and physically exhausted. Dr. Adams would never agree to release her in this condition, nor would she be able to maintain focus during the next round of questioning. “Jenny, I can’t grant those wishes, but I can promise you a better day, beginning right now. Denton!”

  The officer with the rugby physique answered Sinclair’s summons. “Sir?”

  “I don’t want Miss Jeffries left alone,” Sinclair told him. “Take a seat and stay with her until I relieve you.” He headed to the nurses’ station to inform them that there would be no physiotherapist visits to Jenny today. If any nursing functions needed to be performed, they should be done immediately. His men were going to guarantee her a three-hour rest period. He moved one of the PCs from the stairwell to maintain the force level at Jenny’s door. “Your instructions are to bar everyone—medical personnel included—from entering this room until noon today. No exceptions.” It was probably outside the scope of his authority, but the officers on duty now were armed, and that should be sufficient for the short term. “I’ll be back at noon to deal with any malcontents.”

  On his way to meet the lease agent, he rang the Yard. Graves had scheduled a briefing for five p.m., Andrews reported. “Tell Bridges to meet me at the hospital at noon,” Sinclair ordered. “Jenny’s at the end of her tether, and we need to find a way to improve her frame of mind.”

  When he reached his block in Hampstead, the agent was waiting. Sinclair found the flat sufficient, and he convinced the man that cooperating with the police would be in his best interest. He was allowed to sign a month-to-month lease agreement without a deposit, and he took the keys with him. He walked downstairs to his own flat and retrieved his Bible. Perhaps some spiritual encouragement would not be out of order. He took the tube back to central London and purchased takeaway from a sandwich shop.

  Bridges was waiting for him outside Jenny’s door. “The Do Not Disturb order is lifted,” Sinclair told the officers. He went in first. She was asleep.

  “She rested, sir,” Denton said quietly.

  “No upsets?”

  “One, but I spoke to her, and she settled.”

  She stirred and woke.

  “I have some things for you.” He set the Bible down on her bed. “It’s worn, because it’s been in my family for generations. It has guided and comforted many people over the years, and I hope it will help you. Also, the hospital chaplain should stop round today.” He turned to Denton. “Tell Bridges I’m ready for him.”

  Bridges came in with a teddy bear. “For you,” he said.

  “He’s dressed like a policeman.”

  “A London policeman,” Bridges corrected. “He’s a bobby bear.”

  “Then I’ll call him Bobby,” she smiled, catching the joke. “He’ll be my personal bodyguard.” She set the bear in her lap.

  “Next, we’re going to have an indoor picnic,” Sinclair told her as he spread the food on her tray. “You choose first. We have turkey, beef, and ham sandwiches, fruit, crisps, and tea.”

  She was surprised at his informality. “I’d like the turkey. Do you have iced tea, or is that just an American thing?”

  “All good tea is hot, don’t you know that?” Sinclair teased. When they finished their sandwiches, he served the pudding.

  “It doesn’t look like pudding,” she said.

  “I’ll translate,” Bridges offered. “Pudding is a general term for dessert.”

  “I thought my hearing was bad, or my eyesight, or both,” she smiled.

  Bridges finished in two bites. Sinclair took his time, using his considerable charm as he chatted with her. “I have good news for you, Jenny,” he said when he set his plate aside. “The man you identified as your attacker, William Cecil Crighton Scott, was arrested early this morning.” She closed her eyes for a moment in relief but showed no reaction to the name. He considered briefly making another request for her testimony but thought better of it. “I can’t thank you enough for your assistance. We do, however, have a few more questions for you, if you’re willing to help us.”

  “About the man from last night?”

  “No, about your initial attack.”

  She closed her fingers around the teddy bear. “What else do you need to ask me? Will it be bad?”

  “Jenny,” Sinclair replied, “this is a trust relationship, and that means truth is required from both sides. It’ll be a shorter session and not as difficult for you.”

  Bridges started the recording. “The procedure is a bit different today,” he said. “Take a moment to clear your mind. Then close your eyes and imagine that you are in the little room you described. Use your senses and tell me what impressions you have.” He saw her shoulders stiffen. “What do you see?”

  “His anger. His hands on his belt, a black leather belt.” She trembled. “Oh, God, I didn’t know whether he was going to hit me with the buckle or the strap. I was already in so much pain, but he had something else in mind, something worse.”

  “Jenny,” Bridges said softly, “I’m here. The chief inspector is here. Denton is outside. You’re in a protected and caring environment. Try to focus on the little room and what you saw there.”

  His face. His fists. His body. When she closed her eyes, she saw his savage silhouette, the bare bulb in the ceiling illuminating him. “I don’t want to see it,” she sobbed.

  She was too upset to maintain the mental image. “You don’t have to do this, Jenny,” Bridges soothed. “Take a moment to collect yourself. We’ll continue in the regular way.”

  She looked up, her relief clear.

  “Tell us again why you were in England,” Sinclair requested.

  “To visit graduate schools,” she answered. “To study English lit.”

  “If that was the purpose of your trip, why didn’t you visit any universities?”

  “I came to evaluate the environment as well as the educa
tional opportunities,” she explained. “If I didn’t like London, or England, then I probably wouldn’t want to attend school here, regardless of the quality of the curriculum. So I explored London first. My second week I would have visited universities in London, and after that, outside London.”

  “During your first days here, did anyone approach you? Bother you? Speak to you in an unusual manner?” Bridges asked.

  She shook her head then realized she needed to answer orally. “Not that I can remember.”

  “Where did you eat?”

  “Café Rouge is the only restaurant name I can recall,” she said. “They had wonderful soup. There were a number of French bakeries in the neighborhood that had sandwiches. I bought snack items at a grocery store. There were some interesting looking Italian restaurants in the area, but they were expensive, and I didn’t think I’d feel comfortable eating there by myself.”

  “Did you go into Regent’s Park?” Bridges was still the questioner.

  “I didn’t know if it would be safe. Some city parks in the U.S. aren’t.”

  “Did you go to the theatre or visit any night clubs?”

  “No. I didn’t want to be out by myself after dark.”

  “Did you take the tube?”

  “No, I took taxis or walked.”

  “Jenny,” Sinclair asked, “did you plan your itinerary ahead of time?”

  She smiled. “Well, I knew where I wanted to go before I went there,” she said. “If you mean, was my itinerary known by anyone else ahead of time, the answer is no.”

  “Your passport was found in your room, but where is your hotel key?”

  “In my purse.”

  “Have you ever heard of Special K or Vitamin K?”

  “Special K is a breakfast cereal. Vitamin K has something to do with healthy blood, but I’m not sure what.”

  “Super K?”

  “Is that a discount store?”

  “They are street names for a drug called ketamine hydrochloride. Traces of it were found in your blood. Amongst other things, ketamine causes nausea and temporary loss of coordination.”

  She shivered. She didn’t belong to herself anymore. He knew things about her that she didn’t know. They both did.

  Sinclair knew she felt exposed. “Jenny, have you ever heard of that drug?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know where the room was, the one you described?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Jenny, what happened to your clothes?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “I didn’t find them in the little room.”

  “Were you wearing any jewellery?” Bridges asked. “Besides your watch and your necklace, I mean.”

  She ran her fingers over her ears. “I had a pair of pierced earrings. They’re not on now. And a pearl ring. A friendship ring.”

  “You were wearing the earrings when you were admitted to hospital,” Sinclair informed her. “They’ll be returned to you when you check out. What did the ring look like?”

  She was looking at her bare finger with dismay. Someone special must have given her that ring. “It was a pearl ring?” he prompted.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “There were small pearls across the top. A plain gold band on the bottom.”

  “Jenny, the two men you mentioned—were they wearing any jewellery?” Bridges asked, hoping to get her back on track.

  “I don’t think so,” she answered after a moment. “I don’t remember.”

  “When they turned the light on, did they speak to you?”

  “They didn’t say anything to me.”

  “Did they speak to each other? Address each other by name, for example?”

  “No, they didn’t speak at all.”

  “When Scott came in,” Sinclair asked, “what was he wearing?”

  “Gray slacks,” she remembered. “Dark shirt, with the sleeves rolled part way up.”

  Sinclair paused. “Jenny—Scott’s final attack. Can you tell us about it now?”

  “He kicked me in the head. He knocked me out.”

  “Jenny,” he said gently, “that’s not the final attack I was referring to. Scott’s final sexual attack—we need you to name it. For the record.”

  The colour left her face.

  Damn it, sir, she can’t face that yet. Rape is a violation, and Scott’s final act had been one of total degradation.

  Her fingers gripped the bedclothes. “I—I feel like I’m falling,” she said.

  “Lean forward, Jenny. As far forward as you can. You’ll feel less faint in a moment.”

  She couldn’t. Her cast was in the way, and the pain in her ribs made her cry out.

  Bridges reclined the bed and put a pillow under her feet.

  “Stop. Make him stop,” she said to him.

  The tape recorder was still running. Sinclair spoke quickly into the machine then stopped it. He shouldn’t have pushed her so hard. It might have been easier if he had scheduled more, shorter sessions.

  “I have a surprise for you,” Bridges said, taking a box from his jacket pocket. “Don’t mind the label—it’s not soap.” He opened one end so she could see inside. “Another Penguin bar, cleverly disguised so the nurses won’t nick it.” He closed the box and put it in her limp hand. “Reward for a job well done.”

  “Jenny, I’m proud of you also,” Sinclair said. “The information you’ve given us—I can’t overemphasise its importance. Thank you.”

  “Is it over?” she asked, finally turning in his direction.

  “For now.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Sinclair and Andrews arrived at the D/S’s office a few minutes ahead of schedule. “Andrews, we’re in the conference room,” Graves said. The sergeant took the hint and left. Graves then turned to Sinclair. “Have you secured Miss Jeffries’ cooperation yet?”

  “I’ll be reintroducing that subject soon, sir.” Graves liked to take charge; Sinclair was surprised that he hadn’t been by the hospital himself to press the case.

  “Also, we know now that she wasn’t attacked in Scott’s flat. How confident are you in her identification of him? His solicitor won’t allow a video ID.”

  “Confident enough to follow it through, sir. We’ll need a warrant to examine the ambassador’s residence. The surveillance team reported him visiting there.”

  “Take a videographer in addition to the usual team. Colin, we’d best not be wrong about this.” Graves handed him a set of files. “We hit the jackpot in our paramedic search: a former Royal Marine Commando medic. He’s more than qualified but none too pleased with the assignment, and I expect you’ll have to persuade him to comply.”

  Andrews and the three other men stood when Graves and Sinclair entered the conference room. “As you were,” Graves said. He remained standing. “We arrested a suspect in the ‘Carpet Killer’ case this morning. His name is William Cecil Scott, eldest son of Ambassador Sir Edward Cullen Scott. You are here because our witness in this case was attacked last night in hospital. As a result, we are planning to transfer her on an emergency basis to a safer location. You are her interim protection team.

  “Sergeant Casey received his initial medical training from the Royal Marines and was a member of our special forces until an injury forced him to retire. After joining the Metropolitan Police Service, he qualified for our tactical firearms unit. He will report directly to her medical team at hospital, where he will be provided with instructions and whatever medications they feel she may require.

  “PC Davies is also firearms qualified. He’s rather new to the unit but has performed adequately so far. PC Sullivan is the reason we still have a witness to protect. Sullivan, I commend you for your quick thinking.

  “One more thing: Your job is to keep this witness safe. Scott’s a nasty piece of work. She is the only one who survived. Her cooperation is essential. Don’t screw it up.”

  Graves moved toward the door. “Firearms are authorised for this assignment. Sinclair, carry on. I’ll sen
d the SOIT officer along when he arrives.”

  “I don’t treat women,” Casey said when the door closed.

  “You treat injuries, don’t you?” Sinclair retorted. “Our witness is an American. Her name is Jennifer Jeffries.”

  “He wants us to mind a spoilt Yank,” Casey muttered to himself, shaking his head.

  “Damn it, Casey!” Sinclair erupted, slamming his fist on the table. “That bloody bastard raped and brutalised her, and he did it on our watch! Spoilt? I don’t think so. She was a virgin before this!” He drew copies of the police photographer’s pictures from one of the files on the table and threw them onto the table. He saw Davies’ jaw tighten. Sullivan paled. Casey studied each one, his frown deepening.

  “In case those photos don’t make it clear,” Sinclair continued grimly, “Scott did a job on her. Modern medicine notwithstanding, some of her injuries are going to take a long time to heal. If any of you feels that he can’t be committed to this assignment, I’d like to know straightaway. I will replace you with prejudice.” He directed his gaze at Casey.

  “I’m on board, sir,” Casey replied.

  There was still an edge to Sinclair’s voice. “As Superintendent Graves said, it’s our job to preserve her life. Andrews, distribute the files.”

  The files given to Davies and Sullivan contained a fact sheet about Jenny, a record of her taped interviews, and a summary of her medical condition. Casey’s file had the fact sheet and ROTI as well as a copy of her medical record. All three had been given the address of the safe house and a key. Each carried his own pink authority-to-draw-firearms card.

  Sinclair had personnel files for each man. Casey was qualified medically, as Graves had said, but he was ex-Special Boat Service. He had a take-no-prisoners expression. What would his bedside manner be like? Forbidding? Davies wasn’t as experienced with firearms as Casey; it was evident that the specialist squad had sent an officer with low seniority.

  “Now for what’s not in the file,” Sinclair said in a slightly more even tone. “She’s in pain. She’s frightened of men she doesn’t know, and she’s not going to trust you automatically just because you’re coppers. Don’t take it personally. She is young, single, and emotionally fragile. You’ll be living in rather close quarters. Must I define what integrity means?” No one responded. He heard a knock. “Gentlemen, PC Bridges is the SOIT officer who facilitated the interviews. I’ve asked him to brief you on Jenny’s psychological condition.”