by Naomi Kryske
CHAPTER 51
Sinclair arrived at the flat shortly after five a.m. Jenny dressed quickly, having set out her clothes the night before. Her mother had sent two wool suits and several silk blouses for her court appearances, but the royal blue with black and ivory strands in the pattern was her favorite. She wanted to wear her watch—the one Colin had given her, with the amethyst hearts—but didn’t. It fit like a bracelet, showing below her cuff. The cross, on the other hand, was concealed beneath her blouse.
She ran a brush through her hair, curving it behind her ear on one side and letting it fall forward on the side where the scar was. She drank a cup of hot tea but couldn’t get down more than half a slice of dry toast. The men were in uniform, and she could see the chevrons on the epaulettes that Sergeant Casey wore.
“You need to be kitted up, too, love,” Casey said, adjusting her body armour on top of her suit. They donned theirs and added topcoats to disguise the fact that they were all carrying. Brian had a second weapon in his hands. It was very sobering.
They exited the block by the rear door. An unmarked car with a driver was waiting for them in the car park behind the building. They took the same positions as they had for the trips to meet the solicitors, with Brian riding shotgun and Jenny in the back between Danny and Sergeant Casey.
“I’ll see you there,” Sinclair said and stepped back. It was barely six. Jenny leaned forward to look through the front windshield. The weather was bleak—misty, overcast, and so cold that her breath was visible in the air. She had wished for a clear day, for a glimpse of sky so blue that she could imagine it stretching all the way to Texas, a vast firmament connecting her to her family. Instead it was metallic gray.
The circuitous route notwithstanding, they arrived at the courthouse very early. It was a large modern structure, looking more like an office building than a seat of justice. The driver slowed as he approached the back entrance. She could see police cars in a cluster and officers waving them into position. Sergeant Casey stepped out on the right side of the vehicle. Brian and Danny exited on the left, scanning the street before gesturing her to follow. The armor felt heavy, and it took her a moment to get her feet under her. She had barely risen when she heard a high-pitched whine and turned toward the sound. It was a courier on a small motorcycle, coming very fast, his briefcase in front of him.
Danny collapsed in front of her, his head red with blood. Then something hit her chest like a baseball bat, slamming her backward against the car. Searing pain tore at her shoulder. She would have screamed, but she couldn’t get a breath. Her knees buckled, and she fell, slowly, it seemed. Sergeant Casey’s face was over her, his hand pressing on her carotid artery. “Phoenix is compromised!” he yelled. “Officer down!” His fingers opened her mouth and swept it briefly.
He turned away, but others were there, positioning her arms and legs and rolling her gently onto her side. “Hold on, Miss,” an unfamiliar voice said. Someone pressed a heavy hand on her shoulder where the pain was.
She didn’t see Brian raise his MP5 for maximum accuracy in the crowded plot. She didn’t hear his double tap or the squeal of the Suzuki as it hit the pavement on its side.
The sky—where was the sky? Her visual world had shrunk to mere inches. She couldn’t see beyond the large dark shoes, trouser cuffs, one man’s knee on the rough, damp concrete, and the sleeve of the officer whose fingers monitored the pulse in her neck. She felt light headed and weak. She heard men’s voices and their shouted commands, loud at first, then fading. The dark uniforms surrounding her grew dim. She didn’t see how quickly Sergeant Casey worked as he applied pressure bandages to Sullivan’s wounds. She felt very cold. She didn’t see Colin’s white strained face or hear him notify Casey that the ambulance was on its way. She didn’t hear Casey’s terse response: “No time. Load Sullivan now.”
She didn’t feel her armor being removed or see the sergeant’s combat knife slicing through her suit to expose her wounds. “Phoenix is stable. I stopped the bleed. Catch us up at the hospital later.” She didn’t see the cordon of officers around them. They still had a witness to protect, although she didn’t know that. She was unconscious when she and Sullivan were lifted into police cars and whisked away.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sinclair forced himself to focus. First, ring Graves. He’d need to assign a temporary replacement for Davies and a permanent one for Sullivan. Davies would have to turn in his weapons and all unused rounds to a Scenes-of-Crime officer for forensic examination. The shooter had been prepared—his body armour, his speed, the way he was jinking the bike—Davies was lucky to have hit him at all.
The ambulance had arrived, and the motorcyclist had been taken, under police guard, to a different hospital than his victims. Andrews had secured the scene behind the courthouse and would keep all the uniforms in place until their statements had been taken.
Judge Thomas would have to be notified about the attack, as would counsel on both sides. Sinclair wanted Scott remanded in isolation until the police investigation of this incident was complete, and counsel for the prosecution would have to make that petition. With the current emphasis on defendants’ rights, he hadn’t a hope that it would be approved, but for Jenny’s sake, they had to try.
Dear God, he’d have to give Jenny’s parents a bell as well as Sullivan’s. Sullivan’s personnel file was in his office at the Yard, and he needed to make the call himself, not delegate it, however tempting that might be. It was far too early in Texas for him to ring the Jeffries; he’d wait until after she had come out of the operating theatre. Having the latest information on her condition could reassure them. Her shoulder and upper arm were lacerated and torn, but Sullivan had taken the worst of it.
He had a long list, with Jenny and Sullivan at the top. A well-planned operation, with competent, experienced officers executing it, but two people were seriously injured. No, Sullivan was critical—Casey, a man of few words in normal circumstances, hadn’t wasted any describing his condition. Jenny was stable. Casey’s focus had been on getting Sullivan advanced medical care as soon as possible.
This case was Sinclair’s responsibility, and correspondingly, it was his job to get his witness to court safely. Ensuring the lives of the officers who protected her was secondary but still important. If she had been residing outside London, would it have made any difference? They would still have had to transport her from a hotel somewhere in the city to the courthouse. Their point of vulnerability would have been the same. What could they do differently the next time? Mustn’t think about that now. For the moment what mattered was that Jenny and Sullivan were in more capable hands than his bloody ones.
CHAPTER 52
Jenny woke in a hospital room, alone and with images of the attack vivid in her mind. Danny—was he even alive? Was anyone else hurt? Where was everybody? When the nurse came in, she was accompanied by a policeman.
“Dr. Gallagher will be round in a bit,” the nurse said, recording Jenny’s vital signs.
“Officer?” Jenny said when he turned to leave with the nurse. “Would you stay with me? Will it be breaking the rules if you do that? Have you heard anything about Danny? Constable Sullivan, I mean—he was hurt, too.”
“PC Billings, Miss. I just came on. I’m afraid I don’t have any news.”
The door opened, and Sergeant Casey entered. There was dried blood on his sleeves and a smudge on his cheek. “There’s no easy way to say this, love. Sullivan’s in a coma.” He saw the shock on her face. “One of the rounds hit him in the head. He has other less serious wounds as well. But it’s early days yet. There’s hope.”
“Are you okay? What about Brian? Where’s Colin?”
“I’m in one piece. Davies is fine. He did good work today. The last time I saw the boss, he was with Sullivan’s family. He’s probably in a slanging match with your doctor now.”
“What happened out there?”
“The man on the cycle had an Uzi i
n his briefcase. Davies slotted him. He’s in custody. A few of the plods picked up minor injuries. Some of the rounds ricocheted.”
“Sergeant, I can’t stand this—Danny—in a coma—”
Casey prised her fingers off his hand and checked her pulse. It was racing. “First things first, love. Deep breath.”
She couldn’t. “It hurts, Sergeant.”
“Blow all your air out, slowly.”
That hurt, too.
“Now take it back in, plus some.”
She tried.
“Again. All out—back, plus some. Think on your breathing. No more talk until you’ve settled a bit.”
Her pulse rate was better. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Listen to me, love. Sometimes the body has to shut off a few systems to focus on a particular area. There are different levels of comas. It could be worse.” He began to rub her palm and her fingers, being careful not to bump the drip needle.
She gripped his hand. “Do my parents know?”
“The boss took care of that.” He stood. “The next few days are not going to be easy. I want you to have a rest. I’ll be back.”
She couldn’t settle enough to sleep. The attack had been sudden and shocking. She knew it hadn’t been the monster on the motorcycle, but it might as well have been. She could almost hear his snarl and see the cruel set of his mouth. In her mind’s eye she watched his hand fall, sending the cyclist on his way in a desperate attempt to silence her. She tried to breathe out, but it was hard to force the air past the lump in her throat. She tried to breathe in, but it was a sob. Her chest and shoulder ached. The sling didn’t help.
She heard voices outside her room: Colin’s, full and assertive, and someone else’s, raised in frustration. “Oh, Jen,” Colin said when he saw her glistening cheeks. The other man consulted a chart before approaching her.
“I’m Dr. Gallagher.” He reached for her wrist and frowned. Sergeant Casey joined them. They were like stair steps, with Gallagher the first step, Casey the next, and Colin at the top. Gallagher was showing the most dissatisfaction, however, his young face dark with distrust. “Chief Inspector, this won’t do. Her blood pressure and pulse rate are still up. I’m concerned about bleeding. I want to keep her twenty-four hours.” He turned to her. “Miss Jeffries, I am acting in your best interest. I can see you’re upset. Shoulder bothering you? By this time tomorrow you’ll feel much better.”
“The longer we wait, the more danger there will be,” Sinclair insisted. “I am moving her for her own safety. Casey can handle any medical situation that may arise.”
“Miss Jeffries, significant risk exists for you—bleeding and infection are only two of the possible consequences. Post-op recovery time is critical. You are of age. The police cannot act against your wishes.”
Did she have to choose between health and safety? She looked at Colin. His face was grim and worn. “Trust me,” he said.
She blinked hard. “Sergeant Casey?”
“Best all round if you come with us.”
“Miss Jeffries,” Dr. Gallagher began. She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t shut out his aggressive tone. “There’s your answer, Chief Inspector—she’s not well enough to make an informed decision.”
“No—wait—” She looked at the doctor and almost felt sorry for him, having pitted himself against Colin and Sergeant Casey. “Someone tried to kill me today. The man who sent him isn’t going to stop. I want to be safe. I’ll take my chances with bleeding and infection.”
Dr. Gallagher shook his head in regret. “How soon?” he askedSinclair.
“Within the hour.”
Gallagher acquiesced. “Come with me, Sergeant.” They left the room.
Sinclair stepped beside the bed. “I’m sorry for all this, Jen. Will you be all right for a few minutes?”
“Are the policemen still outside? Could one of them come in until you get back? I’m—”
“I know. Billings!” he called. “Look after Miss Jeffries.” He was gone.
Billings stepped just inside the door. He reminded Jenny of Danny—older and taller, but with the same earnest face. “How can I help, Miss?”
“Just look fierce and be ready to fire,” she answered. “Really. I’m not joking.”
He looked as if he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure if he should.
“Do you have sisters?” She was still thinking about Danny.
“A sister and a brother. I’m the oldest.”
“Me, too. Sometimes I wish I weren’t—fine example I’m setting.”
“You are, Miss. Very fine.”
Her shoulder was throbbing badly when Colin returned with Sergeant Casey and Dr. Gallagher. The only one who looked alert and capable was the doctor. Leaving him probably wasn’t one of her better moves.
Gallagher spoke first. “Miss Jeffries, I have two jabs for you—one for pain and one to help you relax.”
“I only want the one for pain. No sedative.”
“Sorry?”
“Don’t you need my permission to medicate me? Well, I’m not giving it.”
“Jenny, you’ll need it. It’s not a short ride,” Sinclair argued.
“I don’t want it! Doesn’t what I want count for anything?”
“Please. I don’t want you to be in pain.”
“He’s going to give me something for pain,” she said, her voice rising.
“You’re already exhausted,” Gallagher said, still holding the tray with the two syringes. “Further fatigue could delay healing.”
“No, no, no, no, no!” she cried. “I don’t want a sedative! Put it away! Don’t you understand? I have to stay awake. If someone comes after me, I want to know. If I go to sleep—and a killer comes—I won’t get to wake up!”
“Jenny.”
Oh, God, it was The Voice.
“You’re agitated. We can’t transport you like this.” The quiet firm voice continued. “Listen to me, Jenny. We’ve sent a decoy to UCH with a police escort. The transfer was reported on the news. We’ll use unmarked vehicles. No one is going to know who you are or where you are. There will be no killing tonight.”
“Promise?”
“On my badge.”
She turned to Colin. “Are you going with me?”
He looked as if he had aged ten years. “For security reasons, it’s best if I don’t.”
Gallagher handed the tray to Casey.
“If I don’t wake up, I’ll kill you,” she sobbed.
“There’s my girl,” Casey said. He administered the injections.
She heard Gallagher’s voice. “We’ll keep the vein open,” he said, leaving the needle in her hand and plugging the outer end. He inspected the drains in her shoulder and gave Casey instructions for their care and removal.
She felt sleepy. Whatever Casey had given her, it was already working. “Is Danny’s family with him?” she asked Colin.
“Yes, they’re all there.”
“Colin, I don’t want him to die.”
“He’s in good hands, Jen.”
He had to lean over to hear her. “I don’t want to die,” she whispered.
Sinclair found that he could not reply.
CHAPTER 53
When Jenny woke in the flat, Sergeant Casey was with her. He used the drip to administer her pain medication as well as the light sedative Gallagher had prescribed for the first twenty-four hours. The doctor wanted to restrict her activity level; Casey wanted to postpone the emotional consequences. He’d seen hardened men suffer anxiety after being shot, and it was inevitable for her.
She stirred slightly when she heard PC Hawkins’ cough, but she didn’t waken. Casey took the offered tray and ate quickly. He returned it to the kitchen and made himself a cup of strong tea. Kirvin was asleep. The young PC had been on the transport team and had had the night watch. He would have to take it tonight as well. Hawkins, a wiry man with the odd patch of grey in his hair and a slight cleft in his chin, was on watch with PC Nicholson.
Cas
ey watched Jenny sleep, managing to change the dressing on her shoulder without waking her. Her wounds were clean and draining well, but infection, if present, would not manifest itself this soon. He slept only for short periods, resting as best he could in the armchair he’d stationed next to her bed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The second day Casey removed the drip and discontinued the sedative, giving her oral medication instead. Sinclair and Andrews called by late in the morning to take her statement about the shooting. Neither looked like he’d slept. They reported no change in Sullivan’s condition.
The interview didn’t take long, and Sergeant Andrews recorded everything in his notebook.
“Why isn’t Brian here?”
“He shot a man, Jenny. That means temporary suspension. Every shooting is investigated.”
“But that man shot Danny—and me! Brian did the right thing!”
“Yes, and fortunately for Davies, all the witnesses were coppers.”
“Where are my clothes?” she asked.
“They were collected at hospital as evidence.”
“Was there a photographer? Did you have to photograph me?”
“We did, yes,” Colin answered.
“My shoulder?”
There was a long silence. “And your chest.”
She frowned. Sergeant Casey had folded back the sleeve of her hospital gown to change the dressing on her shoulder. She hadn’t seen her chest. The gown was tied closed in front, and she undid the bow and let it fall open. There was a laceration covered with a steristrip and several cylindrical bruises, wide and red with deep, dark centers, where the bullets had struck her body armor. She held her hand over her chest and began to sob. The gown was still open, and Colin didn’t know what disturbed him more—seeing her lovely breasts exposed to others or the dark tattoos of attempted murder between and above them.