by Naomi Kryske
CHAPTER 4
Judge Thomas was already on the bench when Jenny followed the usher to the witness-box. The chair was gone.
“You may begin your cross-examination, Mr. Alford,” the judge said.
A man with a wig and a patrician face stood. Was he taller than Mr. Benjamin, or did he just seem so because he was directly in front of her? She could see his long thin nose and smooth pale skin clearly. He gave a slight bow to the judge and jury, as Mr. Benjamin had done. “Your Honour, I am expecting some information to be delivered momentarily from my enquiry agent in the United States. Might you indulge me with a brief delay?”
She was thrown off balance. What could they be doing in the States? Already she was glad she’d had an unusually light breakfast, even for her—only the Coke that Brian had brought.
“No, Mr. Alford. We have had enough delays in this case already.”
“As Your Honour pleases,” the defence counsel replied smoothly. He faced Jenny. “Miss Jeffries,” he said in a silky voice, “we’re very sorry for your injuries and glad to see that you’ve recovered so well from them.”
She sat quietly, listening for the question as Mr. Halladay had advised and trying to ignore the slightly sanctimonious tone he used. If he’s a real patrician, then he considered her a colonial. His friendliness was false.
“As a matter of fact, you look lovely today. Did prosecuting counsel help you choose the clothes you’re wearing?”
“No, sir.”
“Oh—so you figured out all by yourself that a demure look would be best. Good for you.”
She wanted to counter his sarcasm but didn’t know how, and he didn’t give her time to explain that her mother had sent her clothes from Texas.
“Miss Jeffries, what is your father’s occupation?”
“He’s a college professor.”
“And your mother?”
“A homemaker.”
“Your Honour, these facts are already on record,” Mr. Benjamin pointed out.
“I’m well aware that Miss Jeffries’ fairy-tale family life has been documented,” Mr. Alford responded, not waiting for the judge to rule. “I intend to show this court that my learned colleague has built a house of cards.”
She thought about the demonstration Colin had used, to show her how fragile trust was. Was the prosecution’s case solid?
“Miss Jeffries, your father is a strict disciplinarian, is he not?”
“He set rules for our behavior and expected us to obey them.”
“But the rules weren’t as strict for your brothers, were they? In fact, your brothers enjoyed many privileges that you didn’t, isn’t that true?”
“Your Honour, I don’t see the relevance,” objected Mr. Benjamin.
“Goes to character, Your Honour,” responded Mr. Alford.
“You may answer, Miss Jeffries,” directed the judge.
“Parents are usually more strict with their firstborn, I believe.”
“My, what a mature point of view! However, in your younger years, you resented his rules and raged against him, didn’t you?”
“I felt I was responsible enough to deserve more freedom,” she answered cautiously.
“Miss Jeffries, you are misleading this court! Your father’s rules were necessary to keep you in line, weren’t they? And you rebelled against him on more than one occasion, did you not?”
“All teenagers rebel.”
“Miss Jeffries! We are not speaking theoretically, we are not speaking generally, we are talking about you. You resented your father’s rules and rebelled against him, didn’t you?”
“No—yes,” she admitted.
“You wanted liberties.”
“No, I wanted choices.”
“You wanted to be free from parental supervision.”
“I was the oldest—I wanted to be treated as an adult.”
“Your mutinies resulted in tighter controls and more severe consequences, did they not?”
She didn’t know how to answer. If she said yes, it sounded as if she accepted the term “mutinies.” If she said no, it would be a lie. Her father had not eased his restrictions. He had intended for her experiences to serve as examples to her brothers.
Alford raised his eyebrows and waited.
“Miss Jeffries, you must answer,” the judge said.
“Yes. Sir.”
“Your father taught you to resent men, didn’t he?”
“No, your client did that.”
That’s one for the Yank, thought Hunt.
Mr. Alford put on his glasses and shifted his papers. “You testified that you attended Prescott University. Why did you choose a university so far from home?”
“They had a good English department.”
“I am not satisfied with that answer, Miss Jeffries. There were other reasons you chose Prescott, were there not?”
“They gave me a scholarship.”
“Miss Jeffries, once again you are not telling this court the whole truth. You wanted to be rid of your father’s restrictions, isn’t that the truth?”
She paused. How did he know?
“Yes or no—you wanted to be free from your father’s constraints!”
“Yes.”
“Thank you very much, Miss Jeffries,” Alford replied with false sincerity. “To continue—what was your primary subject at Prescott?”
“English. I majored in English literature.”
“How appropriate!” exclaimed Alford. “This court has already seen repeated evidence of your ability to create fiction!”
Sinclair had heard her use the poetic phrases she’d learnt to give meaning and clarity to life—to express her feelings and desires when circumstances stressed her and she could find no words of her own. Now defence counsel was using the English language to throw mud at her.
“Your Honour,” said Mr. Benjamin, “my learned colleague is testifying.”
“Agreed,” said Judge Thomas.
“Miss Jeffries,” Alford continued smoothly, “you have been portrayed by the Crown as a devout young woman. How often did you attend religious services while you were at university?”
“Not often.”
“We’d like you to be a bit more exact in your answer. Can you be a bit more exact, please? Did you ever attend church services whilst you were attending university?”
“Yes,” she said stubbornly.
“Where?” demanded defence counsel.
“At home,” she answered, feeling cornered.
“Ah, the truth at last. Thank you, Miss Jeffries.” Mr. Alford bowed slightly in her direction and removed his glasses.
Mr. Benjamin rose quickly. “Your Honour, has my esteemed colleague completed his examination of this witness?”
Alford smiled. “Not at all.” He continued in a conversational tone. “I imagine you enjoyed your time at Prescott, made good friends, and learnt a good deal from your professors.”
She was quiet. It seemed such an innocuous statement that she was tempted to reply, but she hadn’t heard a question.
“In point of fact, you had such a good time that it took you five years to graduate instead of the customary four, isn’t that correct?”
“I did graduate in five years,” she confirmed.
“Some years you didn’t even carry a full load of courses. Too busy partying, weren’t you?”
“No, sir. A good friend was killed, and I needed time to grieve.”
Sinclair had a very uneasy feeling in his stomach, but Alford appeared to ignore her answer.
“Miss Jeffries, did you find employment after your graduation from university?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you even seek employment after your graduation?”
“No,” she admitted.
“You wanted a free ride, did you?”
“No, sir.”
“You let your parents support you, did you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“You didn’t want to work,” conclud
ed Mr. Alford, interrupting before she could point out that her scheduled trip to England precluded long-term employment.
“Mr. Alford, where are you in your examination of this witness?” Judge Thomas asked.
“I have more questions for her, Your Honour.”
“Then now is an appropriate time to break for lunch,” Judge Thomas said. “Do you agree?” He stood, and everyone rose with him. “See you all at a quarter to two. Court is recessed.”
Apparently the judge was the only one who could ask rhetorical questions. The courtroom was in motion, but she seemed rooted to the spot.
“Miss Jeffries?”
She stepped out of the witness-box and followed Casey back to Judge Lloyd’s chambers. Sergeant Andrews was already there, unpacking a large bag. “My wife did the catering today,” he said. “Turkey or roast beef sandwiches, crisps, and brownies. Tea and sodas.”
“Yum,” she said, kicking off her shoes and reaching for a brownie. She opened a Coke and selected a sandwich.
Casey smiled at Jenny’s priorities and Susie Andrews’ lunch. Even Hunt’s culinary critique was positive. Everything Andrews had brought was summarily consumed.
She freshened up in the bathroom. When she returned, Hunt was giving irreverent characterisations of the various players in court. “Upper-class twits, every one of them,” he jibed.
Casey heard her short, frenzied laugh, but the usher’s knock wiped even her feigned merriment away. “Oh, God,” she said, hiding behind Brian. “Is it too late to change my mind about this?”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Hunt advised.
Brian frowned at him. “Come on, JJ. I’ll walk with you to the usher’s door.”
CHAPTER 5
“Mr. Alford, are you ready to resume your cross-examination?”
“Your Honour, my trusted colleague, Miss Caroline Hayden-Welles, will now question the witness,” Alford replied.
Jenny watched another black-robed figure rise. She must have swept her hair under her wig, the way PC Hewes had done with her police hat, but she could not disguise her creamy complexion or dark graceful brows. There was a slight flush to her cheeks. Either she was very careful with her makeup or the adversarial nature of her role energized her.
“Miss Jeffries,” Hayden-Welles said in impeccable diction, “did you enjoy the night life after you arrived in London?”
“I didn’t go out at night by myself.”
“We know you weren’t by yourself,” Hayden-Welles nodded. “I’ll come back to that in a moment. However, at present, I’d just like to confirm that you were travelling by yourself. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Let’s deal with the events leading up to your alleged attack by my client,” the polished voice continued. “Can we just establish that you made your own decisions about the type of entertainment you chose to experience in London?”
“I didn’t go out after dark.”
Hayden-Welles frowned. “Miss Jeffries, I beg your pardon, but that was not my question. Did you plan your activities here?”
“Yes, I visited tourist spots in the daytime and ate dinner in some of the restaurants near the hotel.”
“Your Honour,” Hayden-Welles said coolly.
“Miss Jeffries, the court requests that you answer only the question that is put to you,” Judge Thomas said.
“London has many wonderful night clubs, Miss Jeffries. Which of them did you visit after your arrival?”
“None of them.”
“Perhaps the names have escaped you for the moment. I suggest that you frequented either Camden Palace, the Ministry of Sound, or both. These clubs are very popular with our American friends.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Hayden-Welles arched her eyebrows. “Miss Jeffries, I can’t help feeling that you are not being entirely truthful. Like most young, attractive women, you enjoy being in the company of members of the opposite sex, do you not?”
Neither yes nor no seemed an appropriate response. “I used to, until your client got through with me,” she finally said.
“Ah, yes. Thank you for acknowledging that you have met my client,” Hayden-Welles said with exaggerated politeness. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s the dangerous ones that attract us, don’t you agree?”
Jenny shook her head. “No.”
“There’s an excitement in the unknown, isn’t there, Miss Jeffries?”
“No.”
She was met with a look of disbelief. “Miss Jeffries, it is agreed evidence—by your presence and your testimony—that you came to London alone. Do you intend for this court to believe that you felt no excitement about visiting unknown shores?”
“No, of course not.”
“Miss Jeffries, would you agree that alcohol can affect our judgement?”
“Yes.”
“What I really want to know is, did you flirt with my client before or after he bought you a drink?”
“Neither.”
“Of course,” Hayden-Welles said with mock regret. “I did not phrase my question properly. You flirted with him both before and after he provided you with alcohol, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“Miss Jeffries, we have no way of knowing that, do we? I can, however, tell you that you were not the first woman to find my client attractive. He’s tall, blond, lean, with a healthy athletic face—in total, a very alluring individual.” Hayden-Welles turned away from her podium to regard the defendant.
Jenny looked at the floor of the witness-box.
“Your Honour, would you be so kind as to instruct the witness to look at the accused?”
Bloody bitch. Casey hoped Jenny didn’t have to comply.
Jenny was still looking at the floor. She spoke into the microphone. “I can’t do that. I’ll answer every question, but I will not look again at the man who abused me.”
“Miss Jeffries—” the judge began.
“Hold me in contempt,” she said. “Put me in jail. I won’t do it.” She started to cry. “I don’t ever want to see his face again, as long as I live.”
Sinclair stole a look at the jury. Their faces all had one thing in common: an expression of sympathy fixed on Jenny. Hayden-Welles’ strategy had backfired.
“You do not have to look at the defendant,” the judge said gently. “No one will force you to do that. Miss Hayden-Welles, I’ll thank you to leave your theatrics out of my courtroom in the future.”
“Yes, Your Honour,” the cool voice replied. “My apologies, Your Honour.” There was a pause. “Miss Jeffries, I believe we can agree that my client was a bit more of a man than you bargained for.”
It wasn’t a question. Jenny wiped her cheeks and waited.
And so the afternoon progressed, the cool, clipped voice asking one Catch-22 question after another. According to the defence, Jenny had met Scott in a club. She had come on to him. She had left with him voluntarily. She had been eager but not completely prepared for Scott’s enthusiastic physical overtures when they were alone.
“We women tend to be overly emotional, don’t we?” Hayden-Welles enquired, her arms crossed.
Yes? That answer meant that her tears over the monster were to be disregarded. A negative answer was impossible—she had already cried in the witness-box more than once. “We are not alike,” she said slowly.
“Miss Jeffries,” Hayden-Welles sighed, “I find I must agree with you. My time in this courtroom and others has been engaged in a search for the truth. And this story about my client’s cruel attack—it’s a fabrication, isn’t it? A lie. I realise it’s a bit embarrassing—well, more than a bit, actually—to admit that you were mistaken—we all understand that, I’m certain—but isn’t that far better to do here and now, when the injustice can be rectified, than to wait? The longer you wait, the more intense your remorse will be.”
Jenny had lost the question and had to ask for it to be repeated. “No.”
“Miss Jeffries, t
his can all be over for you,” Hayden-Welles soothed.
She remembered the last person who had spoken those words to her: It had been her father, wanting her to come home. She loved him, she missed her family terribly, and she had wanted desperately to go, but it would have been the wrong thing to do. And giving in to this Chinese water torture, no matter how tired she was, would be wrong, too. “I have not lied.”
“Miss Hayden-Welles,” Judge Thomas said, “do you have further questions for this witness?”
“Not today, Your Honour. The defence is willing to postpone its examination until the morning.”
“We’re off, then. Mr. Benjamin—Mr. Alford—will ten tomorrow be agreeable to you? Court is adjourned.”
CHAPTER 6
The fireworks began as soon as the door to Judge Lloyd’s chambers closed. “So much for posh!” Hunt yelled. “No disrespect intended, sir,” he said quickly as Sinclair came in.
“None taken,” Sinclair assured him. He sat down next to Jenny on the sofa.
“It’s not fair,” she said. “I feel like I’m on trial, too. It’s a ‘trial by existence.’ That’s what Robert Frost called it. And trials by jury end, but trials by existence don’t. It will be over for the monster but not for me.” Exhaustion covered her like a blanket, and she heard nothing until Hunt’s voice penetrated. “Smelled so good, Davies and I had some ourselves,” he said.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Roast chicken. And mashed potatoes!” It struck her as funny that Brian, who always cooked potatoes, had brought her potatoes.
“Same schedule in the morning,” Casey told Davies and Hunt. “Sir, I’ll be back in a couple, if that’s acceptable.”
At a nod from Sinclair, the three men departed.
“Jenny, they cannot win. I’m sorry this is so difficult, but you must know that your cause is just. Your very presence in court means victory.”
“Every question was a trap. It was worse than I expected. Well, to be honest, I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Their approach is to place the focus—and the blame—on the victim. It’s not going to work.”
She pushed her plate away. “I know now what it feels like to be raped by a woman,” she said with a bitter smile. “She spent all afternoon raping my reputation, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. Except stand there knowing I have to report tomorrow for more of the same.”