The Mission

by Naomi Kryske

  “It’s all yours,” Jenny smiled.

  “What did I tell you? I wasn’t joking about my appetite!”

  CHAPTER 9

  Several days passed, Jenny discovering each morning that her newspaper had been destroyed. Now she had a strong feeling of apprehension when she opened the front door, and sure enough, it was warranted. Another slashed issue. Maybe the vandal wasn’t harmless. Maybe he was a stalker, and she had been singled out for some reason. She was glad Bear was beside her. Bear: un cane, a dog. Un cane nero, she thought, reminding herself that in Italian the adjective often followed the noun. Bear, her protector, who sniffed the porch as she locked the door and startled her with a low growl.

  She would stop delivery of the Telegraph for a while. She wouldn’t stop reading it, however. She could purchase copies either from the newsstand on the High Street or the one near the Hampstead tube station. Unlike the presses in Texas, in London the Saturday newspapers were larger than the weekday editions and the Sunday larger yet, and she wanted to keep up with events.

  The next edition of “Ham & High” was available, so she found a bench and thumbed through the local periodical. An article reporting recent rapes in the Hampstead and Highgate area disturbed her. Was her vandal a rapist? Would his actions toward her escalate? He had already raped several women, none of whom could give a good description of him: average height, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He had grabbed them from behind. One had felt stubble on his cheeks, but he had told all of them not to look back, and they hadn’t.

  When she stopped by the police station to tell PC Dugger about stopping the newspaper, she asked what he knew about stalkers and rapists.

  “Stalking is a form of threatening behaviour,” he said, “but physical harm’s not usually associated with it. Mostly stalkers want to frighten their victims, not harm them.”

  “But not always?” she persisted.

  “Usually stalkers engage in mental assaults as opposed to physical or sexual assaults,” he replied, looking uncomfortable. “Most are male, but there’s no evidence that your incidents of criminal damage come from a stalker, much less a rapist.”

  She didn’t press him any further.

  “Bear, let’s walk – camminiamo – to the park. Al parco.” Simple sentences, a pitifully slow start, but a start nonetheless. Un inizio. And something to think about besides her vandal. Or stalker.

  The Heath was beautiful in the morning, the dew still damp in some places, making the leaves shine like new pennies. She found a bench midway through her trek and watched children – bambini – climb in the trees with low branches. She took the Italian dictionary out of her pocket. She didn’t know the words for tree or branches. Or stalker. She sighed. Her life was out of balance. Too much time, too little purpose. Too much Simon, then too little Simon. Too much confusion in her feelings, too little clarity. She would discuss it all with Dr. Knowles during her afternoon appointment. She headed back to the flat, stopping by the Hampstead gym on her way to purchase a trial membership and arrange to join an exercise class. Maybe she could make friends with some of the other participants.

  The psychiatrist rarely kept her waiting, but on this occasion she had more than enough time to waver in her resolve to tell him everything about her relationship with Simon.

  “Sorry,” he said when he opened the door and invited her into the consulting room. “I had an emergency.”

  “Were you able to help?” she asked.

  “I believe so,” he smiled. “And now, how may I assist you today?”

  “I think someone is stalking me, although so far the local police officer – Constable Dugger – calls it criminal damage.” She described the ashes, trampled flowers, and shredded newspapers she had found on her porch. “I didn’t mention it to you before, but since several women in my general area have been raped recently, I’m wondering how afraid I should be. What do stalkers want? PC Dugger wasn’t specific.”

  “Stalkers tend to be angry individuals,” Knowles replied. “Their anger can take any one of a number of forms. Extreme cases involving violence do occur, but they are relatively rare. Women who have been assaulted by a former partner are most at risk for violent behaviour.”

  Simon would be glad to hear that. Simon. She wasn’t ready to talk about him yet. “Can you give me more details?”

  “Some stalkers are predatory. They plan to attack the person who is the focus of their anger. Others are resentful. They want revenge for a grievance which may be perceived, not real. Do you have a safety plan?”

  “I have Bear,” she said. “And since the vandalism started, I’ve tried to be more alert to my surroundings, but I can’t look in all directions at the same time.”

  Knowles nodded. “Damaging property can lead to more serious behaviour. You’re wise to proceed with caution.”

  “I even pray for rain, to reduce the likelihood of an attack.”

  A silence fell. Jenny was aware that Dr. Knowles was waiting for her to continue. “I went to Camden Market the other day,” she said, knowing she was still procrastinating.

  “And?”

  She had worn her rattiest jeans and taken plenty of cash, since most shops didn’t accept credit. “The vendors there hawk everything from belts and buckles to shirts and scarves, jewelry and ceramics, as you probably know. But I bought a prism. I wanted to see rainbows.” Arcobaleni, she thought. “Even with all London’s rain, I seldom see one.”

  “Why is that important?”

  “Because I want to believe that something beautiful lies ahead for me. When all the storms are past.”

  “Are you in a stormy period now?”

  Damn. It was silly to postpone it any longer. “Sort of,” she said. She took a deep breath and blurted it out. “I slept with Simon Casey.”

  “Tell me about it,” Knowles nodded.

  She was distracted by his frown. The bottom half of his face remained neutral, but there was a definite contracting of the skin between his brows. “Do you think less of me?”

  “Do you think less of yourself?” he responded.

  “I’m disappointed in myself. It wasn’t even a date!” She described the circumstances. “And I’m a little worried. There was no romantic prelude and not much foreplay. He didn’t have to do much to seduce me. I just – capitulated. Am I so lonely – so desperate – that I would have responded to anyone?”

  “You didn’t think about stopping him?”

  She blushed. “I didn’t think at all.”

  “Jenny, I’d like you to look at this experience without judgement. Simon is not unknown to you. He’s someone who protected you, who looked after you during one of the most difficult periods in your life.”

  “That’s true, and he has kept in touch with me off and on ever since I came back to London.”

  “He’s not just any man then, is he? You have reason to trust him. I gather you weren’t frightened at any time?”

  She shook her head. She had been frightened by how good it felt – even though he wasn’t Colin – but she didn’t intend to say that. And their encounter had only briefly shaken her trust in him.

  “Were you angry with him?”

  “Yes, and with myself, but fortunately I didn’t get pregnant.”

  “Have you seen him since this event?”

  “Yes, he came by and apologized. He felt responsible. He wants to have a relationship with me.”

  “Based on sex?”

  She blushed. “I’m sure he wants sex to be a part of it, but he said he’d wait. He had some time off last week, and he came by every night. He brought me little gifts. He hugs and kisses me but in a restrained way. Now he’s back on duty, but he calls when his shifts end.”

  Knowles smiled. “Perhaps it’s time you examined more closely your feelings for him.”

  She thought for a moment, then smiled as she realized that her face probably wore the same frown she’d seen earlier on his. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m attracted to h
im. I felt so guilty and ashamed afterward, though, and I don’t want that. Beyond that, I just don’t know.”

  “Relationships are always in flux. Give yourself some time to adjust to the change in this one. I must, however, caution you. It would be unfair to place the burden of your grief recovery on a single individual or new relationship.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Some individuals may seek a new relationship as a way of avoiding or escaping grief, but a new relationship in and of itself will not heal you.”

  She thought for a minute. “I don’t think I’m doing that,” she said slowly. “I didn’t seek him out, and I’m not looking for anyone to take Colin’s place. A part of me will always love and miss Colin, but I can’t have a life with him.”

  Knowles waited for her to continue.

  “I’m not avoiding the past, but when I’m with Simon, I’m not thinking about it, and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? You didn’t want me to focus on Colin’s death all the time, remember?”

  He nodded, glad that she was verbalising her thoughts.

  “Being with Simon doesn’t take away the grief. I wish it would, but I don’t expect it to. It just helps me adjust my thoughts. And besides – ”

  Knowles saw the corner of her mouth curl into a smile.

  “ – since I don’t know where this relationship is going, I’d be crazy to depend on it to solve my problems.”

  “I agree,” he laughed. “And I must compliment you. You’ve made significant progress, because you are no longer experiencing grief alone. You are now capable of allowing other feelings to come into play, not to replace your sorrow but to exist in balance with it. Your sense of humour, for example.”

  “So I shouldn’t feel ashamed?”

  Knowles shook his head. “No, but I would like you to remember that you are in charge of your body. Use it consistent with your values, and you’ll not have cause for regrets.”

  CHAPTER 10

  At the SO19 base on Leman Street, Brian Davies searched for Simon Casey. Davies didn’t miss the Specialist Operations base on Old Street. They had outgrown it, and the base at Leman Street had been modified to meet their specifications. It even had a lift, although none of them would have been caught dead using it. Only the suits needed help getting from one floor to another.

  He didn’t find Casey in the basement checking his kit nor in the gym. Not surprising. When they worked as many eighteen-hour days as they had recently, no one had the time or the energy for additional exercise. The canteen was closed. He finally caught him up in the team briefing room on the SFO floor. Whiteboards covered the walls, as well as maps and team assignments for the next day’s operations. The power point projector was dark. Casey was thorough, always checking every detail. He should have come to the briefing room first. “Goodnight,” he heard Casey say before he snapped his mobile shut.

  “Jenny?” Davies asked. “Beth told me you were seeing her.”

  Casey waited, silent.

  “Are you sure about this, mate? She’s fragile. She’s already lost someone, and he didn’t exactly have a dangerous job. You put yourself in harm’s way every day and she knows it. How’s she going to handle that?”

  “She’s stronger now. She’ll deal.”

  “She lost it after Sinclair’s death.”

  “She had a rough patch, that’s true, but she came through. She always does.”

  “And if she doesn’t – second thoughts?”

  “No. I’ll take what comes.”

  “Beth and I – we look out for her.”

  Casey recognized the warning. “I’ll not hurt her. Furthest from. And she’ll be stronger with me than without.”

  “You’ll go easy, won’t you, mate? Give her time if she needs it?”

  Casey was quiet again, his fingers playing with the coins in his pocket. “Longest single mission of my life,” he confessed. “Easier for me than for her, but I’ll not pass on it. Not this time. I’m playing for keeps. No matter how long it takes.”

  “Good luck then.”

  “I’ll need it,” he acknowledged. “There’s risk. No guarantee things will go well.” It was possible, of course, that he’d already lost, but he’d not admit that to anyone.

  CHAPTER 11

  Alcina’s frustration led to anger. Her target’s porch held no newspaper. How dare she interrupt her satisfaction?

  Each day the knife had felt more comfortable in her hand; each day she had plunged it more confidently through the printed pages. It was only a small knife, borrowed from the bakery, but it was sharp and had served its purpose well. The baker had not missed it. He had many others.

  She slammed her fist on the table. It was not enough. The catand-mouse game she had been playing was no longer enough. She wanted to see the effect her actions were having. Did her target know she was marked? Was she afraid with each coming and going? Did she look over her shoulder, examine the face of each person that passed by? Start at every sound?

  She rose and went to the refrigerator, examining the photographs closely. She recalled the power she had felt when she was behind the camera capturing her target. Now, however, the snaps highlighted her failure because none of the pictures showed signs of unease in her target. Why? Because she still had the dog. The animal was present in every photo. He, too, was her adversary. It was time for her campaign against the dog to begin.

  CHAPTER 12

  With Simon’s schedule so demanding, the work at Dr. Millar’s office was a welcome distraction for Jenny. She didn’t see the coroner on Thursday; he’d been chairing an inquest, and his secretary had made a space for her in the conference room. On Friday he brought her tea and a biscuit and expressed his appreciation for her cooperation. “Shall I see you Monday?” he asked.

  Simon would be working long hours next week, too. “Why not?” she answered. Coming to the coroner’s office hadn’t been as creepy as she had feared, and if she put in some time early in the week, she would be able to finish the project before Simon became available.

  Would it be awkward when she and Simon saw each other again? He called regularly, but she heard the exhaustion in his voice, and their conversations were too short for her to feel that they’d connected with each other. Big operations were inherently dangerous, but even too many routine raids could exhaust the officers and increase their risk. Some nights Simon didn’t take the time to go home, sleeping at the base instead. And no operation involving firearms was routine. Beth had told her that on big jobs, an ambulance was on site, but Jenny didn’t find that reassuring.

  The exercise class wasn’t working out, either. Yet. Literally, it was, of course, she thought with a wry smile, but the trainer wasn’t nearly as fit as Simon, and one of the women had warned her about him. “He comes on to all of us. Don’t sign up for personal training with him unless you’re looking for a fling. His!” She hadn’t really made friends there because the other women were in a hurry to leave. They had children to pick up from school and husbands to prepare dinner for, which made Jenny feel lonely as well as tired. She walked back to the empty flat with hours to fill until bedtime.

  On Saturday she attended a cocktail party at Derek and Jillian Horne’s. Colin’s sister had included her on her guest list several times before, but Jenny hadn’t felt social. Now she was desperate for diversions. She considered what to wear. She knew Jillian would be clad in something that complimented her blonde hair and highlighted her blue eyes. Not wanting to be outdone, she tried on several outfits but found herself wondering what Simon, not Jillian, would think of each one. At last she chose a long cotton skirt and a blouse with blue flowers that could have been inspired by a watercolor painting, their shapes relaxed and their edges slightly blurred.

  The Hornes had a generously stocked liquor cabinet and a plethora of elegant hors d’oeuvres. Pâté de foie gras filled miniature tart shells, and caviar on narrow slices of tomato was graced with a light, creamy sauce. Jenny particularly liked the salmon with cr
eam cheese and rocket on cheddar scones.

  Jillian had received a bequest from Colin’s estate, and from the appearance of the flat, she must have spent the entire sum remodeling it. The hardwood floors shone, and Jillian had purchased new, contemporary furniture with clean lines and understated colors.

  Derek Horne’s honey-colored hair and round lenses gave him an owlish look, but as he filled her wine glass, he gave her a less than reserved smile. “I began the party before the guests arrived,” he confessed.

  Jillian introduced her to everyone by saying, “Jenny was married to my brother,” which stopped all conversation temporarily as the guests tried to navigate their way around the awkwardness, because they all knew Jillian’s brother had been killed and how. Once the topic was safely skirted and the conversation on safer subjects, Jenny breathed a little easier.

  “She’s from Texas originally,” Jillian added breezily, which helped a little, and Jenny was able to dispel many of the myths that had arisen concerning her state. She was more comfortable, however, drawing out others. She missed Colin, whose superior social skills had enabled him to put others at ease even when they discovered he was a police officer.

  As the party progressed, Jenny became increasingly sad. She hadn’t seen the blockbuster movies or enjoyed the latest play or attended the opera, and the two sleek male guests who competed with each other in keeping her wine glass filled seemed so innocent that she felt herself aging on the spot. They were talkative, glib even, and elegantly attired, but should she be impressed because they were comfortable at a cocktail party? Simon felt no need to fill the air with meaningless chatter. She even found herself appreciating his indifference to what he wore. As soon as it was socially acceptable, she said her good-byes to Jillian and Derek and took the elevator downstairs to ask the doorman to call a cab for her.

  Seeing Jillian and Derek’s flat had given her an idea, however. Maybe she should make some changes to hers. Colin’s framed photographs still hung on the walls, and although he had been a good photographer, most recorded places she had never been. She could look for some paintings or prints which spoke to her and added color. She could consider replacing some of the furniture, or at the very least, adding accent pillows which coordinated with the artwork. She didn’t want to make the flat fancier. On the contrary, she liked the relaxed warmth of Brian and Beth’s house, less pretentious than Jillian and Derek’s and so much more inviting.