The Mission

by Naomi Kryske

  She would find another method to deploy against her target’s dog.

  CHAPTER 20

  Jenny woke with new resolve. She wouldn’t let the two detectives – the West Hampstead Humanoids, she had dubbed them – unnerve her. She had done nothing wrong. Colin had outranked both of them. Simon possessed skills they didn’t. And Neil Goodwyn was planning to stop by after lunch and wait with her until they arrived. I bastardi, she thought with clenched teeth, guessing that the Italian was a cognate for the English word “bastards” and promising herself not to say either in front of Neil.

  She had a light breakfast and called for Bear, who growled as they stepped outside. When she turned to lock the front door, she understood why, and the shock made her knees weak: Someone had slashed through the butcher paper with such force that there were deep gouges in the wood beneath it. Feeling the first stirrings of panic, she sat down on the steps and put her head between her knees. Then she began to count to slow her heart. She took Bear into the garden in the back and watched him romp for a few minutes. No walk today.

  When Father Goodwyn arrived, he expressed his concern. “The force and frequency of these episodes are increasing.” The doorbell rang, and he clasped her hand for a quick prayer.

  She let the detectives introduce themselves to Father Goodwyn. DS Myrick raised his eyebrows slightly at the presence of the priest. “We’ve all the snaps we need,” he reported. “In view of the new damage to your door, I must ask you again if you can think of anyone who desires to scare or harm you.”

  She shook her head.

  “You should tell them, Jenny,” Goodwyn said gently. “It may not be relevant, but they should have the opportunity to decide.”

  “Tell us what, Mrs. Sinclair?” Wyrick’s eyes flickered, and she realized that she had aroused his interest, at least slightly.

  “I want to know if you’re going to help me. If you still think I could be the wrongdoer, then I’m not going to say any more.”

  “We’ll do what we can,” Wyrick assured her, unable to keep the impatience from his voice.

  She sighed. Police-speak, but it would have to do. “In 1998, six women were raped and murdered in London. A seventh was attacked but did not die. A man – ” she couldn’t bring herself to say his name – “was convicted of the crimes and sent to prison.”

  “Cecil Scott,” Wyrick said. “The ‘carpet killer.’ I recall the case. One of the victims was from Camden.”

  “Several attempts were made on the life of the seventh victim.”

  “Jenny – ” Goodwyn began.

  “The attacker was killed in prison.”

  “They need to know, Jenny,” Goodwyn said again.

  DC Mackeson looked from one to the other, not certain where the conversation was leading.

  “What do we need to know?” Wyrick pressed, giving her his full attention for the first time.

  She opened her mouth to speak, only to close it and shake her head. She gave Goodwyn a pleading look and then turned away.

  “What Mrs. Sinclair is having difficulty telling you is that she was the seventh victim,” Goodwyn disclosed.

  Mackeson gaped at her. Wyrick allowed himself a rueful smile. Every time he thought he’d seen it all, something came along to prove him wrong.

  “I have assured Mrs. Sinclair that there will be no need for her to recount what she experienced at the hands of that monster,” Goodwyn stated.

  Against her will, Jenny began to tremble. She had recovered; she had put it behind her; she had gone on with her life. Why did it still have the power to hurt so much? She felt someone take her hand and knew it was Goodwyn. “He was killed in prison,” she repeated. “After that there weren’t any more attacks. This can’t possibly be related. Can it? Can it?”

  Wyrick rose to his feet. “This information puts your incidents of criminal damage in a new light. We’ll need some time to review the facts of that case before we speak with you again.” He paused. “Mrs. Sinclair, can you recall the name of the senior investigating officer on your case? I’d like to contact him.”

  So would I, she thought, and swallowed hard. “Detective Chief Inspector Colin Sinclair.”

  Her husband – something else he hadn’t expected. “Is there someone who can stay with you?”

  “I’ll advise Mrs. Sinclair on that point,” Goodwyn answered.

  Jenny watched the two detectives take their leave. “I have Bear,” she said. “And leftover pizza. I’ll see Simon tomorrow night or Saturday. I just want to cover the door with fresh paper, and then I’ll lock up for the night.”

  Goodwyn held the paper while she taped it in place. “I’ll ring you tomorrow,” he said.

  CHAPTER 21

  “About your door – I peeled the paper back,” Simon said when he came by late Friday night. “You didn’t tell me how nasty it was. Protecting me?”

  “Yes, sort of.”

  He didn’t know whether to be pleased or angry. He didn’t want her keeping things to herself.

  “And trying to act more British,” she said, failing to smile. “You know, stiff upper lip and all that, but I’m not sure I’m succeeding. Whoever did it must be really angry. He didn’t just cut the paper, he dug into the wood.”

  He held up his Bergen. “I’m prepared to stay, if you need me to do.”

  “For now, I just need to be held. I feel like I’m swimming in muddy water; I can’t see where the danger will come from.”

  He sat down on the sofa, and she rested her head against his shoulder. It was odd to be close to a man who wasn’t Colin. Odder still, feeling like she fit there. “Simon – even with your arm around me, I can’t seem to get close enough to you to feel safe.”

  “I can think of a way for us to be closer,” he smiled.

  “I’d be using you, and that would be wrong,” she answered.

  “Jenny, I’d never mind.”

  She laughed in spite of her tension.

  “In a love relationship, people have sex for all sorts of reasons, and it’s not wrong.”

  “Is that what we are? A couple in a love relationship?”

  “I hope so,” he answered.

  Dr. Millar hadn’t offered her a love relationship. How different he and Simon were! “I like the sound of that. But I need to be sure, and I’m not, yet.”

  “I’ll bunk on the sofa then. And tomorrow I’ll repaint your door.”

  She kissed him, went upstairs, and for the first time in forty-eight hours, turned off the radio. When she put on her nightgown and climbed into bed, she began to wonder what would have happened if she had invited him upstairs. Would he have been as tender with her as Colin had been? He hadn’t been rough when he’d taken her on the sofa, and even drunk, he hadn’t hurt her. He’d known he was with her, because he’d said her name.

  He was a mature man, experienced with women. Would her body satisfy him? What if it didn’t? In witness protection he’d treated her wounds. He knew the scars were there, but it was different when you had a personal relationship with somebody. Wasn’t it? She felt suddenly shy.

  CHAPTER 22

  In the morning Simon found a brush and a can of blue paint in the garage, but no wood filler. “Any extra toothpaste? I’ll use that instead.”

  Jenny applied masking tape to the door knob, letter box, and hinges, and then watched while he worked. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

  “After my dad left, I had to do the repairs. I learnt as I went along.”

  “You’re good with your hands.”

  He stopped and smiled at her. “I like to think so.”

  She blushed.

  “If I stopped coming on to you, you might think I’d changed my mind,” he said, surveying his work. “We’ll let this dry. If it needs another coat, I can apply it tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll wash the brush if you’ll make some fresh tea. I’d like to have a word with you about something.”

  They sat down together on the sofa, and Jenny poured cups for both o
f them.

  “Jenny, you’re safe as long as you’re with me, but I can’t be with you on a regular basis.” He leant forward. “I don’t want to alarm you, but some precautions are in order.”

  “Simon, why are you so concerned? No one has approached me directly.”

  “Violence usually escalates. A weapon was used on the newspapers, most probably a knife of some sort, and now on the door. A knife is a very personal weapon. That changes things.”

  His matter-of-fact voice frightened her more than an urgent tone would have. “I feel so helpless. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Be unpredictable. Take different routes to the Heath or walk somewhere else. Stay alert. Be aware of what’s going on around you. Sometimes what you sense matters more than what you can see. Don’t discount your intuition.”

  “Simon, you’re scaring me.”

  “Not my intent. Shall we walk Bear this afternoon?”

  They took an extended walk. She led him up Heath Street past La Gaffe and into Whitestone Gardens to show him her favorite bench, a wooden structure with two huge, articulated hands suspending the plank between them. “Look, Simon – even the fingernails are carved into the wood. It’s a metaphor for all the people who supported me during my grief.”

  He nodded, his eyes taking in the surroundings. The street was nearby, but trees made the site too secluded for his taste. He took her hand. “You mustn’t come here without me,” he said softly. “It’s too closed off. Someone could attack you, and no one would see.”

  She paled and sat down suddenly.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  She leaned forward and put her arms around his waist. “Simon, I feel so small.”

  He stroked her hair. “I remember one op,” he began after a moment. “We were almost to the extraction point when a sudden storm broke. Not much cover for us; just tall grasses whipped by the wind. Rain beat down on us and we knew the copter couldn’t approach. In the scheme of things, we didn’t signify. Nor did the mission we’d risked so much for.”

  She looked up, wanting to see his face. He rarely mentioned his Special Forces experiences. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing to do but wait. Our rations were nearly gone. Contact with the enemy was less likely in that weather, but they’d have more time to catch us up.”

  “Did they?”

  “No. Weather must have discouraged them or erased our tracks.” He sat down next to her. “It was the first time I felt alone on the team, however. We couldn’t move closer together; bad for security. We couldn’t even risk calling out to one another.”

  “So you waited by yourself.”

  “Yes. The storm was loud and seemed long. In the sudden quiet after, the sound of the rotors was nearly deafening but more than welcome. The skies were completely free of clouds. CAVU, we called it: clear and visibility unrestricted. Only then did we know that we’d all made it.”

  “After hurricanes,” she said, “the Texas sky seemed so bright. I remember the relief we felt.” She paused. “I wish my storm were over, but it isn’t. We’d better go.”

  On the way back to the flat, he ordered Chinese food to cheer her up. They took it home with them. After their meal, they cuddled in front of the television, commenting on anything and everything but the threat that loomed in the background.

  “Would you like a goodnight kiss?” she asked, not waiting for him to answer.

  He responded by pulling her close. “If you keep on kissing me like that, we’ll have a very good night indeed,” he said when she paused. “I’d like to do that. Make it a good night for you.” He slipped his hands under the back of her t-shirt and heard a sharp intake of breath. Not certain whether that meant yes or no, he waited.

  “Simon – Simon – ” she whispered. “You’re not making it easy for me.”

  “If it’s difficult to hold back, perhaps you shouldn’t,” he suggested and felt her tense. Reluctantly he let his hands fall. “It’s all right, love. Best if we wait until it’s right for both of us. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  For the first time in many months, a nightmare woke Jenny. Even after she opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings, she couldn’t shake the intense fear. Pulling a robe around her, she went down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot chocolate. The milk hadn’t even scalded when she heard Simon’s voice from the sitting room. “Are you all right?”

  “Simon, weren’t you sleeping?”

  “Thought I’d watch the street for a bit. Why are you up?”

  “I had a bad dream.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She poured the hot milk into a mug and mixed in a generous amount of chocolate syrup. “Someone I couldn’t see splashed my shirt with red paint. But it wasn’t paint, it was blood. I was terrified.”

  “Better now?” he asked as she sipped the cocoa.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Chocolate always helps. Would you like some?”

  “I’ll make tea.”

  She watched while he set the water to boil and placed a tea bag in the Big Ben mug. “I’ve never seen you without a shirt,” she commented when he joined her.

  “Shall I dress?” He had kept on only a pair of jeans.

  “No. I like what I see.” His work required him to be strong, and he was, as Beth would say, seriously fit. He had, after all, been a combat swimmer.

  “There’s no law against touching,” he smiled, and watched her blush, confirming his suspicion that she’d thought of it.

  She laughed but didn’t answer. He finished his tea, and she tried to focus on the syrup that had sunk to the bottom of her mug and not his bare chest.

  “Shall we say goodnight again?” He stood and held out his hand.

  The hair on his chest was ginger, not dark. She rested her cheek against it and closed her eyes. She felt his arms close around her and his lips on her hair. “One kiss is not going to be enough, but more than one, and I’ll have a hard time falling asleep,” she whispered, as his mouth found hers.

  “It’s your call, Jenny.” He made the one kiss last as long as three, holding her head gently in his hands and then nuzzling her neck.

  Her neck shivery, she wanted him to take the next step – to push her robe and pajama top out of the way and caress her chest. All she had to do was place his hand where she wanted. He would do the rest. But when would he stop? Would he think that a green light on the next step was a green light to the final step? What would it mean if they proceeded to the end without declaring themselves? Would the relationship last? Colin had made it easy for her by acknowledging his feelings early on. Simon had done the same himself, sort of – he had said he wanted them to be a couple. But he hadn’t specified what that meant exactly. She sighed.

  “I’ve a pence,” he whispered in her ear.

  “For my thoughts?” she smiled. “That’s not nearly enough.”

  “I can bid higher then.”

  She leaned forward and brushed his nose with hers. When she kissed him gently on the lips, he responded in kind.

  “Something you want, Jenny?”

  She pulled away slightly. She had always been too impatient for her own good. Her body was saying, “Why wait? You know you want him. You won’t regret it.” But she had. What had Dr. Knowles advised when he had counseled her and Colin? Something about nothing being lost by waiting. That an investment of time at the beginning of a relationship would pay dividends later. That implied that she could mess things up if she hurried. “Simon, I’m not teasing you. I just – I want – but – I’m not – ready,” she said finally.

  CHAPTER 23

  Simon was so quiet on Sunday that Jenny began to wonder if she’d offended him. In the morning he put a second coat of paint on her front door. In the afternoon they took Bear for a walk, Simon glancing up and down each street they passed on the way to the Sainsbury’s on Finchley. “I’d like you to get some
groceries in this weekend,” he said. “The fewer trips you make without me and Bear, the better.” He waited outside with Bear while she chose what she needed.

  “Should I stop going to the gym? I have to walk there by myself because dogs aren’t allowed in.”

  He nodded. “It would be best.”

  After dinner he sat down with her on the sofa and spoke to her again about her safety, which really made her nervous.

  “Next weekend I’ll teach you some basic self-defence moves. Between now and then, I want you to prepare yourself mentally. When my team plans an op, we get our minds straight first. We don’t ask ourselves if we can be successful, because we know we can be. We only ask how. On the Job we can’t afford to lose. We have to win every time.”

  “Have you been thinking about this all day? I was afraid you were quiet because I disappointed you last night.”

  He smiled briefly. “You’ve never disappointed me. Now listen up. Repeat after me: I am alert. I am prepared. I know I can win.”

  She obeyed.

  “I can win in any circumstance, over any opposition.”

  He waited while she echoed his words.

  “I can survive. I did before, and I can do it again.” She faltered.

  Hoping to relax her, he began to run his fingers across her palm.

  “Simon, how do you know all this?” she asked. “Did you ever need to psych yourself up?”

  He took a deep breath. “A while ago, yes. When I was first in the Special Forces and sent to the Persian Gulf. Prior to Desert Storm.” He stopped.

  “Simon, I know you’re uncomfortable, but please tell me.” She smiled. “Should I massage your hand?”

  He appreciated her humour: a good way to control fear. “I had some anxiety about my ability to perform under fire, so when I loaded my magazine, I named each round with what I thought I needed. Strength. Endurance. Calm. There were others. When I had a few ops under my belt, I boiled it down to mindset. My gear was in order, and I was physically ready. So it all came down to a constant state of mental readiness.”