She flinched, and Colin felt it even as he saw it.
Goodwyn leant forward. “Jenny, I don’t seek to embarrass or upset you. I’d like to reassure you with my conviction. In the Army there was no time for lies or dissembling. If I’d given pat answers, I’d not have lasted long. In spite of their arms and fortifications, soldiers are vulnerable, and they know it. It’s necessary to tell the truth.”
“I’m vulnerable, too,” she whispered. “I’m afraid all the time. I saw what happened to Danny, and he’s still not better. I saw what almost happened to me.”
She was desperate to feel safe, and Colin knew he could not guarantee it.
“Why do you think there are so many verses in the Bible about fear, Jenny? Left to our own devices, we are a fearful lot, but that is not God’s will for us. He has not given us a ‘spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’”
Those same verses were in the book of prayers Colin had given her. “What can I do when fear strikes?”
“The Word of God is powerful ammunition. In this case the Twenty-third Psalm is the antidote I would use. Learn it by heart. It tells us, among other things, that even in the valley of the shadow of death, we are not meant to be afraid. The presence of a shadow means that light is close by.”
She had been in that valley more than once, and lately she’d felt threatened even in the flat. There was no safe place to hide. “Danny’s there. Is he afraid?”
“No, little one. I’ve been to see him. There’s no fear where he is.”
“There’s no fear when you’re in a coma?”
“He’s having a little rest in God’s arms. I believe that he will awaken, in God’s time.”
“Why did you visit him? What’s the point, when he can’t hear you?”
“Jenny, it’s his body that’s in a coma, not his spirit.”
She was the reverse: her body awake, her spirit in a coma. Strange—Colin had kissed her and wakened her, but now her fear had anesthesized her again. “I need God to help me, and He hasn’t. Sergeant Casey has, and Colin, and Dr. Knowles, and the other men, but not God.”
“Don’t you know He uses people to accomplish His will? He did in the Bible, and He still does. I also believe that God has magnificent blessings in store for you.”
She shook her head slowly. “I haven’t seen any evidence of that.”
“On the contrary. You are alive. Colin tells me that you had dreadful injuries, and clearly you have recovered from them. You have been well looked after by the police. I hear you have come to trust them. Life, health, loving care—those are all gifts of God.”
“Wait until I tell Sergeant Casey he’s a gift from God!”
Colin smiled. Her sense of humour revealed itself at the most unexpected times.
“There’s a very simple reason that I’m convinced blessings are in store for you,” Goodwyn continued. “Do you want to know what it is?”
She inclined her head.
“By agreeing to testify against your abusers, you have aligned yourself with God’s will. Haven’t you realised that every time your commitment has been threatened, something—or Someone—has strengthened your resolve?”
“You make it sound so personal,” she said. “I was always taught that God loved us, but from a distance.”
“It is personal. God knows your name. He knows how many hairs you have on your head. He knows how many tears you have cried. He knows your needs, He has provided for them, and He will continue to do so.”
That was the message of The Mysterious Island, she remembered: What you need will be supplied. Danny had been reading a paperback copy before Christmas. At the time it was the concept of being an island that had occupied her. Britain was an island; that had been the most significant element in its history and literature. She had felt like an island, surrounded by savage waters and an ocean away from her family. Now Danny was the island, surrounded by his family but unaware of their presence.
“The most prominent symbol in this room is a cross.”
“My flag? Those crosses belong to St. George, St. Andrew, and St. Patrick.”
“All saints of God,” Goodwyn said calmly. “Don’t you find its placement interesting? The Bible says that God watches over us while we sleep.”
She had wanted the flag mounted where she could see it. It hadn’t occurred to her that it was a symbol of the fact that God could see her.
“You were chosen to be a witness. We are all witnesses, either to our belief or our unbelief.”
“So far I haven’t been a witness to anything. Colin’s a better witness than I am. He never gives up, and I do.”
“I disagree. You’re a witness to integrity, decency, and the rule of law.”
“Then why—why—does it have to be so hard?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“To increase the impact your life has on others,” Goodwyn replied without hesitation. “And I can tell you without qualification that your struggle has affected the men in this flat. They respect you.”
“Why, when I put Danny in a coma?”
“That wasn’t your doing, Jenny, but the light of God is with him, even there.”
“You see God in everything.”
“I certainly do,” Goodwyn agreed. “You’ve heard people recommend that we stop to smell the roses? I like to go one step further—remember Who made the roses and gave them their scent. There are signs of God’s presence all over our world, if we will only look for them.”
Jenny finally smiled. “You’re in the right profession. I just think you give God entirely too much credit.”
“It’s not possible to do that. God is here, Jenny. All you have to do is acknowledge Him.”
CHAPTER 62
Sinclair had a smile on his face as he headed home on the Friday afternoon. Sergeant Casey had rung him earlier in the day to report that Jenny was restless, and they were seeking a way to distract her. As a further complication, her trip to the courthouse was scheduled for the Sunday, and the men needed time to move their gear into position. Casey was concerned that she would be upset further if she saw them preparing and realised that her exposure to danger was imminent. Sinclair had suggested that they bring her to his flat for the evening. He’d provide dinner and a bit of entertainment while the men recced the routes to the courthouse. Casey felt that a four-hour window should be sufficient, so he agreed to escort her downstairs at seven p.m. and pick her up at eleven.
Sinclair stopped by the video store on Finchley Road to rent a film and bought a pepperoni pizza at Domino’s on his way up the hill. Simple fare, but it would do. He had a bottle of red wine at the flat, which Casey had assured him was not contraindicated with the antibiotic medication she was still taking.
He had just popped the pizza in the oven to keep warm when he heard the knock on the door. He was still wearing his work clothes, but he’d taken off his coat and tie and unbuttoned his waistcoat. “Dinner’s warming. Glass of wine?”
She nodded, curious about his flat. It had high ceilings, and his sitting room was larger than the one upstairs, with a fireplace in it. He also had a bay window, which she supposed she shouldn’t approach, and one wall was lined with bookshelves. Instead of wall-to-wall carpet, there were hardwood floors with an area rug between the leather sofa and the fireplace and another beneath the dining room table.
“To easier times,” he said. They sat down on the sofa, and he cued up the video.
“American President, with Michael Douglas and Michael J. Fox,” she exclaimed. “I love this movie.” It opened with scenes of previous presidents, and she felt a little homesick. Colin served the pizza when the characters in the movie were enjoying a lavish state dinner at the White House, and both of them looked down at their sliced meal and laughed at the contrast.
“It’s different, seeing this movie from another country. It might be easy to leave America behind for a vacation, but to be away from it like this—” She stopped. “It’s so good to hear American vo
ices!”
Colin hadn’t seen the film before, but the character of the environmental lobbyist reminded him of Jenny. They both had pluck. When the American president kissed his leading lady, Jenny blushed. Colin found it charming and tried to remember the last time he’d seen a woman blush. It had been Jenny, after he’d kissed her when she was so upset about Sullivan.
As the film progressed, he spent more time watching her than the video. Even her t-shirts were feminine, with lace, ruffles, or embroidery. Tonight she had worn one embellished with lavender flowers which complemented her watch and curved gracefully across her chest. Knowles had said that the assault had destroyed her femininity; was that why she dressed the way she did? Was she attempting to recreate it? He couldn’t ask, but he could compliment her. “You’re lovely tonight,” he said, and was rewarded with a quick smile.
“Will the press hound me like that?” she asked, watching the American reporters harass the President’s girlfriend.
“If they could, they would—if they knew who you were and where you were.”
When the video ended, he made coffee. She was in a pensive mood. “Don’t you wish politicians really sounded like that? He was so inspiring.”
“The lines aren’t scripted for the real ones,” he reminded her.
“And they won’t be for me, in court. When will it be, Colin? Sergeant Casey won’t say.”
“The date hasn’t been determined.”
“I know it can’t be long—I’m pretty much recovered.”
“You gave me a fright, Jen.”
“I’ve never been that sick, but after a while I wasn’t afraid.” She set her coffee cup down. “I dreamed that I was being buried at sea. You were there, and you wrapped me in the flag. The colors were bleeding onto my skin, but I didn’t care because the water was so cool. Dying was like going to sleep.”
He hoped desperately that she wouldn’t cry. Her tears after she was shot had moved him to comfort her, and in a heartbeat it had changed everything. He had been unprofessional. He’d heard of other officers taking witnesses, even suspects on occasion, into their beds. That was not possible with this woman, not now, when her full concentration needed to be on her testimony, and possibly not ever. He was a weary thirty-seven years old, she a fragile twenty-three.
The musical soundtrack was still playing, and its romantic music made it difficult for him to show restraint. He reached for the remote and stopped the recording. She looked calm and relaxed. Yes, he was more in control this time. “Sergeant Casey will be along soon,” he said.
“We’d better clean up then.” They were in the kitchen when the knock on the door came.
“Thank you for this evening.” She stood on her tiptoes, and he felt her lips, soft on his cheek. Very quickly he cupped her face in his hands and bent down to kiss her. Why hadn’t he done it before, when he wouldn’t have had to hurry? He straightened and saw her smile. That would have to satisfy him for now. She would be in court in three days.
After she left, he thought about her. It had been a long time since he’d valued a woman’s kiss. Since his divorce, he hadn’t looked for love. Sexual attraction had been sufficient, and he’d expected far more than kisses from the other women who had been in this flat. He was a confident man, and he’d never before considered it remarkable when a woman he fancied responded to him. Strange—instead of comparing Jenny to other women, he was comparing other women to her.
CHAPTER 63
In spite of the men’s efforts to keep a low profile, Jenny knew that her time to testify was approaching, and their reluctance to discuss their plans made her even more nervous. It was a relief when Sergeant Casey sat down with her Sunday afternoon and explained the schedule and the measures they would take to keep her safe during the big event.
“Have I lost my readiness? I haven’t exercised. And I need new spark plugs. I don’t have any get-up-and-go.”
“You have residual readiness, love. And the B-12 jabs should help. Roll up your sleeve.”
Per his instructions, she packed an overnight bag with her clothes for court, toiletries, and linens. Fortunately there was room for her London policeman teddy bear, so she could have a stuffed bodyguard as well as stuffy bodyguards. She’d have to spot bathe in the judge’s bathroom. The men would use Davies’ flat, since it was closest to the court, and Davies and Hunt would sleep there. She wore her workout clothes and planned to sleep in them. The men were already wearing their body armour. Sergeant Casey adjusted hers carefully.
“I love this stuff,” she said, trying to control the trembling in her voice. “I think I’ll get some in every color.”
They departed after dinner. It was raining fast, and the men were pleased. The bad weather would limit the number of persons on the street and reduce the visibility of any souls brave enough to venture into the downpour. In Texas they’d call it a frog-choker, but she knew better than to say anything aloud.
They didn’t want to attract any attention, so there was no shadow car. Jenny rode with Casey, Davies, and Hunt in a nondescript vehicle, Andrews behind the wheel. She’d observed the other men at work: Sergeant Andrews was the revelation. She had seen Andrews the interrogator, logical, thorough, and direct. She had enjoyed the Andrews who gossiped and played Christmas games. She remembered a bland, affable Andrews unintimidated by the defence solicitor. Now she saw an Andrews as mute and focused as Sergeant Casey.
They saw no one near the courthouse as they approached. Andrews drove within a few feet of the rear entrance. The courthouse employed its own security men, Casey had told her, but plain-clothes officers would be expecting them. They waited inside the car while Hunt knocked on the door. Sergeant Andrews kept the motor running, and Brian and Sergeant Casey watched the street. When the courthouse door opened, Brian exited the right rear door of the vehicle. He opened Casey’s door, his eyes sweeping the area while Casey reached for her hand. It felt safe in the car. Outside it was too dark to see a threat coming. “Now, Jenny,” The Voice said when she didn’t move. He and Brian kept her between them, and Sergeant Andrews didn’t pull away until the courthouse door had closed behind them.
There was a lift just inside the door, but Sergeant Casey directed her past it. “We’ll take the stairs,” he said. “Try to keep up.” She couldn’t, not with Brian’s long, rapid strides. “Move it, Jenny,” Casey commanded, pushing against her back. Frightened by his urgency, she broke into a run, clasping her overnight bag to her chest. She could hear Hunt behind her, barely managing to keep his excitement in check. When they were inside the judge’s chambers, Casey rang Sinclair. “Phoenix has landed,” he said. “Call the backup units into position.”
A short while later Sinclair rang back. “I reached Judge Thomas. Court will convene at half ten tomorrow morning. I’ll see you before then. Good luck.”
It was a long night. Armed police identified themselves when they arrived and were positioned outside the door to the judge’s chambers. Occasionally Jenny was reassured by the sound of their voices or the sight of the shadows of their shoes under the door. She had never been in a judge’s chambers, and she was surprised to find that the space was crowded with a desk, sofa, and two chairs. She found medical supplies in the small bathroom; Sergeant Casey was prepared for the worst. “Am I safe here?” she asked him.
“This place is crawling with coppers, not just outside our door. Some uniformed, some not. You’ll be okay.”
“Will they shoot?”
“They’ve been fully briefed.”
“Will—they—shoot?”
“If necessary, yes.”
He brought her a sleeping pill, and she lay down on the sofa with her bear and her blanket, but she was afraid, and sleep would not come. She missed Danny terribly, knowing that even in this situation he would have pierced the dread with his lightheartedness. She had learned the Twenty-third Psalm, as Padre Goodwyn had suggested, but she could not concentrate sufficiently for the words to register, so she prayed for Danny instead�
�to wake up, to laugh, to be himself. She prayed the trial would be worth what it had cost.
She left the light on in the bathroom, but there was no radio, and it was terribly quiet. The men had pushed the desk against one wall to make room for Sergeant Casey’s sleeping bag, and she asked if she could sit next to him. “No, love, I’ll sit with you,” he said, so she made room for him on the sofa and held his arm.
“After all this time, I can’t believe I’m finally here. Sergeant Casey, how am I going to get through it tomorrow?”
“The way all warriors do: by relying on your training.”
“What am I trained to do?”
“Communications and demolitions. Just tell what that bastard did to you, and you’ll destroy him.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. Jenny, you’ll be on point, but I’ll be there to cover you.”
“Promise?”
“Jenny, yes.”
The Voice reassured her, and she felt sleepy.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When morning came, Andrews arrived with breakfast beverages and rolls. She sipped a little tea and wished that she had a Coke to settle her stomach. She changed into her hunter green wool suit in the adjoining bathroom. Davies and Hunt arrived. They waited.
Sinclair was admitted just before ten. “It won’t be long now.” He squeezed her cold hand and bent down to give her a light kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be sitting in the back,” he said and was gone.
Sergeant Andrews knocked. “It’s time.”
Casey came up behind her and took her arm. “Coraggio.”
“I love you guys,” she said, her voice breaking. “Even Hunt.”
They followed Andrews and the black-robed court usher down the corridor.
PART THREE
Success cannot be guaranteed.
There are no safe battles.
— Winston Churchill
CHAPTER 1
“All rise!” cut through the buzz of excitement in the crowded courtroom. Judge Wilfred Thomas entered and seated himself, waiting for the rustle to subside. “Call your next witness, Mr. Benjamin.”
The Witness Page 30