The Witness

by Naomi Kryskle

Her shoulders slumped. All of Sergeant Casey’s medicine was wearing off.

  Mr. Benjamin had remained on his feet. “Your Honour, might I suggest that we recess for lunch? It is past the hour.”

  “We’ll resume at a quarter to two.” Thomas nodded at the usher.

  “All rise!”

  They did, some of them even more slowly than Jenny.

  CHAPTER 10

  No one spoke until the door to Judge Lloyd’s chambers closed behind them. Hunt was seething. “How much more of this legal claptrap does she have to endure?”

  Sinclair and Andrews joined them, the younger man with their lunches. Sinclair saw the lines of exhaustion on her face.

  “They’re wearing me down,” she said. “I just want it to be over—the questions, the rudeness, the attempts to humiliate me—I’m tired of the whole sordid mess.” She turned away, not wanting to face Hunt’s anger, Colin’s expectations, and Sergeant Casey’s intensity.

  Colin’s voice followed her. “I know it’s difficult, but you’re the best witness we’ve got. We’d be nowhere without you.”

  “Eat a bit,” Casey advised. “Then stay quiet. Save your strength.”

  She accepted the sandwich he offered and moved to the end of the sofa. Sinclair watched her take small, slow bites. The men ate noisily, Hunt punctuating the silence occasionally with a comment about the food.

  “It’s nearing the time,” Casey told her. “Ready yourself. Splash some water on your face.” He was waiting for her when she returned from the bathroom. “Tell me their names, Jenny. The ones you’re speaking for.”

  “Barbara. Clarissa. Emma.” She took a breath. “Marilyn. Patsy. Sally.”

  “One more,” The Voice said.

  Hers shook. “Jenny.”

  He took her arm and nodded at Davies to bring the chair.

  They returned to the courtroom, Sinclair and Andrews to their chairs behind the prosecution, Casey, Davies, and Hunt to their appointed positions of observation, and Jenny back to the witness-box.

  “Mr. Alford, who will be continuing the cross-examination?” Judge Thomas asked.

  “I will, Your Honour.” He faced Jenny once again. “Miss Jeffries, this business about taking the bus—it’s a fabrication, isn’t it? You never took the bus at all.”

  “Someone drugged me before I could buy the ticket.”

  “Who, Miss Jeffries?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Allow me to read from the statement you gave to the police. ‘It was a man’s hand. A man’s arm.’ You can’t do any better than that?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I submit that you cannot remember—or give a better description—because it never occurred, Miss Jeffries. Now let’s look at the alleged rape.”

  Alleged—her heart sank.

  “Did my client threaten you with a gun?”

  “No, sir. He didn’t have to, he used—”

  “A knife?” interrupted Mr. Alford.

  “No, sir. He hit me! He kicked me!”

  Alford appeared to consider this. “Then we understand correctly that there was no weapon.”

  “His ring was a weapon.”

  “Are you trying to tell this court that my client aimed his ring at you?” Alford asked in a scathing tone. “And you submitted because he had a ring?”

  I will not answer yes. I will not. “I did not submit.”

  Alford paused. “Miss Jeffries, did you resist my client’s advances?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I challenge that, Miss Jeffries! According to your statement, and I quote, ‘I didn’t defend myself. I won’t be a good witness.’ Are these your words, Miss Jeffries?”

  “Yes, but you’re taking them out of context.”

  “I think not! The sex you had with my client was consensual, was it not?”

  “No. I was a virgin.”

  “Miss Jeffries, it is not rape just because you lost your virginity. If that were the case, many a young man would be arrested and charged before his wedding night.”

  There were several chuckles in the courtroom.

  “Let’s continue. Miss Jeffries, if you didn’t struggle, it wasn’t rape.”

  “He had to pry my legs apart. What does that tell you?”

  “That you were a tease, Miss Jeffries—that you wanted to be overpowered.”

  “I squeezed my knees together. It was all I could do,” she insisted. “He had broken my arm.”

  “Both arms?”

  Casey wanted to break Alford’s.

  “My left arm.”

  “So you had the use of your right arm?”

  “No, it was bruised. And the drug made me sluggish.”

  “Then—and I must stress that we do not concede that my client caused any injury whatsoever to your left arm—why didn’t you push him away with your right arm? Being bruised doesn’t render one incapable.”

  “Because my face was bleeding. He had struck me across the cheek and cut me badly.”

  Alford’s patient tone made him sound as if he were genuinely trying to understand. “You could have reached him with your right arm, but he had struck you across the cheek.” He shook his head. “I don’t see the connection—a cheek injury wouldn’t affect your arm, would it?”

  “No, sir, I—”

  “I have it!” Alford exclaimed. “That blow—the one on your cheek—was of more concern to you than allegedly being forced to engage in sexual intercourse!”

  “No, of course it wasn’t, I just—”

  “You were more concerned about your appearance! Miss Jeffries, that is your testimony, is it not? In the whole of your statement to the police, and indeed, in all your testimony to this court, you cite only one act of restraint, and it was short-lived, because, in your own words, ‘I was concerned about my face.’”

  “You don’t understand, I couldn’t—”

  “Miss Jeffries, I understand very well, but perhaps you would like to explain it for the court—why you chose to shield your cheek instead of your vagina.”

  She shuddered. She hated hearing him say “vagina” out loud. His intonation made it sound obscene. “No—”

  “What does that tell us about you, Miss Jeffries?”

  “I was hurt so badly—I couldn’t think clearly—”

  “No, Miss Jeffries. I believe it tells us that you, like many women, may have thought no, but you meant, yes. You were not forced. My client did not rape you.”

  “Your Honour,” Mr. Benjamin began.

  “Save it for your concluding statement, Mr. Alford,” directed the judge.

  “Yes, Your Honour.” Alford thumbed through a stack of documents. “One moment, please, Your Honour.”

  She needed a break. It was all catching up with her, the nights of poor sleep in the judge’s chambers, the days of mental exhaustion, parrying the endless questions of counsel. She looked around the courtroom. There was Brian, her gentle giant, who had nursed her back to health with food too tasty to resist, held her accountable for her actions, and guided her into behaving responsibly. She saw Hunt, confrontational Hunt, who would never give an inch to anybody. She thought about Danny—his laughter stilled, fighting a silent battle. Behind her was Sergeant Casey, who understood what it felt like to face death, who was clear in his purpose and had helped her to be clear in hers. Her eyes rested on Colin. He had made her forget, however briefly, that she was scarred and would never be loved.

  So many times she had been discouraged. When she wanted to go home, Colin had brought her a book about Churchill, who had never given in. She had asked Sergeant Casey how to fight something invisible, and he had advised her to focus on what she could see and to keep her body ready for the conflict. She had told Padre Goodwyn that she had done her best, and he had told her that God was with her.

  Alford’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Miss Jeffries, you have caused serious charges to be laid against my client. Would you like to hear the list of counter-charges my client intends to lay
against you?”

  She raised her chin. “Yes, sir, I would.”

  He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Perjury, Miss Jeffries. Giving false evidence. Slander, the most malicious I have encountered. These are only a few of the offences. I will place you in the dock next time.”

  The dock—the monster was sitting there, looking elegant in his expensive suit, an attentive expression on his face. If he went free, other young women, currently going about their daily lives with no warning that a monster was coming, would be in mortal danger. He had caused incalculable fear, pain, and sorrow. Colin had never condemned her. He had held her when she cried. He had always believed in her. Sergeant Casey—formidable in his anger, frightening in his focus—had gripped the pillow for her to hit. She thought about her family, her long distance lifeline, so deeply missed for so many months. Her daddy would say that it was time for her to step up to the plate. She pushed herself to her feet, lifting her chin defiantly and raising her voice so the microphone wouldn’t be necessary. “Then bring it on, Mr. Alford!” she shot back. “I’m a Texan, and I won’t quit. I’ll fight for my integrity. As God is my witness, I did not lie. I remember—”

  Judge Thomas interrupted Alford’s objection. “You invited this, Mr. Alford.”

  “—everything your client did to me, from the first blow until I lost consciousness. I haven’t forgotten the fear, and I haven’t forgotten the pain, and I’ll never forget—” she turned toward Scott and pointed her finger at him—“his face! Do you have a daughter, Mr. Alford? God help her, if you let her anywhere near your client!”

  “I’ll see you in court,” Alford said coldly. “Your Honour, I have no further questions for this witness.”

  “Mr. Benjamin, would you care to re-examine?” Judge Thomas asked.

  “Yes, Your Honour,” answered Mr. Benjamin, bowing as tradition dictated. “Do you need a moment, Miss Jeffries?”

  “No, sir, you’d better do it now.”

  “Miss Jeffries, when you first appeared in this court, you took an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Have you upheld that oath?”

  “Yes, sir, I have.”

  “In all your testimony, have you uttered any fabrication or falsehood?”

  “No, sir, not one.”

  “Were you forced to testify in this case?”

  “No, sir, I was not.”

  “Have you told this Court everything you can recall about the events that took place on September 14, 1998?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Miss Jeffries, did William Cecil Crighton Scott hit you?—Kick you?—Cut you?”

  She answered yes to each question.

  “Did he in fact beat you so brutally that you had multiple broken bones?—Did he cause massive bruising?—Internal injuries so severe that your spleen was removed and repair to other internal organs was required?”

  Again she responded affirmatively in each case.

  “Were you in excruciating pain?”

  “Yes, sir. At the end, it hurt so much to breathe that I stopped screaming.”

  “Were your injuries so extensive that they necessitated intensive care in hospital?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did William Cecil Crighton Scott rape you, Miss Jeffries?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Did he kick you in the head, causing you to lose consciousness?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you absolutely and completely certain—no doubt whatsoever—that William Cecil Crighton Scott was the man who committed these heinous offences against you?”

  “Yes, sir. When I sleep, his face is in my dreams. Every time I look in the mirror, my scars look back at me. He was a monster. I’ll never forget, not ever.”

  “That concludes our examination of this witness, Your Honour,” said Mr. Benjamin, bowing to the judge and sitting down.

  Judge Thomas glanced at defence counsel, who shook his head. The judge then turned to Jenny. “Miss Jeffries, thank you for your assistance. You are excused. You may stand down. Court is adjourned until half ten tomorrow morning. Off we go.” He left the bench.

  Was it finally over? She had heard the judge’s words, but they hadn’t registered. She was so exhausted she could not have testified to the hour or even to the day. She saw the sergeant holding out his hand to her, and she couldn’t think what she was supposed to do.

  “Time to go, Miss Jeffries.”

  His voice was firm, and automatically she obeyed. She found herself on Judge Lloyd’s sofa, and she curled up and closed her eyes.

  “Don’t wake her,” Sinclair said when he arrived. “Just tell her she did brilliantly. I’ll phone her family later. I’ll be off with the decoy straightaway.” He smiled. “It’s a bit like being the Pied Piper, at least for the press. Ring me when you’ve landed.”

  The protection team wouldn’t leave until after the entire courthouse had cleared, so Andrews brought pizza, and Casey woke her to take a few bites. The men changed out of their uniforms, and Casey decided that a raincoat and hat were sufficient to conceal her identity. At the appointed time, the armed police outside the judge’s door accompanied them to the waiting vehicle.

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

  When they returned to the flat, Casey rang Sinclair. Hunt volunteered to take the night watch. “So our chef will be rested and ready for kitchen duty tomorrow,” he joked. Casey didn’t wait to hear Davies’ response.

  The flat was quiet. Hunt made himself the first of many cups of tea and went into the sitting room. He recalled his early days with the team, how Davies had threatened to throttle him—more than once—when he’d whinged about being stuck there. Shut it until you hear her tell it, he’d said. Then you’ll know what you’re here for. Well, he’d heard it now, heard Little Bit describe everything and heard those bloody briefs at court maul her.

  Coppers saw things other persons didn’t—beastly things—but those who lasted on the Job learnt to insulate themselves. They had to pay attention on the outside but stay detached on the inside so they could process what they saw and take the appropriate response. It was a struggle; some nights his PC father hadn’t gone down the pub. Sat by himself instead in the front room. In the dark. “Leave me. It’ll not help to bring the heartache home,” was all he had said.

  Now he was living in a flat with someone who’d been through bloody hell. What should he do? What Casey had done in court when she’d fainted: Get her back on her feet. Help her get on with it. So the rest of them could also. Easier said than.

  CHAPTER 11

  Jenny nearly slept the clock round. Finally Sergeant Casey woke her with a cup of tea. Another list for her journal: Uses for British Tea. It put you to sleep, woke you up, soothed frazzled nerves, calmed upset feelings, welcomed visitors, and warmed cold hands. Did it reduce swelling? Assist in the quest for world peace? She felt like she had jet lag, and it probably cured that, too. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “We’ve had lunch.”

  She put on a dressing gown, sipped some hot soup, and snacked on some biscuits. After a long nap, she showered and dressed.

  When Colin came by after dinner, she was wearing a bright turquoise t-shirt with blue jeans but there was no colour in her face. She greeted him briefly and then went back to bed, not bothering to change into her pyjamas.

  “Must have been something in the food,” Hunt joked. Their mission—getting her to and from court safely—had been a success, and he was still in good spirits.

  “Did you medicate her?” Sinclair asked Casey.

  “No, sir, there’s a natural letdown after a mission,” he explained. “Combine that with physical exhaustion, and you have the thousandmetre stare. Men who’ve been in combat for a long time sometimes get it. She gave it all she had, sir.”

  “I’m still furious that so much was required,” Sinclair said.

  “She has the ability to stand in the door,” Casey added. “I respect that.
”

  “That another of your military expressions?” Hunt asked.

  Casey smiled. He enjoyed baiting Hunt; he always bit, hook, line, and sinker. “Airborne troops coined it. When you’re ready to jump, you stand in the door. You’re committed 100%.”

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

  The second day passed much as the first. The third day her numbness was gone. She thought about her testimony, and the memories hurt. “It was a feeding frenzy, like letting a pack of ravenous dogs loose with the Easter bunny! Alford—Rhoads—they beat me up in front of everybody.”

  “I’d like to beat them up in front of everybody,” Hunt said.

  “I’d rather do it in private,” Casey said.

  “They hit below the belt,” Brian agreed, “but you played hurt, like the rugby blokes I see on TV. I was proud of you.”

  “But they sent people to Texas—they dug up all that dirt about me!”

  “What dirt? Sounded normal,” was Hunt’s opinion. “I do have a question, though. If you loved that bloke, why didn’t you have it off with him?”

  Casey frowned.

  “What! Did I go too far?”

  “No, it’s okay,” she said quietly. “The truth is, I was planning to. If he’d lived just another week, I would have. I wish I had. I wish he’d been my first and not the monster.” Her voice shook. “That photo—he was all bloody. His chest had caved in.” She turned to Casey. “Sergeant—that last morning—did you really mean all those things you said? You didn’t want to take care of me?”

  “I wanted you angry.”

  “But—all those times you were good to me—were you lying?”

  “Leave it, Jenny.” His voice hardened. “Don’t start messing me about. It’s been a long time since I felt that way.”

  Why was he so gruff? She knew he rarely talked about his feelings, but she needed to know. “Is it just a job to you?”

  “It’s a job I like. I can’t say any fairer than that.”

  Hunt left, returning a few minutes later with hot cocoa for her. “My prescription—administer chocolate. Dosage—one cup.”

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