The Witness: A Novel (21 page)

Monday morning when she woke, Brian was gone. “Is he coming back?” she asked Casey. “Is this it? Am I moving?” Casey assured her it was only for twenty-four hours. When Davies returned, Sullivan would take off.

That night after dinner, Mr. Sinclair gave her another postcard tour. The last time he had brought postcards, he had asked her to address him by his first name. What was his agenda tonight? Would it be rude to ask?

He began at Parliament Square and Westminster Abbey. “All our monarchs were crowned there.”

She had seen the Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. She remembered her awe when she’d looked up at the tower of Big Ben, taller than a football field is long. She had been a tourist, with as many expectations for good things as a child with a Christmas list. She looked at the three-by-five-inch souvenir postcard in her hand. She and Big Ben had both shrunk.

He had found individual postcards of the statues of Oliver Cromwell, Abraham Lincoln, and Winston Churchill and paused in his narration to give her a chance to respond.

“How ecumenical,” she remarked. “One British hero, one American, and one half and half.”

There were several postcards from the Tower of London, showing the royal palace, the fortress, and the prison. She remembered the movie,
A Man For All Seasons,
and knew that Sir Thomas More had been beheaded, as had some of the rulers. The Beefeater postcard reminded her of the
Yeomen of the Guard
operetta, and she was embarrassed that so much of her knowledge of British history had come from the world of entertainment. She oohed and aahed over the Crown Jewels and intoned, “Nevermore,” when she saw the picture of the ravens.

“Legend has it,” Sinclair explained, “that if the ravens leave, the commonwealth will come to an end, so their wings are clipped. They can hop but not fly.”

“That’s one way to preserve the status quo,” she observed, “but it’s sad to think they can’t be free. I know what it’s like to be stuck in a place. I wonder if, in their bird consciousness, they know how small their world has become.” She thought about the vastness of some of the world’s natural landmarks. What was the Grand Canyon without the perspective of space, or Niagara Falls without the roar of the water? “Will I be moving soon? Will it be sudden, or will I have some time to get used to the idea? Will you tell me where I’m going, or will it be a surprise, like this was?”

“Jenny, I don’t know yet.” Knowles is right. She’s nervous about changing her living arrangements.

“I want to keep being Jenny,” she stressed.

“We’ll find a way to respect that,” he assured her. “We’re trying to take into account all your needs. We have no desire to make this difficult for you.”

She smiled suddenly. “At least you’ll be free. Think about all the spare time you’ll have when you don’t have to collect postcards.”

“It’s no bother,” he answered. “It’s a distraction for me also.”

He left the postcards with her and returned to his flat, its décor reduced to shades of light and dark. On a regular basis he used only his bedroom and bathroom, rarely venturing into the kitchen. He never ate there, just keeping one cup ready for instant coffee if he were called out during the night. Every square inch of the witness protection flat was occupied and used, and it seemed cosy to him.

D
anny returned to the flat late Wednesday morning, his arms full of groceries and laughing about Jenny’s additions to the list. She’d written
chocolate
every other line, and at the bottom, all in capital letters,
NO BRUSSELS SPROUTS.
“I didn’t buy any,” he grinned.

Brian was busy all afternoon on an Italian dinner, and the flat was filled with the scents of garlic and oregano. He made chicken breasts stuffed with mushrooms, mozzarella cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, and seasonings, with risotto and a salad on the side. Everything was delicious, but she couldn’t resist teasing him about his salad, holding up a leafy green sprig, and asking, “Brian, what in the world is this? It looks like a weed.”

“It’s called rocket. It has more flavour than other salad greens.”

“You are the captain of the kitchen!” she exclaimed. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“Scouting,” he said with a smile. “There was a merit badge. I do my best work over an open fire.”

“You didn’t learn to make this in Boy Scouts.”

“Actually, we had paying guests that we cooked for—people who wanted to see what a working farm was like.”

“Did you make Eagle Scout?”

“We call it Queen’s Scout. But then I got interested in girls, and that was the end of scouting for me.”

“I didn’t make it very far in scouting,” she remembered. “Camping did me in. It was hot, and the bugs—ugh! Just about everything in Texas has a bite, or a sting, or a thorn. And I was afraid of snakes.”

“Does Texas have poisonous snakes?” Danny asked.

“Yes, lots. Water moccasins, copperheads, rattlesnakes, and coral snakes. I’ve never seen the others, but I went to a rattlesnake rodeo once.”

She had their full attention.

“A company that sold rattlesnake-skin cowboy boots sponsored it,” she explained. “A man was in a fenced area with more rattlesnakes than I could shake a stick at. He climbed in a sleeping bag with some of them; things like that. They even served cooked rattlesnake meat.”

“Did you eat any?” Brian asked.

“Yes,” she smiled at the memory. “I took a very small bite. Actually all the bites were small, because there are so many bones in a rattlesnake. It didn’t have a strong flavor.”

After dinner the men seemed to be everywhere. She went to her room intending to read, but the noise from the television was distracting, so she set her book aside and just sat. Eventually the TV was turned off, and she heard the men move away. Her room didn’t feel private, however. They made her keep her door open. The lighthearted exchange at dinner had amused her, but it wasn’t bedtime yet.

Finally she sat down on the floor next to her bed but on the side that faced away from the door. When Danny knocked and called out to her, she didn’t answer. She heard his voice asking, “Have you seen Jenny? Could she have got out?”

Other voices: “No. Door’s secure.” “The alarm would have sounded.”

She could hear them moving around the flat. She knew she should call out, let them know she was okay, but she was mute, as if some powerful hand were gripping her throat. Their footsteps were coming closer. She wrapped her arms around her shins and pressed her head against her knees.

“What’s this, love?”

All three of them were staring down at her, their startled faces meeting her sudden, silent tears.

“I’ll deal here,” Casey said. He sat down next to her, scanning her body quickly. “Want to tell me what you’re on about?”

She couldn’t even swallow, because of the invisible hand.

After a few minutes he began massaging her fingers.

“My friend, Emily, is getting married this weekend. She was one of the first girls I met in college. I wasn’t sure of myself at first, so I was drawn to the more confident students, like Emily.” She took a shaky breath. “She’s a fiery redhead with a personality to match. She’ll do anything, say anything. We all knew swear words, but she used them with more alacrity than anyone else. She kept all us ‘earthlings’ on edge, but it was exciting. She liked E words: When she met Morgan, her fiancé, she said she wasn’t in love, she was ‘enamored.’”

The tears were coming freely now, but she didn’t move her hand away from his to wipe them. “She was spontaneous, outrageous, but she could plan. She and Morgan planned everything, every detail. An evening wedding, of course. They wanted to wait until he’d finished law school and she’d worked for a year, and it had to be past the worst of the summer heat but not too close to Thanksgiving. Rainbow dresses for the bridesmaids, so we could each wear a color we thought suited us.”

Her voice broke. “She always took life by storm; she had no fear. I’d be afraid of her now. She’d have a word for me, some expletive.”

Casey remembered an officer telling him that his actions on a particular mission had been “exemplary.” A rare compliment: Exemplary behaviour was the expected norm.

“This police thing I’m involved in—it’s taken on a life of its own. And my life is passing me by. It’ll be too late to apply to graduate schools when I get out of here.”

He hated the hopelessness. What had happened to the adventurous girl who had eaten the rattlesnake? But he knew—Scott had chewed her up and spit her out.

Finally she looked at him. “And you’ll be moving on soon, you and Brian and Danny. Do you know when?”

He shook his head. “I don’t choose my assignments.”

“A
ndrews said you wanted a word with me,” Sinclair told Casey when he arrived at the flat.

“Yes, sir, a private word.” He gestured toward his room, where he sat on the bed, leaving the chair for the boss. “Jenny’s in a right state about her move. Some mornings she can’t keep her breakfast down. She cries at night. It’s not good for her.”

“We’re in a logjam at the moment, Sergeant. No decision has been taken.”

“I may be able to help with that a bit, sir. She’s been hard done by. I’d recommend strongly against any change of venue.”

“This site is unacceptable to Witness Protection.”

“Sir, I’m aware of the objections, but security improvements have been made. Do you really think Scott will expect coppers to put her up in Hampstead? As long as we stay low on the radar screen, we should be okay. Besides, any movement creates security risks.”

“Sorry? ‘We’?”

“If she’s not ready to pack it in, then I suppose I’m not either, sir.”

Sinclair glanced about the room. Smaller than Jenny’s and even more bare. “Sergeant, this case may not come to trial for months, the construction of a new Crown Court notwithstanding.”

“I’ve been on extended ops before. Besides, I promised her father I’d do it, or as good as.”

Sinclair gave him a long look but did not remind him of his initial reluctance to serve.

“I have two recommendations,” Casey continued. “The front door should be fortified with steel plates. And we’ll need some regular short-term relief. Days only would do, sir.”

“She’ll be isolated; cut off from psychological help. She has to be able to testify.”

“Sir, I’ve seen lads with combat stress. Most go back into action, but not until they’ve had a period to recover. I can’t mend her inside, but keeping her moored should help.”

“Will the others sign on?”

“I’ll wager they will, but you’ll have to ask them, sir.”

“Sullivan?”

“He’s good with her, sir.”

“And Davies?”

“He’s steady. Besides,” he added with a smile, “he’s a dab hand in the kitchen.”

Sinclair was thinking aloud. “I’ll have to run it by Graves; let him take the heat.”

“There’s one more thing, sir,” Casey said. “A little opdec goes a long way.”

“What are you suggesting, Sergeant?”

“If Scott and his scum are expecting a move, give them one, when the time is right.”

Sinclair nodded slowly. He stood and held out his hand to Casey. “Thank you, Sergeant. Will you ask Sullivan to come in?”

Sullivan didn’t hesitate to volunteer for the extended duty. “I’m learning a lot from Casey and Davies, sir. I’ll stay on.”

Davies considered the request. “I never fancied myself a protection officer,” he admitted. “Thought the job was done when her father came. Sir, what’s your best estimate of the length of the assignment?”

“Months, but not years—they’re fast-tracking this case. However, no trial date has been set.”

“We’ll need some relief.”

“It will be provided.”

“If she can stick it, then I can as well. I’ll not stand down until it’s all over and done with.”

“Tell Casey I’ll get on to it then,” Sinclair said, wondering if he could flatter his boss sufficiently to gain his amen.

“S
ergeant Casey!” Jenny called softly. He was on watch, but he didn’t answer. She slipped out of bed and went to her door. “Sergeant Casey?”

“Something wrong?” He was coming out of the kitchen with a mug in his hand. With his lean, serious face, he looked like a Texas Ranger, minus the cowboy hat, string tie, and belt buckle.

“I can’t sleep. I’m so worried about my move. It’s bound to come soon. Do you know anything about it?”

He hadn’t heard back from Sinclair since he’d told him of his intention to stay on. “Not a word.” He set his mug down.

She peered in his cup. “You’re drinking coffee,” she exclaimed.

“Got used to it when I was in the service,” he smiled. “Tea doesn’t maintain its integrity in canteens.”

“I didn’t have any choice about coming here, remember?” she said. “You put me to sleep. What if they want you to do that again? What if I don’t like the next place? I won’t know where I am, and I don’t have enough money to get home. And I don’t know anybody, and—”

He put up his hands. “Full stop, Jenny.” She’d put one of the sofa pillows in her lap and was kneading it with her fingers. Perhaps a good hot cuppa would slow her down. He went back into the kitchen.

She was waiting quietly when he returned. He’d never seen a woman in such a demure nightdress. Her trim little figure was lost in the long flannel. He set the steaming cup down in front of her and advised several slow sips.

“I’m afraid,” she confessed after she’d tasted it. “Other people are making decisions for me. Mr. Sinclair said that I’d have a choice, but I don’t know if I can believe him.”

His coffee had cooled slightly, and he drained the cup in two long swallows. “He’s working for you, not against you.”

“Do you know that for a fact?” she pressed.

“Yes, love; but I can’t tell you any more than that.”

“Will it be soon?”

There was no response.

“Will I like it?”

He did not answer.

Tears were prickling her throat. “You wouldn’t let them do anything bad to me, would you?”

“I’m on your side, Jenny,” he said quietly but firmly.