The Witness: A Novel (36 page)

“She’s asleep, sir,” Casey said quietly. “We’ll put her back in bed before she gets cold.” He put his other arm beneath her knees and lifted her out of the water. It frightened Sinclair, seeing her limp form.

“Is she better?”

“For the moment.”

“Sergeant, are we going to lose her?”

“Not on my watch, sir.”

Sinclair nodded slowly. “Tea?”

“I wouldn’t mind, sir.”

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S
inclair and Casey sat in Jenny’s room sipping their tea. She was still quiet, motionless under the sheet.

“Sir, are we in for a change of command here?”

Sinclair glanced toward the bed.

“She can’t hear us, sir.”

Sinclair didn’t want to comment on his professional upheaval at the
Yard to the sergeant, but it appeared that Andrews already had done. He sighed. “Graves and I are under review for our handling of Jenny’s protection. The Detective Chief Super has been uncomfortable with the unorthodox nature of this arrangement from the beginning. We’ve had monthly reviews, but the shooting has given him the perfect excuse to revisit each decision we’ve taken.”

“It’s a bit close to the trial for a move to be made.”

Sinclair gave a harsh laugh. “The verdict may be more political than just, Sergeant. Supporting us—a vote of confidence—makes it appear that he’s done nothing. The appearance of action is very important to Woulson.” He set his tea cup on the floor by his chair. “The first change he’d make is venue.”

“Bloody politicians. They should keep clear of operations.”

“Some days I wish she’d gone with her father, actually.”

“In spite of the danger to her?”

“I’ve not done very well on that score here, have I?”

“Sir, it’s too soon for an assessment. Let’s get her mended first.”

The hours passed, Casey pulling a nightshirt on her, checking her vital signs, forcing liquids and medication down her, trying to make her comfortable as she alternately shivered and perspired. Hunt collected their cups and refilled them. Sinclair’s eyes felt less heavy than his spirit. He thought about Goodwyn’s visit. Sinclair had met him after his father’s death and had seen him work with others as well. He respected the way Goodwyn’s approach varied from situation to situation. He seemed to know what each person’s inner need was. He knew Jenny was far from home and the love of her family. He had wanted her to feel God’s love. He’d wanted to give her something to live for. Sinclair didn’t know if he’d succeeded. What do people her age live for? “Sergeant, is there anything more we can do for her?”

“No, sir. It’s a waiting game—lab results should be back later today. When they isolate the bacteria that’s causing this, Gallagher can prescribe a more specialised antibiotic.”

“Should we have taken her to hospital?”

“Sir, she’s my only patient. Shorter response time.”

Sinclair stood, stretched, and sat down again. Casey sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. They heard Hunt’s voice at the door. “Sir, Davies is coming on now. Any change?”

A thin thread answered. “Yes. I feel better.”

All eyes turned toward the bed. Jenny saw Colin’s unshaven face and Sergeant Casey’s widening smile. Casey reached her first, his hand on her wet forehead. “Fever’s broken, sir!” He turned to Sinclair, and without thinking, high-fived the senior officer. “Hunt, tell Davies we’ll need his services.”

There was a sudden flurry of activity, Casey reaching for the thermometer for confirmation and Davies wanting to know what she’d like for breakfast.

“No Brussels sprouts.”

Davies laughed aloud, and Sinclair saw her weak smile and knew his presence was no longer required. He had a phone call to make—to Texas. “Well done,” he said to Casey. “Will you let Davies take it for the time being?”

“Yes, sir. He’ll give me a shake if need be. Good luck, sir.”

A
t the flat, the men were returning to a normal duty roster, but Jenny’s recuperation was slow. She dragged herself into the kitchen to eat and crawled back into bed afterwards. After twenty-four hours, Casey removed the drip and encouraged her to dress and move about the flat a bit more. She did so halfheartedly. Later he found her asleep in her clothes. One night she slept on the sofa in the sitting room, wanting to be close to the man on watch. It was worrying. Casey reported to Sinclair that this last assault on her system had taken something out of her. Gallagher had prescribed regular injections of Vitamin B-12, but no improvement in her energy level had resulted so far.

With Graves’ permission Sinclair requested a meeting with Commander Keating. The progress of the Special Homicide Squad had been reviewed periodically since its inception, and Keating was the senior officer in charge of the detectives who performed this function. Sinclair wanted to make an appeal on Jenny’s behalf. He was aware that her medical condition and time in witness protection had already been documented, so he limited himself to more recent matters, the shooting at the rear entrance of the courthouse and her subsequent illness. He began by describing Sergeant Casey’s level of medical expertise, which had allowed them to remove Jenny from hospital quickly after her surgery. He reported the severity of her illness and Casey’s immediate and constant response. “We will benefit from her testimony in a number of cases,” Sinclair pointed out. “It is in our best interest as well as hers to be wary of any unnecessary changes that may distress her. In addition, as late events have proved, it is impossible to guarantee that she will not require medical intervention in the future.”

Keating regarded him with a steady gaze and thanked him for coming in.

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T
wenty-four hours after Sinclair’s meeting with Keating, the determination came down. No fault was found either in Jenny’s
protection, which Keating called “irregular but effective,” or in the planning for her transport to court.

“Sir,” Andrews commented to his boss, “he must have remembered his operational days and recognised that no amount of preparation can anticipate everything.” He made note of the sentence he wanted to relay to Sergeant Casey: “The standards of integrity that are essential to effective police work were maintained.” It was a pity that so few coppers would see this report—they all needed to hear that they had handled at least one case well.

Sinclair did not speak of the ruling. Now that it was clear that he would still be involved in the case, he called an evening meeting to discuss new plans for escorting her to court. He brought a set of blueprints for the Crown Court building, leaving them on the dining room table before speaking to her briefly. She was in the sitting room, but her book was face down on her lap. He glanced at the title.

“Good book?”

She looked up at him. “I don’t know. I’ve read the same page five times.”

“Jenny, I need to have a word with the men.”

“I’ll go in my room. I don’t want to know.” But she did. What did they think the monster would try this time? When? How would they prevent his attack? Could they?

Troubled, he joined the men in the dining room. “The venue hasn’t changed—it’s the same court. What can we do differently?”

“Our tactics will have to change, sir,” Davies said.

Casey glanced at him. “Make it more like a special op. Use the element of surprise.”

“Sergeant, when I tell Judge Thomas that Jenny has recovered sufficiently to appear, he will reconvene. The day and time will be known.”

Casey reached for the blueprints and unrolled them. “Which court will she be in?”

Sinclair consulted the plans and pointed.

“What are these other spaces?”

“Other courts and judges’ chambers.”

“Sir, I want to enter the building only once, and use someone’s chambers or conference room as our bunker.”

Davies picked up Casey’s train of thought. “And wait until we’re safely inside before letting anyone know we’re there.”

“Right. Give no one advance notice. Even our route should be a last-minute decision.”

“How long will she be testifying?” asked Hunt.

“Hard to say. Depends on the defence strategy. Plan for at least three days,” Sinclair answered.

“When she testifies, I want to be in the courtroom,” Casey said. “I
don’t want her going in without us.”

“I rather think Judge Thomas will see the necessity this time. Anything else?”

Davies nodded. “We’ll need shifts of coppers outside the chambers and at all entry points.”

“We should stow our gear on a weekend,” Casey continued. “Easier to be covert. Take her in on a Sunday night, under cover of darkness. Have only a small contingent of plain-clothes officers on site when we arrive.”

“What about the press?” asked Hunt.

“We shouldn’t have any problem going in,” Sinclair said. “Coming out is another matter.”

“We’ll need a decoy to leave in an official vehicle, probably with you, sir.” Casey leant back in his chair. “We’ll depart later with her.”

“Agreed.” Sinclair looked at the three men. “Weapons?”

“We’ll be covered,” Davies said.

Casey’s voice was grim. “I want her to have body armour again. And Hunt will need some.”

Sinclair nodded. “Medical supplies?”

“I’ll be ready, sir.” There was a moment’s silence. “Sir, our best is going to be good enough this time.”

“Sergeant, Judge Thomas will want to know when she can appear. What can I tell him?”

“Sir, just give him a window. We’re going to need his cooperation in advance of our providing any specifics. At the moment I can’t hazard a guess. She’s not focussed. Her physical recovery’s not what it should be. And we have to guard against a relapse if we can. Testifying and enduring cross-examination would tire most anyone, and she’ll be weaker than most witnesses when she begins.”

“I’ll have a word with Judge Thomas in the morning.” He collected the blueprints and went to Jenny’s room. She had set her book aside and stretched out on the bed, one arm clutching her teddy bear. He sat down next to her. “Casey said you weren’t yourself.”

“I’m no good to anybody, Colin. I wasn’t afraid when I was sick, but I am now. I’m afraid all the time. I wish I had a gun.”

He smiled at her. “I can’t grant that wish, Jenny. Private possession of handguns is against the law here.”

She did not smile back. “Is Danny any better?”

“Not yet.” Casey had briefed him on the psychological symptoms of gunshot trauma, but he was concerned because she was still experiencing them. Her illness had indeed set her back. “Jenny, what you’re feeling is normal.”

“Wanting to hold onto somebody all the time? It’s not normal for me.”

“Would you like me to bring Dr. Knowles by? Or Neil Goodwyn?”

“I liked Dr. Knowles,” she said slowly, “but I felt so peaceful when Chaplain Goodwyn was here.”

“I’ll arrange it.” His eyes lingered on her lips, but he limited himself to the thought.

“It’s late. I know you need to go. I’m going to sit in the living room next to whoever’s armed. Even if it’s Hunt.”

J
enny woke with a start. It was pitch black and deathly silent. The radio by her window wasn’t working. She felt the stirrings of panic. In the stillness she could hear Sergeant Casey’s terse whispers: “All hands on watch. Hunt, cover the sitting room windows. Davies, put Jenny in the safe room. Cover her windows and door.”

She could hear Brian’s steps, then Casey’s voice again. “Sir, we’re on full alert. The power’s off. Yours also? The lights across the street are on. Bring an SFO team to the pre-arranged lying up point and tell them to stand by. Put an ARV on patrol. We’re closeted—need some eyes about.”

Her flannel pyjamas were illuminated by the glow of Brian’s torch. “Are you awake, JJ? Take your pillow and climb into the bath until I call you.” His words were quiet—
sotto voce,
Casey would have said.

She took his arm and didn’t want to let go. “It’s dark. Brian, it’s so dark.”

“I know. You’ll be all right. I’ll not be far. Hush now.”

She saw a gun in his holster and another in a sling across his shoulder. She heard him close the bathroom door. There was a sudden scraping noise, then the sound of something being dragged across the carpet. Was he moving her furniture? Why?

It was cold in the tub, but she shivered more from fear than lack of warmth. Had the monster sent someone to get her? How would he—or they—get through the front door? Would Colin hear them coming up the stairs? She had never seen him with a gun. Would he have any way of stopping them? Maybe they’d come through a window instead. Did they know which one was hers? With the electricity out, the alarm would not sound. Were there quiet ways to break glass? Would Brian have any warning? Dear God, please don’t let anything happen to Brian! She closed her fingers around the pearl cross. She thought about Danny and how afraid she was for him still. There was a hard knot of dread in her stomach.

Time passed—she had no way of knowing how much. She grew stiff in her cramped position but was afraid that any movement would make noise. The stillness was scary. She missed all the everyday noises she’d
become accustomed to, her radio, the TV, men’s footsteps, cabinets being opened and closed in the kitchen, even the furnace. The furnace—with no power, it would have turned off. No wonder she was cold. And it was so dark.

Suddenly she heard footsteps approaching. The bathroom door sprang open, and she cried out involuntarily, pressing her face into the pillow at the same time. Then she heard a beloved voice say, “It’s all right, JJ. All clear.” The lights were on! She couldn’t hold back any longer, and her racking sobs drew the other men. “Let me help you,” Brian said, putting his arm under her shoulders. “Hush,” he said. “It’s all off now.” He set her on the bed, and she rubbed her legs to restore the circulation.

She heard Sergeant Casey’s voice before he entered the room. “Yes, sir, tell them to stand down. False alarm.” Hunt followed Casey, Hunt’s face showing more color than she’d seen since he arrived at the flat. “Unprofessional to show excitement over a possible engagement,” Casey hissed at him. “You’re a bit too keen. And get a bloody shirt on.”