The Witness: A Novel (39 page)

“No, sir.”

“Miss Jeffries, I’d like to focus on the events of September 14, 1998. Let’s take it in stages, shall we?”

The prosecutor phrased his questions so that her answers could be short and clear, but she was still nervous. She described what she was wearing, her loss of consciousness at the bus stop, and waking up naked and sick in the dark. She told about the two men she saw when the light was turned on, her search for her clothes, and her discovery of women’s jewelry instead. Mr. Benjamin had her identify the specific pieces of jewelry before enquiring about the defendant’s entry into the little room, which he referred to as the “cellar in the ambassadorial residence.”

Sinclair respected Benjamin but wished for Jenny’s sake that Graves’ request for a woman to present the prosecution’s case had not been denied.

“The man who attacked you in the cellar—do you see him in the courtroom today?”

She looked away from Mr. Benjamin. The monster was staring at her, and when their eyes met, she could feel his malevolence. Instinctively she backed away as far as she could, trying to flatten herself against the
back wall of the witness-box.

“You must give an audible reply,” the judge told her. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

It didn’t help. Even guarded, the monster was still too close.

“Miss Jeffries!” Mr. Benjamin said sharply. “Look at me! Is the man who attacked you in the courtroom?”

“Yes, he’s sitting in the dock with the two policemen,” she managed to say.

“Miss Jeffries, please speak into the microphone,” said Judge Thomas.

She took a few steps forward and repeated her answer.

“Let the record show that the witness identified William Cecil Crighton Scott, seated in the dock,” said Mr. Benjamin. He frowned at her pale and tense face. “Miss Jeffries, are you all right?”

“Sir—I need to sit down, please.” She looked at the judge.

“Of course,” he answered. “A chair will be provided.”

She noticed for the first time that Judge Thomas was clothed in more than a black robe and white neckpiece: He had a purple stole, purple cuffs, and a red sash. The light gray hair on the sides of his head matched his wig. They all waited while a chair was brought from the court down the corridor and the height of the microphone adjusted.

“Proceed, Mr. Benjamin.”

“Miss Jeffries, were you acquainted with the accused?”

“No, sir, I was not,” she said.

“Did you recognise him when you saw him in the cellar? Did you know his name?”

“No, sir.”

“Did he speak to you?”

“No, sir.”

“Did he approach you?”

“Yes, he grabbed my arm and pulled me to the center of the room.”

“What did he do then?”

She was feeling shaky, and her voice quivered. “He nearly beat me to death.”

“Nearly beat you to death,” Benjamin repeated, his enunciation unusually clear. “Could you be a bit more specific, please? What sorts of blows did the defendant use?”

“He hit me in the stomach and knocked me down. He kicked me all over, and he hit me with his fists.”

“The scar on your face—was that a result of the defendant’s actions?”

“Yes, sir, it was. He wore a sharp ring that made gashes in my skin.”

“A ring that cut like a knife?”

“Your Honour, my learned friend is leading the witness.” The voice came from someone across the aisle from Mr. Benjamin.

“Indeed he is.”

Mr. Benjamin bowed slightly in acquiescence. “Miss Jeffries, for the benefit of the jury, would you push your hair aside and turn your right cheek toward them?”

Both cheeks burning, she did as requested. She didn’t see the sympathetic faces of those who leant toward her—she closed her eyes, and Mr. Benjamin’s next question seemed a long time in coming.

“Thank you, Miss Jeffries. Can you tell us, please—did the defendant
exhibit any unusual behaviour while this physical abuse was taking place?”

“Yes, he made a noise in his throat, like a growl. It made him sound like an animal. A monster.”

“Your Honour,” said the defence counsel, rising.

“The witness has a right to her opinion of the sound,” said Judge Thomas.

“The defendant’s attack was brutal, was it not?” asked Mr. Benjamin.

She swallowed. The questions were becoming harder for her to answer calmly. “I was bruised and bleeding. I had broken bones. I was in such terrible pain that I couldn’t move.”

“Bruised and bleeding,” Benjamin echoed. “Broken bones. Immobilised. What happened next, Miss Jeffries?”

“He tore off my necklace.” At Benjamin’s direction, she described it. “That’s when I knew he had done this to other women. As we say in Texas, it wasn’t his first rodeo.”

“Because of the jewellery you found?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your Honour, the witness is drawing a conclusion,” said defence counsel.

“Miss Jeffries,” said the judge, “you must confine yourself to what you know.”

“What did the defendant do next, Miss Jeffries?”

The courtroom was still as a tomb. She looked away from Mr. Benjamin and saw the jury looking back at her. There were both men and women, some who looked about her age and others who appeared significantly older. Most were dressed informally, with sweaters or sweatshirts instead of suits. Some had pencils in hand, and she noticed that the ledge in front of them held pitchers of water and glasses as well as red folders. She didn’t want to speak in front of them, and she began to cry.

“Miss Jeffries?” It was the prosecutor.

“He—he raped me.”

The word “rape” pierced Sinclair’s heart. It was the first time he’d heard her say it, in all the months since it had happened. Again he wished prosecuting counsel were female.

“Miss Jeffries,” Mr. Benjamin said in a sympathetic voice, “I regret the necessity of such personal questions. However, for the record, we need to know. Had you ever had sexual intercourse with anyone prior to this dastardly attack?”

She felt naked, her private life laid bare. “No,” she wept.

The prosecutor waited a minute or two before continuing, whether to give her a chance to collect herself or to milk the dramatic moment, she didn’t know. “A virgin at the time,” he said gravely. “Miss Jeffries, did the defendant abuse you in any other way?”

She was crying harder now. “He pushed me onto my stomach, but I can’t—oh, God—”

Sinclair leant forward, hoping the prosecutor could guide her through her distress.

“It was a despicable offence, was it not?”

“My statement—can’t you just—”

“Do you need a few minutes, Miss Jeffries?” asked the judge.

“No, sir,” she sobbed. “It won’t help. I’ll never be able to say the words, not ever.”

“Mr. Benjamin, would you care to rephrase the question?”

“Yes, Your Honour. Miss Jeffries, the accused has been charged in your case with two separate counts of rape, rape per vaginum and rape per anum. Do you understand these terms?”

Colin had told her that the separate counts of rape mattered. The more charges they could lay against the monster, the stronger their case, but she still felt humiliated by it.

“Miss Jeffries, we need a verbal answer,” instructed the judge.

“Yes,” she gasped into the microphone.

“Can you confirm for this court that both counts of rape took place?” Mr. Benjamin continued.

“They—they did.” Her soft words seemed jarring in the silent room.

Again Mr. Benjamin paused. “What did the defendant do next?”

“He kicked me on the head, and I lost consciousness.”

“Where were you when you regained consciousness?”

“In the intensive care unit at University College Hospital.”

“Intensive care—of course. How long were you in hospital, Miss Jeffries?”

“Almost two weeks, I think.”

“Were you completely recovered from your injuries when you left hospital?”

“Oh, no,” she answered. “I couldn’t walk. I had a cast on one arm. I was very weak. I was still in pain.”

“Still in pain,” he nodded. “Why, then, did you leave hospital?”

“Because I was attacked there,” she said. “Someone tried to kill me.”

“Where did you go when you left hospital?”

“I was taken into witness protection by the police.”

“Miss Jeffries, were you scheduled to appear in this court before today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why was your testimony delayed?”

“I was shot on my way to court the first time. One of the policemen protecting me was nearly killed.”

“Yet you still had the courage to come here today,” said Mr. Benjamin. “Why was that, Miss Jeffries?”

“Because I have to keep him from doing this to anybody else. And I have to speak for those who can’t. What happened to me was monstrous, but what happened to them was worse.”

“Your Honour,” began defence counsel.

“Indeed,” said the judge. “Miss Jeffries, you are permitted to speak only of your experience.”

“Your Honour, the Crown has no further questions for Miss Jeffries at this time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Benjamin,” said Judge Thomas. “Court is recessed until half ten tomorrow morning.”

“Court will now stand,” said the usher, sounding just as bored as the clerk had in the morning.

I
t was just past four p.m. when Jenny and the men returned to Judge Lloyd’s chambers. Brian and Hunt left almost immediately, having complimented her on a productive day of testimony. When Colin came by with dinner and Sergeant Casey departed, she realized that all their movements had been preplanned.

Colin brought vegetable soup and beef baguettes, and she celebrated a meal without potatoes. Well, almost—there were diced spuds among the other vegetables. The meal revived her only slightly. It had been difficult describing the monster’s crimes in front of such a large audience, but even more difficult doing it while he watched and listened. Every response she had given was an accusation. He had been angry at her before; she couldn’t comprehend the depth of rage he must feel now.

When Sergeant Casey returned, Colin left. She made a quick call home. “Please, no questions, Mother,” Casey heard her say. “All I’ve done today is answer questions for the prosecution. It was tiring—I had to stand most of the time. Talk to you tomorrow.”

She changed from her court clothes into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Was it her imagination, or were her scars more prominent? The monster’s shadow was still with her, growing larger as the night progressed. She didn’t think he’d paid much attention to her face before, but after watching her all day in court, she knew without a doubt that he could spot her in a crowd now. The public gallery had been full; had he arranged for criminal associates to attend and memorize her looks? Did he know where she was hiding? She knew there were armed men outside, but she wanted all the ones she knew and trusted to be there, layer upon layer of human insulation.

Her hands shook when she bathed herself in the judge’s bathroom, but she didn’t hurry, hoping that the cleansing and rinsing strokes of the washcloth would be soothing if she forced herself to do them slowly enough. They weren’t; every touch reminded her that she had been at the monster’s mercy and in many ways still was. He seemed omnipresent. Was he in custody in the cells below the court? Were they both confined in the same building?

When she finished, she left the light on and pulled the door almost
closed. Sergeant Casey had stretched out on his sleeping bag, and she sat down next to him and leaned against the wall. “It’ll be worse tomorrow,” she said. “He’ll have an army of attorneys. And they’ll be harder on me than that solicitor was.”

He shifted her to the sofa. “You’re capable of bringing it off. And you’ll not be alone in there.”

J
udge Thomas was already on the bench when Jenny followed the usher to the witness-box. The chair was gone.

“You may begin your cross-examination, Mr. Alford,” the judge said.

A man with a wig and a patrician face stood. Was he taller than Mr. Benjamin, or did he just seem so because he was directly in front of her? She could see his long thin nose and smooth pale skin clearly. He gave a slight bow to the judge and jury, as Mr. Benjamin had done. “Your Honour, I am expecting some information to be delivered momentarily from my enquiry agent in the United States. Might you indulge me with a brief delay?”

She was thrown off balance. What could they be doing in the States? Already she was glad she’d had an unusually light breakfast, even for her—only the Coke that Brian had brought.

“No, Mr. Alford. We have had enough delays in this case already.”

“As Your Honour pleases,” the defence counsel replied smoothly. He faced Jenny. “Miss Jeffries,” he said in a silky voice, “we’re very sorry for your injuries and glad to see that you’ve recovered so well from them.”

She sat quietly, listening for the question as Mr. Halladay had advised and trying to ignore the slightly sanctimonious tone he used. If he’s a real patrician, then he considered her a colonial. His friendliness was false.

“As a matter of fact, you look lovely today. Did prosecuting counsel help you choose the clothes you’re wearing?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh—so you figured out all by yourself that a demure look would be best. Good for you.”

She wanted to counter his sarcasm but didn’t know how, and he didn’t give her time to explain that her mother had sent her clothes from Texas.

“Miss Jeffries, what is your father’s occupation?”

“He’s a college professor.”

“And your mother?”

“A homemaker.”

“Your Honour, these facts are already on record,” Mr. Benjamin
pointed out.

“I’m well aware that Miss Jeffries’ fairy-tale family life has been documented,” Mr. Alford responded, not waiting for the judge to rule. “I intend to show this court that my learned colleague has built a house of cards.”

She thought about the demonstration Colin had used, to show her how fragile trust was. Was the prosecution’s case solid?

“Miss Jeffries, your father is a strict disciplinarian, is he not?”