The Witness: A Novel (69 page)

“Awareness”—that was a shrink word if she ever heard one.

“Nightmares were not on your second list,” Knowles observed. “Are you no longer experiencing them?”

“They’re shorter now, because Colin wakes me up and comforts me.” She couldn’t help blushing and hoped Dr. Knowles wouldn’t require her to elaborate. She didn’t sleep nude, although Colin wanted her to, but if the bedclothes came off during the night, the cold she felt triggered the dreams. After one such episode she had understood the comforting nature of sex. Colin’s body had been warm, and it had not taken him long to distract her from her distress.

“What factors assisted you most in your recovery?” Knowles asked.

She thought for a moment. “Having people I knew I could depend on, people I could trust, helped a lot. I don’t think I could have done it by myself, although I wanted to at first. The guys knew all about me, and it didn’t matter.” She paused. “Learning to be patient with myself wasn’t easy. Some days I felt I’d made progress and some days I didn’t. It took me a long time to let go of my fear.”

“And your determination, Jenny,” Colin added.

She smiled at him. “Yes, and your love was the motivator. That and your faith in our future. And coming here helped.”

“In the right environment, healing can occur through self-disclosure,” Knowles agreed. “Colin, did you bring a list?”

“I didn’t have to write anything down,” he said, “because there’s only one thing I’m truly afraid of: something happening to Jenny. Her safety has been my primary concern since last September, and it still is.”

“Colin, aren’t you afraid of losing your mom?”

“I don’t see that happening in the immediate future, Jen. As she ages, I’ll dread it, but I’m not afraid of grief. My father’s death taught me that I can survive it.”

She looked at the older man. “Have I done enough, Dr. Knowles? Do we have to keep coming?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“But Dr. Knowles—I passed the final exam, in a manner of speaking. Why don’t I get the diploma?”

Knowles’ eyes were gentle. “Aftershocks of trauma can last a long time, Jenny. Some issues we have not addressed. Others remain unresolved—memory versus reality being one of them—as evidenced by the intensity of your reaction on the anniversary of your attack. I suspect you have a good deal of residual anger at Scott. I would recommend that you continue your therapy, but you may begin to reduce your medication. I would encourage but not require Colin to accompany you.”

“So it’s
Hasta la vista
—until I see you again—instead of
Adios
.”

“I’m afraid so. I’d like you to consider me a resource. Unpleasant surprises may yet arise. In the meantime, remember that everyone faces limitations in life. Focus on what you can do, and the limitations won’t defeat you.”

C
olin spun round. “Behind me!” he yelled to Jenny, his body shielding her from the big man with the knife. He swung his right forearm wide, meeting the blade in midair. His left foot followed, smashing hard and fast into the knee of the attacker. The thug went down, screaming, losing his grip on the knife.

He was not the only one screaming: Jenny had found her voice.

The second man moved in, a smaller more agile version of the first, his weapon held low, his hand in constant motion. Colin parried his thrusts, but he would not expose Jenny, and when the man lunged forward, Colin did not step aside. He felt the sharp edge bite into his thigh. His left fist connected with the man’s right cheek, and the man realised that the odds had changed. His companion was trying unsuccessfully to get to his feet, and their target was not soft. He ran past Colin and Jenny and down the street.

“Down! Stay down!” Colin shouted to the first man, slamming his foot against the flat of his back and pinning him to the ground. “Your scarf, Jenny.” She had gone mute, her face taut with horror.

Colin tied the man’s hands behind his back. “Urgent police assistance required,” he panted into his mobile. He gave the street name and closest cross street. “Hampstead. ABH. Suspect subdued.”

“Do you need an ambulance, sir?”

“Yes.” Still breathing hard, he ended the call. “It’s all right, Jenny.” The sweet sound of sirens rent the dark air.

The two officers in the first panda car saw three persons in their headlamps: a tall well-dressed male with one arm around a short dark-haired female, and a heavy-set rumpled individual on the ground. The long-limbed man’s clothes were torn, and blood was staining the handkerchief he held to his thigh. The man down was whimpering.

Colin identified himself, gave a brief description of the incident and the assailant who got away, and accepted the first aid that was offered. “Flick knives,” he added. “One of them’s not too far off.” His knees buckled, and Jenny felt his weight on her shoulder.

The ambulance arrived, and a second panda pulled up behind it. “We’ll take it from here, sir,” Colin was told. “Best if you have your
wounds seen to straightaway. This bastard can wait for the next ambulance. We’ll catch you up at the hospital later.”

“She stays with me,” Colin told the ambulance attendant. He had not released his hold on Jenny.

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

J
enny was by herself. The doctor in casualty had insisted very gently that she wait outside the treatment room while he irrigated, disinfected, and sutured Colin’s injuries. She felt sick. Colin was the third person who had been harmed because of her, he was the one she cared about most, and she had been useless. She dialed Simon’s number on her mobile. “They had knives,” she reported. “I couldn’t do anything but scream. Colin did it all. We’re at the hospital. Royal Free.”

His voice was sharp. “Are you all right? Is Sinclair?”

“I wasn’t hurt. Colin kept me behind him all the time. He kicked the first man in the knee.”

Primary objective—reduce the odds. Quickly. “How many were there?”

“Two. Colin’s getting stitches in his arm and his leg.”

Second—accept injuries when necessary to protect the principal. Not bad for a suit.

“He’ll be okay, but I’m scared! One of them got away.”

Street fighters then. For someone professionally trained, one on two weren’t bad odds. “On my way.”

The borough detectives arrived before Simon did. Jenny heard them asking at the nurses’ station if Mr. Sinclair were available to answer a few questions. The nurse gestured in her direction, and they moved toward her. “Miss—?”

She didn’t answer. They looked like carbon copies with their slim faces and physiques, one with paler skin than the other.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Chase, and this is Detective Constable Dodd. We’re here to assist you.” Chase held out his hand, and Jenny hesitated before taking it. He had ink on his fingers. She had blood on hers.

“Were you injured in any way?” Sergeant Chase’s eyes took in everything: her manner of dress, her appearance, her hands clenched in her lap. Dodd had quietly removed a small notebook from an inside pocket of his coat.

She shook her head.

“You’ve had a frightening experience. Are you up to a little chat?”

“I don’t know what I can say,” she told them. “You’ll have to wait for Colin.”

“Did you witness the incident?”

She didn’t know which of them had spoken. She was straining to hear what was going on with Colin and the doctor. “Yes,” she said slowly.

The treatment room door opened. “You may come through now,” the
doctor said. She saw Colin sitting on the treatment table, his face gray, with one shirtsleeve cut away and his trouser leg gaping. There were two bandages, one much larger than the other. She moved to Colin’s left and uninjured side.

“I’m all right, Jen,” he assured her.

“One of the lacerations was rather deep,” the doctor said. “We’ll be keeping him overnight for observation. Mr. Sinclair, someone will notify you when your room is ready.”

She saw Colin nod in greeting and realized she had forgotten all about the two detectives. “Gentlemen, I’ve been expecting you.” He held up his right arm. “This was the work of the suspect you have in custody. He was the initiator and the heavier built of the two men. The suspect who got away from me was in his early thirties, just under six feet tall, weighing between twelve and thirteen stone. He was wearing dark jeans and a black sweatshirt. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes. He needed a shave and a trim. No distinguishing marks, but he’ll have left me with one.”

Dodd was writing it all down. “Miss, can you confirm this?” Chase asked Jenny.

He’ll have scars, she thought, and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all.

“We need to keep her out of it,” Colin said.

“We can’t, sir,” Chase answered. “Miss, can you add anything to this description?”

“Not much. I just watched his hands. They were hairy, and his nails were too long. The knife had a long thin blade. He took it with him.”

“Could you identify him if you saw him again?”

“She won’t be doing that,” Colin insisted. “She’s not giving a statement. Mine will have to suffice. And no press.”

“And why is that, sir? If I may ask.”

“You may not,” Colin said firmly.

“Not a random attack, then, sir?”

Colin did not reply.

“The record will have to reflect her name and her refusal to cooperate,” Chase persisted.

“She is not refusing.
I
am refusing on her behalf. I’ll have my super ring your super about it tomorrow.”

Chase paused. “Yes, sir,” he conceded. They withdrew.

Colin and Jenny were alone. Their evening had begun as a celebration: She had accepted his formal proposal of marriage, and he’d never felt better. She had healed, physically and psychologically. Scott was at Dartmoor, and the other evildoers were housed at the pleasure of Her Majesty’s government as well. The sniper remained at large but was not likely a concern, and there had been no notices with Jenny’s snap for almost a month. They had shared a bottle of champagne, and he had taken her to her favourite Italian restaurant for dinner. She had teased him, saying that since she’d be giving up her name, he’d
finally found a way to make Inspector Rawson happy. They had been on their way home when he’d sensed movement behind them and heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being released for action.

Casey’s knock startled him. The champagne, the rush of adrenalin now dissipated, the painkiller—Colin knew his reflexes were dull.

“Well done, sir,” Casey said, his eyes passing quickly over Colin and coming to rest on Jenny. There were smudges of dried blood on her face. She must have wiped her tears with her hands, and no one had thought to clean her up. “What now?” he asked, removing some paper towels from the dispenser, dampening them, and handing them to her.

“Colin has to stay overnight, so I’ll be here,” she said. “Tomorrow—I don’t know.” She rubbed her hands and then, at Casey’s nod, applied the wet towels to her cheeks.

The nurse was waiting with Colin’s gown and wheelchair, and the detectives would want his clothes. Casey knew the procedure. “I’ll stay with her while they get you sorted, sir.”

“Keep the vultures away,” Colin said. “I don’t want her involved.”

“Those two coppers outside? They’re on the boil all right! Not to worry. And we’ll find you when you’re settled.” He left Colin to the nurse’s ministrations and found a quiet waiting area. He put his arm around Jenny’s shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay, love? Did anybody have a look at you?”

“It wasn’t necessary,” she whispered. “Simon, I should have been able to help. You tried to teach me self-defense, remember? But I couldn’t learn it. I thought they were going to kill us, and I couldn’t recall even the first thing to do.”

“Sinclair did well, love. You were in good hands.”

She looked at him. She hadn’t forgotten how forbidding he had seemed during the early days at the flat. Now, however, the strength in his face was like a port in a storm, steadfast, resolute, and unchanging. “He’ll want me to go away again, Simon, and I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t respond right away. “Love—how close were you to his block when the attack occurred?”

The intent of the question hit her hard. Had the men followed them from the High Street or had they been waiting? “Oh, God, Simon, if they know where I live, I’ll never be able to go home!”

“One step at a time, love. Assessing the risk always precedes planning.”

“Simon, I don’t want to run away, but I don’t want to put anyone else in jeopardy, either.”

“It’s early days, love. We’ll get him. There are options. Steady on.” He rose to his feet. “Sir.”

She looked up at Detective Superintendent Graves. “Is Colin in danger because of me? We weren’t all the way back to his flat when it happened. And the other detectives don’t know—” Her throat was tight.

Graves sat down beside her. “The suspect will be interrogated by someone who knows what questions to ask. Miss Jeffries, I assure you,
we are well aware of the complications.”

“Do I have to make a statement? Will I have to testify?”

Graves’ gaze was steady. “Let us worry about that. We have one man in custody, and we’ll be pressing him rather hard for information about his accomplice. When he realises he attacked a police officer, he may choose not to plead his case in court.” He stood. “Miss Jeffries, I am concerned about your safety. Do you have a place to go?”

Did he know she lived with Colin? Of course he did. And he didn’t want her to go there.

“I’ll take care of it, sir,” Simon answered for her.

Graves turned. “Ah, the nurse.” He nodded shortly at Casey and left them.

“Sergeant Casey?” the nurse inquired. “Mr. Sinclair asked me to direct you to his room.”

They walked down a long corridor, took the lift, turned right, and passed the nurses’ station. “Here we are,” the nurse said finally, pushing the door open for them. It was a private room. Of course—Sinclair had resources.

Colin’s eyes were heavy. “Casey, I can’t protect her tonight,” he said.

“I’ll do, sir. I’ll stand watch outside.”