Free The Witness: A Novel by Naomi Kryske

investigation in her room was complete. Inspite of her less troubled demeanor, he wanted her to receive something strong enough to help her sleep. The doctor concurred.
    When the Scenes-of-Crime Officers arrived, Sinclair accompanied them into her room. They were clad in white overalls, and the bulges from the clothes they wore underneath made them look to Jenny like white inner tubes in varying degrees of inflation. The one with the round face, who most resembled the Michelin man, approached the bed. “If you’ll permit me,” he said. The bedside rail was then dusted for fingerprints, although she couldn’t remember the strangler touching it, and the hospital blanket was removed from the top of her bed.
    The photographer was there. “With your permission, Miss,” he said, and she realized that he wanted to take pictures of her neck. Very gently he positioned her chin. She covered her scarred cheek with her hand and closed her eyes against the camera’s prying one.
    She heard Mr. Sinclair’s voice. “They’ll want to examine your fingernails, Jenny.” She didn’t know why—she hadn’t clawed at her attacker. She should have, but she hadn’t thought of it. She had wanted only to pull his hand away from her throat. She lowered her hand from her cheek and watched while scrapings were taken and each nail was carefully trimmed.
    The syringe had been collected and bagged. With a nod to Sinclair, the forensic officers withdrew. Sinclair then spoke to her. “Much as I’d like to,” he said, “I can’t stay. I’d like you to take the medicine the doctor has for you. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
    Her chest was tight, and she was weak with exhaustion. She looked down and started to cry. “I wish I’d never come here! I’m in a hospital in a foreign country. I’m not safe anywhere. I should never have let my guard down. I shouldn’t have hoped.”
    He watched the tears roll over the adhesive strips on her cheek and down her neck, dampening the hospital gown she wore. It was a cry for help. Not a commitment to testify but perhaps his response to the one could lead to the other. “I’ll have PC Sullivan sit with you until you fall asleep.” He summoned the young constable, then stopped by the nurses’ station to report that they could give Jenny the sedative the doctor had prescribed. He also asked for a description of the real hospital psychiatrist and told the SOCOs to check his office. Then, while the nurses were away from their post, he rang the D/S. “Sir,” he said, “there’s been an attack on our witness.”
    “Is she alive?” Graves asked sharply.
    “She survived, yes, and we have the assailant in custody, but we need to move her straightaway.”
    “Witness Protection should handle it,” Graves said.
    “Sir, we can’t wait for their careful planning. She’s a soft target as long as she’s in hospital. We have an obligation to remove her ASAP. A duty of care.”
    “A hotel then.”
    “A hotel will require a larger team and be less covert. She needsto drop off the radar screen. A flat has just been vacated in my block. I don’t know if it’ll suit, but I’ll find out in the morning. We still need access to her.”
    “Colin, that’s amateurish,” Graves objected. “It’s not the way we do it.”
    “Sir, I know it’s irregular, but it’s an emergency, and it’s temporary,” Sinclair argued.
    “Then place her in a safe house with a WPC and a panic button.”
    “She needs medical assistance. She’s still too badly injured to look after herself.”
    “Then get her a nurse!”
    “Sir, I’ll not ask civilians to place themselves at risk. Don’t we have anyone who’s been a paramedic? I want round-the-clock protection. Just three men to start—the fewer officers involved, the less chance of discovery.”
    “You mean, three per shift—two teams with changeover every twelve hours is standard.”
    “Sir, I want one small, stable team. She’s in a bad way.