Part 24 (2/2)
”What about the stuff from the hospital?” Amos asked. ”Did you find anything?”
”We won't know for a couple of weeks, Mr. Duncan.”
”Two weeks? That long?”
”As long as we have lab results before we go to trial, we're in good shape. I'm confident that we'll find physical evidence to support Gillian's testimony.”
”My testimony?”
Matt nodded. ”I'm going to have to put you on the stand.”
She immediately started to shake her head. ”I don't think I can do that.”
”You can. We'll go over your testimony; there won't be any surprises.”
Gillian's hands twisted the bottom of her sweater. ”But what about the other lawyer? You don't know what he's going to ask.” A bright thought swelled in her mind. ”If something from the lab proves he was there, do I still have to testify?”
This was a very common reaction for a rape victim, and even more common for a teenager. Smoothly, Matt said, ”Don't worry about it now. I don't have all the evidence yet. I don't have all the police reports. I don't have all the witness statements. Just let me do my job, let Detective Saxton do his ... and then we'll put together the best possible case we can.” Matt hesitated. ”There is is one thing I need to know,” he said. ”Gillian, I have to ask you if you were a virgin before this happened.” one thing I need to know,” he said. ”Gillian, I have to ask you if you were a virgin before this happened.”
Gillian's gaze flew to her father, who had stopped in his tracks. ”Mr. Houlihan ...”
”I'm sorry. But the answer's important.”
Her eyes were fixed on her father as she murmured, ”No.”
Amos stood and walked away, gathering his composure. ”I want to help with the investigation,” he announced suddenly, changing the topic.
The statement seemed to take his daughter by as much surprise as it did Matt. ”Thank you for the offer. But it's best to let the professionals take care of the details, Mr. Duncan. The last thing you want is to have St. Bride freed on a technicality.”
”Do I get to see it?” Amos demanded.
”See what?”
”The reports. The police statements. The DNA evidence.”
”During the course of this trial,” Matt said, ”I'll make sure you know everything I know after I know it, as soon as possible. I'll show you anything you want to see.”
That appeased Amos. He nodded stiffly.
But Matt was more concerned with Gillian, who still seemed tangled in the unexpected realization that she would have to get on the stand. ”Gillian,” he said softly. ”I'll take care of you. Promise.”
The lines in her forehead smoothed, and she smiled tentatively. ”Thanks.”
Amos sat down again and slid his arm around his daughter, as if to remind her that he was there to help her, too. Matt looked away, to give them a moment of privacy. And he made a fierce vow to himself to put his entire self on the line for the Duncans, if only so that they could have back a fraction of the life they'd had before Jack St. Bride entered it.
The last time Gilly had been in Dr. Horowitz's office, she'd been nine years old. She remembered playing with dolls while Dr. Horowitz wrote in a notebook. And that the psychiatrist had always given her mint Milano cookies when the sessions were over. One day, her father decided that Gillian had put to rest her mother's death, and she stopped going for her weekly sessions.
”Gillian,” Dr. Horowitz said. ”It's been a while.”
Dr. Horowitz was now two inches shorter than Gillian. Her hair had gone gray at the temples, and she wore bifocals on a beaded chain. She looked old, and this shocked Gilly-if all this time had pa.s.sed for Dr. Horowitz, it meant that it had pa.s.sed for her her as well. ”I don't need to be here,” Gillian blurted out. ”I can take care of this by myself.” as well. ”I don't need to be here,” Gillian blurted out. ”I can take care of this by myself.”
Dr. Horowitz only nodded. ”Your father thinks differently.”
Gillian remained silent. She was terrified of talking. It was bad enough speaking to the county attorney and Detective Saxton, but they at least came expecting to learn. Dr. Horowitz-well, her job was to pick through Gillian's head, to see exactly what was there.
”Why don't we decide together if I can help you?” the psychiatrist suggested. ”How are you feeling today?” Gillian shrugged, silent. ”Have you been able to eat? Sleep?”
”I haven't wanted to.”
”Have you been able to concentrate?”
”Concentrate!” Gillian burst out. ”It's the only thing that's on my mind!”
”What is?”
”Him.”
”Do you keep remembering what happened?”
”G.o.d, yes, over and over,” Gillian said. ”But it's like I'm not there.”
”What do you mean?”
Her voice became tiny. ”Like I'm sitting ... way up high and seeing this girl in the woods ... how he grabs her ... and when he runs away, it's like all of a sudden I'm gone too.”
”That must be very upsetting.”
She nodded, and to her horror, tears came to her eyes. ”I'm sorry. I'm okay, really. I just ... I just ...”
Dr. Horowitz handed her a tissue. ”Gillian, it wasn't your fault. You have no reason to be ashamed or embarra.s.sed about what happened.”
She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. ”If that's true,” Gilly said, ”then of all the people in the world, why did he pick me?”
The solitary cell had a river of urine in its upper right corner and s.h.i.+ny, dried splotches on the cement block wall, the legacy of the last inmate to be confined. As the door was slammed shut, Jack sank down onto the metal bunk. The silver lining: He was wearing his clothes. His own clothes. He thought of all the Super Bowl winners who'd edged out the first goal, of countries that had won the first battle of an ultimately victorious war.
If the Carroll County Jail had custody of his body, then Jack would d.a.m.n well keep custody of his own free will.
He felt along the metal links of the bunk and beneath the mattress, over the upper rim of the shower and in the drain, even around the base of the toilet. A pen, A pen, he prayed. he prayed. Just a single pen Just a single pen. But whoever had neglected to disinfect the solitary cell had managed to strip it clean of anything that might be used for diversion.
Jack sat back down and inspected his fingernails. He scratched at a loose thread in his jeans. He unlaced his sneaker, and then retied it.
He closed his eyes, and immediately pictured Addie. He could still smell her on his skin, just the faintest perfume. Suddenly he felt his chest burn, his arm creep and tingle. A heart attack-Jesus, he was having a heart attack. ”Guard!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. He shook the bunk, rattling it against the clamps that moored it to the wall. ”Help me!”
But no one heard him-or if anyone did, no one came.
He forced himself to concentrate on something other than this pain. If you have pogonophobia, you'll probably be avoiding these. If you have pogonophobia, you'll probably be avoiding these.
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