“Tell me about your therapist,” said Jack, gently. “Do you get along well? Sometimes you need to meet a couple of therapists before you find someone you click with.”

“Maybe. She seems nice, but it’s not really helping yet.”

“It’s going to take time.”

“I know. My therapist told me. Years. She warned that going to trial could upset things further. Reliving the memories could cause any progress to backslide completely.”

“Sometimes you have to take one day at a time. If you need someone to talk to, I’m only a phone call away. The trial could be a long way off. Time will make you stronger. Another friend of mine was beaten and sexually assaulted. She is testifying today. A couple of years ago she felt like you, but today is looking forward to seeing her attackers held accountable.”

Tears came to Amanda’s eyes and she blurted out, “I’m not that strong.” She paused to take a couple of breaths and to regain her composure before continuing. “Even if Cocktail is identified, I’ve decided I’m not going to testify. Against him, or the three who did this to me,” she added, brushing her bangs to one side to reveal the ugly red scars across her forehead.

“Are you afraid they’ll come after you again?” asked Jack.

“No. I’m too angry and depressed to worry about that. I just don’t see testifying as doing any good. It would just depress me further. I know you think I’m a terrible person. I should worry about who they’ll attack next … but I’m not up to it.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” replied Jack, “but knowing the judges, if you refuse to testify, there is a good chance they would put you in jail for contempt of court.”

“They would put me in jail?” Amanda gave a shrill-sounding laugh.

“They take it as a personal affront if you disobey a subpoena.”

“A personal affront?” Amanda started crying and Jack sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulder.

“Then I don’t want you to find him,” sobbed Amanda. “Same for the three who attacked me … promise you’ll find some way to drop their charges if they don’t plead guilty.”

Jack briefly closed his own eyes to block the tears. “Charges have already been laid against the three,” he said. “I’m sorry, it is out of my hands, but under the circumstances, I doubt that any defence lawyer would want to chance you taking the stand. They will likely plead guilty on the pretext of feeling bad for what they have done. I imagine that they will be sentenced to a couple of years in juvenile detention.”

“And Cocktail? He won’t plead guilty. No way. He may have ordered it, but you know damn well he’ll never admit it.”

Jack didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say.

“I bet you wouldn’t convict him regardless,” added Amanda. “Or if you did, maybe he would end up with four months’ house arrest like your cocaine dealer.”

Briefly, Jack wondered about telling Amanda that if Cocktail was convicted of bludgeoning a retired priest to death with a rock, he would likely plead guilty to Amanda’s case and serve a concurrent sentence. What am I thinking? We don’t have any evidence that he committed the murder, either. He’ll likely walk on both charges.

Jack glanced at Amanda’s face. He felt sickened and angry. How can I go on, pretending to represent justice? I really should quit. Why waste the taxpayers’ dollars with this charade?

“You never answered,” noted Amanda. “I’m right, aren’t I? Cocktail will never face justice for what he did to me.”

Jack remained silent for a moment, before gripping Amanda by both shoulders and staring intently into her face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep … so believe me when I say I will find Cocktail and that … justice will be served.”

Jack caught the three o’clock ferry home. It was cold and windy, but he didn’t notice as he stood outside on the upper deck and stared into the waves. His BlackBerry rang and the call display told him that it was Ngoc Bích. He quickly answered and stepped inside where it was quieter.

Ngoc Bích was crying, but managed to blubber out that the court case had gone ahead. The judge, in his summation, said that he could not accept the credibility of Ngoc Bích and the other witness over two respected businessmen. After all, said the judge, both witnesses had been prostitutes. The case was dismissed.

Jack tried unsuccessfully to console her. When he eventually hung up, he went down to his car and wept.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jack told Natasha over dinner about the two court cases and Amanda’s desire not to go to court. She sat quietly, slowly chewing her food.

“Nothing to say?” asked Jack.

“What can I say? It’s horrible,” she replied.

Jack watched her eat and said, “It’s not like you to be so quiet. You have been a lot lately. Is there something bothering you?”

“I’m bothered that you are so unhappy and stressed about your work.”

“I’ll get over it.”

Natasha shook her head and put her fork down. “I doubt you ever will, but you better find a way to deal with it emotionally. The stress will affect your health. Eventually cause you to make decisions you regret.”

“Decisions such as …?”

Natasha chose to ignore the question. She picked up her knife and fork to attack a piece of steak and said, “I love you. I always want you to come home alive.”

Jack saw her eyes water. He felt guilty that his work was affecting her.

“I want you to be the happy,” she continued. “I want to spend more time with the loving and caring guy I know. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, it’s not too much to ask. I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have unloaded on you.”

“Of course you should unload on me. I’m your wife, but even if I wasn’t, as a doctor, I know enough about stress and what it can do to the human body.”

“I’ll take it easy.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” she said crossly. “I know you better than that. But you do need to learn to accept the things you can’t change. You did your job. Don’t blame yourself for what some judge decides.”

“Yeah, I know. Life isn’t fair.”

“It certainly isn’t,” replied Natasha.

Jack spent the rest of the evening staring at the television. He didn’t really watch any programs. It was a way to try and blank out his brain and give it a rest. Natasha understood the ritual, but wasn’t pleased when Jack told her that he would be working Saturday night. She had that night off and valued what precious time they had together.

It was a long night for Jack. It took several hours to fall asleep. When he did, he found himself on a ladder washing Father Brown’s blood off the back of the house. It became more smeared and spread farther as he scrubbed. It was hard to reach because the ladder kept sinking into the ground. Eventually his cleaning worked and the blood disappeared. No, it hadn’t. Like magic, as only a nightmare could be, the blood kept reappearing. More streaks and splashes than before. He climbed the ladder again … it kept sinking.

It was nine o’clock Saturday night when Jack and Laura drove Sy to the party. The house turned out to be a ramshackle rental with an overgrown yard and a single-car garage. The house had been painted yellow, but huge chunks of paint had peeled away. Street lights illuminated a couple dozen other cars parked nearby. Several young people milled around outside on the front porch.

“Guess we’re not the first,” commented Jack. He glanced in the rearview mirror as he parked on the street and made eye contact with Laura in the back seat. She smiled at the sound of the heavy metal music vibrating the gutters on the house.