Grave Doubts Read Online Free

him finding you.’
    ‘That’s what happened. All the records prove it.’ She avoided a smirk. Of course he had come to her, she’d made herself irresistible by winning and remaining silent. It had just been a question of patience.
    Nightingale looked at the clock on the opposite wall. She’d been on the stand nearly an hour now and regretted her sleepless night and lack of breakfast. The timing of the cross-examination was perfect for the defence. Outside, it was an unseasonably sunny day. The windows were set along the east wall, framed by columns of carved oak that matched the heavy courtroom furniture. English air-conditioning, unused to coping with real heat, was already starting to fail. London in April was not meant to be warm. The first fingers of eager yellow light were advancing across the blue carpet towards the witness stand. Defence and prosecution tables were set further back, in the relative comfort of the shadows but she would soon be in full sun.
    ‘Might I have some water, please?’
    The judge took pity on her and a plastic glass of tepid tap water was brought to her. She sipped it and continued with her never-ending testimony. Most of it she knew by heart, but she referred to her notebook anyway to remind the jury that she was a policewoman engaged in a serious investigation, not a computer-game hobbyist.
    The sun reached her. There was a hiatus when the judge ordered the blinds to be tried again, but they remained broken, sitting stubbornly at half-mast.
    ‘You may remove your jacket should you wish, Sergeant.’ He was solicitous, apologetic.
    Even without a jacket, the hair at the back of her neck grew damp, then wet. From time to time, the air-conditioning groaned and seemed to redouble its effort to chill the room but its only effect was to make defence counsel and witness shout over the noise. Nightingale began to lose her voice.
    In contrast Stringer blossomed in the heat. His face was pink and shiny but his rhetoric sparkled. It was as if he could sense her growing weakness. Bands of shadow inched across the floor distracting Nightingale, as the colonnade of mock-Grecian columns outside barred the sunlight. Her throat was sore and her head ached. Stringer was trying once again to imply that she was a ruthless huntress of innocent prey. She fought him with every calm, considered sentence or gentle shake of her head, her temper held under tight rein. Throughout her testimony she hoped that the judge and jury could see the truth, that she’d been the hunted. A drop of sweat dripped from her fringe making her left eye smart.
    ‘Come on, Sergeant.’ We haven’t got all day to wait for your answer!’
    ‘I’m… I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question?’
    ‘What?’ His voice echoed in her head, louder than the air-conditioning.
    ‘I said,’ she swallowed, trying to find saliva, ‘please could you repeat the question?’
    She put fingers to her cheek, surprised at the heat she found there. It disconcerted her and she rested her free hand on the hot varnish of the dock. Black spots formed in front of her eyes.
    ‘…said that you…stretching credibility if you think…’ His voice oscillated in and out. She blinked again and tried to focus but the black dots grew larger. Somewhere, the judge was speaking.
    ‘…think the Sergeant may be a little faint.’
    ‘No, I’m fine,’ she said, and promptly pitched forward to be caught by an anonymous pair of hands.
    As the blood rushed to her head her vision cleared and she could hear again. She drank the water that was handed to her and stood up slowly, resting heavily against the witness stand.
    ‘Are you all right, Sergeant?’
    ‘Yes, it’s just the heat. I’m so sorry. Could I have a few minutes to sit down somewhere cool?’
    In the corridor outside, the prosecution hugged her briefly.
    ‘I’m so embarrassed, I…’
    ‘That was brilliant. The show of vulnerability, reminding the jury that you’re a woman. Fantastic! It was