Prosper took a seat at one and gestured for Hannah and Sean to sit in the other. “How did you find me?” he asked.
Hannah was determined not to throw Sophia’s daughter under the bus. “Someone saw you,” she said. “Or rather, saw your photograph online. Someone from Yorktown. This person knew you in the old days, and stil knows your sister today. She recognized you.”
Prosper scowled. “I’m not in touch with Sophia. She has nothing to do with any of this.”
“Okay . . . ,” Hannah said, a little thrown by his vehemence.
Sean leaned forward. “Mr. Prosper. As you know Michael has been in prison for eleven years for the murder of Sarah Fitzhugh. We believe that he is innocent of that crime. In fact, his conviction has already been vacated by the federal courts. Notwithstanding this, the state prosecutor is planning on trying the case again. Michael is stil in prison, and he wil have to go to court again to fight for his freedom in just a few days. I don’t know . . . are you already aware of al this, Mr. Prosper? It’s been widely reported in the newspapers.”
“My name is Johnathon Swift,” Prosper said. “I haven’t been Neil Prosper for years.” His voice was tight and his face flushed. Was that anger? Or something else?
“Mr. Swift, then.” Hannah broke in, her tone conciliatory. “I don’t . . . maybe you’re not aware that Michael Dandridge gave your name when he was asked for an alibi for the night of the murder? He said that he spent the night with you, drinking and listening to music.
Is that right?” She waited for him to deny it.
Prosper visibly squirmed. Seconds passed when he didn’t speak.
Final y, he said, “I’m not obliged to speak to you, right? I mean, not legal y.”
Hannah opened her mouth to speak, but Sean got there before her. “Not right at this moment,” he said, evenly, “but if you don’t speak to us voluntarily you wil be subpoenaed to the trial where you wil be obliged to respond to questioning. If you object, Michael’s defense lawyers—our col eagues—wil be entitled to treat you as a hostile witness, and you wil be cross-examined. If you lie to the court, that would be perjury, and you may be sent to prison.”
The word hung in the air. Prosper was staring at Sean with a combination of dislike and fear. “What makes you think I’d lie?” he said.
Sean hesitated. “I think you’ve worked very hard to avoid tel ing the truth for eleven years. Presumably, there’s a reason for that.”
Tension sparked between them and there was silence for a long moment. Shifting in her chair, Hannah said, “Mr. Swift, if you didn’t spend the evening with Mr. Dandridge, or if you spent only part of the evening with him, you are free to say so, you know. We do want to hear the truth, whatever that might be.” Was that too obvious? She risked pissing Sean off, even making him suspicious, but it would be worth it if it put the alibi witness idea to bed once and for al .
But Prosper turned his gaze to her and said, “I’m not going to answer your questions.”
Sean and Hannah exchanged glances.
“Are you saying . . . are you saying that you are concerned about self-incrimination?” Hannah felt herself flush. God. This was too good. She half-expected Prosper to stand up, to say he was going to cal his attorney, to ask them to leave. But he didn’t do any of those things. He just sat there and looked at them, and the tension grew.
“You’re not going to answer our questions,” Sean said, eventual y, careful y.
“No.”
“You can’t help us.”
Prosper nodded. He and Sean had locked eyes. It was like they were having a different, unspoken conversation now. One that Hannah wasn’t hearing.
“You can’t be seen to be helping us,” Sean said.
Prosper nodded again.
“Because of Sophia. Because of Sophia and her family.”
“Yes.” There was relief on Prosper’s face as he nodded for a third time, the relief of someone who is final y understood. But there was fear in his eyes too. Unmistakably. Hannah started to feel uneasy.
“Okay,” Sean said. He was very serious now and he looked older, somehow. Warm, easy, jokey Sean had disappeared and this was another version of him. Clever, focused, compassionate.
“What can we do to help you?” Sean asked.
Prosper shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Let me talk to my boss. His name is Robert Parekh. If you’ve been fol owing the case, you might have read about him. He wants to meet you. He has experience with situations like this. I’m sure he could help you. Help Sophia.”
Prosper hesitated. Hannah could almost feel him teetering on the point of making a decision, fal ing one way or the other. Eventual y, he shook his head again. “I’m sorry. I real y am sorry. But there’s nothing I can do to help Michael.” He stood up. “I’l show you out.”
They fol owed him to the front door. They thanked him for his time. When they were outside but before Prosper had shut the door, Sean turned around and asked one more question.
“Can you tel me one thing, Neil? Is it Jerome Pierce? Is that who you’re afraid of?”
Prosper didn’t answer. He turned away, went inside, and closed the door.
LAURA
DIARY ENTRY #8
Monday, August 29, 1994, 10:45 a.m.
I’m writing this on the bus on my way back to Boston. Rosa fired me this morning. Tom’s father phoned the hotel owner and told him he wanted me gone and just like that I lost my job. I feel like shit. Like complete shit. Like I’m disgusting. Like everything they al believe about me is real y true.
Rosa said I had to pack up and go right away, but she gave me an envelope ful of cash—one week’s wages and what she said was my end-of-season bonus. I think it might have been her own money.
I could see she felt bad about everything. I wanted to tel her that I understood. She didn’t have a choice. She can’t afford to lose her job either. I wanted to hug her, but I couldn’t. I just left without saying anything. I can’t even cry anymore. I think maybe something inside me is broken.
Tuesday, August 30, 1994, 11:00 a.m.
I’m back in Boston now. Jenna is too. I stayed with her last night. We talked and talked and I told her nothing. Nothing about Michael Dandridge. I told her about Tom, that I’d fal en for a guy and that he died in an accident. An accidental drowning. But it came out al wrong. I sounded like a robot. I couldn’t explain anything properly.
She hugged me and I almost shrugged her off. I can see that she wants to comfort me. She’s trying, real y hard. I can’t seem to let her in.
I’m a different person than the person I used to be. I feel like Michael’s watching me al the time. Everywhere I go. I know he’s in Virginia and very far from here but I can’t let go of the fear. I’m not sleeping much. I feel sick al the time and I’m ful of guilt. Michael Dandridge murdered Tom Spencer and I let him get away with it. I’ve thought about going to the police here in Boston, but I’m too afraid.
They won’t believe me, but they might make a phone cal , or something. Michael wil hear of it, and he’l find me, and then he’l kil me for sure.