“That’s fine,” Hannah said. “Of course.”
He hung up. Hannah lay back on the bed, feeling lost and utterly useless. She forced her brain to focus, tried to think about what, if anything, she could do to help Sean, and came up with nothing. She became aware of the pain in her lower back, in her arms and side.
She got up and went to the bathroom, examined the purple bruising that was beginning to appear, and turned away. Sean was so much worse off. There would be no sleep tonight and there was no one else she could cal for support or comfort. She couldn’t cal Laura right now, but even before al of this, had she ever been able to cal Laura when she was in trouble? Coming to Charlottesvil e, living this crazy life, none of it was normal or safe or right . . . but had her life ever been any of those things?
Thinking about that right now would make her crazy. Better to work, if she could. Hannah sat at the desk in her room and started by making notes on her conversation with Sam Fitzhugh. Then she wrote a detailed account of everything that had happened at the bar.
As she worked she kept thinking of that early morning in Sean’s mother’s house, when she’d come so close to emailing Pierce and setting him on Neil Prosper. She’d thought she was on the same side as Pierce, had built up an internal image of the kind of person he might be. A dedicated cop, someone who cared deeply. A driven man who maybe crossed a few lines but only in the pursuit of a just outcome. The reality was starkly different. Hannah put her pen down and started to pace the room. She’d been so sure of herself and now the ground was moving under her feet. What else had she been wrong about?
Hannah started shivering again, so she climbed back into bed.
She set her alarm, closed her eyes, and tried to sleep. It wouldn’t come. Final y, just after five A.M., Hannah went downstairs. There was a coffee machine in the reception area. She switched it on, waited for it to brew, then with her coat on and a blanket around her shoulders, she went to sit on the steps of the porch and wait for the sun to come up.
It was very, very quiet outside. No traffic sounds, only the occasional screech of a distant barn owl, which, thankful y, moved on. Hannah was lost in her thoughts and it took her a minute to realize she wasn’t alone. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she realized that what looked like a tree trunk was a tree trunk and something else. There was a man there, leaning against the tree and watching her.
“Jesus.” Hannah jumped to her feet, dropping her coffee mug, which bounced two steps before breaking in half. She backed toward the house.
“Hannah, wait. It’s just me.”
She didn’t recognize the voice and kept retreating. It was only when the figure took a few steps forward and the porch light fel on his face that she recognized him—Sam Fitzhugh, wearing the same jeans and boots as earlier in the night, but now with a dark jacket to keep him warm.
“What are you doing here?” Hannah kept her distance.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just . . . wanted to talk.
What happened in the bar, to your friend. I can’t believe that happened.”
Hannah just shook her head.
“And I didn’t do anything to help. I guess that made you think that I was part of it, but I’m tel ing you I wasn’t. I would never do anything like that. I wanted you to know that.”
“Right.” She had no energy for his self-recriminations. She had enough of her own to deal with. She turned to go.
“Wait,” he said. He climbed the steps to the porch and she was suddenly aware that he might be young, but he was much stronger and tal er than she was. She folded her arms across her stomach.
Sam glanced around as if he was afraid that they would be overheard, then he lowered his voice.
“No one knows I’m here. My grandparents . . . my grandfather would kil me. I biked over, so they wouldn’t hear the car.”
Hannah frowned and he hurried on.
“I’ve decided to tel you the truth. I don’t know, I stil don’t know if it’s the right thing to do. I don’t know if Dandridge is guilty or if Pierce and everyone, if they were just looking for a scapegoat. But I do trust you, Hannah. I figured I’d tel you what happened and leave it up to you what to do with it.” He paused, as if waiting for her permission to continue. Hannah managed a stiff nod.
“I never saw Dandridge that night,” Sam said, his words tumbling over each other. “I did wake up, when my baby sister was crying, and I went looking for my mother. I found her, in bed, and she was dead. I pul ed my sister out of her crib and I went next door, to our neighbors. They took us in and they cal ed the cops. I never saw Dandridge or anyone else.”
“How did the photo identification come about?” Hannah’s mouth had gone dry; her tongue made a clicking sound when she spoke.
“Sheriff Pierce came to the house, a few weeks later. He sat me down with my grandfather and told me that I could help to send the man who murdered my mother to jail. They said they knew for sure that he had done it, that he had even confessed, but that the law and the courts were very complicated, and it would help if I could say I had seen him at the house that night. Pierce had the photo array with him and he showed me which one was Dandridge, so that when I did the formal ID at the station later, I would know which man to choose. Pierce told me exactly what to say when they did that video interview and I said it.”
“You lied,” Hannah said and her voice was barely more than a breath on the wind.
He nodded. “I lied.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
“You don’t understand,” Sam said. “Sheriff Pierce was . . . look, he was my hero when I was a kid. My dad wasn’t around much. He never real y came home again, after my mom died. He just did one tour after another and he visited friends in between and there was always some excuse and then he just stopped bothering with the excuses. And my grandparents, they did their best but they’re old school, you know? I had one real y good friend, my best friend, Teddy Rawlings, and his home life was screwed up too. His dad used to beat the shit out of him, his mom, his sisters. But Sheriff Pierce was Teddy’s uncle. So Teddy’s dad was an asshole and mine was never around and Sheriff Pierce basical y adopted us. Took us to al our Little League games. Made sure no one messed with us.
Pierce and his wife, they’ve got this big old house out on Lafayette Road. They have a pool and a huge yard and Mindy Pierce, she liked having kids around, so Teddy was always there, playing with his cousins and I was right there with him. Sheriff Pierce treated us al like one big family. He used to give money to Teddy’s mom, and if things got too hard at home, he’d step in. We just worshipped him, you know? And I believed everything he told me about my mom and the investigation too.”
“So . . . what changed?”
“I don’t know if I can tel you. I don’t know if you’l believe me.”
“Sam . . . come on.” Hannah shifted her weight, started to stand.
“No. Okay. Just wait.”