How many other lives had been blighted by Jerome Pierce? Hannah went straight back to her car, unlocked her door with shaking hands, swung her backpack inside, and drove away. She pul ed in outside the York Pub, where she’d had crab cakes with Camila only a few short days ago. She felt safer here, with people coming and going, than she would parked down a quiet side al ey.
She opened Dandridge’s file first. More handwritten notes, recording the life Dandridge had been leading at the time of his arrest, his known associates, his drug habit, the fact that he was cut off from his once-wealthy family who had, according to the file, lost money in a real-estate investment. There was information about Prosper in the file, but it was al general stuff—again, where he lived, who he spent time with. Nothing that would prove Pierce had leaned on him or why. Damn. Damn damn damn. Hannah blinked back tears of frustration.
She turned to the police file. It was bigger, heavier, more complete. She opened it out on the passenger seat and started to go through it. The contents were largely familiar to her. Photographs of Sarah Fitzhugh, which she quickly put aside. Dandridge’s mug shot, various witness statements, and long police forms. She was nearly at the back of the file when she found it. A smal plastic evidence bag, sealed, with a second bag inside that appeared to contain a number of dark hairs. Hannah stopped, puzzled. A single strand of hair had been found in the Fitzhugh case, but that had been sent off for testing. What then, was this? She looked at it more closely. The evidence bag wasn’t marked with the name Sarah Fitzhugh. The label said “L. Cantrel —Victory Hil ” and the case number was different.
Victory Hil . Victory Hil . This was evidence from that other case she had found during her research, the home incursion and attempted rape that had been interrupted by the return of the victim’s husband. The case she had thought so similar to the Sarah Fitzhugh case. But the newspaper reports on the Victory Hil case said that no DNA evidence had been found. So why was hair evidence from that case sitting in a copy of the Sarah Fitzhugh case file in Jerome Pierce’s home office?
Hannah
TWENTY
By the time Hannah made it to the courtroom court was wel in session. She pushed her way through the double doors and quietly took a seat off to the side. The courtroom was bright and modern and absolutely packed with members of the public and press. There were uniformed deputies, there to keep order. There was Robert Parekh, impeccably dressed and looking utterly confident, sitting at the defense bench, Jim Lehane at his side. And her father, of course.
Michael Dandridge. Perhaps he felt the weight of her gaze because he turned and looked at her, gave her a slow nod of recognition. She nodded at him in return, then looked away. Sam was sitting in the witness box, looking scared and uncomfortable. Hannah looked for Jerome Pierce. He was leaning against the wal at the back of the courtroom, in ful uniform, arms crossed and scowling.
“Mr. Parekh, if you’re ready to proceed,” said Judge Burrel . She was younger looking than Hannah had expected, in her thirties. The judge had dark circles under her eyes, like she hadn’t had enough sleep, but her eyes were sharp and she was clearly paying attention.
Parekh stood. “Sam, we’ve talked about the earlier part of the night, about your last hours with your mother. She put you to bed at around seven P.M. Now, I have to ask you, what woke you up, later that night?”
“My sister was crying. She didn’t usual y. She was a pretty quiet baby, and anyway, Mom just picked her up if she cried. Often Mom would bring her in the bed with her, and they’d sleep like that until morning. So I wasn’t used to hearing her crying at night. That night though, in my memory, she cried for a long time.” Sam’s voice was steady and quiet. His eyes were fixed on a scene somewhere far away. “I was scared,” he said. “Before I even got out of bed. Maybe it was just Rosie crying, or maybe it was something else. But I remember being afraid. I wanted to stay under my covers, where I was warm, and safe. But Rosie kept crying and crying. So I got out of bed. I . . . I walked along the corridor to my mother’s room. The door was shut. I remember that because it was unusual. Usual y Mom left her door a little bit open, in case I needed her. That night it was closed. I opened the door and went inside. The lights in the bedroom were turned off but the light in the hal behind me spil ed through.”
Sam stopped and swal owed. There was absolute silence in the courtroom. Every eye was on him, and every voice was silenced.
There was something very soft, very tender in his face when he spoke about his mother bringing Rosie into bed with her, and Hannah found herself blinking back tears. An image of Sarah Fitzhugh as a living, breathing woman struck Hannah forceful y, fol owed by a pang of guilt. She’d been angry with Parekh and the rest for failing to think about the victims in the cases they’d brought, but had she ever thought of ?Sarah as anything more than a pawn on a chessboard?
“I didn’t realize. Not at first. I could see my mom’s body lying on the bed, but she was in shadow. I went to her and put my hand on her arm, tried to wake her. She didn’t move, didn’t react. I tried again, and she stil didn’t move. I saw that she was staring at the ceiling.”
Sam fel silent, and Parekh said, very gently—“You were just a little boy, Sam. It must have been terribly frightening.”
Sam nodded, a single awkward jerk of his head. “I went to my sister. She was standing up and crying in her crib. I picked her up and carried her out of the room. I went down the hal toward our front door. The door was open. I was so afraid. But I was more afraid to stay. I took Rosie next door to Mr. and Mrs. Stamford. I knocked on the door again and again and Mrs. Stamford opened it and took us in. She cal ed the police.”
Sam stil wasn’t looking at Parekh, but rather off into the distance.
“Thank you, Sam,” Parekh. “Now, I know this is very difficult for you to talk about, and if you need a little time, I can ask the judge if we can take a short break.”
Hannah saw Burrel give a slight nod. Her face was sympathetic.
“But if you’re okay to continue, Sam, I’d like to talk about the most important part of your testimony today, something you haven’t touched on yet. When you left your own bedroom at the back of the apartment, and walked along the hal to your mother’s room, what did you see?”
Sam blinked. “I saw the hal way. The light on. And my mother’s door, shut.”
“And you didn’t see any other person in the house?”
Sam shook his head. “No.”
“It was just you, your mother, and little Rosie, is that right?”
“Yes,” said Sam.
“Sam, the prosecution has argued that your evidence in the original trial should be entered into the record here today. Can you tel us what evidence you gave in the original trial that is different from what you are tel ing us here today?”
“Yes,” Sam said firmly. “When I was seven I gave a statement that said I was hiding in my room and I saw a man dressed in jeans and a black windbreaker.”
“And did you later identify this man as Michael Dandridge?”