If she could have, Hannah would have curled her lip. So much for Angie Conroy’s belief that Dandridge and Prosper didn’t use heavy drugs. No one went cold turkey from weed and the occasional E tab.
“So we don’t have photos to prove your injuries, unfortunately, but we do have the medical report from when you were transferred to Sussex I State Prison. That shows the fractured ribs beginning to heal, and at least records that you reported the other internal injuries.”
Dandridge leaned back again in his chair but he let his right arm rest against the table. He had a habit of doing that. Resting his right arm on the table, palm up, then cupping his left palm over the inside of his right elbow as if to protect it. “What I don’t get is why we don’t have anyone else ready to go on the record about how he beat them. There’s no way I was the only one. Pierce knew what he was doing. His deputies didn’t even blink when he hit me the first time.”
“We’re stil working on that,” Sean said. “There were two old formal complaints on the record apart from yours, but one of the complainants is dead and the other we’re stil trying to find.”
The conversation continued, with Sean trying to sound upbeat and Dandridge complaining that they should be doing more. That any PI worth his salt would have found the other complainant now and if the Project was wil ing to spend some money they would get better results. One smal part of Hannah’s brain was stil listening to that conversation, stil cataloguing it. But the other part of her brain, the larger part, was utterly frozen. Dandridge had taken to opening and closing his right hand, like someone getting ready for a blood test, or a junkie preparing to find a vein. And every time he opened his right hand, she could see a thick, silvery scar, running diagonal y across his palm.
“What happened to your hand?”
“What?” Dandridge said.
“Your hand. How did you get that scar?” Hannah’s mouth was bone dry.
He looked confused for a second, then shrugged. “I was a kid. I was five. I think I put my hand through a window, but I don’t real y remember.” He looked irritated. There was a moment’s silence.
“Uh . . . can we talk again about Jerome Pierce and the interrogation?” Sean said. “Can you take me through who was in the room, before and after the beating? I’d like to know—”
“They fired the nanny,” Hannah blurted out.
Dandridge stared at her. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean . . .” Hannah shook her head. She tried to push her chair back, but it was fixed to the floor. Her heart was racing painful y now, and her lungs felt tight. She couldn’t take a deep breath.
“How did you know about my nanny?” Dandridge said. He was looking back and forth between Hannah and Sean, clearly expecting some sort of explanation.
“I didn’t . . . I just assumed . . .” It was no good. Hannah stood up.
“I have to go, I’m sorry.”
Sean looked at her, openmouthed.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, but insistent.
“If we cal the guard, that’s it. Mike wil have to go back to his cel ,” Sean said.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“That’s al right,” Dandridge said. “If Hannah’s not wel , she’s not wel .” But he was staring at her, real y taking her in. Shit. Hannah turned away, turned her back on him. Dandridge spoke to her one more time as the guard escorted them from the room. “Come back and visit any time, Hannah,” he said. “Any time.”
And then they were walking again down those endless gray corridors while Hannah blinked furiously against tears of confusion and anger, feeling sicker and sicker and then final y, final y, there was the door to the outside and she burst through it, took a few steps, and vomited on the gravel. Sean fol owed her out. She straightened and wiped her mouth. This made no sense. It was Tom who’d cut his hand. Not Michael Dandridge. Not Mike.
“Are you al right?” Sean sounded confused, concerned.
“Fine. I’m fine.” But she stil felt so sick. And hot. And her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He put a hand on her shoulder, turned her to face him.
“What’s going on with you, Hannah? What was al that about his hand?”
Hannah shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I . . . it was nonsense. I just suddenly felt so dizzy in there. I don’t know what happened. I think I’m sick. Maybe I ate something.”