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.