“I did.”
The courtroom was utterly silent. Hannah kept expecting the prosecutor to object, but he was sitting very stil . Parekh waited to ensure that the question had the maximum dramatic effect.
“Why did you do that, Sam?” he said, into the silence.
“Because Sheriff Pierce came to my house. He explained to me that he knew for sure that Michael Dandridge had kil ed my mother, but that the kind of evidence he had wasn’t the kind of evidence that the courts would al ow. He told me that Mr. Dandridge had attacked other women before and that they’d been trying to catch him for a long time, but that he was very sneaky. Very good at not getting caught. He told me I could make sure that my mother’s kil er went to prison and that I could protect al those other moms out there from Mr. Dandridge. He showed me Mr. Dandridge’s photograph. He gave me a copy, actual y, told me to keep it and be sure I looked at it every day.”
This time the murmur around the courtroom was considerably louder. Hannah wanted to turn and look at Pierce, but at the same time she couldn’t take her eyes off Sam. He was being so brave.
“And you believed him?” Parekh asked.
“I did.”
“But you don’t believe him now?” Parekh asked.
“I don’t,” Sam said firmly.
“And why is that, Sam?”
“Because I don’t believe good cops use seven-year-old boys to fabricate evidence. As far as I know, the only evidence against Mr.
Dandridge is my identification and his confession, which everyone knows was beaten out of him.”
“Objection, Judge. Facts not in evidence.” The prosecutor made his objection lazily, confidently, from his seated position.
“Sustained,” the judge said.
“Wel , we’l come back to that,” said Parekh. “But for now, Sam, let me just ask one more time for clarity. Did you see Michael Dandridge in your home on the night of your mother’s murder?”
“I did not.”
“And had you ever seen him in your home or at any time?”
“No. The first time I saw Mr. Dandridge was when Sheriff Pierce handed me his photograph. The first time I saw him in person was in court.” Sam turned to Dandridge. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Dandridge.”
Dandridge’s head was bowed as if he couldn’t bear the weight of hope that was upon him, but he looked up at Sam’s words, and nodded.
“Thank you, Sam,” Parekh said. He took his seat, and Engle rose to cross-examine.
“Mr. Fitzhugh, did you speak to the defense team before taking the stand today?” Engle asked briskly.
“Yes,” Sam said.
“And did they ask you to change your testimony?”
“They asked me to tel the truth.”
“Do you know who kil ed your mother?” Engle asked.
“I . . . no . . .”
“You didn’t see some other man that night, creeping out of your mother’s room?”
“No.” Sam was flushed now, angry.
“So you’re tel ing the court now that you don’t know if Mr.
Dandridge here murdered your mother. The very best evidence you have to offer, which contradicts your previous sworn testimony, is that Mr. Dandridge may have committed the crime, or he may not have, but either way, you have no light to shed on the matter.”
Sam sat there, lips tight, eyes angry, and said nothing.
“What age are you?” Engle asked.
“I’m eighteen,” Sam said.
“Eighteen years old,” Engle said. “So eleven years have passed since the first trial, and you say now you lied in that trial. And during those eleven years you never once thought about coming forward to tel what you now say is the truth?”
“I believed Sheriff Pierce when he said that Mr. Dandridge had kil ed my mother. I know it was wrong to lie and I’m sorry. But I was very young. And who could I have come forward to? Sheriff Pierce was stil the sheriff.”
“Nevertheless,” Engle said. “You had options. A smart, educated young man like yourself. It never occurred to you to go to the police in Richmond, for example?”
Sam hesitated and Engle pressed on.
“In fact this new evidence of yours, it only occurred to you after you had a series of meetings with the defense team. Isn’t that correct?”
“You’re making it sound—”
“And isn’t it the case, Mr. Fitzhugh, that Mr. Dandridge is from a wealthy Virginia family?”
Sam, angry, shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
As Jackson Engle’s questioning of Sam continued Hannah stood quietly and made her way down the side of the courtroom to the defense table. She crouched down and, leaning around Jim Lehane, touched Robert Parekh’s arm to get his attention. He jumped, looked at her like she was something that had crawled out from under a rock.
“Ask for a recess. I have evidence I need to share with you,” she whispered.
He recoiled. “Hannah. You can’t be here. You need to leave, right now.” He tried to return his attention to the front of the court but she tightened her grasp on his wrist.
“Listen to me. Ask the judge for a short recess. I have evidence.
Just give me five minutes to explain.”
She could see that he didn’t trust her. But either he felt like he had nothing to lose or it suited him to request a recess at that time.
When Engle final y released a distraught Sam from the witness box, Parekh stood and requested five minutes. The judge wasn’t happy, Engle objected, Parekh pushed harder.
“Two minutes, then, Mr. Parekh. Use them wisely because there wil be no more unscheduled breaks. The court has a ful day.”
Parekh tried to usher Hannah into a side room. She held back.
“Michael has to come too,” she said.
Parekh hesitated, but real y there was no reason to refuse her request, and he could surely tel by the look in her eyes that she wouldn’t yield on it. So he made the arrangements and Dandridge too was escorted to a side room. Lehane, Sean, and Camila fol owed.
“What’s al this about?” Parekh had his arms folded.
“I have evidence that Pierce knew who real y kil ed Sarah Fitzhugh. That he framed Michael for his own reasons.”
Parekh glanced at Sean. “This is your theory about Derek Rawlings again. What’s the evidence? Rawlings is long dead.”
“There was hair evidence taken from another crime. Another home invasion and attempted rape. That evidence was hidden by Jerome Pierce because he didn’t want anyone to know that his brotherin-law was a rapist and murderer. I believe that that hair wil match the hair taken from the Sarah Fitzhugh murder and prove that Rawlings committed both crimes.”
“Where did you get this evidence?” Parekh snapped. “And how do you think we’re going to prove it came from Rawlings?”
There was a knock on the door to the side room. The bailiff, cal ing them back to court.