The Murder Rule(11)

Rachel flushed. “What are you doing reading his stuff?”

Hannah shrugged. “Learning,” she said.

Rachel’s blush deepened. “Whatever.” She turned back to her computer and ten minutes later packed up and left without another word to Hannah.

Hannah kept her eye on Rob Parekh’s office door. She waited for the so-cal ed A team to emerge and settle back at their desks. They worked, it seemed, at three desks pushed together at a corner by the window. Hannah stood up, took a breath, and walked over as casual y as she could manage. Only one of them—Camila—looked up at her approach.

“Can I help you?”

“I wanted to say hi,” Hannah said, smiling warmly. “I’m Hannah. I just started here.”

“Camila,” Camila said. She nodded toward the others by way of introduction. “Sean. Hazel.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hannah said. Sean smiled back at her. He was tal , in shape, and very handsome. As wel as the artful y tousled hair, he was working scruffy stubble and deep blue eyes. Hazel barely glanced up before returning her attention to papers spread out on the table in front of them. “Uh, I just wondered if you guys wanted to get a coffee some time?” Hannah had to work to maintain her light and breezy tone in the face of Camila’s flat stare and Hazel’s indifference. “I’ve got so much to learn, and I’m told you guys are the experts.”

“Who told you we were experts? Rachel?” Camila said. Her tone was disbelieving.

“I . . . yes,” Hannah said. Shit. She’d handled this al wrong.

Camila stared her down for a long moment. Sean seemed bemused and now even Hazel was looking at her. Hannah felt her cheeks redden.

“I could use a coffee,” Camila said eventual y. “There’s a place down at the corner that’s pretty good. I’l have a large cappuccino, two sugars. Hazel?”

“Same,” Hazel said promptly.

“Sean?” Camila said.

He frowned. “Camila, come on—”

“It’s fine,” Hannah said quickly. “I’m happy to grab them. It looks like you guys have work to do.” She let her eyes drop to the papers on the desk. They weren’t pleadings. They looked like photocopied witness statements. From the Dandridge case? Hannah’s heart beat faster.

“Yeah, Sean. She’s fine to get them,” Camila said.

Sean took a little more persuading, but when Hannah insisted, he asked for a black coffee. She smiled at him, got her coat, and went to find the coffee shop. The place on the corner was a ten-minute walk. Hannah ordered the coffees. She’d screwed up. It was obvious she wasn’t going to charm her way into the inner circle. When she got back to the office, she should drop the coffees off quickly and retreat. Find another way in. Shit. She had so little time. She may need to do something drastic.

HANNAH WORKED THROUGH THE AFTERNOON AND INTO THE

LATE evening. Completely focused on what she was doing, she barely noticed as the room emptied out and she was interrupted by Marianne Stephenson at eight o’clock.

Marianne cleared her throat. “Don’t you have a home to go to?”

she said, but there was warmth in her tone and a definite suggestion of approval.

“I’m so sorry,” Hannah said. “Have I been keeping you? I lost track of the time.”

“You’re the last one here, but I always work late on Mondays.”

Hannah started to pack up. “I’l be ready in just a minute,” she said. Marianne nodded. She went idly to the window and looked out into the darkness while Hannah packed away her notebook and pens and water bottle.

“I guess you’re not kidding around,” Marianne said, over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry?”

“We get a mix of students here,” she said, stil not looking at Hannah. “Most of them appear to have a genuine interest in helping people, but scrape the surface and they’re here for the course credit.

Stil , we get at least one true believer every year. They’re usual y the ones I see here late, burning the midnight oil.”

“Right,” Hannah said.

“True believers are great.” Marianne turned around to face Hannah and leaned back against the window. “But they’re not always that effective. It’s easy to get disil usioned. Not al of our clients are easy to work with, and the system doesn’t reward a heroic charge.

Success here is more about hard work and the occasional dirty trick.” She smiled and it took the sting out of her words. “What I like to see around here are the pragmatists. Are you a pragmatist, Hannah?”

“I . . . yes. I think I am,” Hannah said. Her backpack was packed and zipped and she rested her hands on top of it. “I mean, I believe in getting results, if that’s what you’re asking.” This was not a lie. She was a pragmatist and a realist. She saw the world for what it real y was, which was more than could be said for most people. But it surprised her to hear Marianne talking of pragmatism, when Marianne worked for the Innocence Project, an organization that was so guilty of romanticized bul shit. But then . . . okay . . . maybe she shouldn’t be surprised at al . Just because the Innocence Project sold the tale of the perfect innocent, caught up in and crushed by the system, didn’t mean they actual y believed it. They must know that at least some of the time, the picture was a lot more complicated than that. They just chose to sel the fairy tale because it was good for public relations and their larger policy agenda. Hannah felt a wave of fury so sudden and unexpected that she swayed slightly on her feet.