The Murder Rule(4)

That she’d had a short-lived, wildly passionate affair with Parekh.

Which meant a potential scandal, something that could be used, maybe. But Hannah didn’t know Annabel personal y, had never spoken to her, and Mil ie had said that the relationship was over and that Annabel only had good things to say about her ex. And now Parekh was so calm, so unbothered by Hannah’s presence, so it looked like he wasn’t worried. If that was the case, why had he agreed to see her? Maybe this wasn’t an interview. Maybe he was about to give her a verbal kicking and throw her out of his office.

Hannah clenched her fists. That absolutely couldn’t happen.

Parekh picked up a thin file from his desk, opened it, and sorted through the papers within. “Yes. Here you are. Hannah Rokeby.

University of Maine for undergraduate and law school. I assume that choice was driven by personal circumstances. Your transcript suggests you were capable of better.”

His snobbery irritated her but she didn’t al ow it to show. “My mother needed me. It made sense for me to live at home while going to school.”

He nodded, but waited, eyebrows raised, as if her answer had been incomplete.

“My mother has cancer. She’s taking part in a clinical trial at University Hospital here in Charlottesvil e for the next three months.

She’s staying in special housing close to the hospital, so I can’t live with her, but I thought coming to UVA for a semester would be a good way to stay close enough that she can cal on me if she needs me. I can more easily spend weekends with her.”

“Yes,” he said. “That was in your email. And of course, it’s an opportunity for you too. To get a taste of the kind of education that perhaps you should have had.”

His eyes were sharp. Hannah suppressed the urge to defend her school and her professors.

“That’s true.” She cleared her throat, pressed forward. “I have excel ent research skil s. During my summers I volunteered at the Maine State Free Legal Advice Clinics, so I have experience working directly with clients. The clinics were very busy, so I got a lot of hands-on experience.”

Parekh looked bored. His eyes dropped again to the application form. Hannah spoke more quickly, injected a bit more enthusiasm into her voice.

“A large part of the appeal in transferring here to the University of Virginia was the prospect of working for the Innocence Project. I’ve been reading al about your work with Michael Dandridge, and the approach you’ve taken with the case is real y inspiring.”

No reaction. Hannah hurried on. “I’ve been working on an accelerated timetable in Maine, so I’m ahead of where I need to be. I thought I might be helpful if some of your more experienced students are struggling with heavy class loads. I could pick up some of the slack.”

“What about your mother?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t you have to spend time with your mother? Given her il ness?”

“Mom’s doing much better now. She’s very independent.”

Hannah’s throat tightened at the lie. “I’l need to see her at weekends for a few hours. To catch up. Otherwise I’l be free.”

Her words appeared to be having little impact. His eyes were on the papers in front of him.

“Hannah. Al of the kids here are bright, they’re al hard workers, and they’re al motivated. I’m looking for something more. Your email made me think you might have it.”

“Oh . . . okay, wel , I’m glad—”

He cut her off. “You tried to blackmail me.”

Shit.

“I . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

“Oh, yes, you did,” Parekh said. He looked more amused than angry. “I’m not upset about it,” he said. “I think you should have shown better judgment, and I think you should have done a little more research. I was not Annabel’s professor when we started seeing each other. She had already dropped my class, in fact, and UVA policies only prohibit relationships between faculty and students where the faculty member has a teaching authority over the student.

So.”

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said, as sincerely as she could manage.

“You should be,” he said, stil with that trace of amusement. “But here’s the thing.” He gestured broadly around the room. “Here at the Project, we are not the police and we are not the FBI. We have a very limited budget to pay investigators. I need students who are imaginative, inventive, and wil ing to be creative when it comes to pursuing our cases. Working here does not mean sitting behind a desk drafting motions—our staff attorneys take care of that. We need students to do the hard grind of investigating facts and tracking down new evidence. If you could be as dogged with that as you were with trying to get a place here, maybe you could be of use to me.”

Hannah could feel the flush rising in her cheeks. She made herself hold his gaze. This was not the time to play the shy girl.

Though . . . she had a feeling he wouldn’t react wel if she was too assertive either.

“I’d like to try,” she said steadily.

“Why?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Tel me exactly why you want to work with us.”

Hannah took a breath. “Because I believe that the system is broken. Too many innocent people are going to prison and I think that may get worse, not better, given the political situation. The Innocence Project is fighting back, trying to fix things, and it’s doing it in al the right ways. Fighting individual cases, but also lobbying for systemic change. It’s actual y making a difference, and there aren’t very many organizations that can say that these days. I want to be part of that.” She had practiced her speech in front of the mirror a hundred times. She knew exactly what she looked like as she delivered it—frank, painful y sincere, maybe a little embarrassed by her own intensity. But Parekh looked Hannah right in the eye as she delivered her monologue . . . and he didn’t believe her. She could see it. She tried desperately to think of something else she could say to convince him. Nothing came to her. After a minute his eyes flicked away from hers. He hesitated.