The Murder Rule(45)
Sean looked interested. He sat back in his chair. “Tel me.”
“I just think there might be other reasons for him to run.”
“Like?”
“Wel , I hate to say this, Sean, but I think Prosper running is a bad fact. Don’t you think Parekh looked worried when we told him about it? I mean, our client claims to have spent the night with this guy when the murder takes place, and then the guy runs. I don’t think that looks good at al . Innocent people don’t run. What if they did it together?”
“You think Dandridge and Prosper might have kil ed Sarah together?”
“I think, if I were the prosecution, it’s exactly what I would suggest the moment I see Prosper on the stand. He ran. If I’m the prosecutor, I’m going to want to tie Prosper and Dandridge closer together. It makes Dandridge look worse, that his alibi ran away, not better.”
Sean thought for a moment then shook his head. “Oof.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He stood up, fishing in his pocket for money for a tip.
“Tel me,” Hannah said, her anxiety spiking. She should have kept her mouth shut.
“It’s just, I can absolutely see why Rob wanted you on the case.
You have a different way of looking at things.”
WHEN THEY PULLED UP OUTSIDE THE PROSPER HOUSE IT
WAS SIX P.M., and there was a large Mercedes sedan and a Tesla Model X parked in the driveway. They parked outside, walked down the driveway, and again Sean rang the doorbel . This time little feet came running. A boy, about five years old, opened the door. He hung off the door frame, looked up at them in a friendly sort of way.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” Sean said. “Is your dad home?”
“Uh-huh.” The boy didn’t move, just stared up at them curiously.
“Do you think you could run and get him for me?” Sean asked.
But there were heavier footsteps already approaching. Johnathon Swift appeared, wearing slacks and an open-necked blue shirt, but otherwise looking just like his profile picture. He put a hand on the little boy’s shoulder, looked at Sean and Hannah with an expression much like his son’s.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Mr. Swift,” began Sean. “My name is Sean Warner.” He pul ed out a business card and handed it over. Hannah caught a flash of the Innocence Project logo on the card. “I’m a law student at the University of Virginia, and a volunteer at the Innocence Project. This is my col eague Hannah Rokeby. We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes about Michael Dandridge.”
Swift, or Prosper, flinched. His hand tightened around his little boy’s shoulder as he looked down at Sean’s card. Then he looked back at Sean. “I don’t . . . ,” he began. But he stopped, changed direction. “Peter, can you go in and find Mommy, please?”
The little boy ran off into the house.
“I don’t have anything to say about Mike,” Prosper said. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.” He started to close the door and Sean put a hand out to stop him.
“Mr. Prosper, I’m sorry, but the next step after this is a subpoena.
I know you don’t want that. But if you talk to us now, and tel us everything you know . . . if it isn’t useful then maybe there’l be no need for a subpoena. Please, we just have a few questions. I’m sure it won’t take long and then we can leave you to your evening with your family.”
He wanted to say no. Hannah could see it written al over his face. But he hesitated and then, maybe because the subpoena line had worked, or maybe just because he had questions of his own, he changed his mind.
“You’d better come in,” Prosper said. He led the way into a beautiful library. It was modern and bright, and large enough to comfortably house an oversize custom-made desk as wel as two smal couches, which faced each other to facilitate conversation.
Prosper took a seat at one and gestured for Hannah and Sean to sit in the other. “How did you find me?” he asked.
Hannah was determined not to throw Sophia’s daughter under the bus. “Someone saw you,” she said. “Or rather, saw your photograph online. Someone from Yorktown. This person knew you in the old days, and stil knows your sister today. She recognized you.”
Prosper scowled. “I’m not in touch with Sophia. She has nothing to do with any of this.”
“Okay . . . ,” Hannah said, a little thrown by his vehemence.
Sean leaned forward. “Mr. Prosper. As you know Michael has been in prison for eleven years for the murder of Sarah Fitzhugh. We believe that he is innocent of that crime. In fact, his conviction has already been vacated by the federal courts. Notwithstanding this, the state prosecutor is planning on trying the case again. Michael is stil in prison, and he wil have to go to court again to fight for his freedom in just a few days. I don’t know . . . are you already aware of al this, Mr. Prosper? It’s been widely reported in the newspapers.”
“My name is Johnathon Swift,” Prosper said. “I haven’t been Neil Prosper for years.” His voice was tight and his face flushed. Was that anger? Or something else?
“Mr. Swift, then.” Hannah broke in, her tone conciliatory. “I don’t . . . maybe you’re not aware that Michael Dandridge gave your name when he was asked for an alibi for the night of the murder? He said that he spent the night with you, drinking and listening to music.