The Murder Rule(65)

“Is that . . . did you real y see the man who kil ed your mother that night?”

“What do you think?” There was doubt and reserve in his eyes.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think, if I was seven and I woke at night, frightened, I’m not sure that I would be . . . I’m not sure I would remember too clearly, even if I did see something. I . . .

it’s every child’s worst nightmare, to wake up to a stranger in the house. And then . . . you found your mom, didn’t you?” Her voice was low, and ful of sympathy. Their heads were closer together now as he leaned in.

“I found her. And you never forget. You never forget that. My grandparents tried to help. I saw a counselor for years, to help me come through it. But it fucks you up, you know?”

“Yes,” she said.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“The ID,” he said, eventual y.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if I want to talk about that. The police are very sure that Dandridge is the man who kil ed my mother. They warned me that you guys might try to talk to me. They worked real y hard to get him. Anything I . . . talking to you feels like a betrayal.”

“I understand that,” Hannah said. She opened her mouth to speak again, but Sam’s eyes had turned from her—he was watching something that was happening behind her, his brow creased in sudden concern. Hannah turned. Sean wasn’t alone anymore. There were three men surrounding his table—three of the guys who had been playing pool were suddenly crowding him.

“Do you know them?” Hannah asked.

“They’re—”

Before Sam could continue one of the men grabbed Sean’s arm and the other punched Sean ful in the face. Sean’s head snapped back and before he could respond—if he even could have responded after a hit like that—one of the others had taken his chair and lifted it so that Sean fel out of it and into a half-standing position.

The first of the three then punched him in the stomach and as he doubled over, kneed him hard in the face. Sean’s nose col apsed— from across the room Hannah saw it happen, saw the cartilage col apse and the blood burst from it.

“Oh Jesus,” Hannah said. And she ran, slipped from her stool and ran across the room. Sean was already on the ground and they were kicking him and kicking him and he couldn’t have been conscious because he wasn’t doing anything to protect himself. It didn’t occur to her to try to pul the men off. They were twice her size and twice her weight and she didn’t have a hope of stopping them.

Al she could do was try to shield her friend. She threw herself on Sean, tried to curl herself around his head. She took a kick to her lower back that drove air from her body and replaced it with pain.

Another to her arm and her side and again and again. And then one of them grabbed her hair and dragged her off Sean and across the room. She reached for his wrist. He caught her and half-threw her so that she fel back against a poker machine. He waved a finger in her face.

“Stay there, bitch.”

He turned back and walked toward Sean, who was stil taking a beating. Hannah scrambled to her feet and tried again to reach Sean. The man who had thrown her in the corner backhanded her across the face and she fel , this time to her knees. She crawled forward, crying, stil trying to reach Sean.

“You’re kil ing him. Stop it. Stop it. You’re kil ing him.”

A final deep, bruising kick to his stomach, and they stopped. No one held her back as she crawled the last few feet to Sean. He was . . . destroyed. His beautiful face. There was blood everywhere.

His lip was split, his nose was off to one side and stil spil ing blood.

She wanted to lift his head into her lap but she was afraid to. What if he had a neck injury? She put her hands to his face.

“Sean,” she said. She was aware of tears slipping down her face.

“Sean.” Her hands came away bloody. He made a choking sound and she panicked. She turned him on his side, moved him into the recovery position, leaned over him. “Sean.” He was breathing, she could hear it. His eyes flickered open. “I’m here. I’m here,” she said.

She took out her phone and dialed 911, keeping her hand on him al the time. He shifted, moved to sit up.

“No. Don’t move. Stay where you are.” She was aware of the men stil behind her. Watching. What were they waiting for? The operator answered and she asked for an ambulance. She was interrupted by a voice that came from behind her.

“What’s al this?” The voice was loud and authoritative and when she turned she saw a man in a sheriff’s uniform, flanked by two deputies. The three men who had attacked Sean stil stood there, showing no fear, as if they were innocent bystanders.

“These men attacked my friend,” Hannah said, pointing to them from her position on the ground. “Al three of them. It was completely unprovoked.”

“Is that true?” the sheriff asked, turning to the men.

“No, sir,” said mul et man. “He was drunk, on something, causing trouble. Giving Marie trouble.” He gestured toward the bartender.

Mul et man’s knuckles were stained with Sean’s blood. The bartender was standing behind the bar, arms folded and face sul en.

“I think he’s on PCP. I had to punch him hard just to stop him coming forward and then he just kept coming at me.”