folded his arms and sat back, his professional mask in place. “I came for the truth. Your sister insists you’re innocent.”
Hank’s chains rattled as he leaned forward. He ran his hand over his shaved head, more scars on his fingers evident beneath the harsh lights. When he finally looked back up at Jaxon, emotions glittered in the inmate’s cold eyes. “You believe her?”
Jaxon scrutinized every nuance of Hank’s expression and mannerisms. According to his files, he’d been an angry kid. And according to Avery, he’d been abused.
Twenty years in a cell had only hardened him more. The scars on his body and the harsh reality of prison conditions attested to the fact that he’d suffered more abuse inside. But judging from the size of his arms and hands, he’d learned to fight back.
“I don’t know,” Jaxon said. “I read the file. You confessed. You were convicted.”
Hank shot up, rage oozing from his pores. “Then why did you come here?”
Because your sister has the neediest eyes I’ve ever seen.
He bit back the words, though. Avery Tierney had survived without him, and if she were the victim she professed to be, she might be lying now.
Worse, his boss wanted him to make sure the conviction wasn’t overturned. Wouldn’t look good on Director Landers if one of the cases that had made his career blew up and it was exposed that he’d sent an innocent man to prison on death row.
But something about the case aroused Jaxon’s interest.
Because Avery had created doubt in his mind. Just a seed, but enough to drive him to want to know the truth.
“I had my reasons for confessing.” Hank turned to leave, his chains rattling in the tense silence, his labored breath echoing in the room.
“Did you kill Wade Mulligan?” Jaxon asked bluntly.
Hank froze, his body going ramrod straight. Slowly he turned back to face Jaxon. The agony in his eyes made Jaxon’s gut knot.
“I wanted him dead,” Hank said, his voice laced with the kind of deep animosity that had been built from years of thinking about the monstrous things Mulligan had done. “I hated the son of a bitch.” He shuffled back to the table and sank into the chair.
“Every night I lay there in that damned bed across the hall from Avery, staring at the ceiling just waiting. The old lady would take her pills and pass out. He’d wait a half hour or so, wait till the house was dark and he thought everyone was asleep.” Hank traced one blunt finger over a fresh bruise on his knuckle. “But I couldn’t sleep, and I knew Avery couldn’t, ’cause we both knew what was coming.”
Jaxon gritted his teeth.
“Then I’d hear that squeak of the door....” Hank’s voice cracked. “At first, I was so scared I crawled in the closet and hid like a coward. But one night...I heard Avery crying and something snapped inside me.” He balled his hands into fists, knuckles reddening with the force. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to do something.”
Jaxon’s stomach churned as he imagined Avery at nine, lying helpless at the mercy of that bastard. “What happened then?”
“I ran in and tried to drag him off her.” Hank’s voice shook, his eyes blurry with tears. “He knocked me off him and beat the hell out of me. Used a belt that night.”
“It happened more than once?”
Hank dropped his head as if the shame was too much. “Yeah. After I started fighting back, I couldn’t stop. But the beatings got worse. Then he started locking me up at night, tied me to the bed so I couldn’t come in and stop him.” He groaned. “I had to lie there like a trussed pig and listen to that grunting, the wall banging. I wanted to kill him so bad I imagined it over and over in my head.”
Hank lapsed into silence, wrestling with his emotions. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.
“Tell me about the night of the murder,” Jaxon finally said.
“The old lady was gone, left for a couple of days.” Hank sucked in a deep breath, his eyes glazed as if he were thrust back in that moment. “I knew it was going to be bad that night, that he’d stay at it till dawn. So earlier, I hid a kitchen knife in my bed, under my pillow.”
“He tied you up?”
Hank nodded. “But then Avery screamed, and I got mad. I twisted until I got that knife and cut the ropes.” He jerked his hands as he might have done that night. “Then I tiptoed to the door and peeked into the hallway. Avery’s door was cracked.... I could hear her crying....”
Jaxon swallowed. If he’d been Hank, he would have killed the animal, too.
“Then what happened?”
Hank pinched the bridge of her nose. “I had the knife in my hand, and I tiptoed across the hall. I wanted to sneak up on him, stop him once and for all. Make him feel pain for a change.”
He paused, his expression twisting with horror. “But Mulligan was on the floor at the foot of Avery’s bed. He...was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes wide like he was dead. Blood soaked his shirt, and he wasn’t moving....”
Jaxon leaned forward, trying to visualize the scene. “He’d already been stabbed?”
Hank nodded. “Blood was on his shirt and the floor. One of his hands was covered in it where he’d grabbed his chest.”
“Where was your knife?”
“In my hand.” Hank slowly lifted his head, eyes cloudy with confusion. “Then I...saw Avery holding one.”
Jaxon would have to check the police reports to see if there was any mention of a second knife. And he needed to look at the autopsy reports. “Then what happened?”
“She was pitiful, crying and rocking herself back and forth.” He gulped. “So I ran over and took the knife from her. Then I wiped it off.”
“If he was dead, why did you stab him?”
Hank gripped his thighs with his hands. “I don’t know. Avery was sobbing, and I thought she’d get in trouble, and I couldn’t let that happen. She was already suffering enough.”
Jaxon felt for the kid and his situation.
“I wanted to cover for her. And I don’t want to get her in trouble now.”
“Let me worry about that,” Jaxon said. “I just want the truth. Tell me about stabbing Mulligan.”
Hank shrugged. “I was so mad. I had to make sure that monster never got up and hurt her again, so I lost it. All that rage and hate I had for him came out, and I went after him. I just started stabbing him, over and over and over.”
Hank closed his eyes, pressed the heels of his hands against them and sat there for a long minute, his shoulders shaking.
Jaxon understood the man’s—the boy’s—rage. He’d felt helpless. Had felt responsible for his sister.
But
