Chapter 47
forty-seven
HANNAH
“Would you like a bottle of water, Ms. Todd?”
“Yes, please. Thank you,” Hannah answered meekly, twirling the pretty embroidered bracelet she’d lifted from Mirren’s sister. It was so lovely.
“Can you tell me what you were doing in Dublin?” the second detective asked.
The bomb worked. That’s all she’d been whispering to the voices since her arrest. Well, she wasn’t arrested per se as much as detained for questioning. After all, she was just a former mental patient.
“I don’t understand, Detective.” She touched her throat in a bid to appear flustered and unsure. Helpless.
You fucking better win an Oscar for this performance, bitch.
There are no freedoms in prison, Hannah! We had it good at the hospital.
Everything that has gone wrong since our release is your fault.
You are slow, ugly, and stupid, and then you strapped us with a whore’s disease that kept us in Dublin long enough to get caught.
This is your fault and only yours.
Look at where you’ve landed us. Jail!
Hannah shook her head no. Afraid they were right.
Clearly, the bomb went off because she’d seen two of the men related to Mirren, who had been there the night she’d first been arrested all those years ago in Edinburgh.
They were standing in the hallway outside this room, speaking to the detectives who were now questioning her.
It always came back to Mirren.
That bitch.
If they were here, that meant the bomb had worked, but she couldn’t figure out how they’d connected it to Hannah or how they tracked her from Dublin to Edinburgh. She hadn’t even used her real name on the tickets.
Oh, Christ. How long had they been looking for her? Had Dr. Portman gotten a conscience all of a sudden? Surely, he wouldn’t risk his career out of a sense of nobility.
You used the name you gave that girl outside the gallery event, though, didn’t you? Idiot!
Still think this isn’t your fault?
She may be in real trouble here. “Shit,” she murmured.
“What was that, Ms. Todd?” The blond detective asked in a voice she was coming to dislike immensely.
“Sorry, nothing. My mind wandered.”
Nice isn’t going to cut it.
Start acting crazy.
You’ve backed us into a corner. It’s the only way.
Make it believable, or we’re gone.
Forever.
Hannah’s eyes flared wide with panic. Make it believable… “Did the girl like the little bird?”
“What?”
“Shame its head came off.”
“Ma’am let’s get back on track. Why were you in Dublin?”
“I fed the cat poison. I thought its final repose had an artistic flair. Did she?”
“Who is she? Are you speaking about a girl from Dublin?”
“The girl with the nine lives. I hope they’ve run out.”