The Alibi

by Sandra Brown

  “No.” He looked at her hard, and she added, “Hammond, you’re placing your career on the line for me. I wouldn’t lie to you now.”

  “I believe you, but our culprit might not. If it’s believed that you saw something, it really doesn’t matter if you did or not.”

  “To the killer, she’s still a threat.”

  “Which would be unacceptable. Remember the crime scene was nearly immaculate. This isn’t a person who leaves loose ends untied.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Frank asked. “Around-the-clock bodyguards for Alex?”

  “No,” she said adamantly.

  “That’s what I would prefer,” Hammond said. “But reluctantly I agree with Alex. First of all, I know her well enough to know that she wouldn’t stand for it, and that arguing about it would be futile. Second, guards, or anything out of the ordinary, would be like a red flag.”

  “How long do you need, Hammond?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Well, that open-ended time frame makes me very nervous,” Frank said. “While you’re gathering evidence, Alex is at risk. You should take this up with…”

  “Yeah,” Hammond said, reading Frank’s unspoken thought. “Who do I take it up with? At this point, who do I trust? And who would believe me? These allegations would sound like sour grapes, especially if anyone learned that Alex and I are lovers.”

  “ ‘Are’? You mean you’ve been together since Saturday night?” Their expressions must have given them away. “Never mind,” Frank groaned. “I don’t want to know.”

  “As I was saying,” Hammond continued, “I’ve got to do this myself, and I’ve got to work quickly.” He laid out his plan to them.

  When he finished, he addressed Frank first. “Do I have your sanction?”

  The lawyer pondered his answer for a long moment. “I’d like to believe that people associate my name with integrity. That’s what I’ve worked toward, anyway. This is the first time I’ve ever deviated from the rule of ethics. If this ends in disaster, if you’re wrong, I would probably come through it with no more than a reprimand and a blemish on an otherwise impeccable record. But, Hammond, it’s your throat. I’m sure you realize that.”

  “I do.”

  “Furthermore, I don’t give it a snowball’s chance in hell of working.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because in order for it to work, you must confide in Steffi Mundell.”

  “I’m afraid that’s a necessary evil.”

  “The very word I would have used.”

  Just then Hammond’s pager beeped. He checked the number. “Don’t recognize it.” Ignoring the page, he asked Frank if he had any questions.

  “Are you serious?” the lawyer asked facetiously.

  Hammond grinned. “Cheer up. Wouldn’t you just as well be hanged a sinner as a saint?”

  “I’d rather not be hanged at all.”

  Hammond smiled, but then he turned away from Frank and addressed Alex. “What are your thoughts?”

  “What can I do?”

  “Do?”

  “I want to help.”

  “Absolutely not,” he countered adamantly.

  “I caused this mess.”

  “Pettijohn would have been murdered last Saturday whether or not you had ever met him. As I’ve explained, it had nothing to do with you.”

  “Even so, I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

  “That’s exactly what you’ll do. It can’t appear that we’re in league together.”

  “He’s right, Alex,” Frank said. “He’s got to work it from the inside.”

  Eyes filled with anxiety, she said, “Hammond, isn’t there another way? You could lose your career.”

  “And you could lose your life. Which is more important to me than my career.”

  He reached for her hand. She took his and squeezed it. They stared into one another’s eyes until the silence became heavy and uncomfortable.

  Frank delicately cleared his throat. “Alex, you’ll stay here tonight. No argument.”

  “I agree,” Hammond said.

  “And you’ll go home.” The stern order was directed toward Hammond.

  “Reluctantly I agree to that, too.”

  “The guest room stays ready, Alex. Second bedroom to the left of the landing.”

  “Thank you, Frank.”

  “It’s late, and I’ve got a lot to think about.” Frank headed for the study door, where he paused and looked back at them. He was about to speak, arrested himself, then finally said, “I was about to ask you both if last Saturday night had been worth it. But your answer is evident. Good night.”

  Once they were alone, the silence became more uncomfortable, the ticking clock on Frank’s desk more ponderous. There was a tension between them, and it wasn’t entirely because of what might happen tomorrow.

  Hammond was the first to speak. “It doesn’t matter, Alex.”

  She didn’t even have to ask what he was referring to. “Of course it matters, Hammond.” He reached for her, but she evaded him, stood up, and moved across the room to stand before a bookcase filled with legal tomes. “We’re deluding ourselves.”

  “How so?”

  “This won’t have a happy ending. It can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t be naive.”

  “Trimble is garbage. It’s ancient history. I knew about all that last night when I told you that I love you.” He smiled. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Our love affair started with me playing a dirty trick on you.”

  “A dirty trick? That’s not how I remember last Saturday night.”

  “I lied to you from the start. That will always be in the back of your mind, Hammond. You’ll never completely trust me. I don’t want to be with someone who is constantly second-guessing everything I do, and gauging the truthfulness of everything I say.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  She smiled, but it was a sad expression. “Then you wouldn’t be human. I’m a scholar of human emotion and behavior. I know the lasting impact that events in our lives have on us, the injuries that other people inflict, sometimes deliberately, sometimes without meaning to. I see the result of those injuries every day in my sessions with patients. I’ve suffered them myself. It took me years to get myself emotionally healthy, Hammond. I worked hard to get free from Bobby’s influence. And I did. With God’s help I did. That’s why I’m able to love you the way—”

  “So you do? Love me?”

  In an unconscious gesture, she raised her hand and touched her heart. “So much it hurts.”

  His pager beeped again. Cursing softly, he turned it off. The distance between them seemed wide, and he knew that it would be inappropriate to cross it tonight. “I want to kiss you.”

  She nodded.

  “And if I kissed you, I’d want to make love to you.”

  Again she nodded, and they exchanged a long, meaningful stare.

  “I love making love to you,” he said.

  Her chest rose and fell gently. “You should go.”

  “Yeah,” he said huskily. “As you know, I’ve got to get up very early tomorrow.” His brows came together in a steep frown. “I don’t know how it will play out, Alex. I’ll be in constant touch. You’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll be all right.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

  He started backing out of the room. “Sleep well.”

  “Good night, Hammond.”

  * * *

  “Dammit!” Loretta Boothe glared at the coin-operated telephone as though willing it to ring. Twice she had paged Hammond after getting no answer on either his home or cell phones. The telephone remained stubbornly silent. She checked her wristwatch. Nearly two. Where the devil could he be?

  She waited sixty seconds longer, then plunked another coin into the phone and dialed his house again.

  “Listen, asshole, I don’t know why I’m chasing around in the middle of the night covering your ass, but for
the umpteenth time, I left that fucking fair with a material witness in tow. Please advise ASAP. He’s antsy and I’m running low on charm.”

  “Ms. Boothe?”

  She hung up and called, “Coming!” to the man riding shotgun in her car.

  At first he had been eager to talk about the case and news of Alex Ladd’s arrest. Then, when she told him that he could very well be called as a material witness, he had begun to backpedal in double time. He had said he didn’t want to get involved. He wanted to be a good citizen, but…

  It had taken hours of cajoling and all her powers of persuasion to get him to commit to cooperating. But she didn’t trust his commitment. At any moment he might have a change of heart and bolt, or conveniently develop a mental block and forget everything he remembered about last Saturday.

  “Ms. Boothe?”

  Flipping her middle finger at the pay phone, she returned to her car. “Didn’t I tell you to call me Loretta? Want another beer?”

  “Now that I’ve had time to think about it…” Indecision rearranged his features. “I just don’t know if I want to get involved. I could be wrong, you know. I didn’t get that good a look at her.”

  Loretta reassured him again, thinking all the while, Where the hell is Hammond?

  Friday

  Chapter 35

  Steffi drew up short when she opened her office door and found Hammond on the other side of it, fist raised, about to knock.

  “Got a minute?”

  “Actually, no. I was just—”

  “Whatever it is, it can wait. This is important.” He backed her into the office and closed the door.

  “What’s up?”

  “Sit down.”

  Quizzical, she nevertheless did as he asked. In the time it took her to get seated, he had begun pacing the width of her office. He didn’t look much better than he had yesterday. His arm was still in the sling. His hair looked like it had been dried with a leaf blower. He had nicked his chin shaving, and the scabbing spot of blood reminded her of the lab report she had received only minutes ago.

  “You look frazzled. How much coffee have you had this morning?” she asked.

  “None.”

  “Really? You look like you’ve been taking caffeine by IV.”

  Suddenly he stopped pacing and faced her across the desk. “Steffi, we have a special relationship, don’t we?”

  “Pardon?”

  “It transcends our being colleagues. While we were together, I entrusted you with my secrets. That past intimacy elevates our relationship to another plane, right?” He looked closely at her for a moment, then cursed and tried in vain to smooth down his hair. “God, this is awkward.”

  “Hammond, what is going on?”

  “Before I tell you, I’ve got to clear the air on another matter.”

  “I’m over it, Hammond. Okay? I don’t want a man who—”

  “Not that. Not us. Harvey Knuckle.”

  The name landed like a rock on her desk. She tried to contain her surprise, but knew her shattered expression must be a dead giveaway. Under Hammond’s piercing gaze, a denial would be futile.

  “Okay, so you know. I had him sneak me some private information on Pettijohn.”

  “Why?”

  She tinkered with a paper clip for a moment, weighing the advisability of dissecting this with Hammond. Finally she said, “Pettijohn approached me several months ago. It seemed innocent enough at first. Then he made his pitch. He said it had occurred to him how comfortable it could be for both of us if I held the county solicitor’s job. He promised to make it happen.”

  “If?”

  “If I would keep my eyes and ears open and report to him anything that might be of interest. Such as a covert investigation into his business dealings.”

  “To which you said?”

  “Something not too ladylike, I’m afraid. I turned down the offer, but it made me curious to know what he could be hiding, what he was into. Wouldn’t it be a feather in Steffi Mundell’s cap if she nailed the biggest crook in Charleston County? So I approached Harvey.” She bent the paper clip into an S shape. “I got the information I was after and—”

  “Saw my father’s name on the partnership papers.”

  “Yes, Hammond,” she replied solemnly.

  “And you kept quiet about it.”

  “It was his crime, not yours. Preston couldn’t be punished without you getting hurt. I didn’t want that to happen. You know I would love to have the top job. I’ve made no secret of it.”

  “But not if it meant getting into bed with Pettijohn.”

  She shuddered. “I hope you meant that figuratively.”

  “I did. Thanks for coming clean.”

  “Actually, I’m glad it’s out in the open. It’s been like a fester.” She dropped the paper clip. “Now what’s up?”

  He sat down across from her, balancing on the edge of the seat and leaning forward as he spoke. “What I’m about to tell you must remain strictly between us,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “Do I have your confidence?”

  “Implicitly.”

  “Good.” He took a deep breath. “Alex Ladd did not kill Lute Pettijohn.”

  That was the big proclamation? After that grand buildup, she’d been expecting a heart-rending confession of their affair, maybe an earnest plea for forgiveness. Instead his verbal drumroll had heralded only another pathetic petition for his secret lover’s innocence.

  Her temper surged, but she forced herself to lean back in her chair in a deceptively relaxed posture. “Yesterday you were gung-ho to take the case to the grand jury. Why this sudden reversal of opinion?”

  “It’s not sudden, and I was never gung-ho. All along I’ve felt we had the wrong person. There are too many factors that don’t add up.”

  “Trimble—”

  “Trimble’s a pimp.”

  “And she was his whore,” she fired back. “It appears she still is.”

  “Let’s not go there again, okay?”

  “Agreed. It’s a tired argument. I hope you’ve got a better one.”

  “Smilow killed him.”

  Her jaw involuntarily went slack. This time, she truly couldn’t believe that she had heard him correctly. “Is this a joke?”

  “No.”

  “Hammond, what in God’s name—”

  “Listen for a minute,” he said, patting the air between them. “Just listen, and then if you disagree, I’ll welcome your viewpoint.”

  “Save your breath. I can almost assure you that my viewpoint is going to differ.”

  “Please.”

  Last Saturday evening when she had teasingly asked Smilow if he had murdered his former brother-in-law, she had intended it as a joke, albeit a bad one. She had asked him out of pure orneriness, trying to provoke him. But Hammond was deadly serious. Obviously he considered Smilow a viable suspect. “Okay,” she said with an exaggerated shrug of surrender. “Lay it on me.”

  “Think about it. The crime scene was practically sterile. Smilow himself has made several references to how pristine it was. Who would know better how to leave no trace of himself than a homicide detective who makes his living picking up after murderers?”

  “It’s a good point, Hammond, but you’re reaching.”

  He was reaching in order to protect his new lover. It was deeply insulting that he would go to such lengths for Alex Ladd’s sake. All that schoolboy stammering about intimacy and entrusting her with his secrets, and clearing the air, and their special, elevated relationship had been just so much bullshit. He was trying to use her to get his lady love off the hook.

  She wanted to tell him that she knew about their inappropriate affair, but that would be an impetuous and foolish move. While it would be gratifying to see him humbled, she would sacrifice a long-term advantage. Her knowledge of their secret affair was a trump card. Playing it too soon would reduce its effectiveness.

  Meanwhile, the more he talked, the more ammunition he was giving her to use against him
. Unwittingly, he was handing her the job of county solicitor gift-wrapped. It took a lot of self-control to maintain her poker face.

  “I hope you’re basing your suspicion on more than the lack of physical evidence,” she said.

  “Smilow hated Pettijohn.”

  “It’s been established that many people did.”

  “But not to the degree that Smilow did. On several occasions, he all but pledged to kill Lute for the unhappiness he had caused Margaret. I have it on good authority that he once attacked Lute and would have killed him on the spot if he hadn’t been restrained.”

  “Who told you that, Deep Throat?”

  Unappreciative of her amusement, he said stiffly, “In a manner of speaking, yes. For the time being I’m keeping this as confidential as possible.”

  “Hammond, are you sure you’re not letting your personality conflict with Smilow color your reason?”

  “True, I don’t like him. But I’ve never threatened to kill him. Not like he threatened to kill Lute Pettijohn.”

  “In the heat of the moment? In a fit of rage? Come on, Hammond. Nobody takes death threats like that seriously.”

  “Smilow often goes for drinks in the lobby bar of the Charles Towne Plaza.”

  “So do hundreds of other people. For that matter, so do we.”

  “He gets his shoes shined there.”

  “Oh, he gets his shoes shined there,” she exclaimed, slapping the edge of her desk. “Hell, that’s practically a smoking gun!”

  “I refuse to take umbrage, Steffi. Because the gun was my next point.”

  “The murder weapon?”

  “Smilow has access to handguns. Probably at least half of them are unregistered and untraceable.”

  This was the first issue to which Steffi gave serious consideration. Her teasing smile slowly faded. She sat up straighter. “You mean handguns—”

  “In the evidence warehouse. They’re confiscated in drug raids. Seized in arrests. Being held there until a trial date, or simply awaiting disposal or sale.”

  “They keep change-of-custody records over there.”

  “Smilow would know how to get around that. He could have used one, then replaced it. Maybe he threw it away after using it. It would never be missed. He may have used one that hadn’t been consigned to the warehouse yet. There are dozens of ways.”