The Alibi (30 page)

He smiled grimly. "Well, I've been called crazy

before."

Tears formed in her eyes, but she cleared her

throat and squared her shoulders. "What. .. what did

you have in mind?"

"You've heard about Lute Pettijohn."

Her lower jaw went slack. "You want me to work

on something as important as that?"

"Indirectly." He shifted uncomfortably on the

booth's hard bench. "What I want you to do isn't officially

for the D.A.'s office. It's strictly confidential.

Between you and me. Nobody else must know.

Okay?"

"I'm a fuckup, Hammond. I've demonstrated that.

But I always liked you. I admire you. You're one of

the good guys, and I flatter myself into thinking of

you as a friend. You were good to me when people

would do an about-face to avoid speaking. I may let

you down, probably will, but they'd have to cut out

my tongue before I would betray your confidence."

"I believe that." He peered deeply into her eyes.

"How drunk are you?"

"I've got a good buzz going, but I'll remember this

tomorrow."

"Okay." He paused to take a deep breath. "I want

you to learn what you can about... Should I write

this down?"

"Would you ever want it to come back to you?"

He thought about it for a moment. "No."

"Then don't write it down. If it ain't tangible, it

ain't evidence."

"Evidence? Whoa, Loretta," he said, holding up

both hands. "What I want you to do is confidential. It

stretches ethics. But it's not illegal. I just want to

level the playing field for a suspect."

Tilting her head, she regarded him curiously.

"Maybe I'm drunker than I thought. Did you just

say--"

"You heard me right."

"You want to give a suspect in the Pettijohn case a

break?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"How come?"

"You're not drunk enough for me to explain that."

A laugh rattled out of her chest. "Okay," she said,

still dubious. "Who's the suspect?"

"Dr. Alex Ladd."

"Is he in Charleston?"

"It's a she."

She blinked several times, then gave him a long,

hard look. "A she."

Hammond pretended not to notice the obvious

question posed by her raised eyebrows. "She's a psychologist

here in Charleston. Find out everything you

can about her. Background, family, schooling, anything.

Everything. But in particular any possible connection

she might have had with Lute Pettijohn."

"Like if she was a girlfriend?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Like that."

"I got the impression that Steffi Mundell was prosecuting

the Pettijohn case."

"What made you think that?"

She then told him about seeing Steffi and Rory

Smilow in the hospital emergency room the night

Pettijohn was murdered. "I had gone to see Bev. Actually

I was there to bum money off her. Anyway,

Stuff-me-Steffi and Unsmiling Smilow came busting

in like storm troopers. For all the good it did them.

This little pipsqueak of a doctor stood up to them.

They got nowhere with him. Did my heart good." She

paused to chuckle, then turned somber again and

looked across at Hammond. "You still sleeping with

her?"

He couldn't conceal his surprise, but he didn't ask

how she knew about his secret affair with Steffi. Her

knowing evinced that she was very good at what she

did. "No."

She studied him a moment as though to convince

herself that he was telling her the truth. "Good. Because

I'd hate to speak badly of the woman you're

boinking."

"You don't like Steffi?"

"The same way I don't like poisonous snakes."

"She's not as bad as that."

"No, she's worse. She's a viper. She's had her eye

on you since she first came to Charleston. Not only to

get inside your pants, either. She wants to wear

them."

"If you mean that we're vying for the same job

again, I'm well aware of that."

"But have you thought of this? Steffi might have been using your dick as a lever to hoist her right into

the solicitor's office."

"Are you suggesting that she slept with me only to

advance her career? Gee, thanks, Loretta. You're

doing my ego a world of good."

She rolled her eyes. "I was afraid that possibility

might have escaped you. Men rarely think of their

dicks as anything except a magic wand with which to

cast spells over grateful women. That's why a stiff

prick is so goddamn exploitable."

Alex Ladd sprang immediately to Hammond's

mind. If Loretta knew about how gullible he had been

last Saturday night, she could really lambast him.

She was saying, "Steffi Mundell would screw a

rottweiller if she thought it would get her where she

wants to be."

"Cut her some slack. True, she's ambitious. But

she's had to claw and scrape for every achievement.

She had a domineering father who gauged everyone's

value on a testosterone meter. Steffi was expected to

cook and clean and wait on the menfolk, first her

brothers and father, then her husband. Devout Greek

Orthodox family. Not only was she not devout, she

was--is--a nonbeliever. She had no help or encouragement

through university or law school. And when

she graduated at the top of her class, her father said

something like, 'Now maybe you'll stop this foolishness

and get married.'"

"Please, my heart's bleeding," Loretta said sarcastically.

"Look, I know she can be annoying as hell. But

she has good qualities that outweigh the bad. I'm a

big boy. I know what Steffi's about."

"Yeah, well. . .," she muttered, unconvinced,

"then there's Smilow." She reached for her glass of

whiskey, but Hammond reached across the table and

gently removed it from her hands. "Can't I even finish

that one?" she wheedled. "It's a waste of good

whiskey."

"Starting now, you're on the wagon. Two hundred

dollars a day and sobriety. Those are the terms of this

agreement."

"You drive a hard bargain, Solicitor Cross."

"I'll also cover your expenses, and you'll receive

a hefty bonus when the job is finished."

"Ii wasn't referring to the pay. That's generous.

More than I deserve." She wiped the back of her hand

across her mouth. "It's the no-drinking clause that's

causing me to balk."

"That's the rule, Loretta. If you take a single drink

and I find out about it, the deal is off."

"Okay, I got it," she said irritably. "I'll just have to

gut it out, that's all. I need the money to pay Bev

back. Otherwise I'd tell you to stuff your 'terms'

where the sun don't shine."

He smiled, knowing that her gruff act was just

that. She was thrilled to be working again. "What

were you about to say about Smilow?"

"That son of a bitch," she sneered. "He's the reason

I was fired. He gave me an impossible assignment.

Dick Tracy couldn't have done it in the amount of

time Smilow specified. When I couldn't produce, he

blamed my drinking, not his own impossible deadline.

"He went to the chief and said that demoting me

from criminal investigation wasn't good enough. He

wanted me out, period. Called me a disgrace, a blight

on the entire department, a liability. He actually

threatened to quit if they didn't fire me. After being

issued an ultimatum like that, who do you think the

powers that be were going to choose? A woman cop

with a slight drinking problem or an ace homicide detective?"

It could be argued that everything Smilow had alleged

was true, and that Loretta's drinking problem

was more than "slight," and that Smilow had merely

forced his superiors to do what they had needed to do

but were hesitant to do, fearing a sex discrimination

suit or something equally cumbersome.

As unfortunate as it had been to Loretta, Smilow's

ultimatum might have prevented a catastrophe. For

months leading up to her dismissal, she had been perpetually

drunk. She should not have been working as

an armed policewoman, investigating assaults and

crimes against persons, a dangerous beat under the

best of circumstances.

But Hammond understood her need to vent.

"Smilow isn't very tolerant of human weaknesses."

"He has some of his own."

"Such as?"

"His love for his sister and his hatred for Lute Pettijohn."

Recalling the condensed story Davee had told him

the night before, he asked, "What do you know about

that?"

"Same as everybody knows. Margaret Smilow

was one sick ticket. Bipolar, I think. Smilow was a

protective older brother. When she fell hard for Lute

Pettijohn, Rory disliked the idea from the start.

Maybe he was jealous of the new protector in his sister's

life, or maybe he simply saw Pettijohn's true

colors when everybody else was blind to them. For

whatever reason, Rory disapproved of the marriage."

"I understand they had some violent quarrels."

Loretta harrumphed. "One night Rory and I were

investigating a convenience store holdup and murder.

He got paged to call his sister immediately. Margaret

was hysterical and begged him to come right then. He

was so upset, we turned the crime scene over to our

backup team, and I drove him.

"Hammond," she said, shaking her head in disbelief,

"by the time we got there, she had totally

wrecked that house. Hurricane Hugo didn't do that

much damage. There wasn't a piece of glass that wasn't broken. Not a pillow that wasn't ripped open.

Not a shelf that hadn't been swept clean. You

couldn't walk across the floor for all the debris.

"Apparently she had discovered that Pettijohn had

a girlfriend. When we got there, Margaret was in the

bathroom holding a straight razor to her wrist and

threatening to kill herself. Smilow sweet-talked her

out of the razor. He called her doctor, who was kind

enough to come over and medicate her. Then Smilow

had me drive him to Pettijohn's rendezvous.

"Long story short... he barged in and caught

this gal sitting on Lute's face. He and Pettijohn

each got in a few good punches before I intervened.

I had to physically restrain Smilow because nothing

I said was getting through. I honestly believe that

if I hadn't been there to wrestle him down, he

would have killed Pettijohn that night. I've never

seen a man--or woman--that enraged."

Her eyes narrowed and she tapped the ugly Formica

with a jagged, dirty fingernail. "And till the day I die,

I'll believe that's what Rory Smilow holds against me.

To the world he reveals this bloodless persona. He

comes across as being unfeeling. Cold. Passionless.

But I witnessed him being as human as the next man. More human than the next man. He lost control. That's

why he couldn't tolerate having me around every day

as a reminder."

Hammond didn't question her veracity. For all her

flaws, he had never known Loretta to lie or even to

embroider a story. "Why did you tell me this?"

"Just throwing out some possibilities."

"Possibilities? You think Smilow killed Pettijohn?"

"All I'm saying is that he could have. I don't know

about opportunity, but he for damn sure had motivation.

He never forgave Lute for Margaret's suicide.

And these aren't just the delusions of an old drunk,

either. Your friend Steffi thought of it, too. I overheard

her bring it up that night at the hospital. She remarked

on how much Smilow would enjoy seeing

Pettijohn die."

"What did Smilow say?"

"He didn't confess, but he didn't deny it." She

chuckled. "Not in so many words, anyway. As I recall, he turned the tables and dumped the deed on

her."

"On Steffi?"

"He broached the idea that Pettijohn might have

been paving her way into Mason's office when he retires."

Hammond laughed. "Smilow must've been having

an off night. If Lute was doing someone a favor, why

would they kill him?"

"That's what Steffi came back with, and the conversation

died there. Besides, he was only being provoking

because Steffi was of the opinion that Davee

had rid the world of Pettijohn."

"Davee was her first suspect. But now she's got

someone else in her crosshairs."

"This Dr. Ladd?"

Nodding, Hammond passed her an envelope containing

some advance money. "If you drink that—"

"I won't. I swear."

"Find out what you can on Alex Ladd. I want the

skinny as soon as you can get it to me."

"This may sound presumptuous—"

"And I'm sure it is."

Ignoring him, Loretta continued. "Has she been

arrested?"

"Not yet."

"But apparently you think Smilow and company

are off base."

"I'm not sure." He gave her a summary of the

day's events, starting with Daniels's story and ending