The Alibi (33 page)

one stunned second before Hammond stepped in and

punched the button to go down.

The doors closed, sealing them inside the small,

confined space. He could smell her fragrance. He

noted everything at once--hair, face, form. Her tousled

hairstyle, soft makeup, and compact figure lent

femininity to the tailored business suit she was wearing.

The jacket was sleeveless. Her skin looked

smooth and soft. Her skin was smooth and soft. On

her arms. Breasts. Behind her knees. Everywhere.

Her eyes were as busy as his, touching on every

feature of his face, exactly as they had at the gas station

seconds before he kissed her. That was part of

her sexiness, that seemingly total absorption in whatever

her eyes focused on. The intensity with which

she looked at him made him feel as though his face

were the most captivating visage in the world.

He began. "Saturday night--"

"Please don't ask me--"

"Why did you lie about where you were?"

"Would you rather I had told them the truth?"

"What is the truth? Did that man see you standing

outside Lute Pettijohn's hotel suite?"

"I can't discuss this with you."

"The hell you can't!"

The doors opened on the first floor. No one was

waiting for the elevator. Hammond stepped out, but

kept his hand on the rubber bumper to keep the door

from closing behind him. "Sarge, did Ms. Mundell

leave a file down here?"

"File? I haven't seen anything, Mr. Cross," he

called back. "If I see it, I'll have it run up."

"Thanks."

Stepping back into the elevator, he depressed the

button for them to go back up. The doors closed.

"The hell you can't," he repeated in a harsh whisper.

"We've got a few precious seconds. Is this what

you want to be talking about?"

"No. Hell, no." He took one step nearer and

growled softly, "I want to be all over you."

She raised her hand to the base of her throat. "I

can't breathe."

"That's what you said the second time you came.

Or was it the third?"

"Stop. Please stop."

"That's one thing you didn't say. Not the whole

damn night. So why did you sneak out on me?"

"For the same reason I had to lie about being with

you."

"Pettijohn? I know you didn't kill him. The time

doesn't fit. But in some way you're culpable."

"I had to leave you that morning. And we can't be

caught talking privately now."

"If you weren't somehow implicated," he said,

taking another step closer, "why would you need to

establish an alibi by spending the night fucking me?"

Anger sparked in her eyes. Her lips parted as

though she were about to refute him. The elevator

came to a stop. The doors opened. Steffi Mundell was

waiting for it.

"Oh," she exclaimed softly when she saw the two

of them together. She sliced her eyes over to Alex,

then back to Hammond. "Uh, I was just coming to get

you. I found it," she said, absently raising her hand to

show him the file she had mistakenly sent him to retrieve.

"Sorry."

"Doesn't matter."

"Excuse me," Alex said, stepping between them so

she could get out.

"Mr. Perkins is already here, Dr. Ladd," Steffi told

her as she moved past.

She acknowledged that information with a dignified

thank-you, then continued down the hallway toward

the secured double doors.

"Where did you two hook up?"

Steffi's question set his teeth on edge, but he tried

not to show it. "She was downstairs waiting on the elevator,"

he lied.

"Oh. Well, I guess everybody's here now, so we

can start."

"Stall them a few minutes longer. I gotta use the

men's room."

Hammond went into the rest room, glad to see that

it wasn't in use. At the sink, he bent from the waist

and splashed cold water onto his face, then braced his

hands on the cool porcelain and hung his head between

his shoulders, letting the water drip from his

face into the basin. He took several deep breaths, releasing

them on a stream of low curses.

He had requested a few minutes, but it was going

to take longer than that to restore himself. Actually he

would probably never be free of the tight band of

guilt squeezing his chest and restricting his breathing.

What was he going to do? This time last week, he

had never even heard of this woman. Now Alex Ladd

was the eye of a maelstrom that threatened to suck

him under and drown him.

He saw no way out. He hadn't committed just one malfeasance; he had compounded it, and he continued

to. If he had come clean when he first saw the

sketch of her, he might have redeemed himself.

"Smilow, Steffi, you are not going to believe this!

I spent the night with this woman Saturday night.

Now you're telling me that she bumped off Lute Pettijohn

before luring me into bed?"

He might have weathered the storm if he had admitted

his culpability early on. After all, when he

took her to his cabin he hadn't known she would later

be implicated in a crime. He had been the innocent

victim of a carefully planned seduction.

He might have been ridiculed for taking a total

stranger to bed. He might have been censured for

being indiscreet. His father would have accused him

of being just plain stupid. Hadn't he taught him better

than to have sexual intercourse with a woman he

didn't know? Hadn't he warned him about the

calamities that could befall a young man at the hands

of a devious female?

It would have been embarrassing for him, his family,

and the solicitor's office. He would have been the

hot topic of gossip and the butt of a thousand lewd

jokes, but he would have survived it.

But the point was moot. He hadn't revealed her

identity, and he hadn't exposed her when she lied

about a nonexistent trip to Hilton Head. He had stood

there, juggling duty and desire, and desire had won.

He had consciously and deliberately withheld information

that could be a key element to a homicide

case, just as he had omitted telling Monroe Mason

about his Saturday afternoon meeting with Pettijohn.

According to any prosecutor's rule book, his conduct

over the last few days was unforgivable.

What was even worse, given the opportunity to rethink

those decisions, he feared he would make the

same wrong choices.

Alex distrusted the polite manner in which

Smilow pulled out a chair for her. He wanted to know

if she was comfortable, if she would like something

to drink.

"Mr. Smilow, please stop treating this like a social

visit. The only reason I'm here is because you requested

it, and I felt it was my civic responsibility to

grant that request."

"Very commendable."

Frank Perkins said, "Let's dispense with the pleasantries

and get on with it, shall we?"

"Fine." Smilow resumed his position of the day

before on the corner of his desk, a distinct and calculated

advantage because it forced Alex to look up at

him.

When the door opened behind her, she knew that

Hammond had come in. His vitality stirred the air in

a particular way. She hadn't fully recovered from

being alone with him again. Those moments in the elevator

had been brief, but their impact was profound.

Her reaction had been physical and apparently noticeable,

because when she joined Frank Perkins, he

had commented on her flushed cheeks and asked if

she was feeling all right. She had blamed the heat

outside. But the weather hadn't caused her blush any

more than it had brought on the tingling in the erogenous

parts of her body.

Those sexual and emotional stirrings were coupled

with the guilt she harbored for unfairly placing Hammond

in such a dilemma. She had deliberately compromised

him.

Initially, she emphasized to her conscience. Only

initially. Then biology had taken over.

And she could feel the tug of it now that he had entered

the room.

She curbed the impulse to turn around and look at

him, afraid that Steffi Mundell might detect that

something was afoot. The prosecutor had seemed

avidly inquisitive when she saw them together in the

elevator. Alex had tried to seem unperturbed as she

alighted, but she'd felt Steffi's stare like a branding

iron between her shoulder blades as she walked down

the hallway. If anyone picked up the signals she and

Hammond inadvertently gave off, it would be Steffi

Mundell. Not only because she came across as being

sharp as a razor, but because, generally speaking,

women were more attuned to romantic frequencies

than men.

Alex was brought back to attention when Smilow

turned on the tape recorder and recited the day and

time along with the names of those present. He then

handed her a laminated newspaper clipping. "I'd like

for you to read this, Dr. Ladd."

Curious, her eyes scanned the short headline. She

had to read no further than that to realize that she had

made a dreadful blunder and that it was going to cost

her dearly.

"Why don't you read it out loud?" Smilow suggested. "I'd like for Mr. Perkins to hear it also."

Knowing the detective was trying to humiliate her,

she kept her voice even and emotionless as she read

the story about the evacuation and shutdown of Harbour

Town on Hilton Head, at the precise time she

had told them she was there taking in the attractions.

When she finished, a long, weighty silence ensued.

Finally, in a very quiet voice, Perkins asked to see

the clipping. She passed it to him, but she kept her

eyes on Smilow, refusing to submit to his accusatory

gaze. "Well?"

"Well, what, Detective?"

"You lied to us, didn't you, Dr. Ladd?"

"You don't have to answer," Frank Perkins told

her.

"Where were you late Saturday afternoon and

evening?"

"Don't answer, Alex," her attorney instructed

again.

"But I would like to, Frank."

"I strongly urge you not to say anything."

"There's no harm in my answering." Heedless of

his advice, she said, "I had planned to go to Hilton

Head, but at the last minute I changed my mind."

"Why?"

"Caprice. I went instead to a fair outside of Beaufort."

"A fair?"

"A carnival, which can be easily checked out, Mr.

Smilow. I'm certain it was advertised. It was a large

event. That's where I went after leaving Charleston."

"Can anyone vouch for that?"

"I doubt it. There were hundreds of people there.

It's unlikely anyone would remember me."

"Sort of like that ice-cream scooper on Hilton

Head."

Smilow didn't seem to appreciate Steffi Mundell's

remark any more than Alex did. They both shot her

an angry look before Smilow continued. "If you saw

advertisements for the fair, you could be making this

up, couldn't you?"

"I suppose I could, but I'm not."

"Why should we believe this when we've already

caught you in one lie?"

"It doesn't make any difference where I was. I've

told you that I didn't even know Lute Pettijohn. I certainly

know nothing about his murder."

"She didn't even know the method by which he

died," Frank Perkins interjected.

"Yes, we all remember your client's stunned reaction

to the fact that Pettijohn was shot."

Alex burned under Smilow's sardonic gaze, but

she maintained her composure. "I left Charleston

with every intention of going to Hilton Head. When I

came upon the fair, I made a spur-of-the-moment decision

to stop there instead."

"If it was so innocent, why did you lie about it?"

First for my own protection. Then to protect Hammond

Cross.

If they wanted the truth, that was it. But Hammond

Cross's obligation for truth-telling was more binding

than hers, and he had maintained his silence. Upset

following her encounter with Bobby last night, she

had lain awake thinking about her predicament.

After torturous deliberation, she had concluded

that if she could keep Bobby at arm's length, she

would be all right. No connection could be made between

her and Pettijohn. As long as Hammond believed

in her innocence, her whereabouts on Saturday

night would remain their secret, because he would

think it irrelevant.

But if ever he was convinced of her guilt, it would

be his obligation as a prosecutor ...

She didn't allow herself to think about that. For

now, she would continue cooperating with Smilow until, she hoped, he gave up on her having any involvement

and redirected his investigation.

"It was silly of me to lie, Mr. Smilow," she said. "I

guess I thought that a trip to Hilton Head sounded

more convincing than a stop-over at a county fair."

"Why did you feel the need to convince us?"

Frank Perkins held up a hand, but Alex said, "Because