The Alibi (45 page)

death eliminated her as the actual murderer, she must

have been involved to some extent.

These thoughts were so dreary, so absorbing, they

were almost immobilizing. He had lost all sense of

where he was. He was thinking about disbarment, not

dismemberment. When he reached the alley where he

had left his car, he used the keyless door lock and

opened the driver's door without even glancing

around to see if it was safe.

Startled by sudden movement behind him, he reacted

quickly. He came around in a blur of motion,

his arm raised, ready to protect and defend himself.

He came close to striking Alex before arresting the

momentum of his arm.

"What the hell!" Reflexively he scanned the immediate

area, only now becoming aware of the dark,

menacing surroundings. "What the hell are you doing

in this neighborhood?"

"I followed her here."

"Who?"

Green eyes snapped angrily. "Who do you think,

Hammond? The woman you hired to follow me."

"Shit!"

"My sentiment exactly," she said heatedly. "I

thought it was strange that the same tourist came

down my street twice in one day taking pictures of

my house. First this morning, then again shortly after

Smilow's raiders left. On my way home from that humiliating

interrogation this afternoon, I stopped at the

supermarket. She was there, too, trying to look interested

in watermelons. It finally dawned on me that I

was under surveillance."

"Not surveillance."

"True. That would imply professionalism. While

this is classless, gutless, ordinary spying."

"Alex--"

"So I dodged her, doubled back, turned the tables,

and started following her. I thought Detective

Smilow must be behind it. Imagine my surprise when

you showed up to meet her here."

"Don't put me on a level with Smilow."

"Oh, you're much lower than Mr. Smilow," she

said, her voice cracking with mounting emotion.

"You're sneakier. More underhanded. You sleep with

me first."

"It's not like that."

"Really? Then what is it like? Which part is inaccurate?

Is she a policewoman?"

"Private investigator."

"Even worse. You paid her to snoop on me."

"Okay, you caught me," he said, his anger rising to

match hers. "You're a very clever lady, Dr. Ladd."

"Did you two have a nice chat about me?"

"There wasn't anything nice about it, but what she

dug up on you was damned interesting. Especially

the records from Tennessee."

She closed her eyes and reeled slightly. But she re

covered quickly, reopened her eyes, and told him to

go to hell.

She turned on her heel, but Hammond caught her

arm and brought her back around. "What she dredged

up about you isn't my fault, Alex. When I hired her,

I thought I was doing us both a favor."

"In God's name, how?"

"I had hoped, stupidly, that she would find something

exculpatory. But that was before you started

lying to the police with every breath, and painting

yourself into inescapable corners."

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

She had asked him the same question when they

accidently met in the elevator. He'd had no answer

for her. But since then he had given it a lot of thought.

"It doesn't matter that we spent Saturday night together."

"Then why haven't you told them? When I was

being put through that humiliating interrogation

about my dirty laundry, literally, why did you just

stand there? Why didn't you tell them everything, including

who broke into my house last night and

stained my sheets?"

"Because it's irrelevant."

She laughed without mirth. "You're delusional,

Solicitor Cross. Even given your brilliance, I think

you would have a hard time persuading anyone of its

irrelevance. And while we're on the subject, I explained

away the bloods But there's only one explanation

for semen. Which wouldn't have been there if

you'd worn some protection."

"I didn't think about it." Lowering his face close

to hers, he added on an angry whisper, "And neither

did you." He knew he had scored on that round when

she averted her face. "Besides, one has nothing to do

with the other."

She looked back at him. "I have trouble following

that logic."

"Our sleeping together has no bearing on the

case." If he could convince her, he might be able to

convince someone else. He might even come to believe

it himself. "I've been thinking about it. Last

Saturday, you could have murdered Pettijohn before

leaving Charleston."

She sucked in a quick breath, and folded her arms

across her middle as though a pain had just shot

through her. "That's what you've been thinking? You

said the time of death didn't fit."

"Because I didn't want it to."

"And now you do?"

"You killed him, then finagled our meeting to establish

an alibi."

"I told you last night, I did not kill Pettijohn."

"Right, right. Like you didn't fuck him, either."

Once again, she spun around to leave. Hammond's

arm shot out. This time, she put up more of a struggle.

"Damn you! Let me go!"

He turned her around and trapped her in the wedge

formed by the open car door. In order for her to escape

she would either have to go around or through

him. He was determined that she would hear him out

first. "I don't want to think that, Alex."

"Well, gee, thanks. I'm so glad you don't want to

think of me as a slut and a murderer."

"What else am I supposed to believe?"

"Believe anything you like, just leave me alone."

"All along, even when it stretched credibility, I've

been giving you the benefit of the doubt. Until tonight." He opened his jacket far enough for her to

see the envelope inside his breast pocket.

Suddenly she ceased to struggle. She stared at the

envelope for a moment, and he saw her lips twitch

with what looked like remorse. But to her credit,

when she raised her eyes to his, they were defiant and

proud. "Juicy reading?"

"Damaging. Very damaging. This is the ammunition

they need to nail you."

"Then why are you standing here talking to me?"

"Smilow will take this and run with it."

"So call him up. Give him the lowdown. You got

what you wanted, what you paid for."

"I'm giving you a chance to explain it."

"I rather imagine it's self-explanatory."

"So I'm supposed to take it at face value?"

"I don't give a damn how you take it."

"Okay. I'll interpret it the only way I can." He

pressed his lower body against her. "It means you've

come a long way, baby."

Her composure and hauteur deserted her. With

both hands, she pushed hard against his chest. "Get

away from me."

He didn't yield. "What this indicates to me is that last Saturday night was more than a simple seduction."

"I didn't seduce you."

"Like hell, but we've been through that before.

You're implicated in a felony crime, and you deliberately

drew me in. Why, Alex? You intentionally created

a conflict of interest for me as a prosecutor. You

made me part of it--whatever the hell it is."

"There is no 'it.' There never was. Not until Lute

Pettijohn turned up dead."

"Was he in on it?"

"Aren't you listening?" she cried.

"Was I the target of his last scheme? Was he plotting

my downfall when he was murdered?"

"I don't know. His being murdered had nothing to

do with me."

"I wish I could believe that. Our meeting was not

accidental, Alex. You've admitted that much."

She tried to sidestep him, but he blocked her and

placed his hands on her shoulders.

"You're not leaving until I get to the truth. How

did you know I would be at that fair?"

She shook her head.

"How did you know?"

She remained stubbornly mute.

"Tell me, Alex. How did you know I was going

there? You couldn't have. The only way you could

have known is if--" Suddenly he broke off. He gave

her a hard, piercing look and gripped her shoulders

tighter.

Her eyes spoke eloquently to his.

"You followed me there," he said quietly.

She hesitated for what seemed an interminable

time before slowly nodding her head. "Yes. I followed

you from the Charles Towne Plaza."

CHAPTER

26

You've known all this time that I was there?"

"Yes!"

"With Pettijohn?"

"Right again."

"And you didn't say anything? Why?"

"If I told you now, you wouldn't believe me."

Looking straight at his jacket, she stared at it as

though she could see through the fabric to the envelope

inside the breast pocket. She was angry. But she

also appeared profoundly sad.

"That's an ugly report, but it can't come close to

capturing how ugly it was in reality. You can't begin

to imagine." Her eyes moved back up to his. "I'll be

judged on a damn report, not on what I am now."

"I won't--"

"You already have," she said hotly. "I see it in the

way you're looking at me and I hear it in your nasty

insinuations. It's easy to judge from your lofty position,

isn't it? You of the wealthy family with the

pedigree. Have you ever gone hungry for days on

end, Hammond? Been cold because the utility bill

hadn't been paid? Gone dirty because there was no

soap to wash with?"

He tried to reach for her, but she flung off his arm.

"No, don't pity me. Sometimes I'm glad for it because

it made me strong. It made me who I am, made

me better at helping people. Because nothing they

tell me shocks me. I'm wholly accepting of people

and their aberrations, because until you've been

where someone else has been, you've no right to

judge their behavior.

"Until you've gone hungry, and suffered humiliation,

and come to hate yourself for what you're

doing .. . until you come to believe you're filth, unworthy

of anyone's love, of a man's love--"

She stopped and sucked in a quick breath that

caused her chest to shudder. Then she sniffed her

nose and tossed her head in defiance of the tears

streaming down her cheeks. "Happy reading, Hammond."

She pushed him aside and stalked off, turning the

corner and out of the alley. Hammond watched her

go, knowing that nothing he said now would reach

beyond her anger. He cursed, braced his elbow on

the roof of the car, and rested his head on his forearm.

But the respite lasted only a few seconds.

A muffled cry brought his head up and around.

Alex was running back into the alley. A man was

chasing her.

"He's got a knife!" she shouted.

The attacker grabbed her by the hair, jerking her

to a sudden halt. He raised his arm and Hammond

saw the glint of steel. Without even thinking about it,

he launched himself against the attacker, his shoul

der catching him beneath his rib cage and knocking

him off-balance.

In order to keep from falling, the man released

Alex. She scrambled out of the way. Hammond

barely had time to register that she was momentarily

out of harm's way when he saw a flash of silver arcing

horizontally toward his middle. Acting on reflex,

he protected his belly with his arm. The switchblade

sliced it open from elbow to wristbone.

Unarmed, in a knife fight, he would lose. The

only self-defense he knew, he'd learned playing

football. To please his father, he had played with a

bloodthirsty competitiveness.

Instinctually, he relied now on a blocking tactic

that was effective if you could get away with it and

not draw a flag from the official. He thrust his head

forward as though he were going to ram his attacker

in the throat but stopped just short of making contact.

The mugger reacted as hoped by jerking his

head backward, leaving his Adam's apple vulnerable

to Hammond's ramming forearm. He knew it hurt

like hell and would incapacitate the mugger for a

precious few seconds.

"Get in the car!" he yelled to Alex.

Hammond thrust his foot toward the man's groin

but missed and caught him in the thigh. The kick

didn't do any real damage, but it bought him another

half second in which to run backward toward the car

while dodging slashing motions of the switchblade.

Alex had gotten in through the open door on the

driver's side and climbed over the console. He practi

cally fell into the driver's seat, then leaned backward

across the console and drove his heel into the guy's

gut. The mugger stumbled backward but managed

another swipe with the blade. Hammond heard the

fabric of his trousers rip.

Lunging for the door handle, he pulled the door

closed and locked it. His attacker, having rapidly regained

his balance, pounded on the window and

door, shouting obscenities and death threats.