The Alibi (47 page)

face.

Remorsefully he said, "Are you crying because of

that goddamn report? And because of the way I acted

about it? Jesus, Alex, I'm sorry." And he was. For

everything. For the horror of her childhood and adolescence

and his sanctimonious reaction to it. "I

acted like a bastard."

She shook her head. "You saved my life. You

were hurt because of me. If I hadn't been there--"

"Shh." Reaching across his body with his left

hand, he touched her cheek. She clasped his hand

and clutched it to her chest, bending over it and repeatedly

kissing the ridge of knuckles.

"I was so afraid, Hammond." Her lips moved

against his hand. She pressed the back of it to her

cheek, which was moist with tears. "You have been

so hurt because of me. And you will continue to be

hurt."

He struggled to stay awake because this was important.

"Alex ... I love you."

She let go of his hand as though it had burned her.

"What?"

"I love--"

"No, you don't, Hammond," she exclaimed,

softly but adamantly. "Don't say that. You don't

even know me."

"I know you." He closed his eyes for a few precious

seconds of rest and tried to work up the energy

to say what he wanted to say. "I've loved you

from ..." ... from the night I met you. When I saw

you across the dance floor, I knew you immediately.

He thought the words, but wasn't sure whether or

not he actually spoke them out loud. Opening his

eyes and focusing on her face, he smiled sadly.

"Why did it have to be such a fucking mess?"

She licked a tear from the corner of her lips. She

opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the

words. It must have been as puzzling to her as it was

to him that the first time in his life he was truly in

love, it couldn't be more wrong.

He patted the bed on his left side.

She shook her head no. "I could hurt you."

"Lie down."

Hesitating only a moment longer, she came

around to the far side of the bed and slipped in beside

him. She didn't touch him except for laying her

hand on his chest. "I can't get any closer or I might

bump your leg."

There was more he wanted to say, and much they

needed to talk about, but the drug was taking effect.

Having her close was some consolation. He wanted

to enjoy it. But against his will, he slipped into oblivion.

Some time later he awakened. Partially. Not completely.

He didn't want to awaken completely. He

wasn't in pain. In fact, he was in a sublime state.

Good stuff, those painkillers.

Beside him, Alex stirred. He felt her sit up. "Hammond,

are you awake?"

"Hmm."

"Can I get you anything?"

He mumbled something that she must have taken

as a no because she lay back down. However, a few

moments later he muttered something that even he

couldn't distinguish.

"Pardon?" Her head came back up. At least he

thought so. He still hadn't opened his eyes. "Ham

mond?" Concerned, she placed her hand on his

chest. "Are you in pain? Do you want some water?"

Covering her hand with his, he guided it down beneath

the sheet.

Then he floated backward into a semiconscious

state that was better than the best of dirty dreams. As

in an erotic fantasy, his participation was unnecessary.

All he had to do was give over control and submit

to the sensations. Let it happen. Go with the

flow. Rock adrift on the gentle swells of feeling.

The buildup was deliciously slow. They were on

no timetable, under no deadline. There was no pressure

or recrimination. Dreams were blissfully void

of consequences.

He was aware of her repositioning herself, but a

few preliminary, delicate kisses didn't quite prepare

him for the wet heat that sheathed him. The sensuous

stroking was unlike any other. He held his breath and

let the sensations saturate him. His entire body settled

heavily into the mattress, as into a warm bath,

and soaked in sexual lassitude.

Instinctively he moved his hand. Stretched.

Sought. Found. Softness. Silkiness. Mystery deep.

Center of the universe. Heartbeat of Man. Pathway

to Life.

He had to move his fingers but slightly to elicit

little jumps of excitement. The ball of his thumb was

possessed of an ancient knowledge. Gifted with a

special touch that drew from her soft moans. Not

sounds exactly. Vibrations inside her mouth that

were transmitted back to him.

This living dream, this oblivion, was so sweet, he

didn't leave it, not even after a slow, undulating climax

that left him feeling as though he had dissolved.

On the fringes of his consciousness lurked

something threatening and ugly, but he refused to

acknowledge it. Not now. Not tonight. Tomorrow.

Hammond's tomorrow started three hours later

with an explosive "Jesus Christ!"

THURSDAY

CHAPTER

27

Steffi continued shouting as she bounded up the

stairs. Reaching Hammond's bedroom, she barged in

to find him sitting bolt upright in bed, holding his

head between his hands, and looking like he was

only one heartbeat away from cardiac arrest.

"I thought you'd been murdered. I saw the bloody

towels--"

"Goddammit, Steffi. You nearly gave me a heart

attack."

"You? Myself! Are you all right?"

He glanced anxiously around the room as though

looking for something. "What time is it? What are

you doing here? How'd you get in?"

"I still have a key. Never mind that. What happened

to you?"

"Uh..." He glanced at his bandaged arm as

though seeing it for the first time. "I, uh, got mugged

last night." He motioned toward the bureau. "Get me

a pair of underwear, will you?"

"Mugged? Where?" His boxers were kept in the second drawer from the top. She brought him a pair.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Your leg is hurt, too?"

"Yeah. Not as bad as the arm." He bent from the

waist and stepped into the shorts, then worked them

up his legs to his thighs. Before standing up, he gave

her a pointed look.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Hammond. I've seen it."

Whisking back the sheet, he stood up and pulled

on the shorts, then reached for a bottle of water on the

nightstand and drained it.

"Are you going to tell me what happened or not?"

"I told you I got--"

"Mugged. I got that part. What about your arm?"

"Slashed. My leg, too."

"My God, you could've been killed. Where were

you?" When he told her, she said, "Well no bloody

wonder. What were you doing in that part of town?"

"Remember Loretta Boothe?"

"The lush?"

He frowned, but nodded. "She's sober, wanting to

do some P.I. work again. She asked me to meet her at

one of her hangouts. On the way back to my car, this

guy jumped me. I resisted. He got slaphappy with his

switchblade. I fought him off long enough to get

away in my car. I drove home and called a doctor. He

stitched my arm."

"Did you notify the police?"

"I didn't want the third degree. Which I'm getting

anyway. From you."

"Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

"Same reason." He hobbled toward the bathroom,

favoring his left leg. "It wasn't that bad."

"Not that bad! Hammond, there's a trash bag of

blood-soaked towels downstairs."

"It looks a whole lot worse than it is. I only needed

two pain pills all night. Do you mind?" She had followed

him into the bathroom.

She went out and he closed the door. Through it,

she hollered, "I've seen you peeing before, too."

Returning to the bed, she sat down where he had

been sitting moments earlier. Along with the now-empty

bottle of spring water and a drinking glass on

the nightstand were a standard-issue cloth sling and

a plastic bottle of pills. It was a pharmaceutical sample;

the doctor's name wasn't on it.

Hammond came out of the bathroom, limped over

to her and nudged her off his bed, then pulled the

duvet up over the sheets.

"When did you get to be so prissy?" she asked.

"When did you get to be so nosy?"

"Don't you think I'm entitled to a little nosiness?

Hammond, the first thing I saw when I came in was

a bagful of bloody towels. Call me sentimental, but it

caused me to wonder if my colleague--not to mention

my former boyfriend, for whom I still have an affectionate

regard--had fallen victim to an ax

murderer."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Who cleans up

after himself?"

"Some of these guys are compulsive. But you're

missing the point."

"No, I'm not, Steffi. You were concerned for my

well-being. If the situation had been reversed, I

would have reacted in a similar fashion. But as you

can see, I am still breathing. Sore, bruised, and battered,

but breathing. I'll feel a lot better after a hot

shower and a few cups of even hotter coffee."

"My cue to leave?"

"Now you're catching on."

She looked at the bandage on his right forearm.

"Who was the doctor?"

"You don't know him. Old college friend. Owed

me a favor."

"What's his name?"

"What difference does it make? You don't know

him."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Ask."

"Why didn't you want to file a crime report?"

"It wouldn't have been worth the hassle. The mugger

didn't get anything."

"He assaulted you with a deadly weapon."

Looking supremely perturbed and addressing her

as though she were a dimwit, he said, "It wouldn't

have done any good to report it. I couldn't ID the guy.

Honestly I don't even know if he was white or black

or Hispanic, tall or short, thin or fat, hairy or bald. It

was dark. The incident was over in a flash, and all I

really saw was that switchblade coming at me. That's

what made an impression on me, and that's why I got

the hell out of there.

"It would be a waste of time to recount the episode

to the police because all they would do is file the report,

and that would be that. They've got better things

to do, and so do I." With a grimace, he cradled his

right arm in his left. "Now would you please leave so

I can shower and dress?"

"Need any help?"

"Thanks, but I'll manage."

"Why don't you take the day off? I could come by

around noon, fix you some lunch, and tell you what

we learn from this guy."

Hammond opened his drawer of T-shirts. She had

often teased him about his collection of nearly

threadbare T-shirts, which he loved to wear around

the house. He picked the top one from off the stack.

It must have been a real favorite, she thought, because

he smiled and lifted it to his face, breathing it

in. "What guy?"

"I haven't told you!" She slapped her forehead.

"Seeing you like this made me forget what brought

me over. As I was driving to work, Smilow called me

on my cell. There's a guy in our city jail."

His fascination with the T-shirt was lost on her, but

he was still fiddling with it. He remarked absently,

"There are lots of guys in our city jail."

"But only one claims to be Alex Ladd's brother."

Hammond whipped around. His face went chalk-white.

Steffi supposed the sudden blanching was

from pain. Turning so abruptly, he had banged the

elbow of his injured right arm on the corner of the

open drawer. He put his left arm out to stabilize himself.

"I think you're crazy to even consider going into

the office today, Hammond. Look at you. You can

hardly stand up and you're as white as a sheet. Your

arm--"

"Forget my goddamn arm."

"Don't yell at me."

"Then stop mothering me."

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine. What about this guy?"

"His name is Bobby Turnbull. No, that's not it.

Something like that."

"What's he in jail for?"

"Smilow didn't get that far before I cut him off

and came straight here."

"What did he--"

"Hammond, honestly! Talk about third degree. All

I know is that this Trimble--that's it. Bobby Trimble.

He was arrested last night and used his one telephone

call to call Alex Ladd. She wasn't at home. One of the

cops over there at detention was sharp enough to pick

up on the name, knew that she'd been connected to

the Pettijohn murder, and notified Smilow."

Hammond replaced the T-shirt in the drawer, then

slammed it shut. "On second thought, don't leave.

It'll be hard to drive with my arm in a sling, so I'll

hitch a ride with you. Give me five minutes."

While he was getting ready, Steffi went downstairs

to call Smilow and tell him why she was running late.

"Mugged?"

"That's what he says."

After a short pause, Smilow asked, "Do you have