The Alibi (52 page)

is catching? I thought you'd be treating your

detectives to cigars."

"Hammond's points have merit," he said thoughtfully.

"First, he's got to convince the grand jury that

Alex Ladd is indictable. If they do hand down an indictment,

he's got to prove to a jury that she's guilty

beyond a reasonable doubt. Our evidence is circumstantial,

Steffi. Trimble's testimony is tainted by

Trimble himself. Not much for a prosecutor to work

with."

"More evidence will turn up before the trial begins."

"If there is more."

"There's bound to be more."

"Not if she didn't do it." Her eyes sharpened on

him, but he pretended not to notice and turned away.

"I've got a slew of work waiting on me."

Crestfallen by his remarks, she dawdled in the

hallway until Hammond emerged from the men's

room. They got into the elevator together. "There's

press outside."

"I heard."

"Are you up for it?" she asked, giving the shoulder

of his injured arm a concerned pat.

On the ground floor, they could see through the

glass doors the throng of reporters lying in wait on the

front steps. "Doesn't matter whether I am or not. I've

got to do it."

Afterward, Steffi had to admit that he did it well.

Although he downplayed his injuries, they made him

seem dashing and courageous, a wounded soldier

gearing up for battle.

They said little on the drive back to the judicial

building in North Charleston. As soon as they went

inside, Hammond excused himself and closed his private

office door behind him. Steffi, lost in thought,

literally bumped into Monroe Mason as he came

bustling around a blind corner. He had a tuxedo

draped over his arm.

"The boss is clearing out early," she teased.

Mason frowned. "My wife has committed us to

one of those boring charity functions tonight. A banquet

where everyone in attendance receives a reward.

But who needs me around here, anyway? You're all doing a fine job without any help from me. Dr.

Ladd's stepbrother provided Hammond with the

missing link, huh? Now he's got her motivation.

Sounds solid."

"Trimble's statement made all the difference."

"I'd put my money on our team."

"Thank you."

"Now, enough rhetoric," he said, smiling good-naturedly.

"What's your gut feeling, Steffi? What kind

of case have you got?"

Recalling Smilow's concerns, she said, "We'd like

more hard evidence."

"Name a prosecutor who wouldn't. Rarely do we

catch the accused holding a smoking gun. Sometimes

--more often than not--we have to make something

of little or nothing at all. Hammond will get his

indictment, and when the case gets to trial, he'll bring

in a guilty verdict. I have no misgivings about his

abilities."

Although it pained the muscles of her face to do

so, Steffi smiled. "Nor do I. If he doesn't fall head

over heels."

Mason was looking at this wristwatch, saying, "I

must be on my way. I'm meeting my trainer for a

quick workout and massage before I climb into this

monkey suit. Cocktails are at five. Mrs. Mason made

me swear I wouldn't be late."

"Have a good time."

He frowned. "That's a jibe, right?"

"Yes, sir, that's a jibe." Laughing, she wished him

a pleasant evening.

He had almost reached the end of the hall when he

stopped and turned back. "Steffi?"

Her back was to him, so he didn't see the triumphant

smile that spread across her face. She collapsed

it before turning around. "Yes?"

"What were you implying with that remark?"

"Remark?"

"About Hammond falling head over heels."

"Oh." She laughed. "I was joking. It's nothing."

He retraced his steps back to her. "That's the second

time you've alluded to Hammond being infatuated with Dr. Ladd. I don't consider that nothing. I

certainly don't think it's a joking matter."

Steffi gnawed the inside of her cheek. "If I didn't

know him better..." she said, faltering. Then she

shook her head firmly. "But I do. We all do. Hammond

would never lose his objectivity."

"Not a chance."

"Of course not."

"Well then ... good night."

The county solicitor turned and made his way

back down the hallway. Once he was out of sight,

Steffi practically skipped into her office. She had

planted the seed earlier in the week. Today she had

nourished it. "Let's see how fertile his mind is," she

said to herself as she sat down behind her desk and rifled

through the stack of phone messages. The one

she hoped for wasn't among them. Irritably, she

placed a call.

"Lab. Anderson speaking."

"This is Steffi Mundell."

"Yeah?"

Jim Anderson worked in the hospital lab and had a

chip on his shoulder the size of Everest. Steffi knew

this because she had had run-ins with him and his attitude

before. She demanded accuracy combined with

speed, which he seemed incapable of delivering.

"Have you run that test yet?"

"I told you I would call you as soon as I got to it."

"You haven't done it yet?"

"Have I called?"

He didn't even have the courtesy to apologize or

offer an explanation. She said, "I need the result of

that test for a very important case. It's critical. Perhaps

I didn't make that clear to you this morning."

"You made it clear, all right. Just like I made it

clear that I work for the hospital, not the police department,

and not the D.A.'s office. I have other work

piled up ahead of you that's just as important."

"Nothing is as urgent as this."

"Get in line, Ms. Mundell. That's how it works."

"Look, I don't need DNA testing. Or HIV. Nothing

fancy for now. Just a blood typing."

"I understand."

"All I need to know is if the blood on that wash

cloth matches the blood on the sheet Smilow took to

you a few days ago."

"I got it the first time you told me."

"Well, how hard can it be?" she said, raising her

voice. "Don't you just have to look through a microscope

or something?"

"You'll get it when I get to it."

Anderson hung up on her. "Son of a bitch," she

hissed as she slammed down her own telephone receiver.

Nothing aggravated her more than incompetence,

unless it was incompetence combined with

unwarranted arrogance.

Dammit, she needed that blood test! She was nursing

a strong hunch, and her hunches were rarely

wrong. Ever since this morning when the idea first

took hold, it had consumed her thoughts until she was

now obsessed by it.

As impossible as it seemed, it made a weird kind

of sense to her that there was something going on between

Alex Ladd and Hammond, and that this "something"

was sexual. Or at least romantic.

She hadn't dared to discuss her suspicion with

Smilow. Probably he would dismiss it as absurd, in

which case she would look like a fool at best, and a

jealous ex-lover at worst.

He would share her theory with his team of detectives,

who would make her a laughingstock. Detective

Mike Collins, and others who had a hard time

accepting women in authority, never would take her

seriously again. Everything she said or did would be

undermined by their ridicule. That would be intoler

able. Her reputation as a tough, savvy prosecutor had

been too hard-won to jeopardize it by something so

laughably feminine as envisioning romance where

none existed.

But it would be almost as bad if Smilow did give

her hunch credence. He would take it and run with it.

Unlike her, he had the resources and the muscle to do

some serious sleuthing. He would tell assholes like

Jim Anderson to hop, and the hospital lab tech would

ask how high. Smilow would have the result of that

blood test in no time flat. If the samples matched,

Smilow would be credited with making the connection

between Hammond and their suspect.

If she was right, she didn't want to share the credit

with Smilow or anyone else. She wanted it all to herself.

If Hammond were to be disgraced--dare she

even wish for disbarment?--for impeding a murder

investigation, she wanted to be the one to expose

him. Singlehandedly. No more playing second fiddle,

no more group projects for Steffi Mundell, thank you

very much.

It would be delicious fun to watch Hammond topple

from his pedestal. It would be gratifying to be the

one to topple him.

His behavior today as he listened to Trimble's

recording had strengthened her suspicion. He had reacted

like a jealous lover. It was clear that he saw

Alex Ladd as a victim of her half-brother's exploitation.

Whenever possible, he had rushed to her defense, finding angles that suggested innocence. Not a

good mind frame for a prosecutor to be in when trying

to convince others of the accused's guilt.

Maybe he felt nothing more than pity for a girl's

lost innocence. Or sympathy for the professional

about to be stripped of all credibility and respect. But

whatever it was, there was something there. Definitely.

"I know it," Steffi whispered fiercely.

She had been gifted with a keen perception. She

could sniff out lies and spot motivations that hadn't

occurred to anyone else in the solicitor's office.

Those skills had served her well today. Her instincts

had come alive and buzzed noisily whenever Hammond

and Alex Ladd were near one another.

But her surety went beyond her instincts as a prosecutor.

She also sensed it with a woman's intuition.

As she watched them watch each other, the signs had

become glaringly obvious. They avoided making direct

eye contact, but whenever they did, there was an

almost audible click.

Alex Ladd had looked shattered when Trimble related

the more prurient details of her past. Most of her

verbal denials had been directed toward Hammond.

While he, known for his amazing ability to focus and

concentrate on the business at hand, had been unable

to keep still. He fidgeted. His hands moved restlessly.

He had acted like he had an itch he couldn't scratch.

Steffi recognized the signs. He had behaved like

that when their affair first began. Sleeping with a colleague

had made him uneasy. He had worried about

the impropriety of it. She had teased him, telling him

that if he didn't relax when they were together in public,

his jitters were going to give them away.

But I'm not jealous, Steffi told herself now. I'm

not jealous of him, and I'm certainly not jealous of

her. I'm not.

On the surface, she might look like the classic

woman scorned. But it wasn't jealousy that compelled

her to get to the bottom of this. It was bigger

than jealousy. Grander. Her future hinged on it.

She would keep digging until she had an answer,

even if her hunch proved to be wrong. One day, while

Dr. Ladd was languishing in prison, she might tell

Hammond about this crazy notion she had once entertained.

They would have a good laugh over it.

Or she might discover a scandalous secret that

would damage Hammond Cross's reputation beyond

repair and destroy any chance of his becoming

county solicitor.

And if that happened, guess who was groomed

and ready to seize the office?

The top-ranking homicide detective in the CPD

was ready to submit that Alex Ladd had killed Lute

Pettijohn. It was Hammond's job to argue and prove

the state's case in a court of law. But the state's case

was against the woman with whom he had fallen in

love. Moreover, he was a material witness in that

case. Those were two powerfully motivating reasons

for him to want to disprove the state's allegation.

But there was another reason even more powerful, compelling, and urgent. Alex's life was at risk. The

media had picked up the story of her house being

searched yesterday. There had been an attempt on her

life last night. That couldn't have been a coincidence.

The guy in the alley had probably been hired to silence

Alex. Since that attempt had failed, there was

sure to be another.

Smilow and company had focused all their attention

on Alex, leaving it up to him to find another viable

suspect or suspects.

To that end, he sealed himself inside his office

with the case file Smilow had given him. Mentally he

disconnected himself from the case. Discounting his

personal investment in it, he focused only on the legal

aspects and approached it exclusively from that

standpoint.

Who would want Lute Pettijohn dead?

Business rivals? Certainly. But according to

Smilow's files, all those questioned had concrete alibis.

Even his own father. Hammond had personally

verified Preston's alibi.

Davee? Most certainly. But he believed that if she

had killed him, she would have made no secret of it.