The Alibi (28 page)

Women are good at playacting because we're constantly

having to fake orgasms."

The remark was meant to insult him. It didn't. But

it pissed him off. "Women with penis envy."

"Ah, that was a pretty good comeback, Hammond,"

she said, raising her glass in a mock salute.

"With practice, you might develop into a real jerk."

Smilow, who had been following this repartee

with divided attention, said, "Much as it pains me, I

tend to agree with Hammond."

"You think I have penis envy?"

He didn't even crack a smile. "I agree with him

that Ladd's shock was the real article."

"You're sharing an opinion with Hammond?

That's almost as shocking as your sharing a table,"

she said.

The lobby bar at the Charles Towne Plaza was

packed to capacity with the happy hour crowd. Even

though the hotel was across town from police headquarters,

it had seemed a fitting place for them to

meet and discuss Alex's interrogation.

Tourists, whether or not they were registered

guests, shopped in the boutiques that rimmed the

lobby. They photographed the impressive staircase

and the chandelier it embraced. They photographed

each other.

Two barefoot women wrapped in hotel bathrobes,

their heads swathed in towels, giggled as they

avoided being caught in a snapshot. Following Hammond's

empty gaze, Steffi said, "Ridiculous to walk

around like that for the sake of a beauty treatment.

Can you imagine what Pettijohn must have looked

like stamping through here like that?"

"Huh?"

"Where are you, Hammond, lost in space?" she

asked irritably.

"I'm sorry. I was just thinking."

He hadn't noticed the robed women. He had

barely noticed anything since leaving Smilow's office.

He was thinking about her. About Alex Ladd and

her reaction to how Pettijohn died.

She had seemed genuinely shocked, making him

hopeful that she was right about Mr. Daniels when

she surmised that he had noticed her in the hotel, but

he was mistaken about when and where.

Hopeful of having an ally in Smilow, he leaned

across the table, propping his forearms on the edge of

it. "You said you agree with me. How so? How do

you read it?"

"I think she's clever enough to fake her surprise

and make it appear real. For whatever reason, I don't

know. Yet. But it's not her surprised reaction that concerns

me so much as her story."

"We're listening," Steffi said.

"If she had popped Pettijohn, wouldn't she have

left the hotel and immediately sought to establish an

alibi?"

Striving for nonchalance, Hammond reached for

his glass of bourbon and water. "Interesting notion.

Care to expound?"

"They can place time of death with amazing accuracy.

Within minutes, in fact."

"Between five-forty-five and six o'clock," Hammond

said. Upon seeing that in the autopsy report, he

had been overwhelmingly relieved. Alex couldn't

possibly be the murderer because she couldn't have

been two places at one time. "Dr. Ladd said she left

no later than five-thirty."

"Too close for comfort," Smilow said. "A good

prosecutor like you would manipulate that time

frame, allow for a margin of error. But, given that we

don't know exactly what time she got her car from

the lot, Frank Perkins could chop that time line like a

salami and use it to establish reasonable doubt. But it

would only work if--"

"I see where you're going--" Steffi interjected.

"If Dr. Ladd had an excellent--"

"Alibi."

While Steffi and Smilow talked over one another,

Hammond took another drink. The whiskey stung his

throat. "Makes sense," he said huskily.

Smilow frowned. "The problem I have with her

story is that she didn't have an alibi. She says she

went to Hilton Head and talked to no one who could

corroborate that."

"I'm confused," Steffi said. "Are you thinking that

by not having an alibi, she appears more innocent

than if she did?"

The detective looked across at her. "Not exactly.

But it makes me wonder if she's waiting to see how

far this goes before springing an alibi on us."

"Like she's holding one in reserve just in case?"

"Something like that."

Hammond, who had listened while they unknowingly

played upon his greatest fear, joined in the

speculation. "What makes you think she's got this

standby alibi?"

"Did you mean to rhyme?" Steffi asked.

"No," he replied, irritated with her because he

wanted to hear Smilow's thoughts. "You were saying?"

"I was saying what I've said from the beginning,"

Smilow explained. "She's not nervous. From the time

she answered her door and saw me and those cops on

her porch, until Frank escorted her out a half hour

ago, she was too unruffled to be completely innocent.

"Innocent people can't wait to convince you of

their innocence," he continued. "They chatter nervously.

They elaborate and expand their stories with

each telling. They tell you more than you ask to

know. Accomplished liars stick to the basics and are

usually the most composed."

"It's a sound theory," Hammond said. "But it's not

foolproof. Being a psychologist, wouldn't Dr. Ladd

have a tighter grip on her emotions than the average

person? She must hear shocking things when she's

treating patients. Wouldn't she know how to screen

her reactions?"

"Possibly," Smilow said. Hammond didn't like the

detective's smile, and within seconds he learned why

he seemed so complacent. "But Dr. Ladd is lying. I

know that for fact."

Steffi leaned forward so eagerly she almost spilled

her drink. "What fact?"

Bending down, Smilow took a newspaper from his

briefcase. "She must have missed this item in this

morning's news."

He had used a red marker to circle the story. It

wasn't that long, but to Hammond it was a devastating

four paragraphs.

"Harbour Town evacuated," Steffi read aloud.

Smilow provided a summary. "Last Saturday

evening there was a fire aboard one of the yachts

moored in the harbor. The wind was up. Sparks were

blown onto trees and awnings around the marina. As

a safety precaution, the fire department cleared

everyone out. Even people aboard other boats and

those who were staying in the condos were evacuated.

"The fire was extinguished before it could do too

much damage. But that's some of the most expensive

real estate in the country. Firemen were taking no

chances. They closed Lighthouse Road to incoming

traffic and put the whole area through an extensive

check. Essentially Harbour Town was shut down for

several hours."

"From when to when?"

"From nine o'clock on. Restaurants and bars saw

no reason to reopen when they got the go-ahead

sometime after midnight. They remained closed until

Sunday morning."

Steffi whispered, "She wasn't there."

"Had she been, she would have mentioned this."

"Good work." Steffi raised her glass to Smilow.

"I think raising toasts is a little premature," Ham

mond said angrily. "Maybe she has a logical explanation."

"And maybe the pope's a Baptist."

He ignored Steffi's wisecrack. "Smilow, why didn't

you confront Dr. Ladd with this when you were interrogating

her?"

"I wanted to see how far she would carry it."

"You were giving her enough rope to hang herself."

"My job is easier when a suspect does it for me."

Hammond searched his mind for a fresh approach.

"Okay, so she wasn't in Harbour Town. What does

that prove? Nothing, except that she wants to safeguard

her privacy. She doesn't want it known where

she was."

"Or with whom."

He shot a cold look at Steffi, then continued

speaking to Smilow. "You've still got nothing on her,

nothing that places her inside Pettijohn's suite, or

even near it. When you asked if she owned a gun, she

said no."

"But of course she would," Steffi argued. "And

we've got Daniels's testimony."

Hammond wasn't finished with his own arguments.

"According to Madison's report, the bullets

removed from Pettijohn's body were .38caliber.

Your garden-variety bullets from your garden-variety

pistol. There are hundreds of .38s in this city alone.

Even in your own evidence warehouse, Smilow."

"Meaning what?" Steffi wanted to know.

"Meaning that unless we find the weapon in the murderer's possession, it will be nigh unto impossible

to trace," Smilow said, following Hammond's

thought.

"As for Daniels," Hammond continued while he

was on a roll, "Frank Perkins would make hash of

him on the witness stand."

"You're probably right about that, too," Smilow

said.

"So what does that leave you?" Hammond asked.

"Nothing."

"I've got SLED running some test on evidence

collected from the scene."

"Hand-carried to Columbia?"

"Absolutely."

The South Carolina Law Enforcement Division

was located in the state capital. Evidence that was

collected, bagged, and labeled by the CSU was usually

hand-delivered to SLED by an officer to prevent

chain of evidence discrepancies.

"Let's see what turns up," Smilow said in the unflappable

manner that only emphasized to Hammond

his own unraveling temperament. "We didn't get

much from that suite of rooms, but we picked up a

few fibers, hairs, particles. Hopefully something--"

"Hopefully?" Hammond scoffed. "You're relying

on hope? You'll have to do better than that to catch a

killer, Smilow."

"Don't worry about me," he said, his mood growing

just as fractious as Hammond's. "You tend to

your job and I'll tend to mine."

"I just don't want to face the grand jury with nothing

but my dick in my hand."

"I doubt you could find your dick with your hand.

But I'll find the link between Alex Ladd and Pettijohn."

"And if you don't," Hammond said, raising his

voice, "you can always invent one."

Smilow came out of his chair so fast, it scraped

against the floor. Likewise, Hammond was on his feet

within a heartbeat.

Steffi popped up, too. "Guys," she said beneath

her breath. "Everybody's looking."

Hammond realized that they did indeed have the

attention of everyone in the bar. Conversations

around them ceased. "I gotta go." He tossed a five-dollar

bill down on the table to cover his drink. "See

you tomorrow."

He didn't take his eyes off Smilow until he turned

and began making his way through the crowd toward

the exit. He heard Steffi tell Smilow to order her another

drink and that she would be right back, and then

she came after him. He didn't want to talk to her, but

once they were outside she grasped his arm and

brought him around.

"Would you like some company?"

"No," he said, more harshly than he intended.

Then, pushing his fingers up through his hair, he took

a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry, Steffi.

It's just been one of those Mondays. My dad came by

this morning. This case is going to be a bitch.

Smilow's a bastard."

"You're sure that's what's bothering you?"

He lowered his hand and looked at her closely,

afraid he had given himself away. But her eyes

weren't suspicious or accusatory. They were limpid,

soft, and inviting. He relaxed. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"I just thought that maybe ..." She paused to raise

her shoulder in a small shrug. "Maybe you were

wishing we had talked things through before you decided

to end the relationship." She touched the front

of his shirt. "If you're wanting to let off some steam,

I remember something that used to work very well."

"I remember, too." He gave her a kind smile which

he hoped would appease her ego. But he removed her

hand, squeezing it gently before releasing it. "Better

get back inside. Smilow's waiting with your drink."

"He can go to hell."

"In that regard, you probably won't be disappointed.

I'll see you tomorrow."

He turned and walked away, but she called after

him. "Hammond?" When he was facing her again,

she asked, "What did you think of her?"

"Who, Dr. Ladd?" He faked a thoughtful frown.

"Articulate. Cool under pressure. But unlike Smilow,

I'm not ready to--"

"I mean her. What did you think of her?"

"What's to think about?" he quipped, forcing a

laugh. "She's gorgeous to look at and obviously very

intelligent."

Then, with a jovial wave, he turned away.

Since he didn't have Alex Ladd's capacity for

lying, he figured it would be safer to stick to the truth.

CHAPTER