The Alibi (29 page)

17

The Citadel, respected as one of the outstanding

institutions of higher learning in America, was located

only a few blocks from the Shady Rest

Lounge. Beyond their proximity, the bar and the military

academy were worlds apart in every respect.

Unlike the renowned academy with its guarded

gate and pristine grounds, the Shady Rest didn't boast

an impressive facade. It had no windows, only cinderblock

patches where windows had once been. The

entrance was a metal door on which a vandal had

carved an obscenity. After the infraction, a slapdash

attempt had been made to cover the word with a thin,

low-grade paint which, unfortunately, didn't quite

match the original color or fill in the scratch. As a result,

the expletive now drew more attention than if it

had been left alone. The only thing that indicated the

nature of the establishment was a neon sign above the

door that spelled out the name. The sign buzzed noisily

and worked only sporadically.

In spite of its lofty neighbor and all its own shortcomings,

the Shady Rest Lounge was perfectly at

home in its environment, a neighborhood of poverty

and crime-ridden streets where windows were barred

and visible signs of prosperity made one a target.

With self-protection in mind, Hammond had replaced

his business suit with blue jeans and T-shirt, a

baseball cap and sneakers. All had seen better days

... better decades. But a change of clothing alone

wasn't sufficient. In this section of the city, one

needed to adopt an attitude in order to survive.

When he pulled open the defaced door to go into

the lounge, he didn't politely stand aside for the pair

of guys on their way out. Instead he shouldered his

way between them, acting tough enough to make a

statement but hopefully not being so aggressive as to

spark a confrontation he would most certainly lose.

He escaped with only a muttered slur directed toward

him and his mother.

Once inside the lounge, it took several moments

for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Shady deals

were transacted in the Shady Rest. He had never been

in this particular bar before, but he knew instantly the

kind of place it was. Every city had them, Charleston

being no exception. He was also uneasily aware that

he wouldn't last long if any of the other patrons discovered

that he represented the County Solicitor's

Office.

Once his eyes had adjusted and he got his bearings,

he spotted whom he sought. She was sitting

alone at the end of the bar, morosely staring into a

highball glass. Affecting disregard for the wary, hostile

stares sizing him up, Hammond made his way

over to her.

Loretta Boothe's hair was grayer than the last time

he had seen her, and it looked like it had been a while

since her last shampoo. She had made an attempt to

apply makeup, but either she had done an inept job or

this application was several days old. Mascara had

flaked onto her cheeks, and her eyebrow pencil had

been smudged. Lipstick had bled into the fine lines

radiating from her mouth, though none of the color

remained on her lips. One cheek was rosy with rouge,

the other sallow and colorless. It was a pathetic face.

"Hey, Loretta."

She turned and focused bleary eyes on him. Despite

the baseball cap, she recognized him immediately,

and her delight to see him was plain. Eyelids

that were saggy and webbed beyond their years crinkled

as she grinned, revealing a lower front tooth in

bad need of a dentist's attention.

"Lord have mercy, Hammond." She looked beyond

him, as though expecting an entourage. "You're

the last person in the world I'd expect to see in a dive

like this. You slumming tonight?"

"I came to see you."

"Same as," she said, snorting a humorless laugh.

"I didn't think you were speaking to me."

"I wasn't."

"You had every right to be pissed."

"I still am."

"So what put you in a forgiving mood?"

"An emergency." He glanced down at her nearly

empty glass. "Buy you a drink?"

"Ever know me to turn one down?"

Wishing the privacy of a booth, Hammond gallantly

helped her off the barstool. If he hadn't lent a

supporting hand, her knees might have buckled when

she stood up. The drink she left on the bar hadn't

been her first, or even her second.

As she teetered along beside him, he acknowledged

to himself that there was a very good chance

he was going to sorely regret doing this. But as he

had told her, it was an emergency.

He ensconced her in a booth, then returned to the

bar and ordered two Jack Daniel's black, one straight,

one with water over rocks. He passed the former to

Loretta as he slid into the booth.

"Cheers." She raised her glass to him before taking

a hefty swallow. Fortified by the drink, she turned

her attention to Hammond. "You're looking good."

"Thanks."

"I mean it. You always did look good, of course,

but you're just now coming into your own. Growing

into your bones. Whatever it is that you men do that

makes you get better-looking with age while we

women rapidly go to pot."

He smiled, wishing he could exchange compliments

with her. She was barely fifty, but looked much

older.

"You're better-looking than your daddy," she observed.

"And I always thought Preston Cross was a

right handsome man."

"Thanks again."

"Part of your problem with him--"

"I don't have a problem with him."

She frowned, squelching his denial. "Part of your

problem with him is that he's jealous of you."

Hammond scoffed.

"It's true," Loretta pronounced with the superior

air of drunks and sages. "Your daddy's afraid that you

might surpass him. You might achieve more than he

has. You might become more powerful than he is.

Earn more respect. He couldn't stand that."

Hammond looked down into his own drink, which

he didn't want. The one he'd had a couple hours ago

with Smilow and Steffi had left him slightly queasy.

Or maybe it had been the subject matter that had

turned his stomach. In any case, he wasn't thirsty for

Tennessee sipping whiskey. "I didn't come here to

talk about my father, Loretta."

"Right, right. An emergency." She took another

drink. "How'd you find me?"

"I called the last number I had."

"My daughter lives there now."

"It's your apartment."

"But Bev is paying the rent, and has been for

months. She told me if I didn't pull myself together,

she was going to kick me out." She raised her shoulders.

"Here I am."

Suddenly he realized why she looked so disheveled

and unwashed, and the realization increased

his queasiness. "Where are you living now, Loretta?"

"Don't worry about me, hotshot. I can take care of

myself."

He allowed her a remnant of pride by not coming

right out and asking if she was living on the streets or

in a homeless shelter. "When I spoke to Bev, she told

me this had become one of your favorite hangouts."

"Bev's an ICU nurse," she boasted.

"That's great. She's done well."

"In spite of me."

There was no argument for that, so Hammond said

nothing. Feeling self-conscious and awkward for her,

he studied the handwritten out of order sign taped

to the record selector on their table. The sign had

been there a long time. Both the paper and the Scotch

tape had yellowed with age. The jukebox in the distant

corner stood dark and silent, as though it had succumbed

to the pervasive despondency inside the

Shady Rest.

"I'm proud of her," Loretta said, still on the subject

of her daughter.

"As you should be."

"She can't stand the sight of me, though."

"I doubt that."

"No, she hates me, and I can't say that I blame her.

I let her down, Hammond." Her eyes were watery

with remorse and hopelessness. "I let everybody

down. You especially."

"We finally got the guy, Loretta. Three months

after--"

"After I fucked up."

Again, the truth was unarguable. Loretta Boothe

had served on the Charleston Police Department until

her alcohol abuse got so bad she was fired. Her increasing

dependency had been blamed on her husband's

death. He had died instantly and bloodily

when his Harley crashed into a bridge abutment. His

death had been ruled accidental, but in a boozy, confidential

conversation with Hammond, Loretta had

confessed her misgivings. Had her husband chosen

suicide over living with her? The question haunted

her.

About that same time, she became increasingly

disenchanted with the CPD. Or possibly her disenchantment

was a result of her deteriorating personal

life. Either way, she created problems for herself at

work and eventually found herself unemployed.

She got licensed as a private investigator and for a

time worked regularly. Hammond had always liked

her; when he joined the prestigious firm fresh out of

law school, she was the first person to address him as

"solicitor." It was a small thing, but he had never forgotten

her thoughtful boost to his self-confidence.

When he moved to the County Solicitor's Office,

he frequently retained her to investigate on its behalf

even though they had investigators on staff. Even

when her reliability became chancy, he continued to

use her out of a sense of loyalty and pity. Then she

had screwed up royally, and the fallout had been disastrous.

The accused in the case was an angry, incorrigible

young man who had almost beaten his mother to

death with a tire tool. He was a threat to society, and

would continue to be until he was put in prison for a

long time.

To win a conviction, Hammond desperately

needed the eyewitness testimony of the accused's second cousin, who was not only reluctant to testify

against a family member, but was also scared of the

guy and feared retaliation. Despite the subpoena, he

hightailed it out of town. It was rumored he'd gone to

hide with other relatives in Memphis. Because the

staff investigators were already committed to other

cases, Hammond brought Loretta in. He advanced

her money to cover her expenses, and dispatched her

to Memphis to track down the cousin.

Not only did his witness drop out of sight, so did

Loretta.

He learned later that she had used the expense

money to binge. The trial judge, who was unsympathetic

with Hammond's plight, refused his request for

a postponement and ordered him to proceed with

what he had, which was the testimony of the battered

mother. Also fearing retribution from her violent son,

she changed her story on the witness stand, testifying

that she had suffered her injuries when she fell off the

back porch.

The jury brought in an acquittal. Three months

later, the same guy attacked his neighbor in a similar

fashion. The victim didn't die, but he sustained severe

and irreparable brain damage. This time the

criminal was convicted and sentenced to years behind

bars. But Steffi Mundell had prosecuted that

case.

All these months later, Hammond still hadn't forgiven

Loretta for betraying the trust he had placed in

her, especially when no one else would hire her. She

had abandoned him when he needed her most and

had made him look like a fool in the courtroom.

Worst of all, her dereliction had caused a man to suffer

a brutal beating that had left him mentally and

physically impaired for the rest of his life.

When sober, Loretta Boothe was the best at what

she did. She had the instincts of a bloodhound and an

uncanny ability to ferret out information. She seemed

to possess a sixth sense about where to go and whom

to question. Her own human frailties were so obvious,

that people found her disarming and confidence-inspiring.

They relaxed their guard and they talked

candidly to her. She was also savvy enough to distinguish

between what information was significant and

what wasn't.

Despite her talent, seeing her in the reduced state

she was in tonight made Hammond question the advisability

of retaining her again. Only a desperate

person would seek help from a chronic drunk who

had already proved her unreliability.

But then he thought about Alex Ladd, and realized

that he was just that desperate.

"I have some work for you, Loretta."

"What is this, April Fool's Day?"

"No, but I'm probably a damn fool for entrusting

you with anything."

Her features contorted with emotion. "You'd do

well to leave right now, Hammond. I would jump at

the chance to make up for what I did last time, but

you'd be crazy to depend on me again."