The Alibi (49 page)

about how it pertained to the Pettijohn investigation.

Unfortunately, he'd been robbed of the opportunity.

By the time Steffi had barged in, Alex was gone.

He had blessed her for leaving early, and had considered

them damn lucky for not being discovered in

bed together, which would have damaged their credibility

when making their independent confessions to

Smilow.

Now this.

Bobby Trimble had appeared out of nowhere, at

the worst possible time. Alex had no idea of the trap

that had been laid for her. Hammond was powerless

to warn her.

A pager beeped. All three of them checked.

"Mine," Hammond said.

Smilow pushed the telephone across his desk,

nearer to Hammond.

Hammond checked the number on the LED. "I'll

use my cell, thanks."

Excusing himself, he stepped out of the office and

moved into the hall, which offered a modicum of privacy.

"Loretta, what's up?"

"We ended on a sour note last night."

"What do you mean?"

"You were so disappointed when you left."

"Don't worry about it."

"But I did. I wanted to do something for you, so I

went over to county records this morning and caught

Harvey buying a honey bun out of a vending machine."

"I've only got a minute, Loretta."

"I'm getting there. I asked him if anyone else had

leaned on him for information related to the Pettijohn

case."

"Specifically Alex Ladd?"

"No, I just laid it out there to see if he would bite."

"And?"

"He broke a cold sweat. I could practically hear

his knees knocking."

"Who approached him for information?"

"The little nerd wouldn't say."

"Loretta--"

"I tried everything, Hammond. Believe me.

Threats of exposure, torture, physical harm. I wheedled,

dealed, cajoled. I offered him unlimited booze,

drugs, sex with the professional of his choice. Nothing

worked. Whoever approached him, scared him.

Speechless. He's not talking."

"Okay, thanks." Hearing motion behind him, he

glanced over his shoulder. Frank Perkins was ushering

Alex around the corner.

"Anything else you want me to do?" Loretta

asked.

"Not for now. Thanks. Got to go."

He clicked off and turned just as Perkins and Alex

reached the door to Smilow's office. When the solicitor

saw Hammond, his eyes widened. "What happened

to you?"

"I got mugged."

"Jeez. Looks like more than the average mugging."

"I'll be all right." He dropped his gaze to Alex. "I was well taken care of."

They had no longer than a millisecond of eye engagement.

Hammond tried to telegraph a warning,

but her lawyer nudged her forward into the office.

"Well, what now, Detective?"

"We've got a recording we want your client to

hear."

"A recording of what?"

"Of an interrogation we conducted early this

morning with a man in our own jail. Believe me, his

statements are relevant to the Pettijohn case."

Perkins held out the only chair for Alex. The others

took up standing positions around the small

room. Smilow offered to have a chair brought in for

Hammond, but he declined. As Alex sat down, she

managed a covert inquisitive glance at him, but he

had no way of preparing her for what was in store.

Smilow summarized Ellen Rogers's experience

for Alex and her lawyer. "Fortunately for us, Ms.

Rogers turned out to be no shrinking violet. She

tracked the man down herself and reported him to police."

"I fail to see--"

"His name is Bobby Trimble."

Hammond had been closely watching Alex's face.

As soon as Smilow began, she had realized what was

coming. Her eyes closed briefly, and she took a deep,

fortifying breath. But when he said Trimble's name,

she revealed no reaction at all.

Smilow said, "You're acquainted with Mr. Trimble,

aren't you, Dr. Ladd?"

Frank Perkins said, "I would like a word with my

client."

"It's all right, Frank," she said softly. "Unfortunately,

I can't deny knowing Bobby Trimble."

Before Perkins could say anything more, Smilow

said, "The tape is self-explanatory, Frank." He depressed

the play button on the machine.

In Smilow's voice, the people present during the

interrogation were identified. The time, place, and

date were noted, along with the conditions under

which Trimble was giving the statement. He had confessed

to seducing Miss Ellen Rogers for the purpose

of robbing her, and, although he wasn't guaranteed

clemency, he was assured by Stefanie Mundell that

the County Solicitor's Office would deal favorably

with anyone who voluntarily provided information

pertinent to Lute Pettijohn's murder case.

That said, Smilow asked his first question. "Bobby--may I call you Bobby? "

"I'm not ashamed of my name."

"Bobby, do you know Dr. Ladd?"

"Alex is my half-sister. Same mother. Different fathers.

Never knew either one of them, though."

"Trimble was your mothers name?"

"Right."

"You and your half-sister were reared together, in

the same home?"

"If you want to call it that. It was hardly a home.

Our mother wasn't a Martha Stewart, although she

did a lot of entertaining."

"What kind of entertaining?"

"Men, Detective Smilow. She had men in the

house all the time. When she did, Alex and I were sent

out. If it was hot outside, tough. Cold weather, tough.

If we were hungry, too bad. Sometimes we could talk

a hamburger out of the old black lady who worked at

the Dairy Queen. She didn't like me much, but she

had a soft spot for Alex. But if her boss was around,

forget it. We went hungry."

"Is your mother still alive ? "

"Who knows? Who cares? She left when I was

about. . . hmm, fourteen. Making Alex twelve, I

guess. She had fallen hard for a guy, and when he left

for Reno, she followed him out there. I don't know if

she ever caught him or not. That's the last we ever

saw or heard of her."

"Didn't Child Protection Services see to your

needs after that?"

"I'd just as soon be in jail as to have a bunch of

busybody bureaucrats breathing down my neck. So I

told Alex not to tell anybody that our mother had left.

We faked it. We went to school, pretending everything

was normal. And"--he chuckled--"everything was. I

don't think our mother ever darkened the door of the

schoolhouse. As far as she was concerned, PTA stood

for pussy, tits, and ass."

"There's no call for that," Smilow said sharply.

"Sorry, ma 'am. I didn't mean any disrespect."

Hammond assumed Bobby had apologized to

Steffi. His apology sounded insincere. Alex must

have thought so, too. She was staring at the recorder

with repugnance.

Smilow asked, "Didn't neighbors notice that your

mother was no longer around?"

"Alex and I had been fending for ourselves for so

long, it wasn't unusual for them to see her toting

clothes to the Laundromat or me asking for odd

jobs."

"You did odd jobs to support yourself and your

sister?"

He cleared his throat. "For a while." A pause.

"Before I continue . . . just so we understand one another

. . . I already paid my debt to society for what

happened. This isn't going to come back on me, is it?

This all happened way back when. In Tennessee. This

is South Carolina. I'm free and clear in this state."

"Tell us what you know about Lute Pettijohn's

murder, Bobby, and you walk out of here."

"Sounds good."

Up to this point Alex hadn't moved. Now she

turned to Perkins. "Is it necessary for us to listen to

this?"

The lawyer asked Smilow to stop the tape so he

could confer with Alex. Smilow courteously complied.

Perkins whispered a question to her. She answered

quietly. They consulted in undertones for

about sixty seconds.

Then Perkins said, "You can't seriously validate

this man's statements. He's bargaining for a dismissal of charges against him. Obviously he told you what

you wanted to hear."

Smilow said, "If he's lying, then it doesn't matter

to Dr. Ladd what he said, does it?"

"It matters in that it could prove embarrassing for

her."

"I'm sorry for any embarrassment. But I would

think Dr. Ladd would want to hear what's being alleged

about her. She's free to jump in and refute anything

he says at any time."

Perkins turned to her. "It's up to you."

She gave the attorney a curt nod.

"All right, Smilow," he said. "But this is cheap

theatrics and you know it."

The rebuke bounced off Smilow, who restarted the

tape at the point where he repeated his question about

how Trimble had supported himself and his sister.

"We got by for a time, with me doing this and

that," he replied. "But I was busting my ass trying to

keep food on the table and Alex in clothes. She was

growing, you know, like teenage girls do. Blossoming.

"

Trimble's tone dropped to a confidential pitch. "It

was seeing how she was filling out that first gave me

the idea."

"What idea?"

"I'm getting to it," he said, nettled by Smilow's

impatience. "I started noticing how my buddies

looked at my baby sister. In a whole new light, you

might say. I overheard a few remarks. And that's

when the idea first occurred to me."

Hammond propped his left elbow on the fist of the

arm in the sling and covered his mouth with his hand.

He wanted to stop up his ears. He wanted to throw the

tape recorder against the wall. He wanted to slap the shit out of Steffi, who was smiling smugly at Alex.

He was helpless to do anything except to listen, just

as she was being forced to do.

The difference in Trimble's diction and syntax was

noticeable. Talking about his past had caused him to

lapse into the speech patterns of his youth. He

sounded more crass. More uncouth. More lewd.

"The first time it happened by accident. I mean, I

didn't plan it. Alex and I were with this friend of mine.

He had stolen a six-pack of beer and we met in this

abandoned garage to drink it. He started teasing

Alex and..." A squeak of a chair as he shifted his

weight. "Eventually he dared her to raise her shirt

and give him a look at her top.

"Alex told him no way, Jose. But she didn't mean

it. She was giggling, playing along, you know. And

damned if she didn't finally do it. I told him that in exchange

for seeing my little sister's tits--sorry,

breasts--he had to give me the extra beer. He said no

way in hell because all he had really seen was her

brassiere. But the next time--"

Hammond's left hand shot out and stopped the

recorder. "We all get the drift, Smilow. Dr. Ladd's

half-brother exploited her. It's disputable whether or

not she went along willingly. But in any case, it's ancient

history."

"Not that ancient."

"Twenty, twenty-five years! What in God's name

does this have to do with Lute Pettijohn?"

"We're coming to that," Steffi said. "It all ties in

together."

"The rest of you can sit in here and listen to this

tripe," Frank Perkins said, also coming to his feet.

"But I will not allow my client to be subjected to listening

to it."

"I'm afraid I can't allow Dr. Ladd to leave,"

Smilow said.

"Do you plan to formally charge her with a

crime?" Sarcastically Perkins added, "One allegedly

committed this decade?"

Smilow evaded giving him a direct answer. "If you

don't want to hear the remainder of the tape, I must

ask you to wait in the other room until Mr. Cross has

heard all of it."

"Fine."

"No." Alex spoke quietly but with resolve. All

eyes moved to her. "Bobby Trimble is trash. Over the

last twenty years, he's acquired some polish, but he's

still a lowlife. I want to hear everything he says. I

have a right to know what he's saying about me. As

horrible as it is for me even to hear his voice, I need

to listen to this, Frank."

Steffi said, "Do you deny anything he's said so

far?"

"You don't have to answer that, Alex."

Ignoring her solicitor's advice, she met Steffi's

eager eyes head-on. "It all happened a long time ago,

Ms. Mundell. I was a child."

"You were beyond the age of accountability."

"I made some bad choices when my only option

was to make worse ones. The memories are ugly.

Years ago, I expunged them from my mind and got

on with my life. I made a new life."

"Very good answer, Dr. Ladd," Steffi said. "But in

other words, no. You don't deny anything he's said so

far."

If Frank Perkins hadn't intervened at that moment

and warned Alex to say nothing more, Hammond

would have warned her himself. She heeded her

lawyer's advice. Looking thoroughly disgusted with