The Alibi (50 page)

the whole proceeding, Perkins said, "Let's get this

over with."

Smilow restarted the tape. Hammond shifted his

weight from one leg to the other, ostensibly to work

some of the soreness out of his left leg. In reality he

was trying to keep himself from doing something

very stupid, like grabbing Alex by the hand and dragging

her out of there. Last night had proved she

needed protection. He would guard her himself. He

was almost ready to tell everything, get it out in the

open, damn the torpedoes.

Almost. In this instance the adverb was a monumental

qualifier.

The worst of the tale was yet to come, and it was

that which bore an unsettling similarity to the present.

According to Loretta's report, upon leaving

Florida with a theft rap and a loan shark hot on his

trail, Bobby Trimble had dropped from sight. That he

had resurfaced here in Charleston within days of a

murder in which his half-sister was implicated was a

damned uncomfortable coincidence.

It was certainly more than enough to increase

Steffi's and Smilow's suspicions. Even though Hammond

knew that it was virtually impossible for Alex

to have killed Pettijohn and still arrive at the fair

when she had, there were still inconsistencies, unanswered

questions, that plagued him. Especially in

light of her troublesome past.

Unarguably someone saw her as a threat that must

be silenced. But what threat did she pose? As a witness?

Or as a conspirator who had got cold feet?

Until he knew with certainty that Alex was entirely

guilty--or entirely innocent--of any wrongdoing, he

was trapped between prosecutor and protector.

On the tape, Smilow was asking Trimble about the

con game he had devised to bilk money out of his

friends.

"It worked like this. I'd target somebody and start

telling him about Alex, how she was maturing. I'd say

she was itching to try out the new equipment, that she

was in heat, things like that. I'd feed him little tidbits,

get him to thinking about her and speculating on the

possibilities. Sometimes it took a few days, other

times only a matter of hours before he'd get really

worked up.

"I had this knack, this sixth sense, about when the

time was right to close the deal. I'd name our price.

Know what? I never had one of those suckers try to

haggle down the fee," he said, laughing. "I'd set the

time and place. They'd pay me, then it was up to Alex

to do her thing."

"What thing?"

"Whatever she had to do to get them . . . you know,

vulnerable."

"Aroused?"

"That's a nice way of putting it. When they were

good and aroused, I would rush in and demand all

their money, or else."

"Or else what?"

"I gave them some legal-sounding bullshit about

molestation of a minor. If they balked or threatened

us with the law, I'd say that it was our word against

theirs, and who wouldn't believe a twelve-year-old

virgin? They kept quiet, all right. That's how we

stayed in business so long. None wanted to look like

a jackass in front of his friends, so none ever admitted

to being taken."

"Your half-sister willingly participated?"

"What do you think? That I forced her? A woman

loves showing off. Meaning no disrespect, Ms.

Mundell. But I'll bet Mr. Smilow here agrees with me,

even if he doesn't own up to it. All women are exhibitionists

at heart. They know what they've got. They

know men are panting after it. They love baiting us

with it."

"Thank you for that psychological insight."

Steffi Mundell's sarcasm wasn't lost on him. "I

didn't write the rules, Ms. Mundell. I'm only telling it

like it is, and you know it."

Smilow resumed the questioning. "You didn't run

out of suckers ? "

"We spread into other neighborhoods. Alex looked

so fresh and innocent that every mark thought he was

the first one. That's why I knew it would work with the

older men, too."

"Tell me about that."

"Alex was the perfect lure. She knew how to reel

them in, too. That's her specialty. She would act innocent

and nervous. As a rule, we men can't resist a

woman who's being coy. Alex can play hard to get

better than any woman I've ever met before or

since."

Hammond ran his shirtsleeve across his sweating

forehead, then rested his head against the wall and

closed his eyes.

He heard the click when the button was depressed

to stop the recorder. "Are you all right?"

Realizing that Smilow's question was aimed at

him, he opened his eyes. Everyone except Alex was

looking at him. Her eyes were downcast, focused on

her hands, which lay folded in her lap. "Sure. Why?"

"You're awfully pale, Hammond. Why don't you

let us bring in an extra chair?"

"I'll give you mine, Mr. Cross." Alex stood up and

took a step toward him.

"No," he said brusquely. "I'm fine."

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Thanks, Steffi. I'm okay."

Alex was still standing, still looking at him, and he

knew that she knew that he was far from okay. In fact,

he'd never been more miserable in his entire life.

"How much more?" he asked.

"Not much," Smilow replied. "Dr. Ladd?"

She resumed her seat and he restarted the recorder.

The room was silent except for the soft whir of the

machine and Bobby's ingratiating voice as he described

how they expanded to older, more affluent

men, which he enticed from hotel lobbies and bars.

Basically Bobby pimped for Alex. Business was

good.

"Once I got them there with her, I'd relieve them

of their wallets, which were fatter than the ones we'd

taken off the neighborhood boys. Much fatter."

"Sounds like you two made quite a team."

"We did. The best." Bobby's voice turned nostalgic.

"Then that one guy ruined it for us."

"You tried to kill him, Bobby."

"It was self-defense! That son of a bitch came

after me with a knife."

"You were stealing from him. He was protecting

his property."

"And I was protecting myself. It wasn't my fault

that the knife got turned around in the scuffle and

wound up in his belly."

"The judge thought it was your fault."

"That bastard judge sent me to that hellhole."

"You were lucky the man survived. If he had died,

it could have gone a lot worse for you."

Hammond had heard the rest of the story from

Loretta. Trimble went to prison. Alex received a pro

bated sentence which included mandatory counseling

and foster care.

She was placed with the Ladds. The couple loved

her. For the first time in her life she was treated well,

shown affection, and taught by example how healthy

relationships worked. She thrived under their care

and positive influence. They officially adopted her,

and she took their name. Whether the credit belonged

to the late Dr. and Mrs. Ladd or to Alex herself, her

life underwent a one-hundred-eighty-degree turnaround.

By Bobby Trimble's own admission, he resented

her good fortune.

"i went to prison, but Alex got off scot-free. It

wasn't fair. I wasn't the one flashing those guys, you

know."

"Is that all she did? Flash them?"

"Now, what do you think?" Trimble scoffed. "At

first, yeah. But later? Hell, she was whoring, plain

and simple. She liked doing it. Some women are just

made for it, and Alex is one of them. That's why, even

with this psychology thing she's got going for her, she

misses doing it."

"What do you mean, Bobby?"

"Pettijohn. If she didn't miss whoring, why did she

take it up again with Pettijohn ? "

Alex shot to her feet and cried, "He's lying!"

CHAPTER

29

Frank Perkins said, "I've never heard anything so

preposterous." The lawyer motioned for Alex to

stand. "Bobby Trimble is a lying, immoral thief who

shamelessly exploited his half-sister in her youth, and

is using her now to worm out of a rape charge. Make

that a bogus rape charge, devised by you to encourage

this fabrication. Such manipulation is beneath

even you, Smilow. I'm taking my client home."

Smilow said, "Please don't leave the building."

Perkins bristled. "Are you prepared to charge Dr.

Ladd now?"

Smilow looked inquiringly at Steffi and Hammond.

But when neither of them voiced an opinion,

he said, "There are a few matters left for us to discuss.

Please wait outside."

Hammond took the coward's way out and didn't

even glance at Alex before the solicitor escorted her

from the room. His expression would have underscored

the precariousness of her situation. The chips

were definitely stacking up against her. It didn't bode

well that she and Trimble were former partners in

crime, and they hadn't been petty crimes. Except for a medical miracle, the stabbing victim would have

died.

After years of separation, she and Trimble had reunited

mere weeks before Lute Pettijohn was killed.

Young Alex had been the lure that enabled Trimble to

fleece their victims. Alex had a home safe full of

cash. The implications were brutal.

Hammond's pain medication had worn off hours

ago. To keep a clearer head he had refrained from

taking more. His discomfort must have been obvious,

because as soon as Perkins showed Alex out, Steffi

turned to him. "You look like you're on the verge of

collapse. Are you in pain?"

"It's tolerable."

"I'll be happy to get you something."

"I'm fine."

He wasn't fine. He dreaded hearing Smilow's take

on Bobby Trimble's statement and what it meant to

their case against Alex, but he had no choice except

to give the homicide detective the floor and hear him

out as he summarized the information.

"Here's the way it went down. Last spring, Bobby

Trimble got in a barroom fight in some hick town. He

came out on top of the fracas. One of Pettijohn's talent

scouts, so to speak, witnessed the brawl and recommended

Trimble for the job on Speckle Island

where they needed a heavy."

"To put the squeeze on landowners who didn't

wish to sell."

"Right, Steffi. Pettijohn was trying to buy up the

entire island, but he met with a resistance he didn't

expect. The landowners had inherited the real estate

from slave ancestors who were deeded the property

by their previous owners. Generations have worked

that land. It's all they know. It's their legacy and heritage.

It's more important to them than money, which

is a concept that Lute couldn't grasp. Anyway, they

didn't want their island 'developed.'"

"Pettijohn might not have developed it," Steffi

surmised. "He probably wanted only to acquire it, let

it appreciate for a few years, then turn around and sell

it for a nifty profit." She turned to Hammond. "Do

you have anything to contribute?"

"You two are doing fine. I haven't heard anything

yet that I disagree with. A cockroach like Trimble

isn't above strong-arming hardworking people who

wish only to be left alone to live their lives. His tactics

were probably much worse than he made them

out to be."

"They were," Smilow said. "My investigator reported

cross burnings, beatings, and other Klan-type

activities. Trimble organized the thugs who did the

deeds."

"Jesus," Hammond said with disgust.

Was it even conceivable that his own father had

been involved in such atrocities? Preston had claimed

to be unaware of Pettijohn's terrorism. He had said

that when he learned of it, he had sold his partnership.

Hammond hoped to God that was true.

Referring back to Bobby Trimble, he sneered,

"And this is our reliable character witness?"

Ignoring that editorial comment, Steffi said,

"Trimble claims he realized the error of his ways and

refused to do any more of Pettijohn's dirty work.

More likely he simply got tired of it. That island

doesn't offer many amenities. It couldn't have been

nearly as exciting as his emcee job at the strip club."

"Lute was a stingy bastard," Smilow said. "He

wouldn't have paid Trimble that much. Not too many

places on Speckle for Bobby to wear his fancy

clothes, either."

Steffi referred to the handwritten notes she'd

taken. "And didn't he refer to the island people as

being stubborn? Maybe he wasn't very successful at

arm-twisting. Pettijohn might have become dissatisfied

with his performance and threatened to fire

him."

"In any case, Trimble was a disgruntled employee

whose boss was bending the law and who coincidentally

had a lot of money."

"In other words, extortion waiting to happen."

"Exactly. The blackmailing scheme made good

economic sense," Smilow observed with a wry smile.