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