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.