is catching? I thought you'd be treating your
detectives to cigars."
"Hammond's points have merit," he said thoughtfully.
"First, he's got to convince the grand jury that
Alex Ladd is indictable. If they do hand down an indictment,
he's got to prove to a jury that she's guilty
beyond a reasonable doubt. Our evidence is circumstantial,
Steffi. Trimble's testimony is tainted by
Trimble himself. Not much for a prosecutor to work
with."
"More evidence will turn up before the trial begins."
"If there is more."
"There's bound to be more."
"Not if she didn't do it." Her eyes sharpened on
him, but he pretended not to notice and turned away.
"I've got a slew of work waiting on me."
Crestfallen by his remarks, she dawdled in the
hallway until Hammond emerged from the men's
room. They got into the elevator together. "There's
press outside."
"I heard."
"Are you up for it?" she asked, giving the shoulder
of his injured arm a concerned pat.
On the ground floor, they could see through the
glass doors the throng of reporters lying in wait on the
front steps. "Doesn't matter whether I am or not. I've
got to do it."
Afterward, Steffi had to admit that he did it well.
Although he downplayed his injuries, they made him
seem dashing and courageous, a wounded soldier
gearing up for battle.
They said little on the drive back to the judicial
building in North Charleston. As soon as they went
inside, Hammond excused himself and closed his private
office door behind him. Steffi, lost in thought,
literally bumped into Monroe Mason as he came
bustling around a blind corner. He had a tuxedo
draped over his arm.
"The boss is clearing out early," she teased.
Mason frowned. "My wife has committed us to
one of those boring charity functions tonight. A banquet
where everyone in attendance receives a reward.
But who needs me around here, anyway? You're all doing a fine job without any help from me. Dr.
Ladd's stepbrother provided Hammond with the
missing link, huh? Now he's got her motivation.
Sounds solid."
"Trimble's statement made all the difference."
"I'd put my money on our team."
"Thank you."
"Now, enough rhetoric," he said, smiling good-naturedly.
"What's your gut feeling, Steffi? What kind
of case have you got?"
Recalling Smilow's concerns, she said, "We'd like
more hard evidence."
"Name a prosecutor who wouldn't. Rarely do we
catch the accused holding a smoking gun. Sometimes
--more often than not--we have to make something
of little or nothing at all. Hammond will get his
indictment, and when the case gets to trial, he'll bring
in a guilty verdict. I have no misgivings about his
abilities."
Although it pained the muscles of her face to do
so, Steffi smiled. "Nor do I. If he doesn't fall head
over heels."
Mason was looking at this wristwatch, saying, "I
must be on my way. I'm meeting my trainer for a
quick workout and massage before I climb into this
monkey suit. Cocktails are at five. Mrs. Mason made
me swear I wouldn't be late."
"Have a good time."
He frowned. "That's a jibe, right?"
"Yes, sir, that's a jibe." Laughing, she wished him
a pleasant evening.
He had almost reached the end of the hall when he
stopped and turned back. "Steffi?"
Her back was to him, so he didn't see the triumphant
smile that spread across her face. She collapsed
it before turning around. "Yes?"
"What were you implying with that remark?"
"Remark?"
"About Hammond falling head over heels."
"Oh." She laughed. "I was joking. It's nothing."
He retraced his steps back to her. "That's the second
time you've alluded to Hammond being infatuated with Dr. Ladd. I don't consider that nothing. I
certainly don't think it's a joking matter."
Steffi gnawed the inside of her cheek. "If I didn't
know him better..." she said, faltering. Then she
shook her head firmly. "But I do. We all do. Hammond
would never lose his objectivity."
"Not a chance."
"Of course not."
"Well then ... good night."
The county solicitor turned and made his way
back down the hallway. Once he was out of sight,
Steffi practically skipped into her office. She had
planted the seed earlier in the week. Today she had
nourished it. "Let's see how fertile his mind is," she
said to herself as she sat down behind her desk and rifled
through the stack of phone messages. The one
she hoped for wasn't among them. Irritably, she
placed a call.
"Lab. Anderson speaking."
"This is Steffi Mundell."
"Yeah?"
Jim Anderson worked in the hospital lab and had a
chip on his shoulder the size of Everest. Steffi knew
this because she had had run-ins with him and his attitude
before. She demanded accuracy combined with
speed, which he seemed incapable of delivering.
"Have you run that test yet?"
"I told you I would call you as soon as I got to it."
"You haven't done it yet?"
"Have I called?"
He didn't even have the courtesy to apologize or
offer an explanation. She said, "I need the result of
that test for a very important case. It's critical. Perhaps
I didn't make that clear to you this morning."
"You made it clear, all right. Just like I made it
clear that I work for the hospital, not the police department,
and not the D.A.'s office. I have other work
piled up ahead of you that's just as important."
"Nothing is as urgent as this."
"Get in line, Ms. Mundell. That's how it works."
"Look, I don't need DNA testing. Or HIV. Nothing
fancy for now. Just a blood typing."
"I understand."
"All I need to know is if the blood on that wash
cloth matches the blood on the sheet Smilow took to
you a few days ago."
"I got it the first time you told me."
"Well, how hard can it be?" she said, raising her
voice. "Don't you just have to look through a microscope
or something?"
"You'll get it when I get to it."
Anderson hung up on her. "Son of a bitch," she
hissed as she slammed down her own telephone receiver.
Nothing aggravated her more than incompetence,
unless it was incompetence combined with
unwarranted arrogance.
Dammit, she needed that blood test! She was nursing
a strong hunch, and her hunches were rarely
wrong. Ever since this morning when the idea first
took hold, it had consumed her thoughts until she was
now obsessed by it.
As impossible as it seemed, it made a weird kind
of sense to her that there was something going on between
Alex Ladd and Hammond, and that this "something"
was sexual. Or at least romantic.
She hadn't dared to discuss her suspicion with
Smilow. Probably he would dismiss it as absurd, in
which case she would look like a fool at best, and a
jealous ex-lover at worst.
He would share her theory with his team of detectives,
who would make her a laughingstock. Detective
Mike Collins, and others who had a hard time
accepting women in authority, never would take her
seriously again. Everything she said or did would be
undermined by their ridicule. That would be intoler
able. Her reputation as a tough, savvy prosecutor had
been too hard-won to jeopardize it by something so
laughably feminine as envisioning romance where
none existed.
But it would be almost as bad if Smilow did give
her hunch credence. He would take it and run with it.
Unlike her, he had the resources and the muscle to do
some serious sleuthing. He would tell assholes like
Jim Anderson to hop, and the hospital lab tech would
ask how high. Smilow would have the result of that
blood test in no time flat. If the samples matched,
Smilow would be credited with making the connection
between Hammond and their suspect.
If she was right, she didn't want to share the credit
with Smilow or anyone else. She wanted it all to herself.
If Hammond were to be disgraced--dare she
even wish for disbarment?--for impeding a murder
investigation, she wanted to be the one to expose
him. Singlehandedly. No more playing second fiddle,
no more group projects for Steffi Mundell, thank you
very much.
It would be delicious fun to watch Hammond topple
from his pedestal. It would be gratifying to be the
one to topple him.
His behavior today as he listened to Trimble's
recording had strengthened her suspicion. He had reacted
like a jealous lover. It was clear that he saw
Alex Ladd as a victim of her half-brother's exploitation.
Whenever possible, he had rushed to her defense, finding angles that suggested innocence. Not a
good mind frame for a prosecutor to be in when trying
to convince others of the accused's guilt.
Maybe he felt nothing more than pity for a girl's
lost innocence. Or sympathy for the professional
about to be stripped of all credibility and respect. But
whatever it was, there was something there. Definitely.
"I know it," Steffi whispered fiercely.
She had been gifted with a keen perception. She
could sniff out lies and spot motivations that hadn't
occurred to anyone else in the solicitor's office.
Those skills had served her well today. Her instincts
had come alive and buzzed noisily whenever Hammond
and Alex Ladd were near one another.
But her surety went beyond her instincts as a prosecutor.
She also sensed it with a woman's intuition.
As she watched them watch each other, the signs had
become glaringly obvious. They avoided making direct
eye contact, but whenever they did, there was an
almost audible click.
Alex Ladd had looked shattered when Trimble related
the more prurient details of her past. Most of her
verbal denials had been directed toward Hammond.
While he, known for his amazing ability to focus and
concentrate on the business at hand, had been unable
to keep still. He fidgeted. His hands moved restlessly.
He had acted like he had an itch he couldn't scratch.
Steffi recognized the signs. He had behaved like
that when their affair first began. Sleeping with a colleague
had made him uneasy. He had worried about
the impropriety of it. She had teased him, telling him
that if he didn't relax when they were together in public,
his jitters were going to give them away.
But I'm not jealous, Steffi told herself now. I'm
not jealous of him, and I'm certainly not jealous of
her. I'm not.
On the surface, she might look like the classic
woman scorned. But it wasn't jealousy that compelled
her to get to the bottom of this. It was bigger
than jealousy. Grander. Her future hinged on it.
She would keep digging until she had an answer,
even if her hunch proved to be wrong. One day, while
Dr. Ladd was languishing in prison, she might tell
Hammond about this crazy notion she had once entertained.
They would have a good laugh over it.
Or she might discover a scandalous secret that
would damage Hammond Cross's reputation beyond
repair and destroy any chance of his becoming
county solicitor.
And if that happened, guess who was groomed
and ready to seize the office?
The top-ranking homicide detective in the CPD
was ready to submit that Alex Ladd had killed Lute
Pettijohn. It was Hammond's job to argue and prove
the state's case in a court of law. But the state's case
was against the woman with whom he had fallen in
love. Moreover, he was a material witness in that
case. Those were two powerfully motivating reasons
for him to want to disprove the state's allegation.
But there was another reason even more powerful, compelling, and urgent. Alex's life was at risk. The
media had picked up the story of her house being
searched yesterday. There had been an attempt on her
life last night. That couldn't have been a coincidence.
The guy in the alley had probably been hired to silence
Alex. Since that attempt had failed, there was
sure to be another.
Smilow and company had focused all their attention
on Alex, leaving it up to him to find another viable
suspect or suspects.
To that end, he sealed himself inside his office
with the case file Smilow had given him. Mentally he
disconnected himself from the case. Discounting his
personal investment in it, he focused only on the legal
aspects and approached it exclusively from that
standpoint.
Who would want Lute Pettijohn dead?
Business rivals? Certainly. But according to
Smilow's files, all those questioned had concrete alibis.
Even his own father. Hammond had personally
verified Preston's alibi.
Davee? Most certainly. But he believed that if she
had killed him, she would have made no secret of it.