The Alibi

She peeled the tab off the top of the soft drink can. “Well, look at it this way. If these Macon people are that sick, you probably wouldn’t have got anything useful or reliable from them anyway. Afflicted with food poisoning, how observant could they have been yesterday afternoon? It won’t hurt to come back tomorrow and talk to them, but I think it’ll wind up being a dead end for you.”

“Maybe.” He sat down in a vacant chair, propped his elbows on his knees, and tapped his lips with steepled index fingers. Steffi sat down in the chair next to him. He waved off an offer to take a sip of her drink. “One of the rules of crime detection—somebody saw something.”

“You think people are withholding information?”

“No. They just don’t know that what they saw is important.”

Both were quiet for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally Steffi asked, “What do you think happened in that penthouse suite?”

“I try not to develop a theory. Not this early on, anyway. If I did, it could color the investigation. I’d be looking for clues to support my guess, and overlooking the clues that led to the actual solution.”

“I thought all cops relied on hunches.”

“Hunches, yeah. But hunches are based on clues. They get stronger or weaker as you go along, depending on the clues you gather, which either support your hunch or dispel it.” He leaned back and sighed deeply, uncharacteristically letting his fatigue show. “All I really have at this point is a man who many would enjoy seeing dead.”

“Including you.”

His eyes turned hard. “I’d be lying if I said no. I hated the bastard and made no secret of it. You, on the other hand—”

“Me?”

“Pettijohn wielded a lot of influence in local politics. The County Solicitor’s Office is no exception. With Mason about to retire—”

“That’s not public knowledge yet.”

“But it soon will be. With him declining to run for reelection and his second in command battling prostate cancer—”

“Wallis has been given about six weeks.”

“So, come November, the office is up for grabs. Pettijohn has been known to dangle carrots like that in front of the ambitious and corruptible. Think what a boon it would be for a swindler like him to have a sweet young thing like you serving as D.A.”

“I’m not sweet. As for young, forty is looming terribly close.”

“Strange that you should address that and not the ambitious and corruptible part.”

“I admit to the former and deny the latter. Besides, if Pettijohn were the red carpet ushering me into the solicitor’s office, why would I kill him?”

“Good question,” he said, studying her with one eye closed.

“You’re so full of shit, Smilow.” Shaking her head, she laughed. “I see what you’re getting at, though. Considering all of Pettijohn’s machinations, the list of suspects grows endless.”

“Which doesn’t make my job easy.”

“Maybe you’re trying too hard.” She sipped her drink thoughtfully. “What are the two most common motivations for murder?”

He knew the answer, and it pointed to one person. “Mrs. Pettijohn?”

“The shoe fits, doesn’t it?” Steffi held up her index finger. “She got fed up with her husband’s flagrant cheating. Even if she didn’t love him, his womanizing humiliated her.”

“Her daddy did the same thing to her mother.”

“Which could explain the second shot when the first probably killed him.” She raised her second finger. “Tubs of money come her way if Lute Pettijohn is dead. One of those motives would be sufficient. Combined…” She raised her shoulders as though the conclusion spoke for itself.

After considering it for a moment, he frowned. “It’s almost too obvious, isn’t it? Besides, she’s got an alibi.”

Steffi scoffed. “The loyal family servant? Yes, Miss Scarlett. No, Miss Scarlett. Why don’t you slap me again, Miss Scarlett?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t flatter you, Steffi.”