She chuckled. “I see now why Mr. Daniels didn’t want his wife around when he described our suspect. In spite of the pressure in his bowels, I think he was lusting in his heart. He remembered every minute detail, even down to the freckle beneath the chick’s right eye.”
“You’ve got to admit, it’s a memorable face.”
“Which doesn’t mean squat when you’re talking guilt or innocence. Pretty women can kill with just as much alacrity as ugly ones. Right, Hammond?” Steffi turned to him. “Jeez, what’s with you?”
He must have looked as nauseous as he felt. “Bad cup of coffee,” he said, crushing the empty Styrofoam cup he’d been holding clenched in his hand.
“Well, Smilow, go get her.” Steffi tapped the drawing with her fingernail. “We’ve got the face.”
“It would help if we knew her name.”
Dr. Alex Ladd.
Chapter 14
The temporary headquarters of the judicial building was located in North Charleston. It was an unattractive two-story structure situated in an industrial district. Its nearest neighbors were a convenience store and a day-old bakery shop. This out-of-the-way location was serving until an extensive renovation of the stately old building downtown was completed. It had been already in need of attention when Hurricane Hugo rendered the building unsafe and unusable, forcing the move.
It was only a ten-minute drive from downtown. Hammond wouldn’t remember making the drive that morning. He parked and went inside. He responded by rote to the guard who manned the metal detector at the entrance. Turning left, he went into the County Solicitor’s Office and passed the receptionist’s desk without slowing up. He brusquely asked her to hold all calls.
“You already have—”
“I’ll take care of everything later.”
He soundly closed his private office door behind him. Tossing his suit jacket and briefcase on top of the paperwork waiting for his attention on his desk, he threw himself into the high-backed leather chair and pressed the heels of his hands against his eye sockets.
It simply couldn’t be. This had to be a dream. Shortly, he would wake up startled and alarmed and breathing heavily, his sheets damp with sweat. After orienting himself to familiar surroundings, he would realize with relief that he had been in a deep sleep and that this nightmare wasn’t a reality.
But it was. He wasn’t dreaming it, he was living it. Impossible as it seemed, the sketch artist had drawn Dr. Alex Ladd, who had shared Hammond’s bed within hours after she was seen at the site of a murder.
Coincidence? Highly unlikely.
She must have some connection to Lute Pettijohn. Hammond wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that connection was. In fact, he was dead certain he didn’t want to know.
He dragged his hands down his face, then, propping his elbows on his desk, he stared into near space and tried to arrange his chaotic thoughts into some semblance of order.
First, without a doubt, Corporal Endicott had sketched the face of the woman he had slept with Saturday night. Even if he hadn’t seen her as recently as last night, he wasn’t likely to forget her face that soon. It had attracted him from the start. He had spent hours late Saturday night and early Sunday morning studying, admiring, caressing, and kissing it.
“Where did this come from?” He touched a spot beneath her right eye.
“My blemish?”
“It’s a beauty mark.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“When I was younger I hated it. Now I must admit I’ve grown rather fond of it.”
“I can see how that could happen. I could grow fond of it myself.” He kissed it once, then a second time, touching it lightly with the tip of his tongue.
“Hmm. It’s a shame.”
“What?”
“That I don’t have more spots.”
He had come to know her face intimately. The artist’s sketch was a two-dimensional, black and white drawing. Given those limitations, it couldn’t possibly capture the essence of the woman behind the face, but it had been such a close representation that there was no doubt Dr. Ladd had been seen near a murder victim’s room shortly before placing herself in the path of s