He had never known a day of illness, and actually disdained poor health as a sign of weakness. He had given up cigarettes a decade ago, but smoked cigars. He drank no less than three tall bourbons a day. He considered it a sacrilege not to have wine with dinner. He always had a snifter of brandy before bedtime. Despite these vices, he thrived.
In his mid-sixties, he was more robust and in better shape than most men half his age. But it wasn’t his imposing physicality alone that created a powerful aura. It was also his dynamic personality. He took his good looks as his due. He intimidated men who were usually self-confident. Women adored him.
In both his professional and personal life he was rarely second-guessed and never contradicted. Three decades ago, he had combined several small medical insurance companies into a large one that, under his leadership, had grown huge, now boasting twenty-one branches statewide. Officially, he was semi-retired. Nevertheless, he was still CEO of the company, and it was more than a titular position. He monitored everything down to the price of bulk pencils. Nothing escaped him.
He served on numerous boards and committees. He and Mrs. Cross were on every invitation list that mattered. He knew everyone who was anyone in the southeastern United States. Preston Cross was well connected.
While Hammond wished to love, admire, and respect his father, he knew Preston had taken full advantage of his God-given qualities to do ungodly things.
Preston began his unannounced visit by saying, “I came as soon as I heard.”
The words ordinarily prefaced a condolence. Hammond was filled with cold dread. How could his father possibly have found out about his indiscretion with Alex Ladd this soon? “What’d you hear?”
“That you’ll be prosecuting Lute Pettijohn’s murder case.”
Hammond tried to hide his relief. “That’s right.”
“It would have been nice to hear that kind of good news directly from you, Hammond.”
“No slight intended, Dad. I only spoke with Mason last night.”
Ignoring Hammond’s explanation, his father continued. “Instead, I had to hear it from a friend who attended a prayer breakfast with Mason this morning. When he casually mentioned it to me later at the club, he naturally assumed that I already knew. I was embarrassed that I didn’t.”
“I went to my cabin on Saturday. I was told about Pettijohn as soon as I returned last evening. Since then, things have been happening so quickly I haven’t had a chance to absorb them all myself.” An understatement if ever there was one.
Preston brushed an invisible piece of lint off the knife-blade crease of his trousers. “I’m sure you appreciate what an incredible opportunity this is for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The trial will generate a lot of publicity.”
“I’m aware—”
“Which you should exploit, Hammond.” With the zeal of a fire-and-brimstone evangelist, Preston raised his hand and closed it into a tight fist as though grasping a handful of radio waves. “Use the media. Get your name out there on a routine basis. Let the voters know who you are. Self-promotion. That’s the key.”
“Winning a conviction is the key,” Hammond countered. “I hope my performance in court will speak for itself, and that I won’t need to rely on media hype.”
Preston Cross waved his hand in a gesture of impatient dismissal. “People don’t care how you handle the case, Hammond. Who really gives a damn whether the killer goes to prison for life, or gets the needle, or gets off scot-free?”
“I care,” he said heatedly. “And the citizenry should.”
“Maybe at one time closer attention was paid to how public officials performed. Now all folks care about is how good they perform on TV.” Preston lau
ghed. “If polled, I doubt most people would even have a basic understanding of what a district attorney does.”
“Yet those same people are outraged over the crime statistics.”
“That’s good. Appeal to that,” Preston exclaimed. “Talk a good talk and the public will be pacified.” He eased back in his chair. “Schmooze the reporters, Hammond, and get on their good side. Always give them a statement when they ask for one. Even if it’s bullshit, you’ll be amazed to see how a little goes a long way. They’ll start giving you free air time.” He paused to wink. “Get yourself elected first, then you can crusade to your heart’s content.”
“What if I can’t get elected?”
“What’s to stop you?”
“Speckle Island.”
Hammond had dropped a bombshell, but Preston didn’t even flinch. “What’s that?”
Hammond didn’t even try to hide his disgust. “You’re good, Dad. You’re very good. Deny it all you want, but I know you’re lying.”