“News travels fast.”
“So it’s true?”
“I just got the message a while ago.”
“Give me the condensed version.”
He explained about Daniels and the sketch. “A flyer with Endicott’s drawing and a written description was circulated around the area of the Charles Towne Plaza. Dr. Ladd was identified by a parking lot attendant.”
“I understand she’s a prominent psychologist.”
“That’s the rumor.”
“Ever heard of her?”
“No.”
“Me either. My wife probably has. She knows everybody. You figure Pettijohn was a patient of hers?”
“At this point, Monroe, you know as much as I do.”
“See what you can find out.”
“I’ll keep you informed as the case progresses.”
“No, I mean this afternoon. Now.”
“Now? Smilow doesn’t like our butting in,” Hammond argued. “He especially dislikes my butting in. Steffi’s already there. If I go, too, he’ll resent the hell out of it. It’ll look like we’re checking up on him.”
“If he gets his ire up, Steffi will smooth it over. I’ve got to have something to tell all the reporters calling my office.”
“It can’t go on record that Dr. Ladd is a suspect, Monroe. We don’t know that she is. She’s only being questioned, for chrissake.”
“She was worried enough to bring Frank Perkins along with her.”
“Frank’s her lawyer?” Hammond knew him well, and he respected him. It was always a challenge to argue a case against him in court. She couldn’t have a more capable attorney. “Any sensible person would have her lawyer along when invited to the police station for questioning.”
Mason wasn’t deterred. “Let me know what she’s about.” With a thundering goodbye, he left, taking any choice Hammond had with him.
Reaching the police station, he went up to the second floor and depressed the buzzer on the locked double doors leading into the Criminal Investigation Division. They were opened for him by a policewoman. Knowing why he was there, she said, “They’re in Smilow’s office.”
“Why not the interrogation room?”
“I think it was occupied. Besides, Solicitor Mundell wanted to watch through the glass.”
Hammond was almost glad Alex wasn’t being questioned in that windowless cubicle that stank of stale coffee and guilty sweat. He couldn’t imagine her in the same room where he’d watched pedophiles and rapists and thieves and pimps and murderers become completely dismantled under the pressure of tough interrogation.
He rounded the corner into the short hallway where the homicide detectives had their offices. He had hoped it would be over and Alex would be gone by the time he arrived. No such luck. Steffi and Smilow were peering through the mirrored glass, looking like vultures waiting for their victim to draw a final breath.
He heard Steffi say, “She’s lying.”
“Of course she’s lying,” Smilow said. “I just don’t know which part is a lie.”
They didn’t notice Hammond until he spoke. “What’s up?”
Turning around, Steffi looked thoroughly put out. “Well, it’s about time. Didn’t you get my messages?”
“I couldn’t get away. What makes you think she’s lying?” He nodded toward the small window, so far too gutless to look through it.