The Alibi

would be crazy to give it to you now when the police are watching me so closely.”

Placing his hands on his lean hips, he leaned forward from the waist, bringing his face down to the level of hers. “I warned you to be careful. Didn’t I warn you?”

“Yes, you warned me.”

“So how’d they mark you?”

She wasn’t going to stand in the hallway of a family hotel with a nearly naked man and discuss her police interrogation. Besides, he didn’t really care how the police had linked her to Pettijohn. He cared about only one thing. “You’ll get your money,” she said. “I’ll contact you when I feel it’s safe for us to meet. Until then, stay away from me. If you don’t, you’ll only be shooting yourself in the foot.”

Apparently his high was wearing off, because his expression was no longer cool and congenial, but belligerent. “You must think I’m really dense. Do you honestly believe that you can get rid of me just because you want to, Alex?”

He snapped his fingers hard only inches from her nose. “Think again. Until I get my cut of that cash, I’m your shadow. You owe me this.”

“Bobby,” she said evenly, “if I repaid you what you were owed, I would have to kill you.”

“Threats, Alex?” he said silkily. “I don’t think so.” Then he surprised her by poking her hard in the chest with his index finger, causing her to fall back several steps. “You’re in no position to be threatening me. You’re the one with the most to lose. Remember that. Now, I’m going to say it for the last time. Get me that money.”

“Don’t you understand that I can’t? Not now.”

“Like hell. You’ve got an alphabet soup of letters strung out behind your name. You’ve got all the smarts you need to figure this one out.” His eyes narrowed into mean slits. “You get that money to me. That’s the only way I’ll disappear.”

Hatred burned red-hot inside her. “Do those girls realize that they’ll wake up tomorrow morning without their jewelry and money?”

“They’ll get what they want in return.” He winked. “And then some.”

Disgusted, Alex turned and headed for the elevator. “Stay away from me until I notify you.”

Softly he called after her, “Your shadow, Alex. Look around. I’ll be there.”

* * *

Hammond switched on the bedside lamp, bathing the pastel striped walls with a warm glow. Looking around, he had to hand it to Lute Pettijohn—he had hired a good decorator for his Charles Towne Plaza and hadn’t skimped on amenities. At least not in the penthouse suite.

The room was spacious and laid out to be user-friendly. Behind the doors of the French armoire was a twenty-seven-inch TV, larger than standard hotel/motel issue and equipped with a VCR. Inside the cabinet were also a CD player and a selection of disks, last week’s issue of TV Guide, and a remote control for the television. Nothing else.

He moved into the bathroom. The towels appeared not to have been touched since the housekeeper had placed them on the decorative bars. A small silver basket on the marble dressing table still contained bottles of shampoo and other grooming products, a miniature sewing kit, a shoeshine cloth, a shower cap.

He switched out the light and went back into the bedroom, his footsteps muted by the plush carpeting. The bedroom had its own minibar in addition to the one in the parlor. The contents had already been inventoried by the CSU. All the same, he gloved his hand with a handkerchief and opened the refrigerator. A quick inventory checked against the printed menu of stocked items revealed that none were missing. When he closed the door, the motor kicked on and it began to hum.

He welcomed the sound. The suite, its luxurious decor and abundant amenities notwithstanding, was now a crime scene. Its eerie silence pressed in on him from all sides.

He had left the Shady Rest Lounge with the intention of going home and putting an end to this terrible Monday. Instead, he had felt drawn here. He didn’t need to guess the reason for this compulsion. Loretta’s last comment had found a foothold in his mind and wouldn’t let go.

Had Alex Ladd been here last Saturday? Had she witnessed something that she was reluctant to reveal because it might put her life at risk? He would rather believe that than entertain the idea of her being the murderer, although neither was a cheery prospect. Subconsciously he had come here in the hope of finding something that had been previously overlooked, something that would exonerate Alex Ladd and possibly implicate someone else. Irrationally, he felt compelled to protect a woman who had proved to be an elaborate and unconscionable liar.

It hadn’t been easy to return to this suite of rooms where last Saturday he had met Lute and exchanged heated words. He hadn’t gone beyond the parlor, hadn’t really gone far beyond the threshold. He had said what he had come to say from just inside the door.

Lute had been sitting on the sofa, sipping his drink, a picture of complacency as he warned Hammond that if he was bent on building a grand jury investigation around him, he must be prepared to prosecute his own father as well.

“Of course,” Lute had added, smiling, “there is a way to avoid all this ugliness. If you agree to my way, everybody gets what he wants and goes home happy.”

His proposal amounted to Hammond selling his soul to the devil. He had turned down the offer. Needless to say, Pettijohn hadn’t taken kindly to his declination.

Disturbed by the memory, Hammond stepped to the closet, the only area of the bedroom he hadn’t inspected. Behind the tall, mirrored sliding doors was an empty safe and empty clothes hangers. Hanging with the belt still tied was a fluffy white terry-cloth robe. Matching slippers were still sealed inside their cellophane packaging. It seemed nothing had been disturbed.

He slid the doors closed, and that’s when he saw an image reflected in the mirror.

“Looking for something?”