She no longer felt sorry for herself. She was pissed.
Chapter 23
It was almost noon by the time Hammond reached the judicial building. On his way past the receptionist’s desk, he asked her to bring him a cup of coffee. He wasn’t happy to see Steffi lying in wait for him inside his office.
To his further annoyance, she took one look at him and said, “Rough night?”
He hadn’t returned home until nearly dawn. Once he fell asleep, he had slept hard for several hours. When he finally woke up, he cursed the time he read on his bedside clock. He didn’t need Steffi to point out how late a start he was getting on the day.
“What happened to your thumb?”
It had taken two Band-Aids to cover the gash. “I cut myself shaving.”
“Hairy thumbs?”
“What’s up, Steffi?”
“Smilow’s got some more evidence on its way up to SLED. He’s hoping for a hair match.”
He hid his inward knee-jerk reaction by calmly going about his business—setting his briefcase on his desk, shrugging off his suit jacket and hanging it up, flipping through a stack of mail and phone messages. Studying one, he asked absently, “Which case?”
Extremely perturbed, Steffi folded her arms across her waist. “The Lute Pettijohn murder case, Hammond.”
He sat down behind his desk and thanked the receptionist when she brought in a cup of coffee. “Want one, Steffi?”
“No, thanks.” None too gently she closed the door behind the departing receptionist. “Now that you’re settled and have your coffee, may we please discuss this latest development?”
“Smilow found a hair in Pettijohn’s hotel suite?”
“Correct.?
??
“And he’s having it matched to…?”
“To one he took from Alex Ladd’s hairbrush this morning during the search.”
That jolted him. “Search?”
“He obtained a warrant first thing this morning. They’ve already conducted the search.”
“I didn’t even know he was going for a warrant. Did you?”
“Not until a while ago.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I saw no reason to until we had something.”
“It’s my case, Steffi.”
“Well, you’re sure as hell not acting like it is,” she said, raising her voice.
“How am I acting?”
“You figure it out. For starters you might ask yourself why you’re dragging in here so late. Don’t get mad at me because you weren’t here when things started rolling.”
They glared at each other across his desk. He was angry over being excluded from the tight loop that she had formed with Smilow. They were practically joined at the hip over this case. But, as much as he hated to admit it, her arguments were valid. He was angry at himself and at the situation, and he was taking it out on her.