“Anything else?” he asked in a more civil tone.
“He got the cloves, too.”
“Cloves? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Remember the fleck of something removed from Pettijohn’s sleeve?”
“Vaguely.”
She explained that the speck had been identified as clove, and that Alex Ladd had clove-spiked oranges in a bowl in her entryway. “They scent the rooms like a natural potpourri. Plus, they found a wad of money in her home safe. Thousands of dollars.”
“Which is supposed to prove what?”
“I don’t know what it proves yet, Hammond. But you must admit it’s unorthodox and suspicious for someone to keep that much cash in a home safe.”
Throat tight, he asked, “What about the weapon?”
“Unfortunately, that didn’t turn up.”
His telephone beeped, and the receptionist informed him that Detective Smilow was on the line.
“He’s probably calling me,” Steffi said, reaching for the receiver. “I told him I would be in your office.”
She listened for a moment, consulted her wristwatch, then said cheerfully, “On our way.”
“On our way where?” Hammond asked when she hung up.
“I guess Dr. Ladd realizes she’s up you-know-what creek. She’s coming in for further questioning.”
Although his desk was covered with untouched paperwork, briefs, memos, and unanswered messages, he didn’t even think of sending Steffi on his behalf. He needed to be there to hear what Alex had to say, even if it was something he didn’t want to hear.
His living nightmare continued. The horror of it escalated. Smilow was irrepressible, although the man couldn’t be faulted for doing his job and doing it well. Alex… hell, he didn’t know what to think about Alex. She had admitted to deliberately compromising him by sleeping with him, but she refused to explain why. What other reason could there be except for a link with Pettijohn and/or his murder?
Dreading the unknown, Hammond moved as though slogging through quicksand as they left the building. The sun felt like a broiler. The air was heavy and still. Even the air-conditioning in Steffi’s car was insufficient. He was sweating as they climbed the steps to the entrance of police headquarters. Today, he rode the elevator with Steffi up to Smilow’s territory.
Steffi knocked once on his office door before barging in. “Did we miss anything?”
Smilow, who had started without them, continued speaking into the tape recorder’s microphone. “Assistant D.A.s Mundell and Cross have joined us.” He stated the time and date.
Alex turned toward Hammond where he was crowded in behind Steffi. When he had bent down from the side of the bed to kiss her goodbye early this morning, she had curved her hands around the back of his neck and lifted her mouth to his for a sustained, deep kiss. When it finally ended and he groaned his regret, she had smiled up at him from her pillow sleepily, sexily, her eyes slumberous and heavy-lidded.
Now he read in them an apprehension that matched his own.
Once the formalities were out of the way, Frank Perkins said, “Before you start, Smilow, my client would like to amend some of her previous statements.”
Steffi smirked. Smilow, showing no reaction, signaled for Alex to proceed.
Her steady voice filled the expectant silence. “I lied to you before about being in Mr. Pettijohn’s penthouse suite. I was there last Saturday afternoon. As I was waiting for him to answer his door, I saw the man from Macon going into his room, just as he told you.”
“Why did you lie about it?”
“To protect one of my patients.”
Steffi snorted with disbelief, but Smilow cut her off with a hard look.
“Please continue, Dr. Ladd.”
“I went to see Mr. Pettijohn on a patient’s behalf.”