Eventually Mason addressed Steffi. “You’re usually so outspoken. What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? What did I interrupt?”
She glanced at Hammond and Smilow before going back to Mason. “The search of Dr. Ladd’s house yielded some items of interest. Hammond and I were evaluating their relevance to the case. It’s Smilow’s opinion, and I tend to agree, that they constitute valid evidence against her.”
He turned to Hammond. “You obviously don’t share their opinion.”
“In my opinion we’ve got zilch. They’re getting off on it, but then they don’t have to present the case to the grand jury.”
Steffi realized that the next few moments could be key to her future. Hammond was Monroe Mason’s protégé. As recently as this morning, when she had aired her concerns over Hammond’s seeming indifference toward the case, Mason had jumped to his defense. Contradicting his anointed successor might not be the wisest thing to do.
On the other hand, she couldn’t let a perfect suspect get away just because Hammond had turned squeamish. If she played this right, Mason might see a weakness in his heir apparent that he hadn’t before seen. He might spot a character flaw that would hinder a hard-hitting prosecutor’s effectiveness.
“I think what we’ve got on Dr. Ladd is compelling enough to make an arrest,” she declared. “I don’t understand what we’re waiting for.”
“Evidence,” Hammond said crisply. “How’s that for a concept?”
“We’ve got evidence.”
“Flimsy, circumstantial evidence, to say the least. The worst defense lawyer in the state of South Carolina could easily maneuver around everything we’ve compiled. Far from being the worst, Frank Perkins is one of the best. I doubt the grand jury would even indict her if all I went in with was a strand of hair and a condiment.”
“Condiment?” Mason asked.
“Clove is a spice,” Steffi countered irritably.
“Whatever,” Hammond shouted.
“He’s right.” Smilow’s soft-spoken interjection silenced them instantly. Steffi couldn’t believe that Smilow had agreed with Hammond, and Hammond appeared as astonished as she.
Mason was interested in what Smilow had to say. “You agree with Hammond?”
“Not entirely. I think Dr. Ladd is involved. In what way and to what extent, I don’t know yet. She was there with Pettijohn on Saturday. My hunch is that she was there for no good purpose. Otherwise, why has she been heaping lie upon lie to cover this up? However, from a legal standpoint, Hammond is right. We’ve got no weapon. And no—”
“Motive,” Hammond supplied.
“Exactly.” Smilow smiled sourly. “If she wasn’t intimate with Pettijohn, it really doesn’t matter if she sleeps with every other man in Charleston. What do we care if someone did break into her house for no apparent reason? It’s odd, but not illegal to hoard thousands of dollars in a home safe when there are several banks within walking distance of her home.
“From what I’ve discerned of her character, I believe she would let herself be sentenced to death row before betraying a patient’s confidence, even if that patient were her only defense. Not that I believe that story about delivering a message for a patient. Which I don’t. No more than I believe that nonsense about going to the fair and all the rest.
“But,” he said emphatically, “the bottom line is that I’ve established no motive for her to kill Lute Pettijohn. I haven’t even made a connection between them in either their personal lives or professional ones. If he was a patient, he never wrote a check to her. If she invested in one of his development deals, there are no records of it. I can’t even place them at a dinner party together.
“I’ve got a guy digging around in Tennessee where she comes from, but so far he hasn’t turned up much except her school records. If Pettijohn was ever in the state of Tennessee, he left no trace of himself there.”
“So,” Mason said, “either she’s telling the truth or she’s covered her tracks well.”
“I tend to think the latter,” the detective said. “She’s hiding something. I just don’t know what it is.”
Steffi said, “But if you did—”
“He doesn’t.”
“If you did have a motive—”
“But he doesn’t.”
“Shut up, Hammond, and let me talk,” she snapped. “Please.” He waved his hand, giving her the floor. She addressed Smilow. “If you could make a connection, find a motive, could you move forward with the evidence we’ve got?”
Smilow looked across at Hammond. “That’s up to him.”
Hammond looked hard at Smilow, then glanced at her. He then looked at Mason, who seemed anxious to hear his answer. Finally he said, “Yeah. I could go with what we’ve got. But it would have to be damn strong motivation.”