The Alibi

Hammond ran his shirtsleeve across his sweating forehead, then rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

He heard the click when the button was depressed to stop the recorder. “Are you all right?”

Realizing that Smilow’s question was aimed at him, he opened his eyes. Everyone except Alex was looking at him. Her eyes were downcast, focused on her hands, which lay folded in her lap. “Sure. Why?”

“You’re awfully pale, Hammond. Why don’t you let us bring in an extra chair?”

“I’ll give you mine, Mr. Cross.” Alex stood up and took a step toward him.

“No,” he said brusquely. “I’m fine.”

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Thanks, Steffi. I’m okay.”

Alex was still standing, still looking at him, and he knew that she knew that he was far from okay. In fact, he’d never been more miserable in his entire life.

“How much more?” he asked.

“Not much,” Smilow replied. “Dr. Ladd?”

She resumed her seat and he restarted the recorder. The room was silent except for the soft whir of the machine and Bobby’s ingratiating voice as he described how they expanded to older, more affluent men, which he enticed from hotel lobbies and bars. Basically Bobby pimped for Alex. Business was good.

“Once I got them there with her, I’d relieve them of their wallets, which were fatter than the ones we’d taken off the neighborhood boys. Much fatter.”

“Sounds like you two made quite a team.”

“We did. The best.” Bobby’s voice turned nostalgic. “Then that one guy ruined it for us.”

“You tried to kill him, Bobby.”

“It was self-defense! That son of a bitch came after me with a knife.”

“You were stealing from him. He was protecting his property.”

“And I was protecting myself. It wasn’t my fault that the knife got turned around in the scuffle and wound up in his belly.”

“The judge thought it was your fault.”

“That bastard judge sent me to that hellhole.”

“You were lucky the man survived. If he had died, it could have gone a lot worse for you.”

Hammond had heard the rest of the story from Loretta. Trimble went to prison. Alex received a probated sentence which included mandatory counseling and foster care.

She was placed with the Ladds. The couple loved her. For the first time in her life she was treated well, shown affection, and taught by example how healthy relationships worked. She thrived under their care and positive influence. They officially adopted her, and she took their name. Whether the credit belonged to the late Dr. and Mrs. Ladd or to Alex herself, her life underwent a one-hundred-eighty-degree turnaround.

By Bobby Trimble’s own admission, he resented her good fortune.

“I went to prison, but Alex got off scot-free. It wasn’t fair. I wasn’t the one flashing those guys, you know.”

“Is that all she did? Flash them?”

“Now, what do you think?” Trimble scoffed. “At first, yeah. But later? Hell, she was whoring, plain and simple. She liked doing it. Some women are just made for it, and Alex is one of them. That’s why, even with this psychology thing she’s got going for her, she misses doing it.”

“What do you mean, Bobby?”

“Pettijohn. If she didn’t miss whoring, why did she take it up again with Pettijohn?”