The Alibi

“Blood type isn’t conclusive.”

“If it comes to proving malfeasance, we could get a DNA test.”

“If you’re right—and I’ll concede that it has weight—that explains his reaction to Bobby Trimble’s statement yesterday.”

“Hammond didn’t want to hear that Alex Ladd is a whore.”

“Was.”

“The tense is still up for debate. In any event, that’s why he balked at our using Trimble’s testimony.” When Smilow pulled another steep frown, Steffi said, “What?”

“I tend to agree with him on that. Hammond’s arguments make a certain amount of sense. Trimble is so offensive, he could create sympathy for Dr. Ladd. Here she is, a respected psychologist. There he is, a drug-using male prostitute who thinks he’s God’s special gift to women. He could hurt our case more than help it, especially if you wind up with a largely female jury. It would almost be better if he weren’t in the picture.”

“If Hammond has his way, there’ll be no case against Alex Ladd. At least it will never go to trial.”

“That decision isn’t entirely his. Does he plan—”

“What he plans is to pin Pettijohn’s murder on someone else.”

“What?”

“You haven’t been listening, Smilow. I’m telling you that he’ll go to any lengths to protect this woman. In one breath he declined to share the leads he’s following, and in the next breath he’s asking for my cooperation and help in building a case against someone else. Someone who had motive and opportunity. Someone he would love to see go down for it.” Steffi savored the moment before adding, “And guess who he has in mind.”

* * *

“Hammond, I’ve been trying to locate you all morning.”

“Hey, Mason.” He had got the message that Mason was looking for him, but had hoped to dodge him. He didn’t have time for a meeting, however brief. “I’ve been awfully busy this morning. In fact, I’m on my way out now.”

“Then I won’t detain you.”

“Thanks,” Hammond said, continuing on his way toward the exit. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Just be sure you’re free at five o’clock this afternoon.”

Hammond stopped, turned. “What happens then?”

“A press conference. All the local stations are broadcasting it live.”

“Today? Five o’clock?”

“City hall. I’ve decided to formally announce my retirement and endorse you as my successor. I see no reason to postpone it. Everybody knows already anyway. Come the November election, your name will be on the ballot.” He beamed a smile on his protégé and proudly rocked back on his heels.

Hammond felt like he had just been slam-dunked, head first. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he stammered.

“No need to say anything to me,” Mason boomed. “Save your remarks for this afternoon.”

“But—”

“I’ve notified your father. Both he and Amelia plan to be there.”

Christ. “You know, Mason, that I’m right in the middle of this Pettijohn thing.”

“What better time? When you’re already in the public eye. This is a great opportunity to make your name a Charleston household word.”

The statement harkened back to a recent conversation. Hammond closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “Dad put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Mason chuckled. “He bought a few rounds last night at our club. I don’t have to tell you how persuasive he can be.”