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“In a home with very traditional values.”
“And clearly defined roles,” she added. “He’s a native Charlestonian, southern to the marrow. He was weaned on mint juleps and chivalry.”
Mason contemplated that for a moment. “You’re afraid he might go soft if it came down to asking for the death penalty for a woman such as Dr. Ladd.”
“It’s only a guess.” She lowered her eyes as though relieved that a terrible task was now behind her.
Covertly she watched her boss tug thoughtfully on his lower lip. Several moments passed. Her theory, and the reluctant manner in which she had vocalized it, had been perfect. She failed to tell him that Hammond had gone to the crime scene last night. Mason might regard that as a favorable sign. Steffi wasn’t certain how she regarded it. Ordinarily Hammond let the detectives do their job without his interference, so this turnabout struck her as odd. It was something to think about, but later.
Right now, she was anxious to hear Mason’s response to what she had told him. Saying anything more would be overkill, so she sat quietly and gave him plenty of time to cogitate.
“I disagree.”
“What?” Her head came up with an almost audible snap. So confident had she been that she’d successfully made her point, his disagreement was totally unexpected.
“Everything you’ve said about Hammond’s upbringing is correct. The Crosses drilled manners into that boy. I’m sure those lessons included a code of behavior toward women—all women—that harkens back to the days of knights in armor. But his parents, Preston in particular, also instilled in him an unshakable sense of responsibility. I believe that would override the other.”
“Then how do you explain this ennui?”
Mason shrugged. “Other cases. A full court calendar. A toothache. Something in his private life. There could be any number of reasons for his distraction. But we’re only a few days distant from the murder. The investigation is still in the preliminary stage. Smilow admits that he doesn’t have enough evidence to make an arrest.” He smiled and his boom returned. “I’m confident that when Smilow does charge Dr. Ladd—or whomever—with this crime, Hammond will step to the plate, bat in hand, and if I know the boy, he’ll knock a home run.”
Although Steffi felt like gnashing her teeth, she expelled a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you see it that way. I was reluctant to bring this to your attention.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Clearly dismissing her, he stood up and retrieved his jacket from a coat tree.
Following him to the door of his office, Steffi pressed on. There was more he needed to hear. “I was afraid you would become dissatisfied with Hammond’s performance and assign the case to someone else. Then I would no longer be working on it, either, and I would hate that because I’m finding the case absolutely fascinating. I’m anxious for the police to give us a suspect. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into the trial preparation.”
Amused by her enthusiasm, Mason chuckled. “Then you’ll be happy to hear what Smilow’s been up to this morning.”
* * *
“My time is almost up—”
A groan of protest went up from the medical students who had filled the hall to standing-room-only capacity to hear Alex’s lecture.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “I appreciate your attention. Before we’re forced to dismiss, I want to comment on how vital it is that the patient suffering panic attacks not be dismissed as a hypochondriac. Sadly, that’s too often the case. Family members can—understandably—become intolerant of the patient’s chronic complaints.
“The symptoms are sometimes so bizarre, they seem ridiculous and are frequently believed to be imaginary. So, even as the patient is receiving treatment and learning ways in which to cope with acute anxiety disorder, his family should also be instructed on how to deal with this phenomenon.
“Now I really must let you go, or your other instructors will have my head. Thank you for your attention.”
They applauded enthusiastically before they began filing out. Several came up to speak with her, shake her hand, and tell her how interesting and informative her talk had been. One even presented her a copy of an article she had authored and asked her to autograph it.
Her host didn’t come forward until the last student departed. Dr. Douglas Mann was on the faculty at Medical University of South Carolina. He and Alex had met in med school and had been friends ever since. He was tall and lanky, as bald as a billiard ball, an excellent basketball player, and a confirmed bachelor for reasons he had never shared with Alex.
“Maybe I should charter a fan club,” he remarked as he joined her.
“I’m just relieved I held their attention.”
“Are you kidding? They were hanging on to every word. You’ve made me the hero of the hour,” he told her with a broad smile. “I love having famous friends.”
She laughed at what she considered to be a misplaced compliment. “They were easy. A good audience. Were we that bright when we were their age?”
“Who knew? We were stoned.”
“You were stoned.”
“Oh, yeah.” He shrugged bony shoulders. “That’s right, you were no fun. All work, no play.”
