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“I don’t need lessons from you on how to conduct an interrogation.”
“This isn’t an interrogation. It’s a character assassi
nation. For no good reason.”
“She’s a suspect, Hammond,” Steffi countered.
“Not in a sex scam, she’s not,” he fired back.
“What about the hair, Smilow?” Steffi asked.
“I was getting to that.” He and Hammond continued facing off like leashed pit bulls. Smilow was the first to collect himself. He smoothed back his hair and shot his cuffs. Returning to his desk, he switched the recorder back on. “Dr. Ladd, we found a hair in the hotel suite. I’ve just heard from the state lab in Columbia that it matches strands taken from your hairbrush.”
“So what, Detective?” She no longer appeared passive to what was going on. There were spots of color in her cheeks, and her green eyes were flashing angrily. “I’ve admitted to being in the suite, and I’ve explained why I didn’t tell you the truth before. I shed a hair, which is a natural biological occurrence. I’m sure mine wasn’t the only human hair you collected from that room.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“But I’m the only one you singled out to insult.”
Hammond wanted to shout, Bravo, Alex. She had every right to be indignant. Smilow’s question had been calculated to shake her, to throw her off, to break her concentration so he could trap her in a lie. It was an old trick used by pros, and it usually worked. Not this time. Smilow had failed to rattle her, and had only succeeded in making her mad as hell.
“Can you explain how a speck of clove got on Mr. Pettijohn’s sleeve?”
Her angry expression relaxed somewhat, then she actually laughed. “Mr. Smilow, clove can be found in most kitchens in the world. Why did you isolate my clove? I’m sure there’s a supply in the kitchen at the Charles Towne Plaza. Maybe Mr. Pettijohn picked it up from his home kitchen and brought it into the hotel room with him.”
Frank Perkins smiled, and Hammond knew what the defense attorney was thinking. On cross-examination, he would follow this same track until the jurors were also laughing at the prosecution’s allegation that the clove was Dr. Ladd’s clove.
“I think you’d better cut your losses here, Smilow,” Perkins said. “Against my advice, Dr. Ladd has cooperated fully. She’s been terribly inconvenienced and so have the patients whom she had to reschedule. Her house has been turned upside down, and she’s been unforgivably insulted. You owe her several apologies.”
If Smilow heard the solicitor, he gave no sign of it. His crystal stare didn’t waver from Alex’s face. “I’d like to know about the money we found in your safe.”
“What about it?”
“Where did you get it?”
“You don’t have to answer, Alex.”
She ignored her solicitor’s advice. “Check my tax returns, Mr. Smilow.”
“We have.”
She raised her eyebrows as though to say, So what’s your question?
“Wouldn’t it be more financially sound to keep your money in an interest-bearing bank account instead of a wall safe?”
“Her finances and how she manages them are totally irrelevant,” Perkins said.
“That remains to be seen.” Before the lawyer could further object, Smilow held up his index finger. “One more thing, Frank, and then I’ll be done.”
“This is getting you nowhere.”
“When did you have the break-in, Dr. Ladd?”
Hammond sure as hell didn’t see that question coming. Apparently neither did Alex. For once her reaction was visible and telling.
“At the kitchen door?”
Watching her closely, Smilow said, “Off the piazza, yes.”
