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Smilow summarized Ellen Rogers’s experience for Alex and her lawyer. “Fortunately for us, Ms. Rogers turned out to be no shrinking violet. She tracked the man down herself and reported him to the police.”
“I fail to see—”
“His name is Bobby Trimble.”
Hammond had been closely watching Alex’s face. As soon as Smilow began, she had realized what was coming. Her eyes closed briefly, and she took a deep, fortifying breath. But when he said Trimble’s name, she revealed no reaction at all.
Smilow said, “You’re acquainted with Mr. Trimble, aren’t you, Dr. Ladd?”
Frank Perkins said, “I would like a word with my client.”
“It’s all right, Frank,” she said softly. “Unfortunately, I can’t deny knowing Bobby Trimble.”
Before Perkins could say anything more, Smilow said, “The tape is self-explanatory, Frank.” He depressed the play button on the machine.
In Smilow’s voice, the people present during the interrogation were identified. The time, place, and date were noted, along with the conditions under which Trimble was giving the statement. He had confessed to seducing Miss Ellen Rogers for the purpose of robbing her, and, although he wasn’t guaranteed clemency, he was assured by Stefanie Mundell that the County Solicitor’s Office would deal favorably with anyone who voluntarily provided information pertinent to Lute Pettijohn’s murder case.
That said, Smilow asked his first question. “Bobby—may I call you Bobby?”
“I’m not ashamed of my name.”
“Bobby, do you know Dr. Ladd?”
“Alex is my half-sister. Same mother. Different fathers. Never knew either one of them, though.”
“Trimble was your mother’s name?”
“Right.”
“You and your half-sister were reared together, in the same home?”
“If you want to call it that. It was hardly a home. Our mother wasn’t a Martha Stewart, although she did a lot of entertaining.”
“What kind of entertaining?”
“Men, Detective Smilow. She had men in the house all the time. When she did, Alex and I were sent out. If it was hot outside, tough. Cold weather, tough. If we were hungry, too bad. Sometimes we could talk a hamburger out of the old black lady who worked at the Dairy Queen. She didn’t like me much, but she had a soft spot for Alex. But if her boss was around, forget it. We went hungry.”
“Is your mother still alive?”
“Who knows? Who cares? She left when I was about… hmm, fourteen. Making Alex twelve, I guess. She had fallen hard for a guy, and when he left for Reno, she followed him out there. I don’t know if she ever caught him or not. That’s the last we ever saw or heard of her.”
“Didn’t Child Protection Services see to your needs after that?”
“I’d just as soon be in jail as to have a bunch of busybody bureaucrats breathing down my neck. So I told Alex not to tell anybody that our mother had left. We faked it. We went to school, pretending everything was normal. And”—he chuckled—“everything was. I don’t think our mother ever darkened the door of the schoolhouse. As far as she was concerned, PTA stood for pussy, tits, and ass.”
“There’s no call for that,” Smilow said sharply.
“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Hammond assumed Bobby had apologized to Steffi. His apology sounded insincere. Alex must have thought so, too. She was staring at the recorder with repugnance.
Smilow asked, “Didn’t neighbors notice that your mother was no longer around?”
“Alex and I had been fending for ourselves for so long, it wasn’t unusual for them to see her toting clothes to the Laundromat or me asking for odd jobs.”
“You did odd jobs to support yourself and your sister?”
He cleared his throat. “For a while.” A pause. “Before I continue… just so we understand one another… I already paid my debt to society for what happened. This isn’t going to come back on me, is it? This all happened way back when. In Tennessee. This is South Carolina. I’m free and clear in this state.”
