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e looked so disheveled and unwashed, and the realization increased his queasiness. “Where are you living now, Loretta?”
“Don’t worry about me, hotshot. I can take care of myself.”
He allowed her a remnant of pride by not coming right out and asking if she was living on the streets or in a homeless shelter. “When I spoke to Bev, she told me this had become one of your favorite hangouts.”
“Bev’s an ICU nurse,” she boasted.
“That’s great. She’s done well.”
“In spite of me.”
There was no argument for that, so Hammond said nothing. Feeling self-conscious and awkward for her, he studied the handwritten OUT OF ORDER sign taped to the record selector on their table. The sign had been there a long time. Both the paper and the Scotch tape had yellowed with age. The jukebox in the distant corner stood dark and silent, as though it had succumbed to the pervasive despondency inside the Shady Rest.
“I’m proud of her,” Loretta said, still on the subject of her daughter.
“As you should be.”
“She can’t stand the sight of me, though.”
“I doubt that.”
“No, she hates me, and I can’t say that I blame her. I let her down, Hammond.” Her eyes were watery with remorse and hopelessness. “I let everybody down. You especially.”
“We finally got the guy, Loretta. Three months after—”
“After I fucked up.”
Again, the truth was unarguable. Loretta Boothe had served on the Charleston Police Department until her alcohol abuse got so bad she was fired. Her increasing dependency had been blamed on her husband’s death. He had died instantly and bloodily when his Harley crashed into a bridge abutment. His death had been ruled accidental, but in a boozy, confidential conversation with Hammond, Loretta had confessed her misgivings. Had her husband chosen suicide over living with her? The question haunted her.
About that same time, she became increasingly disenchanted with the CPD. Or possibly her disenchantment was a result of her deteriorating personal life. Either way, she created problems for herself at work and eventually found herself unemployed.
She got licensed as a private investigator and for a time worked regularly. Hammond had always liked her; when he joined the prestigious firm fresh out of law school, she was the first person to address him as “solicitor.” It was a small thing, but he had never forgotten her thoughtful boost to his self-confidence.
When he moved to the County Solicitor’s Office, he frequently retained her to investigate on its behalf even though they had investigators on staff. Even when her reliability became chancy, he continued to use her out of a sense of loyalty and pity. Then she had screwed up royally, and the fallout had been disastrous.
The accused in the case was an angry, incorrigible young man who had almost beaten his mother to death with a tire tool. He was a threat to society, and would continue to be until he was put in prison for a long time.
To win a conviction, Hammond desperately needed the eyewitness testimony of the accused’s second cousin, who was not only reluctant to testify against a family member, but was also scared of the guy and feared retaliation. Despite the subpoena, he hightailed it out of town. It was rumored he’d gone to hide with other relatives in Memphis. Because the staff investigators were already committed to other cases, Hammond brought Loretta in. He advanced her money to cover her expenses, and dispatched her to Memphis to track down the cousin.
Not only did his witness drop out of sight, so did Loretta.
He learned later that she had used the expense money to binge. The trial judge, who was unsympathetic with Hammond’s plight, refused his request for a postponement and ordered him to proceed with what he had, which was the testimony of the battered mother. Also fearing retribution from her violent son, she changed her story on the witness stand, testifying that she had suffered her injuries when she fell off the back porch.
The jury brought in an acquittal. Three months later, the same guy attacked his neighbor in a similar fashion. The victim didn’t die, but he sustained severe and irreparable brain damage. This time the criminal was convicted and sentenced to years behind bars. But Steffi Mundell had prosecuted that case.
All these months later, Hammond still hadn’t forgiven Loretta for betraying the trust he had placed in her, especially when no one else would hire her. She had abandoned him when he needed her most and had made him look like a fool in the courtroom. Worst of all, her dereliction had caused a man to suffer a brutal beating that had left him mentally and physically impaired for the rest of his life.
When sober, Loretta Boothe was the best at what she did. She had the instincts of a bloodhound and an uncanny ability to ferret out information. She seemed to possess a sixth sense about where to go and whom to question. Her own human frailties were so obvious, that people found her disarming and confidence-inspiring. They relaxed their guard and they talked candidly to her. She was also savvy enough to distinguish between what information was significant and what wasn’t.
Despite her talent, seeing her in the reduced state she was in tonight made Hammond question the advisability of retaining her again. Only a desperate person would seek help from a chronic drunk who had already proved her unreliability.
But then he thought about Alex Ladd, and realized that he was just that desperate.
“I have some work for you, Loretta.”
“What is this, April Fool’s Day?”
“No, but I’m probably a damn fool for entrusting you with anything.”
