The Alibi Read Online Free PDF Page B

surrender.
    "Goodbye," was all she said before turning away
    from him and picking her way over the rough ground
    toward the designated parking area.
     
    Stefanie Mundell tossed Smilow the keys to her
    Acura. "You drive while I change." They had left the
    hotel by the East Bay Street entrance and were moving
    briskly down the sidewalk, which was congested
    not only with the usual Saturday night crowd, but
    with curiosity-seekers drawn to the new complex by
    the emergency vehicles parked along the street.
    They moved through the curious onlookers without
    drawing notice because neither's appearance denoted
    "public official." Smilow's suit was still
    unwrinkled, his French cuffs unsoiled. Despite the
    hullabaloo surrounding Pettijohn's murder, he hadn't
    broken a sweat.
    No one would suspect Steffi of being an assistant
    county solicitor, either. She was dressed in running
    shorts and sports bra, both still damp with perspiration
    that even the hotel's air-conditioning system
    couldn't dry. Her stiff nipples, along with her lean
    and muscled legs, attracted several male passersby,
    but she wasn't even aware of their appreciative
    glances as she motioned Smilow toward her car,
    which was illegally parked in a tow-away zone.
    He depressed the keyless entry button but didn't go around to open the passenger door for her. She would
    have rebuffed the gesture if he had. She climbed into
    the back seat. Smilow got behind the wheel. As he
    started the car and waited to pull into traffic, Steffi
    asked, "Was that the truth? What you told those cops
    as we came out?"
    "Which part?"
    "Ah, so some of it was bullshit?"
    "Not the part about us having no apparent motive,
    no weapon, and no suspect at this time." He had told
    them to keep their mouths shut when reporters started
    showing up asking questions. Already he had called a
    press conference for eleven o'clock. By scheduling it
    at that time, he ensured the local stations going live
    with it during their late newscasts and consequently
    maximizing his TV exposure.
    Impatient with the endless line of cars crawling
    down the thoroughfare, he poked Steffi's car into the
    narrow lane and earned a loud horn blast from an oncoming
    vehicle.
    Showing the same level of impatience that Smilow
    exhibited with his driving, Steffi whipped the sports
    bra over her head. "Okay, Smilow, no one can overhear
    you now. Talk. This is me."
    "So I see," he remarked, glancing at her in the
    rearview mirror.
    Unabashed, she wiped her underarms with a hand
    towel she took from her gym bag. "Two parents, nine
    children, one bathroom. In our house if you were
    timid or prissy, you stayed dirty and constipated."
    For someone who disclaimed her blue-collar
    roots, Steffi frequently referred to them, usually to
    justify her crass behavior.
    "Well, hurry and dress. We'll be there in a few minutes. Although you don't even need to be there. I
    can do this alone," Smilow said.
     
    "I want to be there."
     
    "All right, but I'd like not to get arrested on the
    way, so stay low where no one can see you like that."
     
    "Why, Rory, you're a prude," she said, playing the
    coquette.
     
    "And you're bloodthirsty. How'd you smell out a
    fresh kill so fast?"
     
    "I was running. When I passed the hotel and saw
    all the police cars, I stopped to ask one of the cops
    what was going on."
     
    "So much for orders not to talk."
     
    "I have my persuasive ways. Besides, he recognized
    me. When he told me, I couldn't believe my
    ears."
     
    "Same here."
     
    Steffi put on a conventional bra, then peeled off
    her shorts and reached into the bag for a pair of
    panties. "Stop changing the subject. What have you
    got?"
     
    "About the cleanest crime scene I've had in a long
    time. Maybe the cleanest I've ever seen."
     
    "Seriously?" she asked with apparent disappointment.
     
    "Whoever did him knew what he was doing."
     
    "Shot in the back while lying face down on the
    floor."
     
    "That's it."
     
    "Hmm."
     
    He glanced at her