French Silk (52 page)

"If Yasmine was a whore, what does that make you, you son of a bitch?" He increased the pressure against Petrie's windpipe and ground his knee into his vulnerable testicles. Petrie uttered a high-pitched squeal. Cassidy delighted in the terror he saw in his eyes.

But Cassidy's pleasure was short-lived. Crowder was almost thirty years older, but he was forty pounds heavier and as strong as a bull. His hands landed like sacks of wet concrete on Cassidy's shoulders, almost causing the leg supporting him to buckle. He pulled him off Petrie, who was clutching his throat and wheezing. He cowered from Cassidy and blubbered, "H-he's crazy."

"I apologize for my deputy's short temper," Crowder said.

He had one hand splayed against Cassidy's chest. Cassidy strained against it. Crowder shot him a warning look.

Petrie scooped up what was left of his dignity, straightened his suit jacket, smoothed a hand over his hair. "I intend to file assault charges. You'll be hearing from my attorney."

"No we won't," Crowder said curtly. "Not unless you want to expose the topic of our discussion here this morning. Right now, it's confidential. You litigate and it'll be a matter of public record."

Petrie was puffed up like an adder. Nevertheless, he took Crowder's subtle threat for what it was. Without another word, he stalked from the office.

For several moments after he left, neither of them moved. Finally, Cassidy reached up and angrily shoved Crowder's hand off his chest.

"I know what you're thinking," Crowder said.

"You couldn't begin to know." Cassidy's temper was momentarily corralled, but it was going to be a while before his anger subsided. He was still furious with the man he had respected and admired. Like a disillusioned child who spots weakness in a hero, he was as hurt as he was angry. "Why'd you do it, Tony?"

Crowder returned to his desk and sat down heavily. "I owed Petrie the favor. He endorsed me during the last election. He's a slimy, snot-nosed, cocky little bastard. But unfortunately he's got lots of political muscle and money behind him. He'll get reelected. I retire next year. I don't want Petrie's foot on my throat my last year in office. I want to go out peaceably, not embroiled in a political gumbo."

He looked up at Cassidy, silently asking for his understanding. Cassidy, saying nothing, moved to the windows. From there he could see Petrie on the street, surrounded by media, making a statement into microphones and cameras. He couldn't hear what the congressman was saying, but every lying, dulcet word was sure to be reported on News at Five. The sad thing was that he'd be believed by a gullible public that was always inclined to trust a handsome face and sincere smile.

"Maybe at one time, when I was young and full of piss and vinegar like you, I'd have nailed his balls to the floor," Crowder was saying. "I'd have told him that criminal investigations were exempt from the bargaining table. That deals couldn't be struck when they conflicted with due process. That mutual back-scratching ended at that door." He pointed to his office door.

"There's no doubt I would have told him all that and sent him packing this morning if I had a strong case to back up my position. But at the bottom line, he's right, Cassidy. If he's willing to come in here and acknowledge having a mistress, we've got to believe him when he says she was with him that night."

Cassidy was still staring out the window, watching the pantomime being acted out below. Wilde's followers cheered Petrie as he left the area. His entourage packed him into a van and whisked him away. Motorcycle police provided escort.

"Fuck it," Cassidy muttered, turning back into the room. "Sometimes I think I dreamed Wilde's corpse, those three bullet wounds, the blood. He was murdered, wasn't he?"

"He was."

"Then, goddammit, somebody killed him."

"But it wasn't Yasmine. I already sent a policewoman over to the Doubletree to check out Petrie's story. Before you got here, she called in. Petrie was registered there that night. So far she's talked to four people who remember seeing him there. The doorman, a bellman—"

"Okay, okay. What about Yasmine?"

"No one claims to have seen her. But if they were having a tryst, she would naturally keep a low profile. And if you enter the hotel by the side door, you can get to the elevators without having to go through the lobby."

Cassidy shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "So it's back to square one."

"Not really," Crowder said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"It's so damn simple, Cassidy. It has been from the beginning. As we speak, your killer is sitting in your office."

"Claire didn't do it."

Crowder stabbed the surface of his desk with his index finger. "She had the same motive as Yasmine, only stronger. She had opportunity because she can't account for all of her time that night. We've got her voice on tape asking her friend at the Fairmont to lie for her. The fibers found at the crime scene match the carpet in her car. She had access to Yasmine's gun and opportunity to replace it once she'd used it. My God, man, what more do you need?"

"She didn't do it," Cassidy said tightly.

"You're that sure of her innocence?"

"Yes."

"Sure enough to stake your career on it?"

Crowder's secretary stuck her head around the door. "I'm sorry, Mr. Crowder, but she insisted on—"

The secretary was pushed aside by Ariel Wilde. As she sailed in, her pale hair rippled over her shoulders. She was dressed in a white suit, reminiscent of the robe she wore on her television show.

"Well, Mrs. Wilde, how nice of you to stop by," Cassidy said caustically. "Have you met District Attorney Anthony Crowder? Mr. Crowder, Mrs. Ariel Wilde."

She turned her frigid blue glare on Cassidy. "God is going to rain judgment on you. You've made a mockery of my husband's murder."

Cassidy's eyebrows shot up. "Mockery? You want to talk mockery? What about the mockery you made of your marriage by having an affair with your stepson?"

"I no longer have a stepson. Influenced by you, he turned out to be a Judas. God will punish him, too."

"How does God punish liars, Mrs. Wilde? Because you lied to me, didn't you? The night your husband was killed, you left Josh's room for a trip to your hotel suite around midnight."

"Cassidy, what are you getting at?" Crowder asked.

"I found out a few days ago that Josh leased a Chrysler LeBaron convertible while he was in New Orleans. Coincidentally, it is similar to Claire Laurent's and has the same type of carpet."

"I came here to tell you—"

Cassidy didn't give Ariel an opportunity to speak. "You rode in Josh's rental car. You could have tracked the carpet fibers into your husband's bedroom when you went in there to shoot him."

"I could have tracked it in there anytime," she cried. "Rather than finding my husband's killer, you persist in torturing me and my unborn child."

As though on cue, two reporters and one video photographer rushed past the flustered secretary and through the open door. Ariel cupped her abdomen with her hands. "If I lose my child, the guilt will rest on your head, Mr. Cassidy. From what I read in the newspapers, it appears as though my husband's death is connected to that filthy catalog and the whore who posed in it!"

"Yasmine wasn't a whore."

That calm statement came from Claire, who unexpectedly appeared in the doorway.

Cassidy's temper snapped again. "I told you to stay put."

"Harlot!" Ariel shouted, pointing a finger at Claire.

"Everyone, vacate this office at once!" Crowder yelled. "Who let the media in here?" The video camera swung around to get a shot of the D.A.'s flushed, angry face.

Ariel bore down on Claire. Her eyes narrowed to malicious slits. "Finally we meet face to face."

"I avoided it as long as possible."

"'The wages of sin are death,'" Ariel hissed.

"Exactly," Claire replied. "That's why your husband had to die." She turned and looked directly into Cassidy's eyes. "That's why I had to kill him."

Chapter 28

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F
rom then on, everything happened so quickly that, later, Claire couldn't recall the exact sequence of events.

Ariel Wilde dropped to her knees, raised her clasped hands toward heaven, and began loudly thanking God for wielding his mighty sword of justice.

Crowder bellowed for the security guards to clear his office. The reporters thrust microphones toward Claire and began firing questions.

The video photographer planted his soiled sneakers in the seat of an expensively upholstered chair in order to get a better camera angle on the unfolding scene.

The secretary behind Claire shrieked, "Oh my God!" when she turned to see a throng of Wilde disciples swarming toward the office.

When Claire had time to reflect on those first tumultuous moments following her confession, the recollections were blurred images as though she had experienced them from behind a foggy window pane. One memory, however, stood out with painfully stark clarity—the way Cassidy looked at her.

A myriad of emotions flickered across his face. Disbelief. Remorse. Guilt. Befuddlement. Disillusionment. Pain. Yet, this kaleidoscope of reactions didn't effect his stare, which remained steadfastly on her, glinting and hard.

It was broken only when one of Ariel's followers jostled Claire from behind, and, in order to keep her balance, she had to grab the door jamb. Unchecked by security guards who hadn't yet arrived, the crowd pressed in from behind.

Ariel ended her prayer and sprang to her feet, pointing an accusing finger at Claire. "She murdered my husband, one of this century's outstanding spiritual leaders!"

The video cameraman had a hard time capturing it all on tape. The reporters continued to shout their questions into Claire's face. Those outside the office undulated toward the door like a tidal wave, gaining momentum, going over and around the desks of secretaries, fighting Crowder's staff and each other for better vantage points.

Claire's name rippled through the crowd as word of her confession spread. It was repeated with mounting hatred. Within moments, the crowd resembled a lynch mob.

"It was her all along!" she heard a man shout. "May her and French Silk be damned to eternal hell!" The animosity escalated. The shouts became louder, the epithets meaner. Crowder ordered the reporters to leave. He yanked the video photographer from his perch. That unbalanced the camera on the man's shoulder. It crashed to the floor, and he began angrily accusing Crowder of infringing on his first amendment rights.

Since the camera was no longer operative and therefore undamaging, Crowder ignored him and turned his attention to Ariel Wilde. "Get your flock out of here!"

"'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,'" she cried, her eyes fanatically bright.

Cassidy, apparently galvanized to action by the increasing size of the crowd and their growing hostility, rushed toward Claire and wrapped his hand around her forearm. "If this keeps up they'll tear her to pieces." He had to shout to Crowder to make himself heard. "I'm getting her out of here."

"Where are you taking her? Cassidy!"

That was the last Claire saw or heard of Crowder, because Cassidy threw his arm across her shoulders, turned her around, and began battling a path through the wall of malcontents.

"Clear this area! Get these people out of here!"

The secretaries and clerks responded to the authoritative ring in Cassidy's voice and began making ineffectual attempts to disperse the crowd by nicely asking them to leave. The crowd wasn't listening. Uniformed security guards finally converged on the scene and joined the melee, barking orders and issuing threats of imminent arrest that went unheeded.

It became obvious to Claire that Cassidy was trying to get her to the stairwell. But when they reached the marked exit, a burly Bible-thumper wearing a T-shirt that read GOD IS LOVE blocked the door and sneered at Claire. "You'll burn in hell for what you did, sister."

"Get out of our way or you'll see hell a lot quicker than she does," Cassidy threatened.

The man snarled, reached out and grabbed a handful of Claire's hair, and pulled hard. Several strands were ripped from her scalp. Claire cried out in pain and instinctively raised her hands to protect her head.

Cassidy acted on instinct too. He rammed his fist into the man's gut, then, when he doubled over, caught him beneath the chin with a blow that sent his head crashing back into the wall.

The people nearest them began to scream. In a matter of seconds full-fledged panic broke out. Cassidy yanked open the door and gave the center of Claire's back a hard shove that sent her stumbling onto the landing.

He grabbed a security guard by the back of his collar and used him as a shield to block the exit. "Give me time to get her away from the building. Don't let anyone through this door," he shouted as he pulled the door closed. The guard still unclear as to what was going on, nodded dumbly.

Cassidy gripped her hand and began running down the stairs. "Are you all right?"

Claire discovered that she was too frightened to speak. Like the bewildered guard, she nodded, but in his haste Cassidy didn't even look back.