French Silk (60 page)

Not for a single second did he doubt Belle's threat of exposure and desertion if he messed up again. Nor did he question her ability to ruin him if she so desired. She had not only the impetus of a woman scorned to motivate her, she had the muscle and the money behind her to make good her threats.

She liked being a congressman's wife. It elevated her, gave her prestige. But, hell, with her fortune, she could buy herself a judge or a governor or even a senator if she wanted one. In other words, Alister Petrie could be replaced. What if Cassidy hadn't bought his story? What if he did question Belle?

That possibility made his knees weak and his bowels loose. He stumbled to his unmade bed and sat down on the edge of it, holding his throbbing head in his hands. Belle had him by the short and curlies, and she damn well knew it. The bitch.

What could he do about it?

For the time being, nothing except wait. He'd had several close calls. Belle was still on his side, but for how long? Only as long as her cushy position in the world wasn't threatened. God forbid it ever was.

All he could do now was hope to sweet Jesus that Claire Laurent's phony confession stuck.

* * *

Cassidy's stunning statement brought Crowder to his feet. "Have you lost your frigging mind? Pardon me, Ms. Laurent."

Claire didn't notice his crude language. She was in shock, coupled with profound relief. Her mother wasn't a suspect! But
Alister Petrie?

"I know it sounds crazy," Cassidy said, "but when I lay out all the facts, you'll begin to see, as I did, that Petrie is guilty of killing Jackson Wilde."

"You're just pissed off at him," Crowder said. "A word of advice, Cassidy—don't mess with him. He's poison."

"You're making my case for me, Tony."

"Petrie's got enough money supporting him to float a battleship."

Cassidy held up both hands. "His wife has the money. And Petrie was using it to pay off Wilde."

Crowder resettled his bulk in his chair. "Pay off Wilde? You mean Wilde was blackmailing him?"

"Look at this." Cassidy produced the list of Wilde's contributors. "Glenn gave this to me yesterday right before all hell broke loose. I forgot about it when Claire confessed and didn't have an opportunity to look at it until early this morning. But by then it only proved what I'd already figured out."

"It doesn't prove a damn thing," Crowder said, grouchily flicking his hand at the sheets of paper.

"Listen to me, Tony. Several people, and more than a handful of companies, were funneling 'offerings' into Wilde's ministry. Glenn has found several who'll testify that it was hush money."

"Joshua virtually admitted to me that his father took bribes in exchange for absolution," Claire told Crowder.

"He admitted it to me, too," Cassidy said. "This Block Bag and Box Company is a pissant business owned by Petrie's wife's family. Right after they married, he was made president of the corporation, but it's a figurehead position from which he draws a handsome monthly salary. It also gives him access to the company books and the authorization to sign checks."

Cassidy pointed to the printed material lying on Crowder's desk. "Why in hell would Block Bag and Box Company contribute over a hundred thousand dollars to a televangelist's ministry, Tony? It started with a check for five thousand dollars, dated almost a year ago. The amounts increased in increments."

"Somebody else would have reviewed the books."

"If anybody questioned him about it, Petrie probably passed off the contributions as needed tax deductions. Who's going to cross the owner's son-in-law?"

Crowder gnawed his lower lip. "What was Wilde blackmailing him for? They kissed each other's ass."

"Publicly. Because it behooved both of them. My guess is that Wilde knew about Petrie's affair with Yasmine and threatened to expose it."

Claire said, "Yasmine told me several times that Petrie secretly disliked Jackson Wilde. He only used him to win votes."

"Petrie had access to Yasmine's gun, Tony. He could have taken it, used it that night, and then replaced it during a rendezvous. I'm sure he'd be smart enough to wear gloves or wipe off the fingerprints."

"How'd he get into Wilde's suite?"

"Maybe Wilde was expecting Petrie to deliver another 'offering,'" Cassidy said caustically. "He would have had no qualms about admitting Petrie to his room late at night."

"Naked?" Claire asked.

"It was documented in the newspapers that they had exercised together at a local health club that afternoon. Wilde wouldn't have been self-conscious about his nudity." Cassidy turned to Crowder. "Yesterday, I moved to that window," he said, pointing. "I watched as Petrie left the building. His entourage hustled him into a van. It's white with blue interior. It's a Chrysler van, Tony."

Claire's mind was clicking along faster than Crowder's. "The carpet in that van would match my LeBaron's," she said excitedly.

"Most probably. Petrie had been in that van the night Wilde was killed. He tracked the fibers into Wilde's bedroom. If we get carpet fibers from that van, I'm betting they'll match those taken from the scene."

Crowder's wide fingertips were doing pushups against each other. "It's all interesting, but it's not enough. What else have you got?"

"Petrie's cunning. He'd be smart enough to place the wounds so it would look like a woman shot Wilde."

"It worked. It threw you off from day one."

"Yeah," Cassidy admitted grimly. "Petrie probably thought Ariel would become our chief suspect. He'd been around the Wildes enough to know that they didn't have a marriage made in heaven. He might even have known about her affair with Josh."

"Why'd he come to us yesterday?"

"He was covering his ass. Our investigation into Yasmine's involvement would have eventually exposed their affair, but it also could have implicated him in the murder. He confessed to one sin in order to throw up a smokescreen to hide the other."

"But he's got alibis at the Doubletree who will testify that he was there that night," Crowder reminded him.

"He was there. He checked in at the registration desk and made certain he was seen. But he spent a good deal of the night at the Fairmont."

Crowder stubbornly shook his head. "It's still guesswork and circumstantial, Cassidy. A defense attorney—and he can afford the best—will chase your ass out of the courtroom unless you can substantiate that Petrie was in the Fairmont Hotel that night."

"I can."

"You can?"

"I have an eyewitness."

Crowder's eyebrows sprang up. "Who?"

"Andre Philippi."

"Andre?" Claire gasped.

Cassidy nodded. "He tried to reach me several times last night, and when he couldn't, he relented and spoke with Glenn, who hasn't let him out of his sight since. As soon as I got the message this morning, I joined them. Claire will understand this. You will after you meet him, Tony. He has this
thing
about safeguarding the privacy of his guests. It's like a code of honor to him. He's passionate about it. He kept Claire's secret until we caught him at it, remember? Likewise, he was keeping Petrie's. Until this morning."

"Why's he blowing the whistle on Petrie now?"

"It seems that Andre's second passion was Yasmine."

"That's true," Claire said. She told them about Andre's mother and the parallels between the two women. "Andre grew up resenting the distance his father kept from his mother, even though he supported her financially. A few days before Yasmine's suicide, he called me, terribly worried about her. He's sure to have seen the correlation between her tragic ending and his mother's."

Cassidy elaborated. "He knows that Yasmine killed herself over Petrie. And since Petrie's letting her name be dragged through the muck and circulating vicious lies about her, Andre no longer feels obligated to protect him. He swears on his mother's grave that Petrie spent the night at the Fairmont with Yasmine. He arrived shortly after eleven and left around seven the following morning, before Ariel discovered Wilde's body and we sealed the doors. Andre himself called Yasmine a cab. She went to the airport in time to meet Claire at the designated time. I'll bet no one at the Doubletree can swear under oath that they saw Petrie between eleven P.M. and seven A.M."

"Why would a jury believe this Andre fellow?"

"They'll believe him," Cassidy said confidently. "Furthermore, they'd believe Belle."

"His wife?" Crowder exclaimed.

"Right. It wouldn't surprise me if she knew about the murder. She's covered Alister's tracks this far, but somehow I don't think she'd go out on a limb if it involved murder."

"I don't think so either," Claire said quietly. "I only met her a few times, years ago, but she impressed me as a woman who values her own skin."

Crowder tugged on his lower lip. "Petrie might toss it back and say it was Yasmine who killed Wilde. She had motivation, and the murder weapon belonged to her. He might even accuse Ms. Laurent."

"He might." Cassidy said, grinning craftily. "But he'd still have to answer to spending the night at the Fairmont Hotel with his mistress. Either way, he's screwed. At the very least, he's guilty of ducking out when he had information pertinent to the investigation of a murder."

Cassidy leaned over Crowder's desk. "I want the bastard, Tony. I want to launch a full-fledged but covert investigation. He's got to be puzzling over why Claire made a confession and probably reasons correctly that she's doing it to protect either Yasmine or Mary Catherine. In any event, he thinks he's gotten away with murder. He hasn't."

Tony Crowder held Cassidy's stare for several moments, glanced at Claire, then returned his gaze to his deputy prosecutor. "Proceed with caution and absolute secrecy, but nail the son of a bitch."

* * *

Ariel Wilde answered Cassidy's knock with the cordiality of a rattlesnake poised to strike. Whatever she'd been about to say died on her lips when she saw who accompanied him.

"I thought she'd be behind bars by now."

"I asked Mr. Cassidy to arrange this meeting," Claire said. "May we come in?"

Radiating a hostile aura, the widow stepped aside and admitted them into her hotel room. Without specifying why, Cassidy had called an hour earlier, telling her that he wanted to see her and Joshua alone.

Josh, who'd been sprawled on a sofa and looking very unhappy about being there, rose to his feet when they came in. His eyes bounced between them, curious and wary in equal proportions.

"I'm waiting." Ariel crossed her arms over her middle. "I'm very busy this afternoon."

"Organizing more demonstrations?" Cassidy asked pleasantly.

"They're working, aren't they? They got her to confess."

"I didn't kill your husband, Mrs. Wilde."

"What!" Ariel rounded on Cassidy. "You're sleeping with her, right? So you're not letting her confession stick. Wait'll the media gets hold of this. You won't—"

 
"Mrs. Wilde." Claire spoke softly, but with such authority that Ariel fell silent. "I confessed because I thought I was protecting my mother. I thought she had killed your husband."

"Why would you think that? Your mother's a loony tune."

Claire pulled herself up to her full height and struggled to keep a reign on her temper. "My mother has emotional problems, yes. Their origins date back to over thirty years ago, when she fell in love with a young street preacher named Jack Collins, who went by the nickname of Wild Jack. He seduced her, robbed her of money, and deserted her, leaving her pregnant with his baby. Wild Jack Collins was Jackson Wilde. And I was the baby."

Ariel barked a harsh laugh. "What the hell are you trying to pull? Do you—"

"Shut up, Ariel." The unexpected rebuke came from Josh, who was staring closely at Claire. "I knew there was something… When I met you, I… You're my half-sister."

"Yes. Hello again, Josh." Smiling, Claire extended her hand. He reached out and shook it, but his eyes never wavered from hers. "I hope you'll forgive me for testing your character by offering you a bribe. You didn't disappoint me by refusing."

"This is all very touching," Ariel sneered, "but I'll be damned before I believe this crap."

"This much is true," Josh said. "Before he married my mother, Daddy was known as Wild Jack Collins. I once overheard my grandfather referring to him by that name, and it made Daddy mad as hell."

Claire gave Josh's hand a light squeeze before releasing it and turning to Ariel again. "I have no intention of disclosing my relationship to Jackson Wilde. Frankly, I'm not at all proud of it, and it would focus attention on my mother, which I hope to avoid."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"To strongly suggest that you forget you ever heard of French Silk or anyone connected to it."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll reveal to the world the real Jackson Wilde. I'm sure you don't want your late husband exposed as a seducer of young girls, a fornicator, a thief, a liar, and a child deserter. It wouldn't be good for the ministry, would it?"

Ariel's wide blue eyes blinked rapidly. She was obviously afraid, but not yet ready to concede. "You can't prove it."