French Silk(124)

"No."

"Did she borrow your car?"

"No. I didn't see her until the next morning."

"Did you know that she carried a gun?"

She wavered. He could tell she was toying with the idea of lying and was relieved when she answered, "Yes. I knew she owned a gun. She has since I've known her. I urged her several times to get rid of it."

"Why didn't you tell me about it before?"

"Because … Yasmine said she had mislaid it."

"You mean lost it?"

"For a while, yes. Later it turned up."

"You mean it was lost and then suddenly reappeared?"

Claire nodded. "She had to pack it in luggage whenever she flew so it wouldn't get confiscated by airport security. She said she had apparently overlooked it in a bag."

"And you still didn't tell me?"

"Things get lost all the time," she said with irritation.

"We're talking about a lethal weapon, Claire. Again, why didn't you mention Yasmine's gun to me?"

"Because I didn't think it was important."

"That's a damn lie."

"All right!" she cried. "I was afraid you'd link that damn gun to Jackson Wilde's murder."

"It is linked to it."

"Yasmine didn't use that gun to kill Jackson Wilde."

"Somebody did."

"Not Yasmine."

"Who else had access to it?"

"No one that I know of."

"You did."

"I've never fired a gun. I wouldn't know how. I've told you that a dozen times."

"Which could be another dozen lies. "

"I'm not lying."

"How did Yasmine say her gun got lost?"

"She didn't know."

"Where'd she lose it?"

"In her luggage I guess. I don't know."

"How long was it missing?"

"A couple or three weeks. I'm not sure."

"How'd she get it back?"

"She said it just reappeared in her handbag."

"Claire—"

"I don't know!"

"Cassidy?" A man knocked once abruptly before opening the door. Sensing the tension, he glanced uneasily at Claire, then back at Cassidy. "Crowder wants to see you."

"I'll check with him later."

Despite Cassidy's irritation, the young intern held his ground. "Excuse me, sir, but Mr. Crowder said now. Said it'd be my ass if I didn't bring you back. He's got somebody with him, and it's mandatory that you be there too."





* * *



Chapter 27

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Cassidy, muttering curses, reached for his coat. As he was pulling it on, he said, "If Yasmine was in Wilde's room that night, she tracked in the carpet fibers from your car."

"For the hundredth time, I didn't see Yasmine that night. I was using my car." Claire kept her head down, her eyes averted, but her voice was steely. "I didn't see Yasmine until the following morning when I picked her up at the airport. If she was in New Orleans, she kept it a secret from me. In any event, she didn't have access to my car."

"I'll make this meeting with Crowder as brief as possible. Don't leave this room." He went out and pulled the door closed behind him.

On his way to the elevator, he met Howard Glenn. "Hey, Cassidy, I was on my way to see you."

"Anything?"

"Some pretty interesting stuff is coming out of those lists of Wilde's contributors."

"Thanks." Cassidy took the sheets of paper Glenn extended him, folded them twice, and slipped them into his breast pocket. "I'll get to it as soon as I can. Right now I'm due in Crowder's office. In the meantime, stay with it."

He stepped into the elevator. When he emerged, he didn't break stride until he was standing at the edge of Crowder's desk. "For Christ's sake, Tony, what's so damned important that it couldn't wait? I was questioning Claire Laurent. She's protecting Yasmine, but the more I pull out of her, the more apparent it is to me that Yasmine killed Wilde."

"That's what we wanted to talk to you about."

Cassidy, remembering that the intern had mentioned someone with Crowder, followed the direction of his gaze. Alister Petrie was complacently seated across the room in a leather wingback chair.

Cassidy had never liked Petrie, either as an individual or as a statesman. Having impressive political connections was his sole qualification to legislate. Petrie's family roots were sunk deep into delta dirt but weren't as deeply embedded as his wife's. Cassidy considered him a pompous nerd, who, through no achievement of his own, had enough money to buy a congressional seat. Because Cassidy had been weaned on the work ethic, he held Petrie in contempt, which he barely concealed. "Hello, Congressman."

"Mr. Cassidy," he replied coolly.

"Sit down, Cassidy," Crowder said, brusquely signaling him into a chair.

Cassidy's instincts were sizzling like exposed electrical wires. Something was afoot, and if his intuition was to be trusted, it was something he wasn't going to like. Tony Crowder was having a hard time looking him in the eye. That was a bad sign.