French Silk(127)

"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."