French Silk(35)

"You have that much interest in religion?"

"No, Mr. Cassidy," she said with a retiring smile. "I'm Catholic by birth, but have never embraced any organized church. I certainly wasn't enamored of charismatic televangelists. Wilde attracted my attention because I believed him to be one of the most dangerous men in America."

"So you considered it your civic duty to ice him?"

"Do you want to hear my explanation or not?" she snapped.

He gestured for her to go ahead.

"You're very rude, Mr. Cassidy."

"Yes, I know."

Their stares locked and held for several seconds. Claire wasn't about to back down, so she began speaking. "Unlike some of the other TV preachers, Wilde threatened to rob people, not of their money but of something much more valuable—their rights guaranteed by the First Amendment. About the time French Silk's first catalog went out, he began his crusade against everything he considered pornographic. From the beginning, his message bothered me tremendously."

"Because his influence could hamper your business?"

"No, because I never wanted to be placed in a position of having to defend my work. I saw that as a very real possibility, and as it turned out, my prediction was right. French Silk's catalog has nothing in common with child pornography and bondage magazines, but it was being lumped in with them and lambasted in the same breath. Reverend Wilde was waging war against freedom of the press."

"You can't have carte blanche freedom, Ms. Laurent. Hand in hand with freedom goes responsibility."

"I agree." She laid down her sandwich and leaned slightly forward. "The thought of men, women, and children being exploited for profit makes me sick to my stomach, but that crime won't be solved by banning quality erotica from museums and bookshelves.

"Censorship belongs in one's mind and heart and conscience. If you don't approve of R-rated movies, spend your seven dollars on something else. If you oppose a television show's scripts, switch channels and don't buy the products that sponsor it. But give those who don't share your views the opportunity to watch whatever they like.

"It's not the privilege of the government, or an appointed committee of so-called experts, or one preacher to dictate what people—adults—should or should not be permitted to see. When Hider came to power, one of the first things he did was burn the books that he deemed unsuitable."

"So everybody who has a hang-up over The Catcher in the Rye is a neo-Nazi?"

"Please, Mr. Cassidy. Don't be insulting. I only meant that it's fascist for those who don't approve of something to forcibly impose their opinion on everybody else." Claire felt a heated flush rising in her cheeks. She was so close to this issue that sometimes she sounded as dictatorial and uncompromising as Wilde.

"I didn't enter this war willingly, Mr. Cassidy. Given the choice, I would never have been a part of it. I was drafted into it when Wilde began name-calling from his pulpit. I chose to ignore it as much as possible and declined his repeated invitations for a public debate, but one probably would have been inevitable."

"You were arming yourself by keeping those clippings."

"Exactly. The only thing that file proves is that I had thoroughly researched my opponent so I'd know what I was going up against if and when the time came."

"Why didn't you show me your collection of clippings and explain this the other night?"

"I had already thrown it away."

"You could have mentioned it."

"I could have, yes. But you're under pressure from city hall to bring in a viable suspect. Wilde's followers are demanding a culprit to bring to trial. I didn't want to be your scapegoat, even temporarily. If all you'd done was taken me downtown for formal questioning, it could have adversely affected my business and family."

"I still might do that."

"You'd be wasting your time. I've told you everything I know."

He regarded her closely. "So that red ink mark underlining the date that Wilde would appear in New Orleans was merely coincidence."

Color and heat rushed to her face again. "I remember underlining that, yes. I can't explain why I did. I was holding a red pen while I was reading the article," she said with a shrug. "It was reflexive."

He'd eaten quickly and cleaned his plate. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it next to his plate. "On the surface, that all sounds so damn reasonable. It's almost too reasonable an explanation, Ms. Laurent. It's as though you rehearsed what to say just in case that folder turned up to haunt you."

"Would you care to have some coffee with your delusions?"

His lips tilted into a half-smile. "No, thanks." She carried their plates from the table into the kitchen. "I thought Harry would do that for you," he said conversationally, following her as far as the bar that divided the two rooms.

"Ordinarily she would. She took Mama out this afternoon."

"How convenient."

"What do you mean? What do my mother's outings have to do with you?"

"I needed her corroboration on where you were the night Jackson Wilde was killed."

Claire drew a quick breath. "I won't have my mother interrogated, Mr. Cassidy. Understand that and spare yourself the time and effort. Mama wouldn't remember the events of this morning, much less what happened a few weeks ago. If pinned down, she couldn't possibly give you a credible answer, and any attempts to force one out of her would only cause her distress, which I won't allow."