"You had it all thought out, I see," he said, regarding her with a degree of admiration.

"All but one element. I didn't think that Yasmine's gun would ever be fired again." She glanced down and touched the bracelet around her wrist. "When Cassidy told me that it was the weapon that had been used to kill Wilde, I confessed so that my mother wouldn't fall under suspicion."

She looked at Crowder imploringly. "She can't be held accountable. She doesn't even realize she's done anything wrong. It would be like a child killing a scorpion that's stung him and caused tremendous pain. She probably doesn't even remember now that-"

"Claire, you don't have to worry about Mary Catherine," Cassidy said. "She didn't kill Wilde." His confident statement took them by surprise.

"How do you know?" Crowder asked.

"Because he was shot by Congressman Alister Petrie."

Chapter 33.

"This is getting silly."

Belle Petrie, who was making her bed, gave her husband a quizzical glance. "What's silly, dear?"

Petrie felt an almost overwhelming urge to piss on the carpet, send the etagere full of Baccarat crystal crashing to the floor, or place his hands around her throat and choke the life out of her. He wanted to do something rash to destroy the cool scorn with which his wife had been treating him.

"I'm getting tired of sleeping in the guest room, Belle," he said testily. "How much longer am I going to be condemned to marital Siberia? I've admitted to being a naughty boy, so when will you permit me to sleep in my own goddamn bed?"

"Lower your voice. The children will hear you."

He lunged at her, knocked the decorative bolster pillow from her hand, and took her roughly by the shoulders. "I've apologized a thousand times. What more do you want?"

"I want you to let go of me." The words were as sharp and brittle as icicles. Coupled with the arctic glint in her eyes, they served to dismantle Alister's temper tantrum. He released her and stepped back.

"I'm sorry, Belle. This last month has been a living nightmare."

"Yes. I imagine that having your mistress blow her brains out in front of your daughter could put a wrinkle in your month."

"Christ. You won't give an inch, will you?"

He'd apologized repeatedly for his affair and its ghastly denouement. So far, his apologies hadn't made a dent in Belle's tough armor. The marital harmony that had been briefly reestablished when he broke off the affair with Yasmine had been shattered again by her sensationalized suicide. When her revolver was linked to the Wilde murder, he'd panicked and thrown himself on Belle's mercy, pleading for her help.

"I've done everything you told me to do, Belle," he said now. "I confessed my affair to Tony Crowder and that Cassidy character." Petrie's eyes turned dark. "If I can help it, he'll never get that D.A.'s office. Smug son of a bitch. You should have heard the way he talked to me. He attacked me physically!"

She appeared singularly unsympathetic.

"Okay, so I got myself in a mess. We had to stop Cassidy's investigation before my affair with Yasmine became public. In order to do that, I called in a favor from Crowder. I didn't like standing there in front of them with my pants down, but I did it because you advised me to, and, in retrospect, I think it was good advice. Crowder ordered Cassidy to redirect his investigation, pronto. In a day or two no one will remember Yasmine's suicide because everyone's attention will be on that Laurent broad's confession. Now, can't we drop this subject once and for all? Can I sleep in my own bed tonight?"

"You never told me she was black."

"What?"

"Your mistress was black." Belle's fists were clenched at her sides. Her nostrils flared with indignation and disgust. "It's humiliating to both of us that you had to find your fun outside this bedroom. But to think of the father of my children sleeping with a... Did you kiss her on the mouth? Oh, God!" She rubbed the back of her hand across her lips in a scrubbing motion. "The thought of it makes me sick. You make me sick. That's why I don't want you in my bed."

Alister didn't like being upbraided like a twelve-year-old caught jerking off. He'd suffered enough humiliation yesterday in the D.A.'s office, so he struck back. "If you knew just half the sex tricks Yasmine did, I wouldn't have had a mistress in the first place. Black, white, or any other color."

Belle's eyes drilled into his. She didn't raise her voice, but her soft-spoken tone was more sinister than a shout. "Watch yourself, Alister. You've committed a series of monumental blunders. Left to your own devices, you probably would have dug yourself in so deep you couldn't get out. But thanks to my quick thinking, you walked away from your mistakes unscathed."

She turned and took something from the nightstand drawer. "I'm curious about the misdeeds you've committed that haven't yet come to light." She tossed the small object in the air, flipping it end over end like a coin. "You see, I know that you had words with Reverend Wilde the day of his death. Despite appearances, the two of you weren't on the best of terms when you joined him on the podium that night."

She caught the object in her hand and looked down at it musingly as she continued. "If I discovered your mistress, perhaps the reverend had, too. You're not smart enough to hire someone discreet to do your dirty work for you. You might have been stupid enough to take matters into your own hands, tried to solve your problem without guidance, which we both know you desperately need."

Alister watched as she replaced the matchbook, bearing the logo of the Fairmont Hotel, in her bedside drawer. "I hope I'm wrong, but I suspect that you eagerly grasped my idea to confess to your mistress only to cover up an uglier transgression.

"If that's so, then heed this warning. I'm through with covering up for your mistakes, Mister. For instance, if Mr. Cassidy came to me with questions about that night, I would be forced to tell him that I had called your room at the Doubletree repeatedly and received no answer. To protect myself and my children, I would be pressed to show him that matchbook."

Her voice turned cold. She pointed her finger at him. "I'm giving you fair warning-if you get out of line again, I'll divorce, disgrace, and disinherit you. Once my family and I are finished with you, you'll be lucky to get a job skimming out cesspools.

"You're being placed on probation, dear," she said with saccharine sarcasm. "In public, you'll be the shining example of truth, justice, and the American way. You'll be a devoted husband and a doting father, a smiling, sterling pillar of virtue and integrity.

"After awhile, you might earn back your place in my bed. Until the time I deem you worthy, don't even ask to rejoin me there. I can't bear the thought of having your hands on me. Do I make myself clear?"

"As a bell," he replied flippantly. "No pun intended."

He marched from the room, slamming the door behind him. Who needed her arid, sterile bed, he asked himself angrily as he returned to the guest room to finish dressing. She was so stiff and dry, he'd just as soon fuck a corn husk.

He relished his anger. It kept him from acknowledging his fear, which was insidiously lurking in the dark shadows of his mind like a rat, waiting for an opportune time to dart out and seize him.

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."