by Sandra Brown
“No, that’s not the plan,” she said with syrupy sweetness. “I don’t intend to wind up in the hospital again, but I’m not going to retire from living just because I got a little overexerted and had a fainting spell.”
“What about the baby?”
“What about it?”
“Is it mine?”
“No,” she answered in a testy, clipped voice. “It’s your dearly departed father’s. He did this to me,” she said, her eyes glinting with malice.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You always use a rubber. He didn’t. The son of a bitch.”
“You didn’t want a child?”
“Hell no! Do you think I’m crazy? Why would I want to have a kid and give up everything I’ve worked for?”
“But Daddy wanted a child.”
“Oh naturally,” she said caustically. “You know how he was. Him and his monstrous ego. He wanted a little Jackson Wilde Junior who mirrored him to a tee.” She regarded Josh with contempt. “His first son had been such a disappointment.”
Josh lowered his eyes to his long, slender, musician’s hands; there was nothing he could say to refute the hateful truth.
“He’d been badgering me to have a kid,” Ariel continued. “He said it would be good for our image and would strengthen the ministry. We’d be more popular than the First Family, he said.
“I kept putting him off, but, as always, the son of a bitch is having the last word. I’ll bet he’s having a good laugh on me right now.” She glared down at the floor and stomped her foot, as though addressing her husband in hell. “I hate you, you bastard.”
“When did you discover that you’re pregnant, Ariel?”
She swung her hair over her shoulder and looked at her somber stepson. “I found out the night I collapsed, about an hour after they brought me here and examined me.”
“You didn’t know before then?”
She cocked her head, her eyes squinting shrewdly. “What are you getting at?”
“Did you suspect you were pregnant before Daddy… died?”
She turned her back on him and reached for her handbag. “What difference does it make? He knocked me up. If he were alive, I’d be stuck with a kid. Fortunately, he’s in no position to prevent me from losing it.”
Josh spun her around so quickly that her neck audibly popped. “ ‘Losing it’?”
She threw off his hands. “Don’t be naïve, Josh. If you think I’m going to give up my career as a televangelist for dirty diapers and strained beets, you’ve got another think coming. I don’t want a kid. I never did.” She smiled smugly. “This is one argument Jackson is going to lose.”
“Have you thought about how unpopular you’d become among your faithful flock if word leaked out that you’d had an abortion?”
“I’m not that stupid,” she snapped. “Anyone who’s seen a TV in the past week knows that I collapsed from exhaustion and grief. Soon it will be duly reported that in spite of my pregnancy, I’m dedicated to fulfilling Jackson’s mission and denouncing his enemies. I won’t rest until I see his killer captured and punished.
“For a while, I’ll use the pregnancy to my benefit. Tears will flow every time I talk about how thrilled Jackson would be to know that he’d left his living seed in my womb. Talk about having a biblical ring!” she added with a coarse laugh.
“I’ll reference Abraham and Sarah and how God finally rewarded their faithfulness with a child. Then, in a few weeks, I’ll grieve myself into a miscarriage. Think of the avalanche of public sentiment we’ll gain then. ‘Robbed of her husband, robbed of her child, she courageously continues her crusade.’ ”
The fantasy caption made her eyes glow like blue flames. She glanced at Josh and laughed again. “Why, what’s the matter, Josh? You look like you’re about to blow chow.”
“The thought of it makes me sick.”
“Don’t tell me you were excited about the baby. Is that why you’ve been so chipper lately? Did you fancy yourself a stand-in daddy for your little stepbrother?” She patted his cheek. “If you weren’t so dumb, you’d be kind of cute.”
He swatted her hand aside. “I’m not nearly as dumb as you mistakenly think, Ariel.” With an irritable jerk of his head, he indicated the wheelchair. “Ready?”
“More than ready. But I’m walking, not riding.” She reached for her suitcase.
“You shouldn’t be carrying that.”
“Why not? I’m anxious to free myself of Jackson’s last shackle.” Hoisting the heavy suitcase, she marched toward the door.
“It’s open.” Cassidy looked up from the mound of paperwork on his desk.
Detective Howard Glenn strolled in and nonchalantly plopped into a chair. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks.”
“How’d it go?”
“Just as I told you it probably would. Ms. Laurent cited that there are hundreds of cars like hers in this state, and she said that Yasmine has only a passing interest in voodoo. She’s shown a fancy for several religions but isn’t serious about any of them. One thing I did learn. Yasmine does have a mystery lover, but it wasn’t Wilde. Her affair is currently on the skids. You might want to put a man on that.”
“I’ll do it. In the meantime, I’ve been checking out some other things.”
“And?”
Glenn withdrew a small spiral notebook from the breast pocket of his tweed sports jacket. “So far—and I’ve still got a long way to go, mind you—I’ve got ten more very fishy parties that made contributions to Wilde’s ministry. Substantial contributions.”
“How substantial?”
“In the five-to twenty-five-thou range.” He paused for Cassidy’s reaction.
“I’m listening.”
“Three of the ten own movie theaters of the triple x-rated variety. Two of them own and operate scummy bookstores. I’ve got two massage parlors and two titty bars.” He shot Cassidy a man-to-man grin.
Cassidy remained unsmiling. “That’s only nine. You said ten.”
“There’s a movie star that’s generally thought to be the hottest thing in porno flicks since come shots.”
Cassidy left his swivel desk chair and moved toward the windows. Pushing his hands into his pants pockets, he sightlessly stared outside. “Let me guess. After they made their ‘offerings,’ Wilde turned off the heat.”
“I haven’t had the manpower to verify that,” Glenn said, “but that would be my first guess.”
“Maybe Wilde had upped the price of his good graces and somebody didn’t cotton to it.”
“Maybe.”
Cassidy turned around. “Were any of these people even remotely close to New Orleans the night he was killed?”
“Now you see, that’s the bitch,” the detective said, tugging thoughtfully on his earlobe. “They’re scattered across the U.S. of A. None is really close to here.”
“This city has an airport and a bus terminal, not to mention interstate highways.”
“No need to get nasty, Cassidy.”
“Sorry, but I’m in a nasty mood.”
“You’re entitled,” Glenn said with an uncaring shrug. “Only the movie star claims to have ever visited New Orleans.”
“When?”
“Long time ago. She was in Rome at the time of Wilde’s murder.”
“Rome, Italy?”
“That’s the one.”
“Does that check out?”
“She’s got an Italian movie director who says she’s been living with him in his villa since April.”
A feeling of defeat settled over Cassidy with the weight of chain mail. “I suggest you stay with it, Glenn. Tell your men to go over those lists a hundred times if necessary. Sift out anyone who doesn’t fit the profile of a fundamental, Bible-thumping disciple.”
“I agree,” he said, rolling off his spine to stand. “But it’s gonna take time.”
Brows furrowed, Cassidy asked, “What about the corporate contributors?”
“I’ve run acro
ss a few. Nothing interesting.”
“Let’s keep checking them out, too. Who’s behind the company name? A business is good protection if somebody wants to remain anonymous. Let’s start with the corporations that have connections in the South, particularly here, and fan out from there.”
The detective nodded and shuffled out. Cassidy would have liked to give him a swift kick in the butt to see if he would move any faster. Right now, however, he couldn’t afford to alienate anyone. His allies were scarce. Office politics being what they were, no one wanted to be chummy with a loser. Whenever he approached the coffee machine, his co-workers scattered like spilled BBs.
Upon his return to the city, he had reported to Crowder that the trip to Mississippi had yielded nothing. The D.A. hadn’t taken well to the bad news. He was out of patience, he told Cassidy. “And you’re out of time. I want something concrete from you by the end of this week or you’re off the case.”
“Whoever you assign in my place will run up against the same brick walls, Tony, and he wouldn’t work as well with Glenn.”
“Maybe not.”
“I’m used to him.” Crowder’s expression remained stony. Cassidy sighed. “Look, there’s no physical evidence beyond a few carpet fibers that could have come off any one of ten thousand cars in this parish.”
“One of which belongs to Claire Laurent, who had both motive and opportunity.”
“But I can’t put her inside that hotel suite with Wilde at the time of the murder.”
“The fibers might be enough.”
“No way in hell,” Cassidy said, shaking his head stubbornly. “I’m not going before the grand jury until I’ve covered my ass.”
Crowder glowered at him. “Just make damn certain it’s your ass, and my ass, you’re protecting and not Claire Laurent’s.”
The remark had made Cassidy mad enough to smash Crowder’s face with his fists. Instead, however, he had stormed from Crowder’s office. There had been no communication between them since, and that had been two days ago. The hours were ticking off.
The hell of it was that Crowder had hit the target at dead center. He did want to protect Claire. Although he was angry enough to strangle her himself, he didn’t want to incarcerate her. But if she was guilty, he’d have no choice. He’d have to put her in prison for the rest of her life, without benefit of suspension, probation, or parole.
“Christ.”
He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and propped his elbows on his desk. It was in that vanquished posture that Joshua Wilde found him moments later.
Cassidy looked up when he heard the tentative knock on his office door. Josh stood hesitantly on the threshold. “The secretary said to come on in.”
“What do you want?” Cassidy snarled.
“Are you still in charge of my father’s murder case?”
“That’s what the Times Picayune reported this morning. Come in. But I warn you that I’m in a pissy mood, so if you’re here to jack me around, do yourself a favor and leave now.”
“I didn’t come to jack you around.”
“Sit down.” The younger man took a chair across the desk from him.
Cassidy nodded toward the front of the building. “Why aren’t you down there lending support?”
Ever since his return from Rosesharon, each time Cassidy entered the building, he had to push his way through picket lines declaring him incompetent. It was a vocal and hostile crowd that paraded hour after hour, singing their theme song, and brandishing contentious pickets whenever they caught sight of him.
“That’s my stepmother’s latest brainstorm,” Josh said of the well organized protest demonstration.
“I thought she just got out of the hospital.”
“She did, but she dug right in. She’s not going to give you a minute’s peace until you convict a killer.”
“She’s not the only one,” Cassidy muttered to himself. “Why don’t you advise her to put a stop to that nonsense outside? It’s serving no real purpose.”
“It’s getting her on the six-o’clock news. That’s what she’s after.”
“It’s only a matter of time before it turns ugly. Some pretty mean characters have business in this building, you know. Somebody’s bound to get hurt. Surely Ariel doesn’t want any adverse publicity.”
“She’d figure a way to swing it to her advantage.”
“She didn’t fare too well with her picketers at French Silk. The Laurents made you look like goons.”
“The way Claire Laurent turned that situation around made Ariel mad as hell.” His snickering expression turned thoughtful. “She’s an interesting lady. Most people would have resorted to mudslinging. She’s got class. I admire her moxie.”
Yeah, Cassidy thought dismally. You gotta admire her moxie.
“Anyway, back to Ariel,” Josh said. “She doesn’t listen to any advice from me. In fact, she doesn’t listen to anyone’s advice. Once she makes up her mind to do something, she’s relentless, unstoppable.”
“Are we talking about your stepmother or General Patton?”
“Believe me, Cassidy, you don’t know her like I do. She’s gone crazy, especially… especially since my father was killed.”
Josh’s eyes became shifty and skittered away from Cassidy’s gaze, giving him a surge of hope. His no-fail instinct was telling him that he was on the brink of a breakthrough. It was tough to carry off, but he pretended to be unimpressed with what he’d heard so far. He raised his hand, indicating that Josh should continue.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about Ariel’s pregnancy.”
“Are congratulations in order?”
“You mean am I the father?” Josh shook his head. “She says Daddy was. That’s why I’m here.” Suddenly he came to his feet and began pacing along the edge of Cassidy’s desk.
“Why don’t you just relax and tell me what’s eating you.” Cassidy assumed a confidant’s voice, the kind he hoped would inspire trust and give the late preacher’s cowardly son courage.
“I lied to you,” Josh blurted.
“About what?”
“About that night. About Ariel and me being together the whole time. The truth is… she… she left my suite and went back to theirs.”
“When?”
“Earlier. Around midnight.”
“For how long?”
“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”
“Did she speak to your father?”
“I don’t know. Swear to God.”
“Never mind God. Swear it to me.”
Josh wet his lips. “I swear to you I don’t know.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“She trumped up this excuse that she went looking for a piece of sheet music. She says Daddy was asleep. I didn’t think anything of it until the following morning. She asked me not to mention that time lapse to you or to the police.”
Cassidy’s heart was thumping, but he knew better than to let his hopes soar on the word of a man who had already admitted to one crucial lie. This was only hearsay. It would never hold up in court. He still had no real evidence against the widow. However, this would give his investigation new focus and take the heat off Claire. After days of famine, this seemed like a bountiful harvest.
He asked, “Why’d you agree to lie about it, Josh?”
“I honestly didn’t think it made any difference. Ariel was almost hysterical when she discovered his body. It was so, you know, bloody. I didn’t think she could have had anything to do with the murder.”
“What do you think now?”
Josh stopped pacing. Standing at the edge of Cassidy’s desk, he faced him. “Now, I think she did.”
Cassidy was afraid to swallow, to blink, afraid that the merest motion would shatter Joshua Wilde’s fragile statement and it would disintegrate, that it would no longer be real. “What changed your mind?”
Josh was a man at war with himself. At least that’s the impression he gave. He wiped his damp palms on his pants legs. “C
ontrary to what Ariel’s saying to the media, she’s unhappy about this pregnancy. In fact, she’s livid over it. She plans to stage a miscarriage, which will serve a dual purpose—get rid of the baby and win more sympathizers.”
Playing along, Cassidy registered shock. “She sounds like a monster.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Mr. Cassidy. She envisions herself a megastar, wielding influence over millions of people. You ought to hear the plans she has for the Prayer and Praise Hour. Outlandish stuff. For a start, she wants the pulpit to become a political forum for candidates who share her views on current issues. She’s already extended invitations to several guest speakers. She’s ambitious and shrewd, and determined not to let anything or anyone stand in her way. She’s gone off the deep end, lost all touch with reality.”
“Get back to the murder.”
Josh resumed his seat. He linked his fingers between his knees and stared at them as he spoke. “My daddy was a tyrant. He played God over everybody, including Ariel and me. Especially Ariel and me. He teased her about her tendency to gain weight until she developed an eating disorder.”
“The newspapers hinted that she’d been diagnosed bulimic, but it was never confirmed by the hospital staff in Kansas City.”
“It’s true. And this baby, she sees it as just another of Daddy’s cruel jokes. See, it’s like he’s still got control over her. I think she knew she was pregnant long before that night she collapsed. I think she was furious with Daddy for forcing a child on her when she’d made it clear to him that she didn’t want one. I think she killed him over it.”
Cassidy decided to play devil’s advocate by shooting holes in Josh’s allegations, the way a defense attorney would shoot holes in a case no better corroborated than this. “It works in theory, Josh, but it’s still circumstantial. Did you hear your father and Ariel arguing over this pregnancy?”
“No. I didn’t know she was pregnant until the night she was rushed to the emergency room.”
“Did you hear her threaten to kill your father?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No. He wouldn’t have tolerated that kind of talk.”
“Does you stepmother own a gun?”
