Intimate Betrayal (24 page)

Before he could respond, Foster cut in, “It has come to our attention, Mr. Carlyle, that the deceased, Giuseppe Brindesi,
master stained glass worker, may have been acquainted with
your late wife, Francesca. Do you have any comment on this, sir?”

“Yes, I have a comment,” he said slowly.

Both detectives leaned slightly toward him.

“This is my comment, detectives: My days of cooperating with the San Francisco police and/or the DA’s office are in the past.
If you intend to charge with me a crime, do so. I will then call my attorney, and any statement that I make to you will be
made in his presence. Otherwise, I have nothing to say to you.” He forced a smile. “I’m sure you understand.”

The homicide detectives glanced at each other. Matt knew damn well that there was nothing more they could say or do. This
wasn’t—yet—a police state. They couldn’t force anyone to talk.

They thanked him politely and left.

“I can’t
believe
they suspect you!” Annie cried.

“Yes, you can,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

He felt her tremble against him, and he wondered if she was still uncertain of him. What would happen when she was alone and
had time to think? Would she turn against him the way so many of his friends and acquaintances had?

Why shouldn’t she?
he thought grimly. What was to stop her—the pleasures of sex? Sure, the chemistry between them was powerful here, now, but
sex hormones often acted as drugs clouding the judgment. She might begin to see him very differently once she got home and
those hormones stopped flowing.

All they had had together were two glorious nights.

Two nights to balance against all the negative images of a long murder trial and all the publicity associated with it.

It wasn’t much to count on.

“Matt, I’m afraid for you,” Annie whispered. “What if it turns out that Giuseppe was Francesca’s lover?”

“I suppose it’s possible. Hell, anything’s possible. It was a little odd that they had so much trouble finding her lover at
the time, but if he was out of the country—”

“It would give you a motive to kill both of them.”

“Indeed,” he said dryly. “The fact remains, however, that I didn’t.”

She looked up at him quickly. “I know that.”

Sure,
he thought.

“They’ll have to prove it, though,” he said, “and that’s not going to be easy. God knows they tried to prove all sorts of
allegations the last time. I’d be a lot happier if they didn’t have my fingerprints on the damn scaffolding, even though they
have a perfectly good explanation for that.” He paused. “It’s much too neat, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“The fact that my fingerprints are at this murder scene. It’s just too fucking convenient—for the killer, I mean. Look at
the situation it creates: Instead of looking for the real killer, the cops are all excited about what they suddenly think
is a new way to nail the infamous Matthew Carlyle, who got away with murder.”

“You think someone is trying to frame you, Matt?”

“I think someone has been trying to frame me from the start.”

They both pondered the question that had tormented Matt for months:

Who?

“I won’t let this happen to me again,” said Matt.

“What do you mean?” Annie was frightened by the vehemence of his tone.

“I won’t go through it again, goddammit! The shame and humiliation—the publicity—the rumors—the strangers’ malevolent stares.
If this is what my life has come to mean to everybody…” He paused. “By God, I’ve never been guilty of murder before, but when
I find out who the man is who’s doing this to me…”

“We will find him, Matt. We’ll find him and we’ll put a stop to this once and for all.”

“May I come in, ma’am?”

Annie had just returned home from work the following Monday when Detective Foster knocked on her door.

“Please.” She waved him inside. He smelled of cigarettes, and she hoped he wasn’t going to light up in her home.

Foster pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and consulted it briefly, then he looked up. “We have a few more questions
to ask you concerning Giuseppe Brindesi’s death.”

She stared at him. “I’m not sure that I should talk to you any further without consulting an attorney.”

He smiled unpleasantly. “Maybe you’re being influenced by your—er… friendship with Matthew Carlyle.”

She flushed angrily and was tempted to ask him to leave. Matt had left for a two-day business trip to Washington, D.C., and
had told her not to answer any questions about him from the police.

But then Foster added, “Actually, I’m pursuing another
angle at the moment. We’ve recently had occasion to speak with some of your colleagues, including Mr. Brody and a Mr. Sidney
Canin. You are acquainted with Mr. Canin, I understand?”

“Yes. He used to work with me at Brody Associates.”
Any
angle that led away from Matt was an angle she was willing to assist them with.

“And for you at your former place of business”—he glanced down at the notebook again—“Fabrications, isn’t that true?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ve known Mr. Canin for some time.”

“Well, yes, but only in a professional capacity. I don’t know him well in any other respect.”

“He is an architect, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you consider him a good architect?”

Anne hesitated. They must know that Sidney had been fired recently by Sam. “It’s difficult for me to make that determination.
I’m an interior designer. Although I work with architects, I’m no expert in their discipline.”

“But in fact you are more than simply an interior designer, aren’t you, Ms. Jefferson? You
co-owaned
an architectural engineering firm that employed Mr. Canin. At Brody Associates, you are both the interior design manager
and the project manager on several construction jobs, including the new cathedral. You have worked for, with, and above various
architects for years, so you must have some means of evaluating their work. Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, it is,” she conceded. “Okay, in my opinion, Sidney is a competent architect with a good head for details but very
little creativity or artistic flair. He works best when partnered with other architects who are better at conceptualizing
a project.”

“So is it fair to say that while you would not count on him to start from scratch and create an original plan for a new building,
you would trust him more to attend to the minute details of a project, like the individual specifications about grades of
steel, thicknesses of bolts, and things of that nature?”

“That pretty much sums it up, yes. He is good on structural details.”

The detective paused and once again examined his notebook. Where was he going with this? she wondered.

“Mr. Canin was recently fired from Brody Associates, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the reason for that firing?”

“Mr. Brody did not consult me about it, no.”

“As far as you know, had Mr. Canin’s work been incompetent in any way?”

She shrugged. “That depends so much on personal opinion. His inability to conceptualize is certainly a weakness. I had problems
with him in that regard when he was working for me.”

“But are you aware of any specific reason why he was fired? Any recent job that he screwed up on, for example? Any particular
problem that one could point a finger to and say, ‘This guy is doing a lousy job’?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t. But Sidney had some projects that I had nothing to do with. It’s certainly possible that
Sam—Mr. Brody—could have known of something like that. I suggest you discuss it with him, if you haven’t already.”

The detective’s expression was noncommittal.

Annie shifted in her chair. “If I might ask, what does this have to do with Giuseppe’s death?”

Instead of answering directly, Detective Foster said, “What about Darcy Fuentes? How would you evaluate her expertise as an
architect?”

She was taken aback. “Darcy? Why, she’s terrific. She has a sterling reputation. She’s won some of the most prestigious awards
in the industry. Her work is creative, artistically beautiful, and supremely functional. She’s one of the best.”

If Foster was impressed he didn’t show it. “Is there any truth to the observation that Ms. Fuentes is quite the opposite of
Mr. Canin in terms of the attention she gives to the finer details of her projects?”

“What exactly do you mean?”

He closed his notebook, and his expression hardened as he said, “In short, Ms. Jefferson, it has been suggested by several
people that talented though the woman is conceptually and artistically, she is not known for her attentiveness to detail.
That when it comes down to actually drawing up the final plans and specifications for a project, Ms. Fuentes usually turns
this work over to her associates. That on the occasions when she fails to turn this work over to someone else, there are problems.
And that there are structural problems with the cathedral, a project that Ms. Fuentes designed largely on her own.”

“That is nonsense,” Annie said indignantly. “There are no structural problems with the cathedral—the work has gone remarkably
smoothly all these months.”

“Not according to Sidney Canin,” Foster said. “In fact, it’s his contention that Brody Associates rejected the suggestions
he made for improvements in the engineering specifications at the time the plans were drawn up. There were^ several areas
in which Canin felt that errors had occurred, but when he tried to convince anybody else at the firm of this, he was singularly
unsuccessful.”

Annie cleared her throat. “Detective Foster, please consider the situation from another perspective. You have to understand
Sidney. He’s generally a negative person, someone who sees in everything a disaster waiting to happen. He always exaggerates
problems and never has the grace to apologize when he’s proven wrong. Besides, don’t forget, he was recently fired. He probably
feels bitter about it, and this whole story may simply be vindictiveness on his part.”

“At the time he was terminated, Canin claims to have been gravely concerned about the strength of the seismic connections
in the structure where some large panels of stained glass were being installed,” Foster said. “Giuseppe had mentioned to Canin
his suspicion that the structural frame might have been underdesigned. That someone, in other words, had made a mistake.”

Abruptly, Annie remembered Giuseppe’s request to come to her office and examine the original blueprints. He hadn’t told her
why, and he’d been killed before he could do so.

“According to Canin, neither Ms. Fuentes nor anyone else was interested in discussing the matter. There were no problems with
the building, everyone insisted. Canin didn’t argue. As you say, he’d just been fired.
Let
one of the stained glass panels crash into the nave of the cathedral during a minor earthquake—that would teach the whole
damn firm a lesson.”

Well, that certainly sounded like Sidney, Annie thought. But her skin crawled anyway. The stained glass panels were
huge and heavy. If one of them fell into the nave when the cathedral was crowded, there would be serious injuries, perhaps
deaths.

Sid
had
burst into her office one day, she remembered, demanding to talk to her about a problem with the construction. But he’d gone
storming off when he heard about Matt’s involvement in the project.

“Canin says that he told Giuseppe he’d tried but failed to remedy the situation,” Foster said. “Giuseppe seemed very concerned.
He said he would speak to Ms. Fuentes about it himself.

“A day or two later, he was dead.”

Foster looked at her expectantly as Annie digested what he was suggesting. The implication was clear: Giuseppe had been murdered
and the killer—of all people—had been Darcy.

She rose from her chair. “You can’t seriously believe this!”

“This is an investigation, Ms. Jefferson. I don’t believe anything. I simply gather as much information as I can and turn
it over to the district attorney.”

“Look, detective, even if there
is
a problem with the structural framing of the building—which I seriously doubt—and even if Giuseppe was worried enough to
talk to Darcy about it, that’s not a motive for murder. Mistakes are made sometimes in construction work. Either the part
is wrongly specified, or something about the design changes during the course of the building, or the original element specified
is no longer available, or something comes on the market that would do a better job. Change orders get filed and adjustments
get made, detective. Sometimes work has to be ripped out and redone. It’s expensive and it slows down the project, but neither
Brody Associates nor McEnerney Construction would cut corners
that could result in an unsafe job. If a mistake is made, you fix it. You don’t murder the person who brings it to your attention!”

“Not even if the project is a major one with an already inflated budget, every sort of publicity, and a strict deadline for
completion?”

“Of course not! The idea is ridiculous! We’re talking about someone’s
life.”

“Believe me, lady, people are murdered every day in this city for reasons a helluva lot sillier than that.”

“Well, I’m not convinced that Giuseppe was killed for such a reason. Especially since the cathedral is
not
underdesigned! “

“You may be right,” Foster said mildly. “But I’ve got an instinct about this one. And when a homicide cop has an instinct,
there’s usually something behind it—even if chasing after that instinct takes him down a few wrong roads.”

“Those so-called instincts can be devastating when you accuse innocent people of murder!”

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re referring to the Carlyle case, he was guilty all right. He’s a rich son of a bitch
who beat the system. If I have anything to say about it, that ain’t gonna happen again. I’m looking at this architectural
angle today, but that doesn’t mean I’m forgetting about Car-lyle’s fingerprints being all over the sabotaged scaffolding.”