Wes nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll answer their questions then.”
I offered him my best smile. “Goodo.” I listened to him following me down the hall. As we came into the lounge, Cassidy and Mike halted whatever quiet conversation they’d been having and turned to watch us. They hadn’t moved their hands from their weapons.
“Hi there, Mr. Chaudry,” Cassidy said. “Thank you for agreeing to talk to us.”
“Hello again.” The tone of his voice was cool. “Patsy tells me you have some questions for me.”
“Pull up a pew,” I offered, waving at chairs.
“Sure,” Cassidy replied as we all joined him at the table. Mike grabbed a small notepad and pen from his coat pocket, flipping pages until he stopped on one with some writing. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us tonight. We just wanted to follow up on some things that we talked about briefly with Father Gilmartin last evening after Patsy called us about the two men who accosted him.”
Wes nodded. “Sure. I don’t know how I can help but please, go right ahead.”
“Thank you,” Cassidy began. “If you recall, when we asked Father Gilmartin what his two attackers said to him, he told us that they wanted him to pass a message onto the mother of a little girl by the name of Marigold Bishop. The mother’s name is Betty.”
“I remember.”
“Good,” Cassidy said. “We located them earlier today at a shelter where they’ve been living.”
Wes nodded.
“With Marigold’s mother’s permission we asked the little girl to describe what she might have seen that prompted two men to attack the priest.”
Wes nodded.
“Father Gilmartin said the two men said they’d hurt Marigold if she kept talking about what she’d seen,” Mike said, reading from his notes.
Wes nodded. “I remember but I’m still perplexed as to why you want to talk to me.”
“We asked her if she’d seen something that would prompt the threat to her. It took a little while to get it out of her—” Cassidy exchanged a glance with his partner before continuing. “It seems Marigold witnessed a homicide.”
“What?” Wes glanced at me, and I reached out, touching his forearm. He covered my hand with his own before looking back at Cassidy who hadn’t missed the contact. “What could I possibly know about a homicide?”
Predictably, Cassidy pulled the crumpled sketch out of his pocket and unfolded it, sliding it across the table. “She witnessed a homicide in an alley not far from Blessed Sacrament,” he said, tapping the sketch with his finger. “This is a composite drawingour sketch artist produced of the suspect Marigold described as the attacker.”
Wes picked up the picture as Cassidy withdrew his hand. He stared at it for a few seconds and then looked over at me. His wide eyes were filled with shock, and the expression sent a whole new wave of anger coursing through me. He broke eye contact and dragged his gaze back to Cassidy. “This looks like me.” When Cassidy and Mike only stared back, Wes bit his bottom lip. “You think Marigold described me as a…as a murderer?” He sounded incredulous but I knew that tone well enough now to hear the fear beneath the question. It only confirmed his complete innocence to me.
“We think it’s a remarkable likeness which is the only reason we wanted to talk to you, Mr. Chaudry,” Mike said, his face stoic, giving nothing away.
“I didn’t commit amurder!” Wes vibrated in the chair beside me, his fingers tightening painfully on mine. “Patsy, I’m not a murderer.” The plea in his soulful, oddly-colored eyes was obvious.
“I know, Wes. I told them yer not capable of murder,” I reassured him.
His subtle nod and the relief on his face was immediate. He turned back to the detectives. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“You don’t know a man by the name of Abraham Feldman?” Mike asked, tapping his pen on his notes.
Wes immediately shook his head. “No. I never met anyone by that name. Is that the dead man?”
Neither detective’s expressions gave anything away as Mike avoided the question and asked another. “How about Eli Goldfarb?”
“No. I’ve never met anyone by that name either. What’s going on, Detective?”
“A homicide victim—” Cassidy stopped when his phone rang. Glancing at it, he pushed his chair back and stood. “I need to take this. Will you excuse me?”
We nodded as he swiped to answer it. “Ryan.” He paused as he looked at Mike, hooking a thumb at the front door. Covering the phone, he whispered, “Gonna step out a second.”
I watched him go and turned back to Mike. “While we wait, let me get ya a cold drink.”
