French Silk(105)

* * *

"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 a 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, roiling off his spine to stand. "But it's gonna take time."

Brows furrowed, Cassidy asked, "What about the corporate contributors?"

"I've run across 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."