French Silk(54)

"No, he's got you to do it for him."

Josh shook his head in resignation. "You're missing the point, Ariel. I'm not being critical. I'm worried about your health. I—"

"Wait, Josh, I've got an idea." She reached down and mashed her hands over his, causing the keys to crash discordantly.

He pulled his hands from beneath hers. "You bitch! If you ever—"

"Oh, stop. I didn't hurt your precious hands. Listen, what you said earlier, about us not making news any longer? Well, you're right. We've got to do something to correct that."

He was experimentally flexing his fingers. "What do you have in mind?" he grumbled.

"Since we got back from Cincinnati we've been holed up here in Nashville, out of sight and out of mind. It's time we shook things up, generated some headlines. It should be made plain to the cops in New Orleans that the grieving widow and son haven't forgotten that Jackson Wilde was murdered in cold blood."

"Are you so sure that reminding them of that is a smart idea?"

She shot him an icy look. "Jackson had legions of enemies." Making a steeple of her index fingers, she tapped them against her lips. "One in particular in New Orleans."



"Tell me what it means."

Cassidy was in a bad mood. Dealing with Detective Howard Glenn wasn't improving his state of mind. The day after he had accompanied Claire to the Ponchartrain to pick up Mary Catherine, Cassidy had recounted to Glenn all that had transpired. All except the kiss.

"So she didn't deny that it was her voice on the tape?" Glenn had asked.

"No, because she had a good reason for being at the Fairmont that night."

"To plug the preacher."

"Or to pick up her mother, as she claims." Glenn had regarded him skeptically. "Look, Glenn, they couldn't have staged that business last night. Mary Catherine Laurent's mental instability is genuine and Cl… Ms. Laurent protects her like a mama bear."

He had tilled him in on Claire's relationship with Andre Philippi. "It dates back to childhood. So it's reasonable that he lied to protect her privacy and that's the extent of it."

Glenn had searched for a place to extinguish his cigarette butt. Cassidy offered him an empty Styrofoam cup. "Jesus," Glenn had said as he ground out the butt, "the deeper we dig the more interesting it gets."

"But we've got to dig with finesse."

"Meaning?"

"I want to get to the bottom of this, too. Maybe there's something there, maybe not. But you can't approach a woman like Claire Laurent reeking of Camels and tossing out obscenities. I still think it's best if you leave her to me."

"Oh?"

"She finds you personally distasteful."

Glenn settled his rump more comfortably in his chair and rested one ankle on the other. "How does she find you, Cassidy?"

"What are you implying?" he had snapped, tossing down his writing pen.

Glenn had raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing, nothing. It's just that I couldn't help but notice that she's a good-looking broad. And you're not exactly a troll. All things considered—"

"All things considered," Cassidy had interrupted tightly, "I'm going to prosecute Jackson Wilde's killer no matter who it is."

"Then you've got no reason to be so touchy, do you?"

From then on, their conversations had been strictly business. Cassidy had chided himself for swallowing Glenn's bait. He wouldn't have if his conscience hadn't been so sorely pricked by Glenn's implications, and he reckoned that the detective knew that. He hadn't brought up the possibility of a conflict of interests since, but Cassidy was certain he hadn't forgotten the exchange.

This morning, Glenn was into guessing games. He'd ambled in and scattered several computer printouts across Cassidy's desk. Thousands of names were listed on the sheets, a few of which had been circled with red crayon. Cassidy randomly picked one. "Who's this Darby Moss?"

"Not a name you forget, is it?" Glenn asked rhetorically. "Years ago when I was still on a beat, I busted him for assault. He worked a hooker over pretty good. Put her in the hospital. Moss flies in this slick little hustler of a lawyer from Dallas, his hometown. Got the charges dropped. Pissed me off good. So when his name showed up on this list of contributors to Wilde's ministry, it set off bells. I went to Dallas over the weekend and found ol' Darby alive and kicking. He owns three adult-book stores."

Cassidy's brows drew together. "You don't say."

"Yeah. Regular jerk-off joints. You name a perversion, he stocks a magazine that caters to it, along with dildos, inflatable pussies, all kinds of shit. Curious, huh? When I got back, I started running matches through the computer and all these other names sent up red flags. In one way or another, they're all dealing in the very stuff Wilde preached against."

"What does that tell us? That when they chipped in, he turned off the heat?"

"Looks like. And that's not all." He scanned the sheet until his finger landed on another name circled in red. "Here."

"Gloria Jean Reynolds?"

Glenn smugly slipped a piece of notepaper from the breast pocket of his dingy white shirt and handed it to Cassidy. Cassidy silently read the name, then raised inquiring eyes to Glenn, who shrugged eloquently.