Mostly Murder by Linda Ladd Page B

that.”
    Claire wondered if that were really true. Some guys fit that bill, true enough. But Holliday wasn’t just any man. Just like Rene had pointed out, he dripped money, fame, charisma, and sex appeal. His bedroom probably had a revolving door.
    Rene said, “Some guys like the power trip. Buy a woman and force them to do whatever they want. Domination, plain and simple.”
    â€œDid you tell Holliday why we want to see him?”
    â€œI told him you had some questions about a case you’re workin’ on down in the Lafourche bayous near Thibodaux.”
    â€œDid he ask a lot of questions about it?”
    â€œNot really, we talked over the phone. He offered to meet you tonight as soon as his plane lands out at Louis Armstrong, but I figured you’d need more time to prepare your interrogation. His flight’s due in around midnight.”
    â€œYou’re right, I want to know everything about him before we sit down. Do I have permission to ask for his prints?”
    â€œYou can do whatever you want, as far as I’m concerned. My advice, though? Ask him to give them willingly. Can’t see him being anything but cooperative, not at this point.”
    â€œDo you like this guy, Rene?
    â€œHe comes off like the genuine article, but lots of bad guys do. I’m sure you know that.” He paused. “God, it was good to see you again. Never woulda thought we’d be workin’ a case together.”
    â€œYeah. Got anything else for me?”
    â€œNope, our techs are still running tests. There was a lot of stuff in that apartment, but I’ll keep you posted. Want me to fax you what we’ve got so far?”
    â€œYes, please. Send it here to Nancy’s office. You want to be there when we talk to Holliday?”
    â€œNo can do. Got departmental meetings all day tomorrow. You need anything else from us, you just let me know, okay?”
    Claire gave him the fax number, and they hung up. Claire rocked back and forth in Nancy’s chair and considered everything he’d said. She could hear the buzz of Nancy’s cranial saw and was glad Rene had chosen that particular moment to call. Claire would read the autopsy report later. Excised brain matter wasn’t exactly appealing right before dinner. Across from the desk, Nancy had tacked up posters of some of the Saints players. Holliday had the place of honor.
    And Claire was right. It was the same poster that Madonna had on her closet door. At the bottom was the title. She hadn’t noticed that before. Stone Angel . Oh, God, how embarrassing was that? Black would absolutely croak if anybody called him that, even though it described him, too, lucky for her. Yeah, she missed him and all those hard-packed muscles of his. Might as well admit it. Nobody could hear.
    She stared at the poster some more, wondering if he could really be the homicidal murderer she was looking for, a beast who could beat a woman black and blue and strangle her and sew up her body parts. Claire suddenly got a visual image of a man bent over a body in the flicker of dozens of white candles, his sharp needle piercing the thin skin of her eyelids and pulling them tightly together. She shivered.
    Nancy’s flat-screen television sat on top of a filing cabinet and was tuned to ESPN’s SportsCenter , the sound muted. Jack Holliday’s face flashed up on the screen, and Claire scrambled for the remote. He was praising the scoring ability of one of his clients.
    â€œHey, Claire, they beat the crap out of Dallas. You hear the score? Hey, there’s Jack. Does he look good, or what?”
    Claire glanced over at Nancy. “Sorry to tell you this, Nancy, but your hero there is our main person of interest at the moment.”
    â€œNo way.”
    â€œAfraid so. Rene says the victim is a known prostitute, and she has a special closet in her house that’s a virtual shrine to him. If we find his fingerprints in her house,