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Enough. “I can’t offer an opinion since I have no idea why you are suddenly dying to see LeNoux in the first place.”
“Rhonda was talking about Paul.”
Mitch clenched the wheel. “Care to tell me more?”
“I think Paul is one of the guys who tried to kidnap me at the cemetery.”
He glanced at her. “You told Detective LeNoux you couldn’t identify either of your attackers because they were wearing masks.”
“I couldn’t see their faces, but Rhonda made me think of something. The one who had the syringe at the cemetery wore tasseled loafers.”
“Now I understand.” Mitch slowed for the entrance ramp and set the blinker clicking. “Tasseled loafers!”
She gave his thigh a playful punch and laughed.
“You better be careful not to hurt the driver if you want to go over fifty-five miles per hour on the interstate.” He merged into the right-hand lane headed toward the city. A string of floats on their way to a north shore parade passed on the opposite side, their decorations fluttering in the wind.
Mitch crushed the steering wheel. Tomorrow was Mardi Gras. Tomorrow was also his deadline to bring Cath’s brother to jail. Don’t think about that.
Cath said nothing more, and Mitch went back to their earlier question and answer. “I’m hanging on your every word here, you know. About the tasseled loafers.”
“Nice to know.” She rubbed her palms down her thighs again. “Paul has his shoes custom made in Italy, usually the same style every year. Loafers, each with two tassels. You remember I was standing with him next to the bar at the Retreat.”
Mitch nodded, not daring to speak. He considered Paul DiMartino a lower form of life. The sooner Cath stopped talking about him, the better.
“I was ignoring him, looking around the room for Les, but he made a movement and I happened to look down. He’d put a foot on the stool beside us, and I noticed his loafer had lost a tassel. I didn’t think anything of it at the time except for being surprised Paul would wear something imperfect. But I’m having trouble imagining him as one of those masked men at the cemetery. I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
“If he’s implicated, he needs to be held accountable.” Excitement buzzed through Mitch. He supported anything that would rid Cath’s life of that jackass. She had to be so sick of looking over her shoulder. He knew he was.
“I remember the police techs collected a dropped syringe at the cemetery, but didn’t they find some other stuff?”
“Could be. The CSI guys were still combing that area when we left, but if you want to talk to LeNoux, we should call now and find out where he is this morning.”
* * *
Detective LeNoux met them in the lobby of the crime lab with a couple of brown evidence bags and offered them coffee. Mitch declined, but Cath never turned down caffeine.
LeNoux poured himself a cup and sat in a chair across from them. “You say you can now positively identify your cemetery attackers?”
“One of them, anyway.” She set her drink on the table between them.
“When we interviewed you the first time, you didn’t know either of them. It would have helped us to know then.”
Mitch stood. “We thought you might still want to know, but if not, we won’t take up any more of your time.”
“Hold on.” The detective rose. “I’m surprised is all.”
“She was the victim here.” Mitch urged Cath to get to her feet.
She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “The detective wasn’t attacking me.”
“Sure sounded like it.”
The cop waved him back onto the couch.
“I would have recognized Paul’s voice, but neither one of them spoke.” Cath leaned forward. “Not that I heard. Like I said on the phone, I only realized who one of them might be from what he was wearing.”
“Paul DiMartino?”
