The Museum of Desire

Chapter 26

Dr. Hillaire Roget was five-six in shoes, compactly built, with a closely cropped head of dense white hair and a mustache to match. He wore a beautifully tailored olive-green suit, a white dress shirt, and perforated shoes the color of peanut butter.

His sister, Dr. Madeleine Roget-Cohen, was at least five-nine in shoes, slim and broad-shouldered with an artfully styled head of straightened, hennaed hair.

I’d seen their father’s corpse and knew him to be tall. My guess was short mother, one of those random shuffles of the genetic deck.

They sat close to each other on one of two spotless, matching blue sofas in what had once been Solomon Roget’s living room. The apartment was what I’d expected from Milo’s account of his search. Sparely but adequately furnished, impeccably kept when you considered no one had tended it for the week-plus since the murders. Photos of a young Solomon with a pretty wife shared space with shots of the children from toddlerhood to med school graduation, then the grandkids. Where lineage didn’t rule the walls, Roget had hung prints of Haiti portrayed as a tropical Eden.

Before Milo knocked on the door, he’d asked if I should be identified as a psychologist.

I said, “Why not? How people react is always interesting.”

The Roget sibs had reacted by nodding, shaking my hand briefly, then looking away. After Milo and I sat, Madeleine said, “Does that mean there’s a psychiatric component to the crime?”

Milo said, “When I spoke to your brother, Doctor, I told him I couldn’t get into details. That’s still true but what I can tell you is your father wasn’t the only victim. There were three others, in the back of his limousine.”

Hillaire said, “We know that, Lieutenant. Googled and came up with a crime that fit.”

Madeleine said, “All the accounts list the location as Beverly Hills but when we ran map searches, it’s in Los Angeles.”

“True,” said Milo.

“So there may be other inaccuracies?”

“There usually are.”

Silence.

Milo said, “Everything points to your dad being an innocent bystander. He drove the wrong client.”

Hillaire said, “Does that mean one of the three in the back was the killer?”

“No chance of that, sir. Best guess is they were already dead by the time your father picked up the killer.”

“He was used for his car,” said Madeleine.

“That’s the working assumption, ma’am.”

“And you have no idea who this devil is.”

“The problem is your father didn’t have an online presence, he didn’t leave behind any written logs, and the only number on his phone list that conceivably matches the time frame belongs to a non-traceable pay-as-you-go phone.”

“The kind criminals use,” said Madeleine.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Hillaire said, “So you’ve searched here in the apartment?”

“Soon after,” said Milo.

The siblings looked at each other.

Milo said, “You thought I hadn’t?”

Madeleine said, “It’s so tidy, doesn’t look as if anything’s been disturbed.”

“I try to conduct my searches with respect.”

Hillaire sighed. “Please excuse us for thinking you were dilatory.” His voice choked. “Thank you for honoring our father’s home.”

“Of course. Have you done any looking around?”

“This morning,” said Madeleine. Small smile. “We weren’t as neat as you. We also found nothing that seemed — would the word be ‘probative’?”

“Evidentiary,” said her brother.

“In any event, we learned nothing, Lieutenant. Though we did come up with some photos of our parents back when Mother was alive.”

Milo said, “Small leather album in the top right-hand dresser drawer.”

Madeleine smiled.

Hillaire said, “Father was always on us to be tidy.”

Madeleine said, “We weren’t always compliant.” Her turn to choke up.

Both of them began to cry.

Milo tapped his supply of tissues and gave one to each of them.

Madeleine was the first to break the silence, letting out a raspy laugh. “You certainly come prepared.”

Milo smiled.

“What a job you have, Lieutenant. Maybe it’s good you’re here, Dr. Delaware. Maybe we could use some therapy.”

We listened as son and daughter reminisced about Solomon Roget’s virtues as a single parent, his pride at their accomplishments, their wish that he’d moved to Florida and lived closer to them.

Madeleine said, “We’re not going to get caught up in if he had, he’d still be alive.” A brief turn-down of her lips said she’d been there and hadn’t quite moved on. “What would be the point? Father was a proud, independent man. We needed to respect that.”

“As if we had a choice,” said Hillaire.

His sister touched his wrist briefly. “Exactly, as if.”

“We have our own kids,” said Hillaire. “We have expectations but in the end everyone has to live their own life.”

Madeleine said, “Father lived a good one.”

“Exemplary.” Flash of anger in Hillaire’s eyes. “Lieutenant, whoever did this needs to be held accountable. From my understanding, you have the death penalty in California but it’s a joke, you never actually use it.”

Milo said, “Unfortunately, that’s true.”

Madeleine said, “Years of stupid appeals, the devils get to live out their lives with TV and gyms and three meals a day.”

“In Florida,” said Hillaire, “we execute devils. Too bad Father didn’t move back.”

She put her arm around him. “Don’t, Hill.”

“You’re right — I suppose this will continue for a while. The process.”

She said, “Fluctuating emotionally.”

Both of them looked at me.

I said, “It will.”

Profound, scholarly contribution. But the Roget sibs seemed to appreciate it, loosening their shoulders and facial muscles.

“Well,” said Hillaire, “it’s good to know we’re not notably maladjusted. Thanks for meeting with us, Lieutenant. You, too, Doctor. I know we have nothing to offer but this has been helpful.”

“Another step,” said Madeleine.

Milo looked at Hillaire. “Dr. Roget, when we spoke last week I asked if you had any idea where your father posted his ads. Any new thoughts on that?”

“What ads?” said Madeleine.

Hillaire said, “You know, those little tear-offs he used because he refused to modernize?”

She turned to us. “Why would you want to know about that?”

Milo said, “Some locales that provide space for free ads — markets, convenience stores — have closed-circuit cameras. If we could get a look at who tore off your dad’s ads during the weeks before his death, it could conceivably help. We’ve searched within several miles of here and haven’t come up with anything.”

“Conceivably?” said Hillaire.

“Often the cameras don’t work or they provide poor images or they’re not aimed where we want them to be. It’s also possible the killer found him another way — say, word of mouth.”

Madeleine said, “The tear-offs. I can think of a place.”

Her brother’s head whipped sideways.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” she said, “but there’s a market Father liked to go to. Not close to here, so you wouldn’t find it. He’d make the trip because he claimed he could get the best Caribbean groceries.”

Hillaire said, “J&M! My God, I’m so stupid!” Slapping his own cheek.

His sister lowered his arm. “You’re human not a computer.”

He shook his head.

She said, “Really, Hill. It may not even be relevant.”

Hillaire stared straight ahead.

Milo said, “Doctor, your sister’s right, we grasp at lots of straws. But I’ll check it out.” Out came his pad. “J&M—”

“J&M Caribbean Market,” said Madeleine. “Western Avenue, near the university.”

“Rotten neighborhood,” said Hillaire. “I told Father he could get plantains somewhere else but he insisted.” Head shake. “Why didn’t I think of it? Okay, let’s be logical. What kind of paying client would Father hope to find there? To rent the limo, no less. Ghetto thugs with money — drugs, maybe one of those so-called aspiring rappers?”

“You know how Father felt about those people, Hill. He’d never have worked for them.”

“He worked with someone evil.”

No answer to that.

We offered a bit more sympathy and left them to the process.

The Seville was parked half a block from the Impala. Milo walked me over, waited as I unlocked, settled in the passenger seat, and began clicking.

“J&M Caribbean Market, still in business, Western and Thirty-Fifth.”

I said, “Definitely gang territory.”

“Same as Inglewood.” He shut his eyes. “All I need, a whole new direction.”

He phoned Sean Binchy.

“Loot, what’s up?”

“Are you on Okash’s place or is Reed?”

“I am, cut out at eleven but Moe came over from the gallery and watched all last night, so he’s catching Z’s.”

“Nice of him to double up.”

Binchy chuckled. “I’m the one with kids, Loot. Unfortunately, no action. Okash was home by eight, never came out until this morning at nine when she went to a Whole Foods, bought two bags of whatever, took them back to her apartment — it’s a four-story multi-unit with a sub-lot, mailboxes inside the lobby so we don’t know her unit. At ten twenty-three, she drove to the gallery, turned into an alley on the south of the building. I followed on foot and saw there’s a cruddy-looking parking lot where she put her BMW. It also occurred to me that the building is pretty deep, so there’s probably more space behind that storage area you diagrammed. Not much to the lot, not even painted slots, but it is card-key entry. That early, no one else there except her.”

“Good work, Sean, stay on her.”

“What do we do about Dugong? So far he hasn’t showed up.”

“He does, Moe loses sleep. Or if it’s near the gallery, we pull Alicia in from skid row.”

“Roger Wilco, Loot.”

Milo suppressed a smile. “Over and out.”