The Museum of Desire

Chapter 44

Red-faced, red-eyed, back rounded, rolling his shoulders restlessly, my friend sat down in the living room, opened his attaché case, and yanked out his pad.

He dropped it in his lap, unopened. “Candace Kierstead’s place. Unreal.”

I said, “The guy looks like the picture of her husband.”

“She was playing me.”

“Probing the investigation.”

“And putting herself in the middle of it? That’s beyond high-risk, Alex.”

“Part of the thrill,” I said. “Like telling us that baby possum story. ‘I love animals.’ ”

“Jesus. Before I came here, I checked my notes. Don’t think I told her anything that matters.”

“You didn’t. And you can use her overconfidence — their overconfidence — against them.”

“Supportive therapy. I feel better already.”

He got a text, read, replied.

“Al Freeman, he found the Rolls’s owner. Sig Kierstead. I shot him a thanks with five exclamation points. Didn’t have the heart.”

He opened the pad. “Unlike the Clearwater house, there’s no corporate fog obscuring the Conrock deed. A little over two years ago it was bought by the marital trust of Stefan Sigmund Kierstead and Candace Walls Kierstead.”

I said, “Candace is related to Okash’s victim.”

“Gotta be. She’s the right age for an older sister. With a big grudge against Okash. Except why, then, would she become Okash’s landlady?”

“Playing with her the way a cat worries a mouse. And how better to keep tabs on her while she plans her revenge? How long have the Kiersteads owned the gallery building?”

He flipped pages. “Twenty months.”

“And Okash opened her place eight months ago. Someone able to sit with us the way Candace did has a suppressed nervous system. My bet is she enjoys the stalking as much as the kill. It’s possible meeting up with Okash was accidental but Candace saw it as confirmation. When Dugong ran into Okash at Art Basel she was chatting up potential clients. Maybe it was the Kiersteads. Maybe Okash doesn’t know who Candace is but Candace realizes what she’s been gifted with. She owns gallery space, Okash wants to have her own place, talk about karma.”

“Revenge eaten way cold,” he said. “Yeah, she’s an icy one, goddamn graham crackers, playing good citizen. But why wouldn’t Okash know who she was?”

“Sister Emeline said the Walls family had issues. It’s possible Connie never brought friends home. Candace, on the other hand, could’ve recognized Okash’s name from court documents or similar.”

“Connie gets cut, ends up sliding down hard, hangs herself in prison,” he said. “Yeah, that’s plenty to seethe about.”

“Let’s see if I can confirm the sisterly connection.”

I put my phone on speaker, punched buttons.

A melodious voice trilled, “Good morning, Saint Theresa’s!”

“Sister Emeline, this is Alex Delaware, the psychologist who came by a few days ago.”

“The police psychologist.” Wariness drained the music from her voice.

“I have a question about Contessa Walls’s family. Did she have siblings?”

“Connie, again? Yes, she had two older brothers and an older sister.”

“You met them.”

“No but she talked about them when her mood got low.”

“Not a happy family.”

“Distant, icy, rejecting. That’s why I never met them. They never visited the dorm, not even the parents, and Connie rarely went home during vacations. Sometimes she’d be alone, sometimes she’d tag along with us. She was physically beautiful but such a sad girl, Dr. Delaware.”

“Do you happen to know the siblings’ names?”

“I do know because when Connie griped, she’d use their names. Cormac orders me around like I’m a servant, Cormac used to hit me and pinch me, Charlie — no, Chuck laughs at me and makes me feel stupid. The big complaint about the sister was she shut Connie out, never included her... what was her name... something else beginning with ‘C,’ I guess the parents had a thing for ‘C’ names... Candy, I think. Yes, definitely. I remember thinking, That girl doesn’t sound very sweet.”

“Thanks for the information, Sister.”

“If your thanks are sincere, donate generously to our food drive. Every single can, jar, box, and bottle goes to those in serious need.”

“Will money do?”

She laughed. “Money always does.” The lilt, restored.

Milo said, “Sisterly revenge. Now I’m thinking Okash didn’t rabbit, she’s probably history. So what does that have to do with wiping out six other people?”

My head filled with white noise. I went to the kitchen, filled two coffee cups, took my time returning. Sorting, contextualizing. Imagining.

I handed him a cup. “Let’s start with the simplest motive: McGann and Vollmann were eliminated because they asked too many questions about Benny.”

“They asked Okash, not the Kiersteads.”

“Maybe not. The Kiersteads own the building and two dummy galleries. What if Okash wasn’t around when McGann and Vollmann came by but the Kiersteads were? They put on compassionate faces, invite McGann and Vollmann in.”

“And boom.” He rubbed his face. “Fine. What about the limo?”

“What I said yesterday. Gurnsey and Okash humiliated her. That sped up Okash’s execution date and earned Gurnsey spillover hatred. Once he was targeted, The Museum of Desire came to mind. The level of planning and cruelty we saw in the limo stinks of long-standing sadistic fantasies. It’s possible the slaughter would’ve occurred without Gurnsey but he provided an aha moment.”

“They’re evil, the painting fills in the blanks?”

“These are people who choose Nazi references when they name their companies. It’s all about game-playing.”

His turn in the kitchen. He came back chomping an apple viciously and working his phone.

Downloading Candace Kierstead’s DMV photo, he called the Caribbean market.

“Ms. Graham? Lieutenant Sturgis.”

“Oh, hi. What’s up?”

“You were really helpful when we were in and I wondered if I could send you another photo.”

“Of course. You’re making progress on Solomon?”

“Slowly but surely.” He sent the headshot. Seconds later, Graham called back. “Sure, that’s Candy. She’s a great customer, likes our beers and our fresh vegetables. She and her husband come in all the time. He told me he developed a taste for spice when they lived in Asia and then in the Grand Caymans.”

“Did they ever come in with the other woman I showed you?”

“No, they’re more recent — the last few months. Very nice, always pay cash.”

“Thanks.”

“That helped you?” said Graham.

“Inch at a time.”

“Just like starting a business.”

Milo demolished the apple as if it were a threat, dangling what was left from the stem. I said, “The Kiersteads probably heard about the market from Okash, discovered Roget on the bulletin board.”

“They do their thing with the limo, save Okash for last, do her on the sly.”

“No reason to display her,” I said. “She didn’t fit the painting, they could toss her like garbage.”

He put in a call to John Nguyen, got voicemail, tried a judge with the same results and went silent. Tossing the apple, he returned eating a nectarine, getting juice on his chin and dabbing. “Candace worked me like a goddamn piece of clay.” He laughed. “The art metaphors just keep coming.”

He demolished the nectarine. “What were you doing driving around at five in the morning?”

“Information overload. You were also up early, had time to research the Kiersteads.”

“Got your text at five forty, it threw me, all of sudden Candace is in a new light. Once I steadied my neurons with a shot of WhistlePig, I woke up the kids. Bogomil’s assigned to the gallery building, the lads are taking turns driving up and down Benedict and every third time, cruising Conrock. Can’t do a sustained watch on Conrock. Too quiet, no street parking, everything’s conspicuous.”

“Get the lads a Bentley from the impound lot and have them wear ascots.”

He exploded into laughter. Wrapped the nectarine in the napkin and said, “I saw eggs. Can you spare some?”