The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(21)

For the meeting with Dr. Andrea Bauer, Milo had selected the nearest of the rooms. But as we approached the Reserved sign dangling from the doorknob, he kept going.

I said, “Change your mind?”

“She’s from Montecito,” he said. “We’re offering valet service.”

We headed down the stairs, left the station, and stood near the curb. Butler Avenue was a steady stream of unmarkeds and official vehicles entering and exiting the staff lot across the street.

I said, “Why’s she coming here?”

“She called and offered. I don’t argue with someone with the net worth of a midsized Caribbean country.”

“You researched her finances.”

“After she called, I took a superficial look at the numbers. She’s coming down for a board meeting at The Music Center, figured it would be efficient to stop by. Still haven’t been able to reach her employee, McGann. I’m hoping Bauer can direct me.”

He glanced at his Timex.

I said, “Nothing from the crypt?”

“The decomp case still rules, all four of my bodies are in the fridge closet, can’t even get a commitment for autopsy schedules. Adding to the joy, I got into Solomon Roget’s apartment yesterday and turned up nothing but a pile of those tear-off ads he posted who-knows-where. An appointment book woulda been nice, guy had to have some way to organize his schedule.”

“Whoever killed him took it.”

“That would be my guess. Along with his cellphone. He uses some small-time carrier, I subpoenaed his account, heard nothing, will keep on it. I also drove around near his apartment checking out supermarkets and convenience stores. If Roget posted at any of them, his ads have been taken down.”

“What about cameras?”

“The places I found, none are directed at the boards, the concern is pilferage, not free advertising. I also talked to the agency that rented the house for parties. Place has been vacant for a year, some sort of nasty divorce. Still unlocked by the way, I just got back, rechecked every one of twenty-plus rooms. Nothing bloody. The murders didn’t go down there.”

I said, “Nasty divorces kick up all sorts of passions so maybe the dump spot wasn’t chosen randomly. Who are the feuding parties?”

“Ansar versus Ansar. Mom split with the kids, is hiding out somewhere in the Middle East.”

“Maybe I can get you specifics. There are judges I can call.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s your other job, isn’t it? Great, thanks, terrific—okay, here’s our philanthropist.”

A maroon Porsche Panamera had turned onto Butler from Santa Monica and continued to glide toward us. Milo waved, the car stopped, he pointed to the staff lot, hustled across the street, and used his key card to raise the barrier. I waited and a few minutes later he emerged from the lot with a woman wearing a black hoodie, black tights, and red ballet shoes.

Same face and coif as her pictures but Andrea Bauer had let her hair go white. Artful white, shiny as chrome, every strand in place. She moved quickly but with the slightly off-kilter gait you see in women who’ve sacrificed stability for extreme thinness.

Milo doing all the talking, Bauer staring straight ahead. By the time the two of them reached me, her hand was out. She allowed me a brief shake of her fingers. Stiff and cool, nails cut short and buffed. Her nose and chin were sharp enough to cut paper, her eyes nearly black.

“Nice to meet you, Doctor. Good to hear the police value behavioral science.” Deep, slightly abrasive voice; Lauren Bacall with a cold.

I smiled. “Dr. Bauer.”

“Andy.” She looked at the station door. “Never been in a police station before. Time for everything, I guess.”



* * *



—

We stepped inside and Milo offered her the elevator.

She said, “The stairs, use it or lose it,” and climbed ahead of us. Medium-sized woman but able to take two steps at a time. At the second floor, Milo outpaced her and held the door to the tagged interview room. He’d set it up friendly: table in the center, three chairs on three sides, bottled water, plastic cups.

Andrea Bauer took the center chair without instruction. “Interesting. I imagine the environment alone intimidates suspects.”

Milo said, “All kinds of people come in here.”

“Such as?”

“People helping us out.”

He sat across from her. I took the side chair.

“What do you call them, sources? Informants?”

Milo smiled. “People helping us. So what would you like to tell us about Benny Alvarez?”

Andrea Bauer’s thin lips turned down. “This has been incredibly difficult, I’ve never dealt with anything like it. Benny was a sweet, innocent human being, Lieutenant. I was pleased to be able to take him in. Was he probably abducted on the way from work?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Can you tell me if he suffered greatly?”

“I don’t believe he did.”

“It’s utterly mad,” said Andrea Bauer. “I can’t imagine anyone deliberately wanting to hurt him. But I suppose I’m being naive. There’s all sorts of evil out there, isn’t there?”

“Unfortunately, ma’am. How did you come to take him in?”