The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(56)

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?”