“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.”
Chapter 27
Milo said, “Let’s check out that market. You mind driving? I need to think.”
I took Olympic east to San Vicente, continued past La Brea where the street turned to Venice Boulevard, hooked a right on Western, and drove a block south of Jefferson.
Tough neighborhood since the fifties, ravaged four decades later by the self-destruction sparked by the Rodney King riots. During the ensuing decades, no shortage of talk about renewal from politicians. But L.A.’s not a movie town for nothing; people get paid well to act.
Some of the storefronts had been rehabbed. More were boarded or empty and the overall feel was drab and sad.
J&M Caribbean Market was one of the bright spots, a single story of cement block painted lemon yellow and lime green, with hot-pink, bubbly-font signage asserting itself under a spotless red awning. A rolling iron accordion fence was pushed to the right side of the building.