“What if meeting Okash changed that?”
“Femme fatale?”
I said, “She could be his patron in more ways than one. From what I saw, if they do have a relationship, she’s the dominant one. Meaning she could be free to explore sexually, like with Ricky Gurnsey. And it’s not a stretch to see Gurnsey being attracted to all that sexual energy.”
“Medina and Ricky against a hedge. Hmh.”
I said, “Geoffrey goes along with it until he doesn’t.”
“The two of them work through their relationship issues by killing four people?”
“More like taking it to the next step.”
* * *
—
As I cruised the 10 West at the ambient thirty per, Milo conference-called Reed and Binchy, caught them up, told them to begin a two-man surveillance on the gallery and Okash’s address on Fountain Avenue, in Hollywood.
Reed said, “What about sea-mammal guy?”
Binchy began humming “I Am the Walrus.”
Milo said, “Glad I caught you kids during happy time. No local address on Dugong, so far. He home-bases in Key West. You get lucky, he’s staying with Okash and one watch handles everything.”
“Got it,” said Reed, sounding a bit chastened. “How should we divide it up?”
“As you see fit. And stay happy.”
* * *
—
Next step: educating Alicia Bogomil and assigning her to return to the homeless camps where Mary Jane Huralnik had slept rough.
She said, “Still working Roget’s ads with nothing to show, so thanks for letting me shift gears. These people sound bizarre, L.T. Who picks an ugly animal for a name?”
“And here I was considering Willy Warthog for my new avatar. Yeah, they’re different.”
“Hart Street,” she said. “Not a huge hike from some of the homeless camps.”
“Just saw a bunch of homeless on the same block, for all we know Mary Jane got lured inside right there. So, yeah, ask if anyone’s ever seen her near there.”
“On it, boss. And here I was thinking arty types were delicate.”
* * *
—
I was nearing the Western Avenue exit when Milo’s phone abused Beethoven’s Fifth by repeating the first four notes at a frantic pace and chipmunk frequency.
“Sturgis—oh, hi, Doctor. No, sorry, I wish there was…when? Of course. I can meet you at your father’s place or you’re welcome to come to the station…sure, see you then.”
I said, “Roget’s son?”
“He’s here along with his sister. Coroner okayed releasing the body, they’re taking care of business, want to meet tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Nothing to tell them so don’t bother.”
“Can’t hurt to know as much as possible about the victim. When?”
“Three p.m.”
I handed him my phone. “Use the TrackSmart app and check my schedule.”
“Look at you, all computer-courant…says here you’re booked until one thirty.”
“What’s the address?”
“Two can play cyber-efficient,” he said, typing. “I’m entering the data directly.”
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.”