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 Ithinkof 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 aboutthosepeople, Hill. He’d never have worked for them.”
“He worked withsomeoneevil.”
No answer to that.
We offered a bit more sympathy and left them to the process.
