90% of honey bottled, dead bees cleaned up, chicks stabilized, fighting off the weather and the seemingly never-ending insomnia. Seems like it's a Tuesday-ish Tuesday now.
ACT II
The first leg of their trip had taken them to Oakland, where the parents of Sarah Roberts resided in a beautiful two-story Victorian house surrounded by immaculately kept hedges and rose bushes. The neighborhood on the far-east side of town had been spared by most of the decay happening in other parts of Oakland, reminding Mike of the gorgeous homes over on Nob Hill.
A strong thunderstorm moving in off the Bay set a fitting scene for the discussion the two detectives were about to have with the family of their murder victim. It was a part of his job he dreaded the most, passing the news of somebody's death on to the survivors.
And yet Mike knew it had to get done, and done so gracefully, with the utmost respect and integrity.
Knocking on the solid oak door, the Lieutenant stole a brief glance over at his partner in time to see Steve take a deep breath, then hold it as if to wait what would happen next. When he realized he was being watched, he exhaled slowly and managed a faint smile, before his features returned to the professional neutrality reserved for their current task.
Footsteps approached from inside, before the rattling of locks and a small chain could be heard. After a few seconds, the door slowly swung open, giving sight of a man in his mid-fifties, wearing red shorts and a white polo shirt with the emblem of a nearby golf club on the breast pocket.
"Can I help you?", he asked cordially, but Mike could see in his eyes that he'd already guessed who was standing across from him.
Parental sixths sense, he'd called it ever since joining that club.
"Mister Roberts? Jason Roberts? My name is Lieutenant Mike Stone, this is my partner, Inspector Stephen Keller. We work for San Francisco PD.", he repeated his usual spiel and pulled the badge from his coat pocket for the other man to see, "May we come in please?"
"Ehm…sure…", the man stammered and stared at both detectives worriedly, before opening the door wide enough for them to enter.
The foyer of the reasonably large house was lined in marble floors. Mike didn't have to be an art fancier to know that the large portraits on the wall weren't the cheap type you could buy at the Art Fair down on Pier 31 every other Wednesday.
Noting the elegant furniture and the car keys sitting on a small corner table belonging to a Mercedes, he wondered if Steve also felt the distinct lack of warmth in the house that exuded utmost perfection, sterility and arrogance.
"Come this way, please.", Roberts said and motioned for the detectives to follow him through a hallway into a spacious living room with a set of maroon leather couches, loveseats and a tastefully adorned glass table as the centerpiece. The multi-colored mosaic in the middle of it caught Steve's attention for a moment, as the young Inspector waited for him to lead the way and sit down on the comfortable two-seater across from Roberts.
"You ehm…you aren't the guys I spoke to at the police station two weeks ago. But somehow, I feel there's been a development in the case of my missing daughter. That, or you found my wife's car."
The comment piqued Mike's interest and he raised his eyebrows, looking over at Steve, only to have the young Inspector nod unperceptively.
"There's been a development in the case of your missing daughter, Mister Roberts.", Mike explained in an even tone, trying to keep his voice steady when a set of brown eyes stared back at him expectantly; eyes that seemed to bore holes into his skull, "We are very sorry to inform you that your daughter was found murdered yesterday. We made a positive ID this morning."
Like many times prior, they'd spent the next few minutes in awkward silence, allowing the man to cry openly, then get up to pace the room, coming to terms with the horrifying news, before sitting back down in the corner of the loveseat, working through his grief in uncontrolled sobs.
"Mister Roberts…", Steve finally said when the man across from them quieted down somewhat, "It said in the missing persons file of your daughter that she headed east with a man named Luigi. Is there anything else you can tell us about him? What is Luigi's full name? Where can we find him? Anything that'll help us speed up the investigation into your daughter's murder."
"You're sure she was murdered?"
The odd question startled Steve momentarily, and he glanced over at Mike for help.
"Absolutely, yes. It's our goal to find her killer as fast as possible, ensuring that he can't do this to another innocent young woman."
Reaching for a tissue from his pant pocket, Roberts nodded solemnly before blowing his nose, then wiped the tears away with the back of his hand.
"She ehm…I don't know this guys' real name; I know it's not Luigi. It's some kind of weirdo she found over at the Paul Kos exhibit somewhere in the Mission District. That was two…no…three months ago. Sarah loved arts and there was something about that Luigi she liked a lot."
"Paul Kos…he's big into sculptures and conceptual installations, isn't he? I remember his exhibition in the Berkeley Art Museum a few years back…", Steve noted, then hesitated to shift gears into a different direction altogether, "Do you know if this Luigi was into some specific sort of art? Was he a painter? Did he sculp? Write?"
"I don't know, Inspector, I am sorry…", Roberts said, before running a shaky hand through his wavy black hair, "I never met the guy, she'd just tell me about him occasionally. I think he may have been a writer, or poet or something like that. She'd come home after hanging out with him and suddenly say new words…words and expressions I'd never heard before and that we don't use in this house."
"Profanity?", Mike nudged curiously, only to have the other man shake his head.
"No…no. Fancy words, weird expressions for something, you know? We call it rain, and this guy…he'd say the clouds are crying tears of sadness onto the city, odd stuff like that. You see what I mean?"
When both detectives slowly nodded, Roberts drew in a frustrated breath.
"If I get my hands on that guy, I swear, he'll pay for what he did to my daughter."
"Oh no, no, no, no.", Mike cautioned and raised his index finger warningly, "That's what we're here to do, so please, Mister Roberts, let us do our jobs. At this point, we don't even know if he's involved in her murder at all. We just want to talk to him, find out when he last saw her."
"Of course, he's going to have something to do with her death.", the man countered angrily and reached for his tissue again, "She was a good girl before she started to hang out with him. I couldn't prove it but I think he got her into drugs. Smoking weed and all that nonsense. She was twenty-six years old, it's not like I could ground her for it. She may have still been living at home, but she was barely ever here. She'd spend the night at friends' houses and hang out with this Luigi dude. They all…all of them killed her!"
Pursing his lips, Mike waited a moment for Roberts to regain his composure, hands weaved in his lap as he looked down at the expensive carpet.
"Would it be possible to ehm…to get a list of all her current friends, Mister Roberts?", Steve pried carefully, causing the other man to nod.
"Martha can get that for you when she gets back from shopping and after I…after I tell her what happened."
"And your son's name is Luther, is that correct, Mister Roberts? He's a year older than Sarah? Does he still live here also?"
Somewhat surprised by his partner's intense prying, Mike risked a glance over at Steve, whose focus was entirely on the grief-stricken man sitting across from them. And yet, there was a fierceness in those expressive green eyes, indicating that something had caught the young Inspector's interest.
"He does, yes. He's not home right now. He works at the…the ehm repair shop down on Grand. Wayne's Motors. Tonight, he was going to volunteer at the funeral home with his friend, but I'll see if I can get him to come home and…and be with us instead."
Frowning once again, Mike shared a surprised glance with his partner, before clearing his throat.
"What exactly does he volunteer for at the funeral home, if you don't mind me asking?"
"It sounds weirder than it is, believe me.", Roberts counted with a faint chuckle, "The owner is a friend of our family. Sometimes, when people die and there is not much family, or the survivors are all older, you know, Luther and his friend, they help out as pallbearers, for example. And they set the flowers, answer questions, sometimes just sit there and listen. It's quite an honorable thing to do in your free time, if you ask me."
"Sounds like it."
Mike's quiet words preceded many long moments of silence, as Roberts began to sob once again, leaving the two detectives with little left to do to console a man in an inconsolable situation.
"Mister Roberts, here is our card.", Steve whispered from his corner of the couch and dug out a business card stored behind his police credentials, "If you can think of anything else that might help us in our investigation, please feel free to call. Day or night. We'll be…we'll be in touch."
