The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(72)

She winked. “I couldn’t exactly tell him about my youth. Though it was pretty tame compared with Medina and Connie.”

“Could I run a few names by you? People Medina may have known?”

“If it’s a short list, I really would like to get my shopping done.”

No reaction to any of the victims. When I said, “Geoffrey Dugong,” she said, “That’s a real name.”

“He’s an artist Medina represents. Born Jeffrey Dowd.”

Silence.

“Emmy?”

“That’s Medina’s brother. Half brother. Like I said, her dad was a hippie, had a child with another woman when he was married to Medina’s mom. Jeff’s involved in whatever this is about? I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. He was always kind of tightly wound.”

“How so?”

“Irritable, easily distracted, jumpy. He’s in Medina’s life now?”

“That’s surprising?”

“They never really seemed to have much of a relationship, Doctor. At least the few times I saw them together.”

She leaned forward. “She used to refer to him as ‘Daddy’s little bastard.’?”

“She resented him.”

“Maybe the affair was a factor in her parents’ divorce. I can’t say for sure, the one time I brought it up she got angry.”

I said, “Anger’s always been an issue for Medina.”

She stared at me. “Why do I feel I’m in therapy? Yes, she could go zero to sixty like this.” Snapping her fingers. “So she’s done something. What a shame, I was hoping the experience would change her. You must think I’m odd. Two friends who ended up incarcerated. But I had other friends, my academic cohorts.”

She laughed. “That sure came across defensive, didn’t it?” She stood. “I really have to get those groceries. Pregnant women work up a hunger.”

I walked her to the car. She tried to step ahead, failed, settled for ignoring me. Reluctant to offend. Maybe it had saved her life.

When we got to the top of the hill, I said, “Thanks for talking to me.”

“I’m not sure what you really got out of it. And truth is, I don’t want to know the details. What’s the point?”





CHAPTER


    34


As she drove away, I called Milo.

Straight to voicemail at work and home.

I said, “Learned some interesting things about Okash,” and got out of there.



* * *



—

Robin was in the kitchen, hair toweled, wearing her Japanese robe and reading Cook’s magazine. Blanche stretched a few feet away, attending to a jerky stick. Both of them looked up and smiled. Robin got up, fetched a couple of plates and two bottles of Grolsch from the fridge, set them on the table.

Turkey sandwiches, potato salad, Greek olives, apple slices.

I said, “Impressive leftovers.”

“Easy when you start with good stuff. So how were the nuns?”

“One nun, nice person.”

I summed up what Emeline Beaumont had told me.

She said, “Two lose their freedom and the one who’s left chooses self-restriction.”

“Interesting way to look at it.” I popped the bottles.

Robin said, “So now you know this woman’s capable of calculated violence and has a brother with anger problems. That must’ve been some family.”



* * *



—

We were clearing the table when Milo called.

He said, “You’ll never believe who I’ve got sitting in an interview room.”

“Okash.”

“Her brother.”

“Dugong.”

A beat. “There goes my punch line. How the hell did you find that out?”

“I left you a message explaining.”

“Saw it but didn’t read it, yet. Too busy with Geoffrey. You have time to bop over?”

I looked at Robin.

She said, “He’s coming over? Sure, I’ll make more sandwiches.”

“He wants me at the station. The angry brother showed up.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to go. Civic duty and all that.”

“I can tell him no.”

She stroked my cheek. “Naysaying’s not your strong point, darling.”



* * *



—

Milo had placed Geoffrey Dugong in a room he rarely used because it flanked a small observation area with a one-way mirror and he didn’t like being observed. Dugong was on his feet, pacing. A gray wheelie bag and a green duffel sat in a corner.

Medina Okash’s half brother wore a black leather jacket, red T-shirt, black jeans, orange sneakers. Tattoos wriggled from under his cuffs and ivied the sides of his neck. The rings sausaging his beard were gone, leaving a coarse fan of dark hair that reached his pectorals.

His circuits were slow, a bent-over trudge that traced the walls of the room. Dispirited, none of the anger we’d seen at the gallery. Younger than Medina Okash but he looked older.

I said, “Different Geoffrey.”

Milo said, “He’s been hitting the sauce hard, fear of flying. His story is he had a flight three hours ago back to Florida, Ubered to the gallery where Okash was supposed to meet him and drive him but she didn’t show up.”