The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(75)

“Yeah…” Dugong reached into a pocket and pulled out an older Android with a cracked screen.

Milo glanced at me. Not a burner.

He clicked for a while, made errors, cursed, finally connected. “Okay…there’s another in…like five hours. I got to get over there. So you’ll write me a note or something?”

“We’ll do better, Geoff. We’ll drive you over and talk to the airline personally. What’s your cell number?”

Dugong told him. His fingers waved wildly. “I need to get my cats from the dude I left them with.”

I said, “You’re a cat person, huh?”

“Got three strays, they love me.”

“No dogs?”

“Cats are better, do their own thing.”

“Medina into dogs?”

“Not that she said. Can we go? I need to go?”

“Anything else you want to tell us, Geoff?”

Dugong tapped a foot, blinked, played with his beard. “I hope she’s okay. I want to sell more art.”





CHAPTER


    35


We left him in the room and called Sean up from the big D-room.

Milo told him his new assignment.

“Am I looking for something specific, Loot?”

“Nope, don’t ask questions and for sure don’t challenge the guy, he was a meth freak, still acts like one, and is tanked up on booze. Stay mellow and maybe he’ll drop some nugget of info. He does, don’t react, just remember.”

“Sounds kind of like being a therapist,” said Binchy. “You come up with the plan, Doc?”

Milo said, “Give me credit, kid. Conceived it all on my lonesome.”

Sean flushed. “Sorry, Loot.”

Milo clapped his back. “Relax. You’re the man for the job.”

“I am?”

“You bet, he thinks you’re a good guy.”

“Really,” said Binchy.

Far more cheered by Dugong’s evaluation than he should be.

Appreciating every brick in the crumbling walls of his identity. One day we’d talk.



* * *



—

He went to get Dugong out of the interview room, came out carrying the duffel followed by Dugong wheeling the bag.

They walked down the corridor, side by side, Binchy talking about something, Dugong listening. Probably music. Sean loves to talk about music.

Milo and I headed the opposite direction, to his office.

He said, “Here’s my take on Rembrandt: not too bright in the first place, additional brain cells popped by substance abuse. And tragically, he was being totally straight with us.”

I said, “Tragic because of the way he described Okash’s reaction to our drop-in.”

He leaned against the doorpost. “Freaked out by Benny’s death? Not a good fit for her being our bad girl.”

“Unless,” I said, “Okash suspected or knew she was being watched and decided to use Dugong because he’s a dull-witted addict and a starving artist who’s come to depend on her. She insists on driving him to the airport, incentivizes by promising to pay him, then stands him up knowing he’s likely to react emotionally rather than just get his own ride. He’s observed by Sean, gets taken here, tells us exactly what she wants us to hear.”

“That’s pretty elaborate.”

“So was the crime scene.”

He exhaled in several bursts and took the single stride that led to his desk. Plopping into his chair, he made it whinny in protest. “So where the hell is she?”

I said, “If the key was setting Dugong up as an unwitting character reference, she’s anywhere but where she was supposed to be. That could mean she never left the building but is out of view—like that back-of-the-back room. Or she got away without being spotted—walked a few miles west and was picked up, maybe by her co-conspirator.”

He rubbed his face. “Who isn’t Dugong. All right, let’s go for horses, not zebras, and try her damn apartment.”



* * *



—

I drove and Milo called Sleepy, asking him to get Dugong a free ticket on the next flight to Key West.

“You like being in debt?”

“We’ll find a way to even up.”

“This guy’s a C.I.?”

“Something like that.”

A beat. “If there’s a cheap seat, I’ll do it,” said Sleepy, “but man, you’re compounding interest.”

Seconds later: texted verification of the flight number.

Milo called Binchy. Binchy whispered, “Great, he’ll be happy.”

“Why the hush-hush?”

“He fell asleep, Loot. Maybe emotional overload?”

Milo clicked off. “My designated bleeding-heart. Think he could use some therapy for the balcony stuff?”

“Yup.”

“Should I order it?”

“Give him more time,” I said. “I’m keeping an eye out.”

He smiled. “Such a nurturing environment we’ve created. Okay, let’s get a look at Medina’s natural habitat.”



* * *