The Museum of Desire

Chapter 25

As we made our way out of the gallery, I searched for Dugong in the crowd. In a corner, blocking one of his paintings as he sulked and gulped Prosecco. Not even pretending to listen to a shaved-head, six-foot woman’s arm-waving description of something.

Angry eyes. No red dots on any of the paintings indicating a sale. Reacting to that or was his emotional thermostat set permanently on high?

We stepped outside into soothing silence and headed up Hart. The same homeless people plus a few more. The stench of self-neglect assaulted the cool spring air in noxious bursts. This time Milo handed out money. A few blessings, a lot of stupor.

He said, “The mayor lets it get this way and also thinks he can be president — problem is maybe he can.”

I said, “Geoffrey’s got a temper problem.”

“He does, indeed. What’d you think of Medina?”

“Never had my belly button appraised before.”

“Touchy-feely but cold,” he said. “The way she stood in the doorway and did this.” Caressing his sleeve. “Like being prodded during a physical.”

“I got that plus a love-bump, here.” Patting my flank.

“Now I’m jealous — fine, you’re cuter.”

“She’s also got a protégé who comes unglued easily and the gallery was Benny’s last destination before being killed. I find all that interesting.”

“Fascinating,” he said. “I mean it.”

As I drove, he ran Okash through the databases. “Well, well, well, our girl’s got a record, all in New York. Three DUIs and one cocaine but also an assault conviction... looks like she cut up another woman outside a Lower East Side bar, served seven months of a two-year sentence at the Bedford Hills women’s prison. One bust but it’s still serious violence. Maybe she just got craftier.”

I said, “One thing for sure, she learned to suppress her emotions. Or never had a problem in the first place. Dugong’s a loose cannon but she wasn’t thrown an inch by his tantrum.”

“Yeah, I saw that, patronizing. You’re an idiot child, Geoffy.”

“She didn’t mention Dugong being with her on Saturday when she was setting up his show but artists often participate. And the prep could’ve begun earlier. As in Friday, when Benny was there.”

His shoulders bunched as he pushed his palms against the glove compartment door. “Okash coulda lied about leaving Benny alone in the gallery. If Dugong could get that pissed about Okash ducking out for a minute, a slow guy like Benny making some kind of mistake could’ve really set him off. He drags Benny to the back, shoots him in the head. Poor guy went in but never came out.”

I said, “Small-caliber bullet, the mess would’ve been manageable. But the show was coming up so the body needed to be moved. Friday, Benny doesn’t return, McGann gets worried about Benny and phones the gallery. Okash ignores her, so the following morning, before she’s due to leave for Mexico, McGann and Vollmann show up and ask the wrong questions. Like Coolidge said, Vollmann was a big guy, so he was subdued first with a knife then obliterated by a shotgun in order to delay identification. Okash and Dugong find the airline tickets, wait until after dark, and dump the bodies near the airport, where it’ll look like what Coolidge assumed: a wrong-way gang thing. They use Vollmann’s Camaro for transport and another vehicle to get away.”

He stayed silent. I maneuvered the downtown interchange, got on the 10 West, and passed three exits.

I said, “The only problem is Benny’s murder being an impulsive lashing out by Dugong doesn’t fit with three other victims and the choreography we saw in the limo. So what if by the time Benny showed up on Friday he’d been long groomed for victimhood. Because he fit a role in a script. The worst kind of casting call.”

“Back to the production thing.” He slapped the glove compartment door. “I’ve got something fits better, Alex. What planet do Okash and Dugong inhabit? Maybe we need to start thinking about performance art.”

My gut tightened. Good sign. “I like it.”

“I’m developing a major crush on it — okay, time to check out this artiste’s history.”

He returned to his phone, clicked awhile, and sat back. “Just petty stuff in Florida, some under Dugong, most under his real name, Jeffrey Mitchell Dowd.” He scrolled. “Weed, weed, DUI, weed, DUI, cocaine, weed. All personal use, total of... five days’ jail time over twelve years. Why the hell couldn’t he be cooperatively violent?”

“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.”