The Museum of Desire

Chapter 42

He sprang up again and gave the aquarium another poke, setting off piscine panic. Then he walked to his glass desk, shoved the collection of Rubik’s cubes to the floor, and began working one of his laptops.

Screenful of geometric designs. As he manipulated, he hummed atonally.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me, Crispin?”

“On your way out inform Haley I’m ready for breakfast. I want anchovies.”

No sign of his mother. The maid was in the kitchen, wiping counters with something that smelled of vinegar.

I said, “Crispin’s hungry.”

She said, “He’s always hungry,” and kept washing.

I saw myself out, sat in the Seville, and phoned Milo.

He said, “One of a kind. Mentioning the Rolls says he’s probably being straight.”

I said, “The woman’s description fits, too.”

“Midsized and dark-haired, yeah, that sums up Okash. The light-haired guy’s probably our Herr Whatever. Okay, thanks, this goes in the book. Not that the kid would ever want to testify.”

“Quite the contrary,” I said. “He’s pawing the dirt and waiting for the starter gun. It might even be the reason he called me back.”

“Why would he put himself through that?”

“For the attention.”

“Huh. From what you saw, could he handle it?”

“He probably wouldn’t spook on the stand but I’m not sure the case would survive.” I told him about the boy’s yen for confrontation over his oath.

He said, “Can’t you see Nguyen dealing with that? All right, hopefully we won’t need him. I did get Okash’s friendly manager to go up and take a look at Okash’s apartment. She refused to do anything but a once-over, says no purse, phone, or keys in plain sight, no Okash, that stench of escape is growing. Maybe I was wrong about Dugong and he tipped her off. I got Key West PD to do a drive-by at his home, guy lives in a shack-type place, is in front painting away. Sleepy can’t find any flights Okash has taken but she could be with The Herr driving somewhere. Still waiting for Okash’s phone records and that’s it. Thanks for practicing your craft. Or is it an art?”

I said, “I’m steering clear of art.”