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.”
“Why not go straight to the airport?”
“Money. She was gonna pay him for the two paintings he sold, said she needed to get a business check. He shows up, the place is dark, he hangs around, walks to the back, finds her car there and knocks on the back door, nada. He tries to call her, no connection, returns to the front, waits some more, gets antsy, tries the back again. At that point Binchy, who’s been observing all this, follows him, ready for a confrontation. Instead, he finds a scared drunk guy who asks for help.”
“What’s so scary about a no-show?”
“Maybe it’s the booze talking or whatever personality issues he’s got. But what he claims is Okash is big on punctuality, it just didn’t feel right.” He eyed the mirror. “You wanna watch him go ’round in circles a few more times?”
“No, enough entertainment.”
—
The moment we cracked the door, Dugong stopped, stared, and tottered toward a table in the center of the room.
I shook his hand.
“Yeah, I saw you the first time.” Sharp gust of grain alcohol. He burped. “Sorry, I fill the tank before I fly. Scares the shit out of me, I like boats.” Slurred voice, red eyes, cracked lips. In a few years he could hang with the likes of Mary Jane Huralnik.
We sat down across from him.
