“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.”
CHAPTER
43
Custody paperwork filled the rest of the day, followed by dinner with Robin that I cooked and catching up with psych journals. I went to sleep at eleven p.m., woke up at midnight, one a.m., two thirty.
As four a.m. approached, I remained wide awake, eyes open, muscles tight, synapses jangling. I tried to deep-breathe myself back to sleep.Doctor-soothe-thyselffailed and at four forty-five a.m., I got out of bed, made my way to the closet, and got dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, and running shoes.
Robin stirred. I kissed her forehead and went to the kitchen. Blanche stirred from her service-porch crate.
I opened the unlocked grate, received a somnolent lick.
After writing a note to Robin, I left.
—
When you’re compulsive, even new habits die hard.
No doubt where I was going.
Rolling down the private road topped by my house, I had to brake hard to avoid a buck with a full-on rack of antlers. He stared at me, flexed chest muscles, and bounded off into the brush. Moments later an enormous owl soared out of a pine tree and was swallowed by a lavender-black sky.
The Seville’s windows were open. Cool May air and scurry-noise blew through. I got cold and shut the window. Didn’t like the ensuing quiet and put the radio on.
KJazz. Stan Getz playing “Desafinado.” Nice and mellow but it didn’t matter.
—
The Glen was free of vehicles. I sped to Sunset, made an easy left turn, and drove toward Beverly Hills. Thinking about Crispin Moman making his way up Benedict Canyon, intent on fecal revenge.
Driven by forces he’d never understand.
Lucky him.
—
Easy to take my time on a deserted Benedict Canyon. I spotted it well in advance.
White car backed into the driveway of the blue house.
I checked the rearview, backed up illegally, turned east, and, as I had the first time I’d been here, drove to the top of the street, just out of view. Exiting the car, I walked downhill, blanketed by darkness, hoping my footsteps didn’t set off someone’s guard dog.
I descended just enough to see lights on in the blue house. A faint driveway bulb clarified the car: the Volvo. I took a few more steps.
