“Small steps, Alicia. Speaking of which, we get to subpoena her phone. That burner Gurnsey and Roget both talked to can’t be documented but maybe she carried a cell with an account and we can GPS her locations. Anything from the homeless folk?”
“I wish, L.T. No one remembers Huralnik at all, let alone any sexual bad habits.”
Reed said, “They’re transient, someone who did know her could be anywhere by now.”
Bogomil said, “Transient and brain-damaged. I saw one woman with these festering sores on her legs. I offered to call the EMTs. She told me to fuck myself in the ass.”
Milo said, “No good deed, it’s my version of Newton’s law.”
“Which one?” said Binchy.
“All of them, Sean. Moses, anything more from New York on Okash’s assault?”
Reed said, “One of the D’s who worked it is deceased, I reached the other, he’s in corporate security. He said he remembered the case ’cause it was different, one yuppie white girl pulling out a blade and slashing another across the face. Other than that, he was fuzzy, couldn’t recall motive. If he ever knew it. I finally got the victim’s name from the Seventh Precinct. Contessa Welles. No social network presence, no employment or death records, so maybe they got the name wrong.”
Bogomil said, “Or she avoids the limelight. Someone slashed my face, I might.” Touching her own smooth cheek.
Milo said, “Knife attack. That’s no catfight.”
He turned back to the board and jabbed Dugong’s beard. “Despite his dope busts, this prince isn’t currently known to Key West PD, under his marine-mammal moniker or his real one, Jeffrey Dowd. Sergeant I spoke to said they’ve got twenty-five thousand residents and a couple million tourists each year, it’s a constant balancing act between keeping bad behavior low and not pissing off the chamber of commerce. When I told her Dugong was an artist she suggested I try some of the galleries. So far I’m zero for eight. Until six years ago, the guy’s got no employment history, which fits day labor on a boat, like his bio said. Alex did find a website for his art.”
I said, “Six years ago, he began doing macramé, then switched to photographic collages. Painting started three years ago but he hasn’t produced much so he still may be working under the table—deckhand, fisherman, landscaping, maintenance.”
Bogomil said, “Tying knots and pasting up magazine photos. Any actual talent going on there?”
I said, “Put it this way: He’s got a loose brush.”
Laughter.
Milo said, “From what we saw his salesmanship skills are lacking.”
“A failure with a bad temper,” said Reed. “That’s combustible.”
“Exactly, Moses. He came across stupid angry, like a kid who habitually tantrums. We don’t see him as controlled enough to plan the limo.”
“Okash is the boss?”
Milo looked at me.
I said, “If the two of them are involved, she’s running the show.”
Bogomil said, “She aims Dugong, he shoots.”
“Makes sense,” said Reed. “We’ve been thinking more than one offender. So what’s the overall theory of how it went down, Doc?”
I said, “Best guess at this point is Okash and Rick Gurnsey had repeated sexual contact. She could be the woman seen with him at the fundraiser back in January. At some point, whatever they had went bad. We’ve heard two things about Gurnsey that could’ve led to that: He’s been known to cut off relationships without warning or explanation and he could get pushy about sex, including pressuring women to do anal. The women we spoke to dealt with it and moved on. Maybe Okash didn’t.”
“Agg assault with a blade,” said Reed. “Wrong woman to pressure.”
Reed said, “So she thinks up a way to get back at Gurnsey with Dugong’s help. Why the others? Why the limo?”
I said, “I’d been thinking about it as a theatrical production but Milo pointed out it could be performance art. Okash may even think of herself as an artist, so it’s possible she constructed a tableau.”
Up to that point, Binchy had remained uncharacteristically mute. Now he spoke in a low voice. “Human collage. Dugong was once into cut and paste.”
“Good point, Sean.”
“Once in a while I come up with one.” Still subdued. At odds with his usual cheer. Milo and Reed and Bogomil looked at him. He shrugged.
I said, “Whatever the exact motivation, Gurnsey was placed in a humiliating pose. Along with Mary Jane Huralnik, who we also know acted out sexually and who may have accosted Okash downtown. Solomon Roget I’m still seeing as collateral damage—murdered for his limo. Benny Alvarez is more of a question mark. He worked for Okash, he may have seen something he shouldn’t have. But as to why she’d want him in the picture? No idea.”
Milo walked to the board, pointed to McGann and Vollmann. “Seeing something is our working theory on these poor folk. They show up at the gallery on Saturday because McGann cares about Alvarez. Vollmann’s there because they’re heading to Mexico in a few hours. The two of them are shotgunned and dumped in Inglewood.”
Bogomil said, “If it’s true, these people are monsters.”
Binchy said, “Crazy art.” Looking down at the table, tight-jawed. “ ’Scuse me, need a pit stop.” He hurried out of the room.
Last year he’d encountered a murderous power freak and nearly died in the process. I’d saved his life. Since then, he’d feigned being okay and we’d never really talked about it.
Everyone knew. No one spoke because this was the job, not group therapy.
Milo said, “Have some muffins, kids. They’re fresh.”
* * *
—
Binchy returned looking as if he’d been sick.
Milo ignored that and sketched out the new plan: The four of them would divide the watch on Okash into six-hour shifts beginning with Binchy at six tonight, Milo taking over at midnight, Reed handling six a.m. to noon, and Bogomil working the afternoon.
If Dugong’s L.A. residence could be determined, there’d be improvisation: a looser watch on him with Milo handling most of the extra hours. Milo would also pursue and analyze Okash’s phone records.
Bogomil said, “Full plate, L.T.”
“That’s why I get the big bucks.” He looked at the uneaten muffins. “Plenty of nutrition to go around— Don’t grimace, Moses. Once upon a time you ate for pleasure.”