“How about this?” said Milo. “You go into her apartment and check.”
“Check for what?”
“Is she there, is she okay.”
“She’s out,” said Mansour. “I saw her leave and she didn’t come back. She looked fine.”
“How can you be sure she didn’t return?”
“My unit’s near hers. If she was there, I’d know it.”
“She a good neighbor?”
“Now the questions start?” said Mansour. “She’s quiet and pays her rent. That means good. You suspect her of something? The owners don’t want no problems, you guys hide something and something happens there’ll be lawyers, believe me.”
“It’s a welfare check, ma’am.”
It didn’t fail because it was a lie. Mansour was primed to refuse. “Ma’am, huh? That’s what all of yous called me when I had to bail out Ali. Ma’am this, ma’am that. Meanwhile they’re putting me through the wringer.”
She turned to leave.
Milo got in front of her and tried to give her his card.
She kept her hands by her side. “Ugh. What do I want with this?”
“I’m available in case of problems. Ms. Mansour.”
“Like you care,” she said. “Like I believe anyone about anything anytime anyplace.”
* * *
—
Back in the Seville, he laughed. “Checked the weather this morning, didn’t see any storm warnings.”
I said, “Nowadays, everything’s personal.”
“Ain’t that the truth. So what’s next…maybe whoever owns the gallery building will have a friendlier attitude. Let’s see who that might be.”
I started the car. “West to the station or east to downtown?”
“You always say optimism’s healthy. Let’s aim for Hart Street.”
* * *
—
The ride was quiet but for grunts and clicks as he worked his phone.
Disgruntled bear harassed by crickets.
He sat back frowning. “Plug in the address and an outfit called AOC, Limited, comes up. But a search for business licenses and DBAs pulls up nothing. The only link I can find is an outfit in Macao: Asian-Occidental Concepts. I go on their website and everything dissolves. One more try.”
His thumbs worked. “Now it’s frozen.”
He switched the phone off and on. “Know anything about Macao?”
“Part of China, I think they like casinos.”
“Hmph—okay, it’s the—get this—Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China. I’m visualizing a mail-drop in a dim sum joint.”
I said, “Sounds like a trade center with tax benefits. Is there a chamber of commerce?”
“Hold on…there is, indeed…but it’s gobbledygook…okay, here’s something: The place has cultural agreements in Europe. Company calls itself Asian-Occidental, maybe that’ll lead somewhere.”
He muttered as he worked.
“Lisbon, Portugal…nada…Coimbra, Portugal, nada…one more place in Portugal…Porto—that where the wine’s from? I could use some…also zilch…next stop…c’mon Linköping, Sweden…thanks for nothing, Blondie…okay, here we go, Brussels, Belgium.”
He gave the thumbs-up and returned to the screen. “The Belgium-Macao Friendship Society lists a whole bunch of companies and top of the list is AOC. Along with…three subsidiaries. First one is…hold on, this is a mouthful…Nieder…schön…hausen Fine Arts…then Western Import-Export, then Heigur, Limited. Why’s that third one familiar?”
I said, “Owner of the house where Okash delivered the painting.”
“Okash sells two paintings and one goes to her landlord?”
“Maybe some kind of swap for rent. The building isn’t exactly booming.”
“Okay, forget downtown, go west, young man.”
* * *
—
No cars in the driveway of the blue house on Clearwater Lane. Mail overflowed a tarnished brass box to the left of the front door. Bulk junk addressed to Occupant. Milo put it back, rang the bell, got the expected silence.
“Not exactly Xanadu. They have a Rolls, huh?”
“And a Volvo.”
“Automotive yin-yang…the place is obviously not a mail-drop.”
I said, “Maybe it’s a layover for Macao execs when they’re here on business. Or some sort of tax dodge—keeping the ownership overseas where the rates are lower and depreciating the real estate here.”
“How does that work?”
“Above my pay grade,” I said. “I did have a custody case last year, couple was worth six hundred million, most of it in property. They bought, sold, traded up, kept depreciating, and paid no income tax. The wife threatened to expose it but it turned out to be legit.”
“She owned half and wanted to blow everything up?”
“You bet,” I said. “She hated her husband that much.”
“Nose, spite, face—doesn’t that level of ugly get to you?”
“This from you?”
“I live in one nasty world, you occupy two.”
“I’ve got a fulfilling outside life.”
“Feeding the fish?”
I smiled. “That’s part of it.”
He tried a gate on the east side of the house. Bolted. “When Okash brought the painting someone was here to let her in.”
“Definitely. She stayed inside for sixteen minutes.”
“You timed it?”
“Nothing else to do while I watched.”
“So if we keep popping by there’s a chance of catching someone. Let’s get out of here.”
He slouched toward the Seville.
I got behind the wheel. “Back to the gallery again?”
“You’ve got energy for that?”
“Sure.”
“Titanium man. Nah, I’m bushed. Drop me at the station then go feed your finny friends.”