Layover in Dubai by Dan Fesperman

blundered during a moment of relaxation, right after the waiter brought the coffee.
    “One thing about all this that still bothers me,” he said, the thought rising to the surface like a bubble. “Why was Charlie fully dressed when he was shot? I mean, considering what he was supposedly there for.”
    “Maybe he had, well, finished?”
    “I thought that, too. But in an office? That’s where they went, as far as I could tell. There was no bed, no couch. Nothing but a desk.”
    Nanette raised her eyebrows at the mention of the desk.
    “A
small
desk,” he clarified.
    “You’re blushing, Sam.”
    She reached across the table to touch his hand. Then she smiled. Or had he imagined the touch? Her hand was already back on her side of the table. He was wrung out. Sauced and marinated, too. Venturing back onto the subject of the murder was making his mind pop and buzz like neon, a jazzed condition that seemed likely to persist as long as Nanette kept looking at him so intently with those vivid green eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, the way they were after her workouts at the Manhattan health club.
    “I hate to admit this,” she said, “but it bothers me, too.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes. Mostly because none of the possible explanations are very flattering.”
    For a briefly giddy moment he thought she was about to describe the various sexual positions that could be achieved atop a small desk. He then realized from her downcast expression that it was something more serious.
    “Charlie may have been more deeply involved in this whole thing than we’d like to admit,” she said. “It’s one reason we’re not demanding an autopsy.”
    “By ‘this whole thing,’ you mean prostitution?”
    She nodded gravely. Sam couldn’t help but recall his conversation with Charlie as they’d waited in line at the York.
    “He did seem to know a lot about how the business worked. Or at least its origins.”
    “I’m afraid we have to entertain the idea that he may have been more than just a customer. It’s a thriving trade here, in case you hadn’t noticed. Gobs of money. And, well, with all the places Charlie regularly travels—traveled, sorry—he certainly would have been well positioned to help with, shall we say, manpower procurement.”
    “You really think so?”
    Then why the big lecture on atonement? Sam wondered. Unless Charlie had, once again, been toying with him. What a fool Sam had been.
    “He mentioned something about next Monday.”
    “Monday?” Nanette seemed to perk up.
    “Big doings, apparently. Or maybe he was baiting me. He said he’d canceled his flight to Hong Kong and was going to stick around.”
    “I suppose all this could explain why he got so upset when the police raided the Cyclone. If he was truly in the flesh trade, a crackdown would’ve been bad for business.”
    Sam’s mind careened drunkenly back through everything Charlie and he had done, trying to see the events in a different light. It only made him dizzy.
    “You know,” he finally said, “this Lieutenant Assad was pretty interested in Charlie’s movements. Especially his local contacts.”
    “Oh, dear. This could be embarrassing. What did you tell him?”
    “All that I knew. I thought we wanted to help—”
    “Of course we do. And you were right to be open and honest.”
    “Except about the datebook.”
    “The datebook?”
    “I’ve been meaning to tell you. After you said to get his BlackBerry, well, it wasn’t there. But he had a datebook in his pocket, so I took it.”
    “And you didn’t turn it over to the police?”
    He nodded.
    “You should have told me sooner, Sam. This could have created a real problem.”
    “I guess it slipped my mind. And the consulate didn’t seem like the right place to bring it up, since I didn’t have it with me.”
    “Where is it now?”
    “In my room. I stuck it in a drawer.”
    “You should get it for me, right after dinner. In case the police search your room.”
    “Why would they