The Beast Page 5

  “So you two must have had some kind of relationship if he gave you that power.”

  “I think I was the least of many evils. We don’t really have a relationship, but my father recognized that I was honest.”

  Don’t have a relationship. Still using present tense. “What kind of charities did your father support?”

  “They’d vary, depending on his mood. And let me tell you, the man was very, very temperamental. He was my father and he supported his family, but he’s not likable. He was a womanizer and a louse when he drank. Is this interview going to take a while? If it is, could I call you back in a bit?”

  Marge said, “Just a couple more questions. Are you coming to L.A. to make arrangements for the body?”

  “My dad had made prior arrangements to be buried somewhere in L.A. I’ll come in for the burial. I can’t talk for my sister—Oh dear. Did you call her? My sister?”

  “I left a message with Hollie Hanson to have her call me.”

  “So you haven’t spoken to her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll call and tell her the news. What else do you want to know?”

  “If your firm did your father’s estate planning, you must know the contents of your father’s will.”

  “That’s not a question, Sergeant, that’s a statement.”

  Marge was quiet.

  Penny said, “This is not a discussion to be had over the phone. Let’s just say there is plenty to go around. No reason for any of the principals to be covetous. I’m wealthy and my sister is even wealthier. We both were aware that it was only a matter of time before my father passed on.”

  “A matter of time? Was your father in poor health?”

  “Not that I know of, but he was old.” A long pause. “The fact that someone hurried his death along is troublesome. I’m wondering if a phony will isn’t about to make an appearance. Anyway that’s not your concern. Or maybe it will be your concern. I should hang up now. I have to call my sister. This is just terrible—the murder. No one deserves to have their life cut down.”

  “Could I call you later?”

  “How about if I have time, I’ll call you later.”

  “When do you think you’ll be coming into L.A.?”

  “When are you done with the autopsy?”

  “Probably by tomorrow.”

  “Please call me when you’re done so I can transfer the body to a funeral home. I’ll try to schedule the funeral on Monday or Tuesday.”

  “Do you think your sister will come out?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Graciela had even less tolerance for Dad than I do.”

  “When you come out to L.A., I’d like to talk to you a little more at length.”

  “No problem. I really do have to go now, Sergeant Dunn.”

  “One more thing. Were you aware that your father kept a tiger in his apartment?”

  “A tiger?” A pause. “Are you serious?”

  “An adult female tiger. We had to extract the tiger before we could even enter the apartment.”

  “Oh my God! Did the tiger attack . . . no, that wouldn’t be a police matter. Is my father’s body even recognizable?”

  “As far as we could tell, the tiger didn’t lay a paw on your dad.”

  “That’s good to know. I knew my father was giving that crazy organization some money, but I had no idea he had become so personally involved in wild animal rescue. To keep a tiger in his apartment is beyond ludicrous.”

  “What wild animal organization did he support?”

  “Global Earth Sanctuary. It’s in San Bernardino. I know because I sent out the checks.”

  “Was he giving them a lot of money?”

  “Pocket change for what he was worth: a hundred thousand a year. If you have further questions, you’d be better off calling them. I really must hang up now.”

  “Thank you for your time. Be sure to call us when you’re in Los Angeles.”

  “Yes, I will. Bye.”

  Marge hung up the phone. The man was professional and straightforward when answering questions. For the time being, Marge put him at the bottom of the list.

  “I HAVE AN appointment to tour the sanctuary tomorrow at eleven,” Decker told Marge. He was at his desk with his feet propped up; she was sitting on a chair and paging through her notes. “You can come if you’d like.”

  “I’d love to come with you, but Sabrina Talbot called back. Oliver and I are meeting her in Santa Barbara tomorrow at eleven in the morning.”

  “That’s fine. If I get a weird feeling about the place, we’ll do a return visit.”

  “Have you looked up the organization yet?”

  “Just the Web site. It began with a woman named Fern Robeson, who bought some acreage in the San Bernardino Mountains in 1975. According to the bio, she started taking in wild animals because there was no other refuge for them. One thing led to another, and now her place is a way station for all sorts of wild animals.”

  “What kind of animals?”

  “Anything—lions, tigers, bears, snakes, apes, chimps, crocs. She has her own private zoo.”

  “Is she licensed to do that?”

  “Now she is. The place was almost shut down thirty years ago. Fern persevered, went on a massive fund-raising campaign, and received over a million dollars for the cause. Eventually she managed to secure a license to house wild animals. Fern died three years ago at seventy-two. There is some money in her foundation to care for the animals, but it is quickly running out. When I talked to the acting director—a woman named Vignette Garrison—she wasn’t sure that Global Earth would last more than a year without Penny’s support. I don’t know how much he gave, but it must be sizable. Exotic animals are expensive to feed.”

  “Penny’s son said the old man was giving about a hundred gees a year.”

  “Well, that is sizable.”

  “You know, you just can’t put all those animals together,” Marge said. “They live in different environments. The place must be large.”

  “I’ll find out tomorrow.”

  “Know anything about Vignette Garrison?”

  “She’s thirty-seven, unmarried, and has devoted her life to saving wild animals. She worked as an assistant in a vet’s office before becoming involved with Global Earth. She’s been there for fifteen years.”

  “Do you have a picture of her?”

  “Not on me. I can pull up the Web site.”

  “Let me guess,” Marge said. “She’s tall and stick thin with stringy blond hair and no makeup.”

  “I don’t know how tall she is, but she looks very thin.” Decker pushed a button and printed out her picture from the sanctuary’s Web site. He gave it to Marge. “She was Fern Robeson’s protégée. She asked me about Penny’s will when I spoke to her.”

  “Really,” Marge said. “That’s not only crass, but it also says to me that she has something to gain by his death.”

  “Penny was giving her money while he was alive,” Decker said. “Unless she expects a windfall once he dies, why knock him off? And that brings up another question. Penny was old. Why kill him at all? Makes more sense to just wait it out and let nature take its course.”

  Marge said, “Darius Penny said his old man was mercurial. If the old guy was about to change his will and leave you nothing, you might want him dead before he has a chance to make the change.”

  “How would Vignette Garrison know if he was about to change his will?”

  “Maybe she pissed him off,” Marge said. “Maybe he told her.”

  “Why would he tell her?”

  “To manipulate her or maybe just to be mean,” Marge said. “Darius said his father had made a lot of enemies. He was a mean guy, especially when he drank.” She thought a moment. “I don’t remember seeing alcohol bottles around. I’ll ask Scott about that.”

  Decker ran his fingers through gray hairs streaked with youthful red. “If Darius Penny’s firm handled the estate, he would know if his dad was changing the w
ill.”

  “He doesn’t seem like a good prospect for the murder. He’s rich in his own right. Plus for the last two months, Darius has been at work from seven in the morning to midnight.”

  “And you’ve verified that?”

  “Not yet, but something like that would be easily verifiable. He works in a skyscraper near the Battery. Those buildings have video cameras everywhere.” Marge gave him a smile. “If you want to send me to New York for verification, I’m willing.”

  “I bet you are.” Decker laughed. “Look, sister, I’ve put in for meals and gas money for your upcoming trip to Santa Barbara. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. All you’ll find there is bad breath.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ARRIVING HOME BY seven in the evening, Decker was surprised to find the house dimly lit with no aromas wafting from the kitchen. He flipped on additional living room lamps and called out Rina’s name, but received no answer. It was unlike his wife to be a no-show without explanation. Maybe it was time to check his phone message. Then Gabe came out of his room.

  Decker said, “Any idea where my wife is?”

  “Your wife had a school meeting. She said she’d be home around nine.”

  “Fabulous.”

  “There are some leftover cold cuts and potato salad in the fridge.”

  “Sounds real yummy.”

  Gabe smiled. “Wanna go out? I wouldn’t mind a steak. I’ll even pay. My bank account is flush.”

  “Steak is fine with me, and I’m not yet destitute.”

  “Want me to drive?”

  Decker held up a finger as he listened to his phone message, then stowed his phone in his pocket. “Uh, how about we take the Porsche?”

  “That’s fine. I can drive a stick.”

  “You can, but you won’t.” Decker went over to a desk drawer and fished out the ignition key. “I’ll get the car and meet you out front. Put on the alarm.”

  Five minutes later, Gabe hopped into the passenger seat of Decker’s silver 911 Targa. He was wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans two sizes too big. He wasn’t making a fashion statement with his pants. Of late the kid hadn’t eaten enough to maintain his weight. “Thanks for rescuing me from starvation.”

  “I was working all day. What is your excuse for not eating?”

  “I dunno. It took me a long time to settle down.”

  “From the news about Dylan Lashay.”

  “Yeah. Wow, what a relief! I’ve been a basket case this last month just thinking about testifying. God, I’m glad it’s over! Maybe I can finally move forward.”

  “Maybe you can put on a couple of pounds. I’ve heard that Manhattan has one or two good restaurants. Take my daughter out and the check is on me. When are you going back?”

  “Tuesday.”

  Decker was taken aback. “You’re staying through the weekend?”

  “Yeah, like I explained to Rina, I just want to unwind a little bit.”

  Decker threw him a look, and Gabe blushed. “So when are you meeting her?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t snow me, kid. You’re a terrible liar.” Gabe was silent. Decker said, “Don’t do it, Gabriel. It’ll set you back. Just as important, it’ll set her back. And from a selfish point of view, I don’t want to have to deal with her parents again.”

  “They won’t find out.”

  “That’s what you said the last time. And stop clenching your teeth.”

  Gabe tried to relax. “Are you going to rat me out?”

  “I should, but I won’t.” The boy had curled into in a ball. “Gabe, you need to think of her welfare.”

  “Peter, I swear we’re not gonna do anything.” A lie: Decker wasn’t buying it. “I barely had contact with her the past couple of years.” Another lie that didn’t wash. Finally Gabe threw up his hands. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Gabriel, if her parents find out, she’s got a lot more to lose than you do.”

  He ran his hand over his head. “For the record, she called me.”

  “That’s irrelevant. You’re the one who has to say no.”

  “I don’t want to say no. Why should I?”

  “Because she’s smitten with you and can’t think straight.”

  “I’m smitten with her.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but guys function differently. You’re both way too young for commitment. Surely there are girls in New York that come with a lot less baggage.”

  “Surely there are, but I’m not interested, okay?”

  Decker smiled. “Must be true love.”

  “Can we change the subject? How’s the tiger doing?”

  “Funny you should ask. I’m going to visit her tomorrow at a wild animal sanctuary.”

  “Cool. Can I come with you?”

  Decker looked at him. “You want to come with me?”

  “Sure. It sounds interesting. I love what I do, but occasionally it might be fun to venture outside.”

  “Uh, it’s official business.”

  “Okay. I understand.”

  Decker shrugged. “I suppose you can tour around while I conduct my interviews.”

  “That would be great! Who are you interviewing?”

  “Can’t say. It’s part of an ongoing murder investigation.”

  “Can I help?”

  Decker held back a smile. “Uh, I think I’ve got it covered.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Gabe laughed. “Thanks for letting me come. I promise I won’t get mauled by a lion.”

  “Maybe you’d rather face a lion than face Yasmine’s father?”

  “We’re back there again?”

  “All I’m saying is we both could use a good steak dinner and everyone’s entitled to a last meal.”

  “Nothing is going to happen!” Gabe said.

  “Yeah, yeah, famous last words.” Decker parked the car in front of a kosher steak house. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

  The two of them got out of the car. Gabe said, “Thanks for taking me out to dinner.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “And thanks also for being a cool guy.”

  “I’m a cool guy?”

  “Peter, you are the essence of coolness. If everyone was as cool as you are, we’d never have to worry about global warming.”

  SLIDING UP THE on-ramp of the 210, Decker followed the Foothill freeway for forty-plus miles until it hit Highway 15, a dividing line between Angeles Crest and the San Bernardino Mountains. The range, going north and south, cleaved Southern California into Pacific Ocean to the west and the Mojave Desert on the east, the lowest place in the United States at 282 feet below sea level.

  The road climbed upward until the elevations were measured in thousands instead of hundreds. In the late fall, the dogwoods, maples, and oaks had lost their leaves, standing dormant and skeletal. But there was still plenty of green provided by the plethora of pines and cedars. The air was cold and crisp, the sky was overcast, and as the car scaled the heights, the road twisted and curled. A sprinkling of snow attempted to cover brown detritus of rotting leaves, pine needles, and animal scat.

  It was slow going. Then the road forked into two unpaved lanes. The navigation system became unglued and Decker had to rely on directions and a two-year-old hiking map. The car bumped along a rutted strip at about ten per hour. After twenty minutes, he saw the weathered post topped by a makeshift sign: GLOBAL EARTH SANCTUARY 3MI. An arrow pointed the way.

  The temperature had dipped to the low forties, and Decker cranked up the heat. Assuming they’d be outside most of time, he had packed scarves and gloves and had given Gabe one of his bomber jackets. The length was okay, but being that he outweighed the kid by eighty pounds, the girth was way off.

  Gabe had been listening to his iPhone most of the way. As they passed the sign to the sanctuary, he took out the earbuds and stared outside, rubbing his arms. “This is Southern California?”

  “It’s a big state. You can get just about any climate you want except glaciers.”


  “Sometimes . . . when I see unspoiled terrain like this . . . I just want to jump out and lose myself in nature. The problem is with my body weight and mountain man skills, I’d probably last about a day.”

  “Did you ever go camping with your family?”

  Gabe laughed. “Are you kidding me? Chris Donatti camping?”

  “The man knows how to shoot.”

  “Only two-legged prey. No, I grew up suburban, urban. How far is this place?”

  “According to the directions, it’s three miles from the sign.”

  “Thanks for taking me. Sorry if I’ve been bad company.”

  Decker smiled. “You’re exactly the type of company I like. The quiet helps me think.”

  “Yeah, you don’t even turn on the radio or anything. I couldn’t last more than ten minutes without something filling up my ears.”

  “When it’s silent, your brain fills in the music,” Decker told him. “After all these years, I think I’ve finally learned how to listen.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  The lane finally dead-ended in a dirt lot that had been cleared for parking. There were several vehicles—a white van, a four-wheel drive, a Honda, and a golf cart that sat underneath a naked sycamore. The property held three trailers along with miles of chain-link fencing crisscrossing the trails. He and Gabe got out, the boy sticking his hands in his pockets. Decker adjusted his scarf. A bald, stoop-shouldered man came out of one of the trailers and walked over to a white chest refrigerator. He opened the lid and began to stuff plastic bags of meat in a leather pouch.

  “Excuse me,” Decker said in a loud voice.

  The man looked up. “Can I help you?”

  Decker walked toward him so he wouldn’t have to shout. “I’m looking for Vignette Garrison.”

  The man pointed at the trailer in the middle. “Her office is there, but I think she’s out with the animals.”

  “Okay if we wait inside her office? Little chilly out here.”

  “Fine with me, but you won’t find it too much warmer inside. All we have are floor heaters.” Despite the slumped posture, the man was tall with cornflower blue eyes and white stubble.

  Decker said, “Do you work here full-time?”