The Beast Read online

  “For Chrissakes, we’re just friends okay? We went through a trauma together. We’ve got a bond that no one else understands. We’re just gonna talk!”

  “Do you also have a bridge to sell me?” Gabe crossed his arms across his chest and stared out the window. Decker said, “Guess I’m not so cool after all.”

  The boy fiddled with his iPhone and pretended not to hear.

  Decker continued speaking. “Gabriel, listen to me. I know it’s hard for you. I know you care for this girl. I don’t doubt your feelings. But Yasmine is a minor, and her parents don’t want you around. You’ve got to respect their wishes until she’s eighteen. That, my boy, is the long and the short of it.”

  The kid huffed.

  Decker said, “You’ve got to call her up. You can tell her you love her, because you do. But you also need to tell her that it’s not a good idea to get together until she’s older. And then go back to New York and concentrate on your studies and let her concentrate on her studies.”

  “We’re just going to talk. What’s the crime in that?”

  “Gabe—”

  “Fine. Okay. You’re right. I’ll do everything you say, okay. Just let me do it in person.”

  “That’s a mistake, son.”

  “She asked to see me, Peter. I can’t tell her no. Yasmine was involved in that sadistic mess because of me. And she stood by me when she could have run away from those thugs. She put her own safety at risk. Yes, I love her, but I also prize loyalty and commitment: two things that neither of my parents understands. I know that the trial is over, but that doesn’t mean that all the shit suddenly evaporates.”

  “I’m not making the rules, Gabe. I’m just telling you that it’s going to be bad if you’re caught. And I don’t want to have to deal with it.”

  “Peter, we’re just going to play catch-up. I swear that’s it.”

  Decker sighed. “Where are you two lovebirds planning on meeting?”

  “At the Beverly Hills library,” he lied. “There’s a little place right next door. We’re just gonna get a cup of coffee. That’s it.”

  “How long is this little tryst scheduled to last?”

  “Around an hour . . . maybe a little bit more.”

  “When and what time?”

  “Sunday around three.”

  “What excuse is she giving her parents?”

  “That she’s doing work in the library. They live real close. She does work there all the time.” When Decker gave him a sour look, he said, “I swear I’ll be back at the house by eight at the latest, and that’s allowing for an hour travel time. Rina’s taking me shopping on Tuesday morning, and then I’m leaving for New York on the red-eye. It’ll end because of distance anyway, unless she comes to New York. There’s certainly no reason for me to ever come back to L.A.”

  Decker was quiet for a moment. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Gabe said. “I mean I love you guys and all that stuff. But you two go back east all the time to see your real kids and I can always see you then.”

  “My real kids?”

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  “I understand that Los Angeles isn’t filled with happy memories for you. I’m not offended. But I want you to know that I wouldn’t be wasting my breath—which at my age is a precious commodity—if I didn’t consider you my real kid.”

  “I know you care. I’m sorry if I sound unappreciative.”

  “No apology necessary. Just saying that you always have a home with us.”

  “I know. And I’m really grateful.”

  “Good to hear. So you’ll promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “When you play the Music Center, you’ll get us free tickets.”

  Gabe grinned. “I will be delighted to get you front row seats, even if I have to pay for them myself. I’ll even arrange for backstage passes.”

  “You do that then we’re square.”

  “That’s gonna happen, you know . . . that I’m gonna play all the biggies like Music Center and Carnegie Hall and all the top venues in Europe and Asia. I’ve already chosen what conductors I want to work with, what sonatas and concertos I’m gonna play with each one and what I’m gonna do for encores.”

  Decker nodded and tried to stifle a smile.

  “It’s gonna happen.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Gabe. You’ve got the talent.”

  “I’ve got the talent, I’ve got the drive, and I practice more than anyone else at my school. I’m possessed.” He patted Decker’s back. “Like someone else when he’s working.”

  “Don’t blame this on me. I refuse to take responsibility.” A pause. “I do have a question for you. What are you going to wear to the Grammys?”

  “One-button tux over a black tee and bright red lizard cowboy boots.”

  “Bright red lizard cowboy boots.” He nodded.

  “Real sick, huh?” A pause. “I think I’ll wear my glasses instead of contacts, though. It’s who I am.”

  “Indeed.” Decker held back a smile. “Pretty sharp outfit.”

  “My dad’s a first-class bastard, but a spiffy dresser. I guess it’s just genetic.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHILE FLIPPING THROUGH the Polaroids, Decker said, “Interesting . . . and a bit voyeuristic . . .” He threw the pictures on the desk. “But the man was eighty-nine and a recluse. Maybe he hadn’t given up his vices, but with his wealth and age, I doubt if he went out to find them.”

  “Escort services?” Oliver tried out.

  “Yeah, sure, go ahead. Maybe he was shot by a call girl.”

  “It’s happened before,” Marge said. “She saw that she was dealing with an old man and decided to rob the place.”

  “First of all, he was not only shot but someone also bashed his head in. That’s personal. Secondly, did you see anything of value there?”

  Oliver said, “Maybe the assailant was looking for something specific. When he found it, he took it and left.”

  “Only problem with that, he—or she—had to get past the tiger first,” Decker said.

  “Tiki was dragging around chain,” Marge said. “Stands to reason that she was chained up at one point. Maybe Penny was expecting a call girl.”

  Decker said, “If you like a call girl theory, find a call girl.”

  “Well, what theory do you like?”

  “I’m still thinking about Vignette Garrison. She knew him, she’s been at the place, and she had a rapport with the tiger. And she kept asking about the will until I told her that Penny was murdered.”

  “How’d she react?”

  “Appropriately shocked. But in L.A., everyone’s an actor.”

  Oliver said. “What did you learn about Global Earth?”

  “They were running the place on a shoestring budget.”

  “Isn’t that par for the course with nonprofits?” Marge said.

  “Yep.” Decker thought about his visit. “But I do have a few problems with Vignette Garrison being a murderer. For starts, she seemed sincere. Secondly, it wouldn’t make sense to shoot the goose laying the golden eggs. Penny’s money was the main reason that the organization stayed afloat.”

  “Now that he’s gone, is the place going under?” Oliver asked.

  “They have some support from other people and organizations, but Penny was the biggest donor.”

  “How do you know that?” Marge asked.

  Decker smoothed his mustache. “From the accountant.”

  “You talked to Global Earth’s accountant.”

  “It’s secondhand information.”

  Oliver said, “Where’d you get the secondhand information?”

  “I took Gabriel with me this morning,” Decker said. “He was bored and asked to go. After the ordeal of the trial, I wanted to do something nice for him. He took a tour of the place while I was with Vignette. His tour guide was loquacious and told Gabe that he did the accounting for Global Earth gratis.” />
  “So all this information is via Gabriel?” Marge asked.

  Decker nodded. “He’s credible. It seems to me that Hobart Penny was worth more to the organization alive than dead.”

  “Unless he left them a chunk of his estate in the will,” Oliver said.

  “If he did that, Darius Penny would know about it,” Marge said.

  “What do you think about him? Darius Penny?” Decker said.

  “Seemed on the level. Do you doubt him?”

  “No reason, but you know how it is. You want a lead, follow the money. He’s coming out for the funeral on Monday, correct?”

  “That’s what he told me. We were planning to interview him in person then, unless you have an overriding reason to call him now. I’m working on setting up appointments with Darius and his sister after the funeral.”

  “We can wait until Monday, unless something comes up.” Decker checked his watch. Four o’clock—seven back east. Darius was probably gone anyway. “How old are the kids?”

  “Darius is fifty-five, Graciela is fifty-eight,” Oliver said.

  Decker said, “Still young enough where half a billion dollars would make a difference, even if they were wealthy in their own right.”

  Marge said, “Sabrina Talbot is coming in for the funeral as well.”

  “A family reunion,” Decker said. “Ducky. And we have no reason to doubt Darius’s veracity when it comes to his father?”

  Marge simply shrugged. “You mean like a secret will? Isn’t everything computerized nowadays?”

  Decker said, “Yeah, if there’s another will, some attorney has a copy of it.” He began to sort through pink slips. “Find out anything at all from canvassing?”

  Oliver said, “The body was a few days old before we got called in. It’s hard enough to get people to remember what they did an hour ago let alone a couple of days.”

  “You’re telling me a man was killed in his apartment, leaving behind an agitated tiger, and none of the neighbors saw or heard anything?”

  Marge said, “We can go back and canvass again.”

  “Yeah, do that.”

  “It’s okay with me. I wanted to check the video monitors in the area anyway. The old man’s apartment didn’t have any, but there are some neighboring structures and a few businesses. Maybe something was caught on camera.”

  “Good.” Winter days were short. Sunlight was fading fast. Decker said, “You should go now if you’re going to hunt around for cameras. Did you ever find something that matched the blunt force trauma on his forehead?”

  Oliver said, “Nothing that I’ve bagged.”

  Decker said, “Take another look at the apartment. Hopefully it’s no longer a health hazard. SID was there this morning. Go over and see what’s left.”

  Oliver nodded. “Sure. But first I need a cup of coffee.”

  “I hear you on that one, bro,” Marge said. “Artificial stimulants . . . don’t you just love ’em.”

  NO VIDEO CAMERAS on either side of the apartment building, but across the street was a convenience market and a techie/computer shop, both with security cameras perched over the doors. The market was manned by a Korean couple in their sixties. It was a tiny alcove of a place stuffed with cans and boxes, most of them on shelves gathering layers of dust. There was a small produce section and a dairy case. The man and woman were eager to please. Marge felt bad and bought an apple. Oliver felt bad and bought a banana. The purchases made them cooperative. They offered up the security tapes, but neither was much of a conversationalist. When Oliver showed the couple a picture of Hobart Penny, they gesticulated ignorance.

  The computer store was not much more than a storage closet crammed with shelving and overflowing with parts of broken laptops, tablets, and phones. The guy behind the counter was in his thirties with a scrawny goatee and short-cropped hair. His glasses were thick, but the eyes behind them were sharp and bright blue. He wore a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans, and combat boots. He shook his head when he saw Penny, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have something to say. “That’s the old guy with the tiger who was murdered? I mean the tiger wasn’t murdered, but the old guy was, right?”

  “That’s who we’re investigating.” Oliver gave the man his card. “So the old guy never came here?”

  “First of all, no one over forty comes in here. I mean you guys are probably over forty, but you’re not here for anything to do with technology. I build computers, tablets, and smartphones. Most people just go into an Apple store and get ripped off. I could put something together that’s Mac compatible and about a third the price.”

  “I’ve got a dial-up,” Oliver said.

  “See what I’m saying about people over forty.”

  “So you never saw the guy in the neighborhood?” Marge asked.

  “Nope. But I was aware about the tiger . . . or the possibility of a tiger.”

  “Okay.” Marge took out her notebook. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I didn’t give it to you.” Marge waited. “Fred Blues. Fred as in Alfred; blues as in cerulean hues. I have customers from the apartment buildings around here. More than one of them told me they thought that someone was keeping a wild animal in the building.”

  Oliver said, “We never got any calls.”

  “Because no one saw anything and the noises weren’t consistent. But I do know that a few of them complained to the manager—who obviously didn’t do anything.”

  “George Paxton?”

  “That’s the guy.”

  Marge said, “Did any of them say who owned the animal?”

  “Just that the noises were coming from the third floor. One of my customers said she knew it was the old man but couldn’t prove it. She even went over to the place. When the old guy finally let her in, she couldn’t find the animal but she could smell it.”

  Marge held up a finger. “She went inside his apartment?”

  “Yep.”

  “And she didn’t notice a tiger?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Did she check both the living room and the bedroom?”

  “No idea,” Blues told them. “I’m just saying what she told me.”

  “Could we have her name and number?”

  “Uh . . . I have a privacy thing. How about if I call her up for you?”

  “That’s fine,” Oliver said. “We’ll wait.”

  “It might take me a while to find the invoice with her phone number.”

  “No problem,” Marge said. “While you’re looking for the number, could we grab the tape from your security camera. Maybe it caught something that might help us out.”

  “Sure. I got a ladder in the back.”

  “That would be great.”

  Blues came back, toting a step stool under his arm. “It’s only a few risers, but you guys are tall enough.”

  Oliver thanked him and went outside with Marge. It only took a few minutes to retrieve the camera. When they came back, Blues was hanging up the phone.

  “Her name is Masey Roberts.” He wrote down a phone number and the apartment number. “She’s more than happy to talk to you.”

  “Thank you. Do you mind if we take the tape with us?”

  “Nah, go ahead. Just let me know if you find anything juicy on it. Maybe I can sell it to the tabloids. In this economy, everyone needs a few extra bucks.”

  THE APARTMENTS WERE actually quite spacious when devoid of wild animals and blood and guts. Masey Roberts’s place had the same open floor plan as Penny’s with one bedroom and one bathroom. Shelving units lined the wall of her living space, which was decorated with fresh and dried flowers, silver framed photographs, and lots of candles: the trifecta of girly stuff. She had a brown leather couch, a couple of comfy chairs, a dinette table for four opposite a flat-screen mounted on the wall.

  The young woman was in her mid- to late twenties with curly shoulder-length hair that framed a long face. Pale complexion, round brown eyes, pixie features. She wore black
running pants and a long-sleeved hoodie over a black T-shirt. Fuzzy slippers were on her feet. She was a wisp of a woman, but feisty.

  She paced as she spoke. “I knew something was going on. I must have called the freakin’ manager six times!”

  “What did the manager say to you?” Marge asked.

  “That I was imagining things and that he personally checked out the apartment twice. It was all in my head! Paxton is a freakin’ prick! We’re all lucky that the tiger didn’t escape and do real bad stuff.”

  “The guy across the street told us you actually visited Penny,” Oliver said.

  “Yeah, not that it did any good.” Masey stopped pacing and sat down. “I knew something was going on. So did others, but no one had the balls to face the old man.”

  “Why’s that?” Marge asked. “At eighty-nine, he would seem pretty harmless.”

  “It wasn’t the old man, it was the strange noises,” Masey said. “We didn’t know what the hell we were dealing with. Only that it was spooky. When I finally summoned up my courage to knock on the door, the old man took forever to open up.”

  “Did he invite you in?”

  “Yeah, he did.” A pause. “I sat down on his couch. It was awkward. I finally just spit it out. I asked him if he had any exotic pets.”

  “And?” Marge asked.

  “He said no. Then he asked me why would I think that?”

  “And you said?”

  “I said that I heard noises coming from his apartment. And I wasn’t the only one. There were at least four or five people who heard stuff.”

  “And he said?”

  “He said that was strange. Maybe it was the TV. Freakin’ liar.”

  “I assume you looked around the place,” Oliver said.

  “He didn’t invite me to take a tour, but it’s a small place. Kind of hard to hide a tiger.”

  “Did you go inside the bathroom?” Marge asked.

  “Yeah, I asked to use the bathroom. No tiger.”

  “What about the bedroom?”

  “I didn’t go inside, but the door was open,” Masey said. “There was no animal in sight. But the place smelled like a zoo. Maybe the tiger was hidden in a closet or a trapdoor or something.”