The Beast

by Faye Kellerman

  “Volunteer. I make my money as an accountant. Used to be at this time of the year, I’d never see daylight. A heart attack later, I found myself thinking about things other than quarterly estimates. Too bad shoveling shit doesn’t pay as much as manipulating numbers.” He closed the flap on the pouch. “Mealtime for the kitty cats. Wanna come see what we have here?”

  At that moment, Decker saw a woman with long hair in the distance walking toward them. She wore a knitted cap, a thick jacket, tight jeans, and hiking boots. “Is that Vignette Garrison?”

  “Yep.”

  “We have an appointment. Thanks for the invitation though.” The accountant gave Decker a wave. “I’m off.”

  Gabe said, “I’ll come with you. I’ve never seen lions and tigers up close.”

  “Well, come along and enjoy the experience.” The man stuck out his hand. “Everett James.”

  “Gabe Whitman.” He took hold of the man’s right wrist with both hands and gave him the musician’s handshake. “Thanks a lot, Mr. James.”

  “You can call me Everett.” The man took out a set of keys. “This way.”

  James opened the gate to go in just as Vignette was about to go out. They spoke for a few seconds, and when it was over, Vignette came jogging over.

  Up close, she looked younger—late twenties or early thirties. Her hair was light brown streaked with blond and hung past her shoulders. Her complexion, even in the winter, was bronze in tone. Vignette’s eyes were round and dark, her nose was thin, and her lips were full and chapped. She rubbed her gloved hands.

  She stuck out a hand. “Vignette Garrison.”

  “How are you?” Decker took her hand. “Lieutenant Decker.”

  “Golly, it’s cold. I’m wearing thermal socks and my feet still feel like two chunks of ice.”

  “If you want to go inside, I won’t object,” Decker said.

  “Not that it’s all that warm inside. But at least my feet can thaw out.”

  He followed her up the three steps that led into the middle trailer. Inside, Decker saw a bank of metal file cabinets, four desks, and about a half dozen chairs. There was also a small kitchen with a refrigerator, a microwave, several hot plates, three space heaters, and a standing fan.

  “Have a seat.” She pulled out a chair. Then she bent down and turned a knob on the space heater, then rolled it toward Decker. “This will help a little.”

  “Is this battery operated?”

  “Kerosene. We do have a generator out back. It runs the fridge.” She took off her gloves and hat. “Most of the animals are cold tolerant, but we always have backup heating just in case we have prolonged cold snaps. We also have our hot days. For the animals, we can control the heat by dumping ice in the water pools. We have a variety of animals that live in a variety of climates. What’s comfortable for savannah lions isn’t necessarily good for jungle tigers.”

  “I’m sure it takes a lot of work to get it right.”

  “You can say that again. People don’t realize that you just can’t dump animals in a single environment and expect them to get along let alone survive.” She sat down. “I’m glad you came to visit in the cold rather than the heat. You’ll see the cats at their best. The fur is magnificent. Is that your son who went off with Everett?”

  “My foster son.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “He looks a little old to be in foster care.”

  “He’s been with us for a while. By now, we consider him a member of the family.”

  “We’re not so different, then.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I adopt strays, you adopt strays. It shows a giving spirit . . . to take in something and nurture it back to health. I often think of Global Earth as one big foster home.”

  “Well, I hope it runs more efficiently than county care.”

  “Oh it does.” The joke was lost on her. She pulled off her boots and then placed her sock-covered feet atop the space heater. “Did you find out anything about the will?”

  “I found out there is a will.”

  “Great. Do you know when it’s going to be read?”

  “Uh, I don’t know if it’s like the movies where everyone sits in a lawyer’s office and hears all the allocations read aloud.”

  “So how does it work?”

  “I’m not positive, but if I were to guess, I’d say his lawyers along with the executor go over the provisions one by one. Then they are supposed to carry out the wishes of the deceased.”

  “What happens if they don’t carry out the wishes?”

  “If you think that someone deliberately took assets that were allocated to you, you can sue, I suppose.”

  “Sounds very messy.”

  “It probably is.”

  She took out a tube of ChapStick and coated her lips. “So how will I know if I get any money?”

  “Are you expecting money from Penny’s will?”

  “No, not me personally. Mr. Penny did say he intended to support Global Earth after he died.”

  Decker took out a notebook. “He said those specific words to you?” She was staring at the notebook. “Do you mind? Memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “No, sure, go ahead.”

  “Did he say how he intended to support the sanctuary?”

  She shook her head no. “I didn’t ask him. I thought it was greedy and ghoulish to get into specifics. It’s not about me, Lieutenant. I live in a one-bedroom apartment that’s as spare as the trailer. But I do care about the animals. Ever since Fern died, I’ve been trying single-handedly to carry on the legacy.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I miss Fern. She was an incredible woman. No one could possibly do what she did.”

  “She died a while back, didn’t she?”

  She swiped her cheek with her sleeve. “Three years ago. She was the backbone of this place. If Mr. Penny hadn’t come along, we might have folded.”

  “How’d you meet Mr. Penny?”

  “He found us.” She rubbed her toes. “Now that you’re here in person, I’ll tell you what I knew about Mr. Penny and the tiger. He had inherited the cub from an exotic animal importer who wound up in jail. I never got the whole story. What I do know is that he was going to donate the cub to us. That didn’t happen right away, and I guess after a while, he grew attached to her. I kept telling him that a tiger wasn’t always going to be a cub. I tried to let him know that she was going to grow up to be a very large and dangerous animal. And he kept on saying that he knew that and he’d eventually give her up. One day, he called up and asked me to come to his apartment. I thought that this meant he was ready to let her go.”

  She shrugged.

  “Instead we talked for a long time with the tiger in the room. At the conclusion of our conversation, he whipped out his checkbook and gave us fifty thousand dollars. I should have reported him, but I was stunned by his generosity. And . . . we really needed the money.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m sure you’re making assumptions, but it wasn’t just about money. Tiki is an unusually calm cat. She’s gentle once you gain her trust. And she really did seem bonded to the old guy.”

  “I’m sure she was.”

  Vignette swallowed hard. “Did she hurt him in any way after he died?”

  “Actually, no she didn’t.”

  The woman was visibly relieved. “See? That’s Tiki. The two of them were exceptionally close. I know it was stupid to let it slide. But it came from a deep love between Hobart and Tiki and a firm commitment to this place.”

  “What would happen to the animals if the place closed down?”

  “I don’t want to think about that.” She set her boots atop the heater. “Are you warm enough? Would you like some coffee? It’s only instant, but it might warm you up.”

  “Sure, I’ll take a cup.”

  Padding around in her socks, she took down two mugs and filled them with hot water. Then she added a heaping tablespoon of instant coffee and doused it with milk before Decker could tell her t
hat he drank his java black. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She sat down. “So you don’t know anything about the will?”

  “No, I really don’t.” The woman looked dispirited. Decker pressed on. “I’d like to know what would happen to the animals if the place closed down.”

  She shook her head. “I’d like to think that a zoo or a circus would pick them up. But the truth is that some of these animals are so inbred that zoos wouldn’t have any use for them. Zoos need wild stock to prevent inherited diseases. Lots of these animals were bred by for-profit dealers. The majority of the animals are too unpredictable for circuses and zoos, but they’ve lost their instincts to exist in the wilds.”

  Decker nodded, and she continued.

  “If we couldn’t find another sanctuary, the majority of the animals here would have to be put down.”

  “Sad.”

  “That’s why Mr. Penny was so important to us. When he saw what we were doing, he became a major supporter.”

  “He visited here?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “He was very reclusive. How’d you manage to get him out here?”

  “It took a lot of cajoling, but I got him here several years ago. I wanted him to know what his fifty thousand dollars was doing. He seemed pleased. Then, a month later, I got a check for six figures. I nearly fell off my chair. We have other supporters, but he was the biggest contributor. His money gave us slack so we didn’t have to constantly fund-raise.”

  “Do you have a professional fund-raiser?”

  “Good God, no. Most of our help are volunteers. Like Everett James, the gentleman that you met. On top of helping with the animals, he helps us with our accounting. We can’t afford a big staff like a zoo or anything.”

  “How many paid employees does Global Earth actually have?”

  “Full-time, it’s only me. The costs come from feeding and maintaining the animals, state licenses, vet services, all that kind of stuff. I started off volunteering. Then, after Fern died and they offered me a junior position, I jumped at it. Allan was made president. Then after he left for Alaska, they were going to close the place down. I couldn’t let that happen without a fight. So I took over with a salary of twenty thousand a year—barely enough to pay for my car, food, and rent. A short time later, I got the call from Mr. Penny. It was like manna from heaven.”

  The walkie-talkie on her belt suddenly belched out static. “Excuse me.” She took out the squawk box. “Hi, Vern, what’s up?” Static over the line. Vignette said, “I’ll be right there.” She signed off, slipped on her hiking boots, and began lacing them up. “One of our grizzlies isn’t eating. Want to come with me and see what we do?”

  “That would be . . . interesting.”

  Vignette slipped some supplies into the pockets of her jacket. “Never met a grizzly before?”

  “Nope.” Decker managed a weak smile. “An encounter with a grizzly never made it to my bucket list.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NO MATTER HOW many times Marge made the ride, she always felt that spark of excitement when that blue expanse peeked from the horizon and then came into full view. In the sun, the Pacific was all sparkles and diamonds, frothing at the break line, the front yard of miles of luxury real estate. Lately she and Will had been talking about the next step. It made her anxious to think about it, but life was about change.

  Her mood was light, and Oliver seemed at peace. He didn’t grouse, he didn’t carp, and he didn’t bellyache. He ate his tuna sandwich and potato chips while looking out the window, licking his fingers like a fourth grader at lunch. He said, “Tell me again why we’re working in L.A.?”

  “Because our lungs have become adept at filtering smog.” A quick glance at her surroundings. “And despite the plunge in home prices, I do believe that neither you nor I make enough to afford one of these puppies.”

  “How does your boyfriend do it?”

  “His bungalow is a one bedroom and it’s inland. No view of the ocean, but he does have a huge sycamore in his tiny backyard, and the place is within walking distance to the hiking trails.” She inhaled and let it out. “You know we’re thinking about taking it to the next level.”

  “Which is?”

  “Getting a ring.”

  Oliver’s eyes widened. “Nice.” A pause. “I hope not too soon.” Marge’s smile was genuine. “Not immediately, no.”

  “That’s good.” Oliver bit his lip. “I mean . . . it’s good to take your time.”

  “We’ve been working together for years, Oliver. Say it out loud. You’d miss me.”

  “I would miss you.” He meant it. “I hope you’re not contemplating a move to Santa Barbara?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “He’s moving to L.A.?”

  Marge said, “That would be a no as well. Right now we’re okay with the arrangement.”

  “Good deal from where I’m sitting.” He was visibly relieved.

  “Aw . . . you care.”

  He squirmed and changed the subject. “What kind of ring?”

  “He’s resizing his late mother’s old diamond—three-carat emerald cut.”

  “That’s the real deal.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “Good for you, Marge. I’m happy for you.”

  “Thank you, Scott. I’m happy, too. I’ve got a good guy. I know that the ring’s only a symbol, but it’s still nice. Not only will it look pretty on my finger, but jewelry is always a good investment in times of economic uncertainty.”

  SABRINA TALBOT LIVED behind gates in a multi-million-dollar estate house on multiple acres with multimillionaires and a few billionaires as neighbors. The structure wasn’t visible from the road. It was masked behind a forest of trees and iron fencing. The metal pickets had been forged into seven-foot-high helmeted men sporting pikes. Directly behind the fencing were rosebushes, sprouting thorns on each branch. Every ten feet or so were brick pilasters topped with decorative lights and security cameras. The guard house bisected the driveway to the house. Marge stopped in front of the gate and rolled down the driver’s window. The sentry pulled back a door revealing a very big man: around six feet three with at least 275 pounds of fat and muscle. His bluish black skin tone spoke of Africa, so Marge wasn’t surprised when he spoke with an accent.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m Sergeant Marge Dunn and this is my partner, Detective Scott Oliver. We’re from LAPD, and we’re here to see Sabrina Talbot. Her secretary set up an appointment today at eleven.”

  “One moment.” The door slid shut. It took several minutes. The guard stayed ensconced in his protective chamber, but the gates parted majestically. Directly in front was a golf cart with a sign on the back that read: FOLLOW ME.

  They rode an asphalt trail that cut through acres of greenery—silvery olive trees, California oak, bare sycamores, and varieties of menthol-exhaling eucalyptus, all of the trees underplanted with thick foliage and bushes. Eventually the specimen trees gave way to acres of avocado groves: evergreens with dark green polished leaves and gnarled trunks. A pale blue sky held filmy clouds. The air was mild and perfumed.

  It was taking a very long time to reach the house, but that could have been the fault of the golf cart, which was ascending at a particularly slow rate. Finally there was a clearing of newly sod lawn and surgical landscaping, hedges trimmed to a precise ninety-degree edge, and symmetrical flower beds of deep jewel hues of pansies and primroses.

  Every queen has her castle, and Sabrina’s three-story stone Tudor estate came complete with mullioned windows and a turret. The cart stopped, and two uniformed valets came rushing over to open the car doors.

  Marge and Oliver stepped out of the car. She said, “Do I need a ticket?”

  The valet stared at her. Another giant of a man answered in the valet’s stead. “No, you don’t need a ticket. I’ll escort you inside.” He held out a hand. “Leo Delacroix.”

  “Like the artist?” Marge asked.
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br />   “Same spelling. No relation.” His touch for a big man was surprisingly light. “This way. You’re right on time. Ms. Talbot is a stickler for punctuality.”

  “Then we have a lot in common.” Marge looked around as they walked to a two-story iron front door. “Although we probably have a lot more not in common.”

  Delacroix’s face remained stony. He pressed a button, and the full chorus of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” resonated through speakers. The doors split and a third guard took over. He was young, white, and muscular with a thick neck and a military buzz cut for hair. He introduced himself as Thor Weillsohn, leading them down a marble hallway into a reception room, modest in size but not in ornamentation. The furniture was all-white curlicue legs and backs, upholstered in jacquard blue silk. Persian rugs lay over a parquet walnut floor, and tapestries hung from white paneled walls. Angels and cherubs hovered above in a sky filled with puffy clouds.

  “Ms. Talbot will be with you in a minute,” Thor told them. He left, closing two white paneled doors behind him. Both of them remained standing, neither wanting to park a butt on something that was breakable and/or priceless. Oliver let out a low whistle.

  Marge said, “I guess Hobart gave her a decent settlement.”

  “How old is this woman?”

  “In her fifties. She was in her twenties when she married him.”

  “She did well.”

  Another minute passed, and then the doors opened. This time it was a uniformed maid carrying a tea and coffee service, three cups and saucers, and a plate of cookies. “Please have a seat on the divan.”

  Marge and Oliver looked at each other and sat down simultaneously on what they thought was the divan. It wasn’t padded much and was ramrod stiff on the back.

  The housekeeper said, “May I pour for you?”

  “Thank you,” Marge said. “That would be lovely.”

  “Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee. Just milk.”

  “Same for me,” Oliver said. “Thank you.”

  She set the service down on a table and poured in silence. Then she passed around the cookie tray. They each took one out of politeness and placed it on the saucer. The maid put the cookie plate and napkins on a coffee table, and then she left.