The Beast

by Faye Kellerman

  When Decker returned, Rina said, “Gabe went to sleep. What happened?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. But I’ll be happy to talk to you. How was the evening?”

  “Your grandsons asked for you. ‘Where’s papa?’”

  Decker smiled. “How are they?”

  “They are huge! They are not only off the charts for two-year olds, they’re off the charts for three- year-olds. Cindy’s starting to train them, not because she cares all that much but because they’re starting to outgrow diapers. If she doesn’t do it soon, she’ll have to use Depends. They loved my food by the way.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “True enough. Sit down. I’ll get some tea for both of us.”

  “I’m going to shower first.”

  “Fine. I’ll bring it into the bedroom. You want another yogurt?”

  “Sure.”

  As Rina had done so many times in the past, she prepared a tray for him. Usually she made toast, but being as it was Shabbat, she took two slices of homemade challah bread and slathered it with butter. Then she put the yogurt in a bowl and added fresh fruit. The tea was herbal, the hot water from a preheated urn. She brought the food in just as he slid into bed. The room was dark, the sole illumination coming from the open bathroom door.

  “Here you go,” Rina told him.

  “Thank you. This is perfect.” He ate a slice of bread in silence. “I have to go back at eight in the morning. I’ve got an interview that can’t wait.”

  Rina checked the clock. “Then you should go to sleep.”

  “If I can sleep.”

  “I’ll sing you a lullaby.” She patted his knee. “Or I can talk and bore you to sleep.”

  “You never bore me.” Decker dug into the yogurt and fruit. “So my grandsons are football players.”

  “Maybe basketball. Akiva is actually taller, but the kid has some heft. Aaron is all height.”

  “How’s Cindy?”

  “She’s back in the field again. She likes being in the action.”

  Decker nodded. “As I recall, I was once like that.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, young man. You’re still an adrenaline junkie.”

  “Not anymore.” He started on the second piece of bread. “Seriously. I think about quitting LAPD all the time.”

  “That would be bad.”

  “Maybe bad for you, not for me.”

  “Peter, you can’t potchke with your Porsche twenty-four/seven.”

  “I didn’t say retire, I said I’m thinking about quitting LAPD. I’m tired of all the ugliness, Rina. And today was particularly ugly.”

  She placed her hand on his arm. “So if you aren’t thinking about retiring, but you are thinking about quitting, do you have something in mind?”

  “This and that.” He finished up the bread and pushed the tray away. “I probably shouldn’t be thinking of these things when I’m this exhausted.”

  “There’s truth in your feelings, even if you are exhausted. But do get some sleep.”

  “I love you. Thanks for dinner.” He paused. “What was dinner for the masses?”

  “Chicken and corned beef.”

  “Any leftovers?”

  “Of course. Do you want to try something?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Certainly not today.”

  “Shall we call it a night?” Without waiting for an answer, she got up, removed the tray from the bed, and closed the bathroom door. She leaned over and kissed him.

  He gave her one back. Then she gave him a kiss to his kiss. And then one thing led to another and hopefully a night of ugliness had turned into a night of beauty.

  Peter was her best friend. Better than a best friend: the original FWB.

  PAXTON HAD A definite fixation with green sweaters. This time it was hunter green over jeans and sneakers. He wore glasses, but red eyes were peeking out behind the lenses. His head was bald on top: the remaining hair was brown mixed with gray.

  Decker seated him in one of the interview rooms, his chair crowding Paxton against the wall. “Coffee? Water?”

  Paxton thought about it, but then shook his head no.

  Decker had already had two cups of caffeinated sludge. It was eight in the morning and he needed all the help he could get. He took out a notepad. Even though interviews were now videotaped, he always needed reminders of what he thought was important. “Thanks for coming in.”

  “Did I have a choice?” the apartment manager said.

  “No one’s coercing you to stay here, Mr. Paxton.”

  “If I don’t talk to you, it looks bad for me.” When Decker didn’t answer, the apartment manager said, “I’m in a no-win position.”

  “How about if I ask you a few questions and then we take it from there?”

  “I want you to know that I had no idea what Mr. Penny was doing—either with the tiger or anything else. Certainly not with something . . . like what you found.”

  “Were you ever in any of his apartments?”

  “Just Mr. Penny’s apartment. I never saw a tiger.”

  “Okay. How many times were you in the apartment?”

  “Maybe three times. No tiger.”

  “What about the other apartments? Let’s start with the snake apartment. Ever inside?”

  “No.”

  “How about the insects and fish?”

  “No.”

  “Never once?”

  “Never. Why would I go inside? No one ever complained. The rent was always paid on time. There was no reason for me to barge in on someone’s privacy.”

  “But you knew that Penny had rented those apartments.”

  “Okay.” Paxton fiddled with his glasses. “I’ll tell you what I did know and you can do whatever you want with the information.” A pause. “Penny offered to pay me a surcharge over that amount if I would mind my own business . . . which I do anyway. I asked him why he felt the need to pay me a surcharge. He told me that he didn’t want anyone—including myself—having keys to the apartments. I told him no. I told him I needed to get in and out of every apartment in the building in case of emergencies. He relented. He gave me a key . . . keys. All of them. And I made sure they worked. And you saw for yourself that the keys worked.”

  “Yes, they did.” Decker waited.

  Paxton exhaled. “I refused the surcharge. So I’m not the sleaze you think I am.”

  “You came in, you’re answering my questions, you’re being honest . . . don’t see anything sleazy there.”

  Paxton squirmed, ill at ease with any kind of praise. “I didn’t see Penny for quite a while after he initially rented the extra units. Then when it was Christmastime—this was about seven years ago—he gave me cash. When I asked him what for, he said he wanted to reward me for being cooperative. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted. I probably should have given the money back. But it was the holiday season. I figured why couldn’t I accept a Christmas gift from whoever wanted to give me one. At least half the apartments gives me a Christmas bonus.”

  “Okay.” Decker paused. “How large of a bonus did Mr. Penny give you?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” A pause. Paxton threw up his hands. “Large.”

  Decker continued to wait.

  Paxton coughed a few times. “Two grand . . . in cash. It’s his money to do with what he wants. I was doing everything by the books. Never stole a dime from the owners. If Penny wants to tip me for service, that’s his business.” He coughed again.

  “Would you like some water?”

  “Yes.”

  Decker poured him water from a pitcher, and Paxton drank up greedily. “What brought you into his apartment on those three occasions?”

  “Now that I’m thinking about it, it was more like five times.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “Couple times I went to pick up the Christmas bonus.” He picked up his water glass. It was empty, so
Decker filled it. “Once he called me into his place to talk about renting the apartments on either side. Another time was to sign contracts. Once there was a complaint of noise.” He held up an index finger. “One time!”

  “Masey Roberts said she called you around six times after hearing noises and you told her it was all in her head.”

  The gnome bit his lip. “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember.”

  “No, I don’t remember!”

  Decker kept his cool. “So what do you remember?”

  “A neighbor complained about noises.” The apartment manager turned red. “Loud growls and grunts. Being logical, I thought it was sex.”

  “He’s eighty-nine.”

  “You never heard of Viagra?”

  “What did you do about it?”

  “I left a note in Penny’s mailbox. I didn’t tell him what I thought the noise was. Just that it was noisy enough for someone to hear, so please keep it down.”

  “Did he answer your note?”

  “No . . . but I never got any more complaints.”

  “Which neighbor complained?”

  “The one next door to the downstairs apartment.”

  “The apartment that’s now vacant?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did he vacate that apartment?”

  “I told you. About a month ago.”

  “And he had cleaned it up before he gave you back the key?”

  “It was perfect. I almost didn’t bother to clean it. But I did for sanitary reasons.”

  “Would you mind if I had someone professional take a look at it?”

  “Professional?”

  “Someone from the Scientific Investigative Division.”

  “Is that like CSI?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think something bad happened there?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’d like to look it over. Do I have your permission to perform any test that we might want to do?”

  “This sounds bad.”

  “It’ll make a minimum of impact.”

  “Yes, yes. Go ahead.”

  “You thought that Mr. Penny was having sex in the apartment. Any reason for that thought other than the noise?”

  “A couple of times . . . well, more than a couple of times over twenty years, I saw women with massage tables going in and out of his apartment—his and the one downstairs that he rented.”

  “Did the women look like call girls?”

  “I don’t know!” Paxton tried to look offended, and then he thought better of it. “Maybe.”

  “What did they look like?”

  “It was a while ago—four, five months. I saw a woman leave his apartment. She had a massage table. At least that’s what it looked like to me.”

  “What did the woman look like?”

  “I don’t remember the specifics.”

  “How about the generals?”

  “Thin, young, long blond hair . . . big breasts.”

  “Do you recollect any of the other women who visited Mr. Penny’s apartment?”

  “They all looked the same.”

  “Thin, young, and blond?”

  “Blond and brunette.”

  “Carrying massage tables?”

  “I don’t remember if all of them had massage tables.”

  “Did thin, young, big-breasted women go in and out of other apartments?”

  “It’s an apartment building, Lieutenant. People go in and out all the time. I only remember Mr. Penny because he was an old guy.”

  “How were they dressed?”

  “Tight T-shirts, tight pants, and high heels. Didn’t take Sherlock to make the deductive leap.”

  Decker pulled out a photo card of six faces including the two women on the videos. It was the same lineup that had been shown to Masey Roberts. She hadn’t been able to identify any of them as women she had seen going in and out the apartment building.

  He handed the card to Paxton. “Any of these ladies look familiar?”

  “Maybe the blonde.”

  “Maybe?”

  The gnome shrugged. “Couldn’t swear to it.”

  Decker put the photo card away. “Did any of the women that you saw have logos on their shirts?”

  “Logos?” He coughed and drank more water. “I have no idea.”

  “Did you happen to see the cars that the women drove?”

  “Nah, I wouldn’t know that.”

  “You don’t recall seeing the same car model in the same color?”

  “If you have information, tell me.”

  “Fair enough. There’s a recently defunct massage company called Casey’s Massage and Escort. I think it used to use powder blue Priuses.”

  Paxton thought a moment. “Nothing like that ticks any boxes.” He regarded his watch. “How much longer?”

  “Would you like to take a break?”

  “No, I’d like to know how much longer. We’ve been at this for an hour. I’ve seen those shows. The cops keep going after the guy until they get a confession.”

  “What would you confess to?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why would you think I was after a confession?”

  “Because that’s what you do. Can I go home?”

  Decker said, “I’ll need you to give me the name of the person who complained about the noises in Penny’s apartment. I’ll need to interview him or her.”

  “The Shoops—Ian and Delia. They still live there . . . next door to Penny’s old apartment. They only complained once, but I know Delia was happy when I told her the apartment was vacant. I have a feeling it wasn’t the only time they heard noise.”

  “I’ll need their phone or cell numbers.”

  “Whatever numbers I have are on the list I gave you.”

  “I’m going to need to contact the owners about what we found. You know that.”

  Paxton shuffled his feet. “I’ve already told them.”

  “Good for you.”

  “But I don’t see why they’d have to know about any Christmas gifts.” When Decker was silent, the man said, “Is that a yes or a no?”

  Decker shrugged. “Right now, I wouldn’t see why that would be relevant. But I can’t guarantee it won’t come up in the future. Mr. Paxton, what do you think happened in those apartments?”

  “Me?”

  “You were closer to the situation than I was.”

  “I don’t know if I should feel honored or if this is a trick?”

  “I always ask that question. Sometimes I find that people like you are the ones who break the case.” No one spoke, but Decker could see Paxton’s shoulders relax.

  “I really don’t know.” He swallowed hard. “From what I found out, the guy was obviously a nutcase with a death wish. I mean, keeping a tiger and all those poisonous snakes.”

  Venomous, Decker corrected silently. “A death wish for himself—or for others?”

  “I can’t believe . . . the guy was so old!” Paxton blew out air. “To look at him, you’d think he couldn’t harm a flea.”

  “Maybe he couldn’t,” Decker said. “Maybe he relied on other things for protection—ergo, the tiger.”

  “A gun would be more practical—faster, smaller, and more deadly.”

  “Sure,” Decker agreed. “But like you said, Penny was an old man. With a gun, you have to load it, lift it, aim it, and pull the trigger. There’s kickback with a gun. There’s also uncertainty. With a tiger, on the other hand, you just kinda sit back and let the animal do its thing.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  sEEING MARGE’S EYES encased in deep circles, Decker asked, “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Just not enough sleep. I’ve been thinking too much. Or maybe it’s Saturday morning blues.”

  “I thought it was Monday morning blues.”

  “I’ve always been one to jump the gun.” She wore her most comfortable clothes—black pants and a soft pink cotton sweater. She needed to be babie
d today. “What’d you find out from Paxton?”

  Decker gave her a recap, then handed her a to-do list.

  Get coroner’s report on the meat packages.

  Find out info on Casey’s Massage and Escort: credit card slips, Bruce Havert, Randi with an i. If you hit a wall, hunt around for the powder blue Priuses. Probably leased.

  Interview the Shoops.

  Interview neighbors again to see what they noticed from the apartments.

  Find out about exotic pet dealerships—may want to contact Vignette Garrison.

  Check the apartment underneath Penny for possible forensics.

  Talk to a shrink.

  Marge said, “Is that last item for a profile for Penny or for you personally?”

  “I haven’t decided.” Decker smiled. “I am curious about what made a man like Penny tick. If you need help interviewing, feel free to call up the reserves.”

  “I’ll pull Wanda and Drew for that. They have good people skills. Lee Wang is already doing the computer search for Bruce Havert and Randi and Casey’s. It does have blue Priuses. Oliver and I will check out the car dealerships. They should be open by now. Unless you want me to interview the Shoops first.”

  “I’ve already set up a time with them. They can’t make it in until four tomorrow afternoon.”

  “So in that case, why don’t you go home and try to salvage some of your Sabbath.”

  “I want to stop by the Crypt first.”

  “I’ll go with you if you want,” Marge told him.

  “Nice of you, but it’s not a two-man job. At eleven in the morning, why should we both smell death?”

  WITH ALL HIS morgue visits over the years, Decker had gotten used to bodies. There were corpses laid out on the steel tables behind glass windows in the autopsy operating rooms. There were bodies wrapped up in plastic and stacked on shelves like carpets in the refrigeration room. Often, cadavers with toe tags were left in the hallway, waiting to be processed. There were not only bodies but also human remains floating in jars and sliced and diced on glass slides about to be examined under microscopes. But the one thing he couldn’t get used to, no matter how often he visited the Crypt, was the smell: that distinct fecal blend of decay, rot, and sickening sweet formaldehyde. It always caused something uncomfortable to well up inside his throat.