The Beast

by Faye Kellerman

  “That’s been scheduled for Tuesday,” Decker said. “Wanda and Drew had notified almost all the residents. They haven’t come up with any new information. Most of them didn’t even know the old man existed.”

  “So when are we talking to the neighbors who complained about the noise?”

  “The Shoops. Tomorrow at four in the afternoon. Did you get a chance to call any of the mortuaries?”

  “Two,” Oliver said. “No one’s around. It’s a skeleton staff.”

  Marge laughed at the pun. “We should probably go down in person. We can do the close ones tomorrow, and the others we’ll take care of on Monday.” Her phone beeped and she regarded the text message. “That was Darius Penny’s secretary. He’ll be here Monday after four. He’ll call when he gets in.”

  “What about the sister?” Decker asked. “The countess somethingberger. Is she coming in?”

  “Graciela Johannesbourgh. I’ll call up the foundation and get an ETA.”

  “Sounds good.” Decker stretched. He had spent all of Shabbos working and had little to show for it. “It’s getting late. We can call it a day.”

  Marge said, “Do you want me to stop by the apartment and check in on SID? It’s on my way home.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Oliver said. “What about you, Rabbi?”

  “I’ll leave in a few minutes. Finish up some paperwork.” Decker waited until his office was quiet. But he didn’t pick up his memos, nor did he deal with his pink phone slips. Instead he pulled out his cell and clicked on to his contact list, staring at a cell number, wondering if it was operable. Donatti had a predilection for changing phones.

  Decker loathed the idea of asking him for help. Donatti was an ace in the hole: and Decker wasn’t in the hole just yet.

  IT HAD BEEN gloomy all weekend. Sunday morning’s drizzle had turned into afternoon rain, droplets falling, speckling the asphalt of the parking lot. Even though it had been her suggestion, Gabe was convinced that she’d chicken out, especially once she saw the dump she had chosen.

  The room was seedy, but not nearly as dirty as he expected. He knew it had been recently cleaned—the garbage cans with empty liners, a vacuumed carpet, and fresh sheets—but being there made him itchy. He checked his watch for the fiftieth time. Then he drew back the curtains and peeked out the window. Repeating the same thing over and over and over until a pewter daylight started to give way to a dreary, wet night. He’d promised Rina he’d be home by eight. If things kept going this way, he’d be home way before his self-imposed curfew.

  Finally, at 4:03, he saw a car enter the lot—a four-year-old, black Mercedes. It was all shadows outside, and bright headlights caught the dance of the rain as the Benz pulled into a parking spot. Gabe grabbed his coat and stood outside the motel room, waiting under the portico. The emerging figure was tiny, dressed in a yellow raincoat, jeans, and black boots. No umbrella. He ran to her and protectively slipped his coat over her head, and the two of them dashed inside the room. His heart was thumping in his chest and it wasn’t because of the sprint.

  He threw his coat on the chair and helped her off with her slicker. She was wearing a sweatshirt underneath. The hood was drawn over her head. He rubbed her arms. “Cold?”

  “A little.”

  “I was getting worried.” Yasmine was silent. “Second thoughts?”

  “Maybe.”

  Yasmine was looking at him with those gorgeous black eyes. She was as beautiful as ever. Her pixie childlike features had matured into something breathtaking. He hadn’t seen her in over a year, and he was as smitten as the day he first kissed her. For him, time and space suddenly compressed. There wasn’t any world beyond the two of them. Gabe said, “We can leave. You know I’d do anything you want.”

  She broke away. “I don’t know what I want.” She stood in front of the drawn curtains. On a table was a bag from Subway and a bouquet of flowers.

  Gabe said, “Those are both for you.”

  “And here I thought you were into decorating.” A pause. “God knows the place could use it.”

  “We can go, Yasmine. Let’s just sit in the car and eat dinner together.”

  She picked up the flowers—yellow roses with jasmine vines. He’d taken time out to personalize the bouquet. “They’re beautiful, Gabe.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled. “I listened to the third movement of the Moonlight Sonata.”

  “What’d you think?”

  “Pretty dazzling.” Another smile. “I can hear you playing it in my brain . . . your phrasing . . . see your fingers flying. It’s weird because it’s very vivid.”

  “How did I do?”

  “You played magnificently, as always.”

  “Thanks. But all of it is rubbish compared to you.” Gabe walked over to her and pulled her hood down. He drew his hands through her luxurious hair and released it from the jacket—a cascade of black waves that almost reached her waist. “Man, your hair got long.”

  Yasmine finally smiled; a thousand bright lights. “I have to make up for your lack.” She touched his fuzzy head. “Mr. Movie Star.”

  “Coming to a theater near you.”

  She got excited. “Really?”

  “No, not really,” Gabe told her. “Even if it’s ever released, which is a big if, it’s destined for obscurity. So don’t get your hopes up on walking the red carpet, okay.”

  “Dang!”

  “That’s me, always a disappointment.”

  Yasmine grew serious. “It hurts me when you talk that way. I worry about you.”

  “I’m fine!” He took her hand and kissed it. “I’m still the same arrogant guy you met two years ago.” Then he kissed her fingers one by one. “Arrogant but heartsick. I missed you, cuckoo bird.” He drew her into an embrace. “I missed you so much.”

  As tears fell down her cheeks, she hugged him tightly. “I missed you, too.”

  “You are simply sublime. God, I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Her fingers walked up his right arm and rested below his shoulder. “I want to see them again.”

  “My tats?” He laughed. “They’re still there.”

  She yanked on his sweatshirt. “Take it off. I want to look at them.”

  He pulled it over his head, allowing her to check out the two armlets—her name surrounded by a jasmine vine in script and below that, music that had once bound them together. Yasmine touched the blue ink and then kissed the artwork. She rested her head on his bare chest. Midway down his right side was the shiny pink indent of a gunshot scar. The sight made her eyes water.

  “What will I do when you leave?” she told him. “I’m hopeless.”

  “I’m yours, body and soul. Forever and ever.”

  She smiled as her fingers walked across his chest. His ribs protruded and his stomach was sunken—not a six-pack in sight. His arms were long and wiry with taut muscle from years of playing. His fingers were spidery appendages. In this age of buffed movie stars, he was beyond skinny. She loved every single nonmuscle on his body. She loved the fuzz on his scalp and the acne on his forehead that came whenever he was nervous. She loved the rosy blush on his cheeks that appeared whenever he was embarrassed or aroused. She loved his beautiful green eyes, which were dilated to almost black. She knew that he’d eventually fill out—that he’d regain the weight he’d lost from anxiety about the trial. And she knew that his hair would grow back and the zits would go away. And then he would be once again the most beautiful person in the entire world. But for right now, she loved his geekiness just as much as she loved his genius.

  Even though the room was warm, his nipples were erect. Her fingers danced over them. His response was immediate. He kissed her softly, then passionately. He took off her sweatshirt. Underneath that was a sweater. He slipped his hand under the soft cashmere and ran his fingers over her bra that encased a ful
l, soft chest. His eyes got blurry and his knees got weak. “We shouldn’t stay here, Yasmine. You know something’s gonna happen if we stay here.”

  “Do you want it to happen?”

  “Of course I want it to happen.” He kissed her again. Instant electricity—a direct blood rush from his head to his groin. He felt faint. “But only if you want it to happen. It’s gotta be mutual wanting it to happen.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and mashed his lips. They kissed another minute. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay . . . it’s mutual wanting it to happen. I mean the deed was done a long time ago.”

  He stopped kissing her. “Do you regret it?”

  “Maybe right afterward, a little.” She gave him a wide smile. “Now seeing you, I remember why I did it. Do you have you-know-what?”

  “Yes I have you-know-what. I brought a whole box.”

  Yasmine laughed out loud. “A whole box? Talk about arrogant.”

  Gabe grinned. “A boy can dream.”

  “And a girl can make a boy’s dreams come true.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  AS DECKER WAITED for his four o’clock interviews, he took out his index cards and tried to make sense of Penny’s murder.

  The man was a recluse. Still, someone out there got close enough to murder him.

  Vignette Garrison had had direct contact with him. She had been to the apartment just a couple of days before he was murdered. She probably had access. She was overly interested in his will. She needed money for her sanctuary. But was Penny worth more to her alive than dead?

  There were the girls from Casey’s Massage and Escort. George Paxton had admitted that there were sexy ladies going in and out of Penny’s apartment. There was no direct evidence that Casey’s women had gone into the apartment, but there was circumstantial material, that is, the videos. And from canvassing, no one else owned up to using Casey’s services. Maybe the ladies had seen something in Penny’s apartment that was worth robbing.

  Or maybe Penny had scared them and they felt endangered: a possibility, since his ex-wife had told stories of rough sex. But that had been years ago, before the man had turned old and feeble. Even so, he had a slew of lethal weapons at his disposal—a Bengal tiger, venomous snakes and bugs. If he had wanted to torture someone, he had many creepy ways to achieve that goal.

  His intercom light started to blink: the Shoops had arrived.

  The couple appeared to be in their thirties. Ian was short and slight. Delia was shorter and slighter. A good wind could have knocked both of them over. They both had brown hair and brown eyes with round faces. Ian was dressed in a slim-fitting polo shirt and jeans. Delia had opted for a knit dress that fell to the kneecap, and fashion boots hugged her legs. After Decker made them comfortable in his office, he thanked them and pulled out a notepad.

  “I know that you’re being inconvenienced because of the exterminators. We hope that will be taken care of very soon.”

  The two of them shook their heads in dismay. Delia said, “We knew the man was crazy, but it’s truly frightening how crazy he was.”

  “Imagine if that animal would have escaped!” Ian brought his hand to his chest. “We have a two-year-old son.” He flapped his hands. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  “Don’t think about it!” Delia said.

  Decker nodded. “Did you ever talk to Penny about the noises you heard?”

  “Of course!” Delia turned to Ian. “Like two or three times?”

  “Three times,” Ian confirmed.

  “Can you tell me about those conversations?”

  “Well, that’s the problem,” Delia said. “It wasn’t a real conversation. It was like . . . Sir, I keep hearing strange noises from your apartment.” She leaned across Decker’s desk. “I had no idea he was renting the apartment upstairs. We thought the old kook only had the one apartment next to ours. And now to find out that he was collecting those vile creatures so close to our little boy—”

  “Don’t think about it, Delia!” Ian said.

  Decker nodded. “What do you mean, it wasn’t a real conversation?”

  “It was two seconds,” Delia said.

  “Where did you talk to him? In the hallway? Did you knock on his door?”

  Delia said, “Actually it was Ian who knocked on the door. But I was there. I think it was like the second time we saw him in person.”

  “He never left his place,” Ian said. “We wondered how he survived.”

  “Did you ever see a delivery guy come to the door?”

  “Nope. But maybe they came to the upstairs apartment . . . I never knew he was renting it.”

  Decker said, “He was renting quite a few apartments. But you two were the only ones who complained about noises to the manager. At least, that’s what he told me. Could you tell me about your brief conversation with Mr. Penny? You knocked on his door and . . .”

  “I knocked on the door and he opened it.” Ian rolled his eyes. “He said it was the television.”

  Delia said, “A total lie.”

  “He said that he was hard of hearing and he must have turned up the volume too loud. Give me a break!”

  “Total lies,” Delia said. “That growling wasn’t coming from a TV.”

  “I thought it was maybe a pit bull,” Ian said. “I was terrified it was going to escape.”

  “We have a two-year-old son,” Delia informed them for the second time.

  “So you went to his apartment three times?” Decker asked.

  “Actually, I went to the apartment about ten times,” Ian said. “He only answered the door three times.”

  “And you never saw the inside of his apartment.”

  “Correct. He spoke to us while we stood outside in the hallway. But like Delia said, what we heard was no TV. And his tiger proved that we weren’t crazy.”

  “Because in the back of your mind, you think ‘am I a little crazy?’” Delia said.

  Decker said, “Obviously you were spot-on. Did you ever hear any other sounds from the apartment?” When Ian and Delia exchanged glances, he said, “What?”

  “You tell him,” Delia said.

  “We heard grunts,” Ian said.

  “Grunts?” There was no response. Decker said, “Like sexual sounds?”

  “Maybe,” Delia said. “Except the guy was so old!”

  “Yeah, we used to joke about it,” Ian said.

  “Yeah, we used to joke that maybe we should call the ambulance proactively.” The two of them smiled at each other, but then Delia grew serious. “Of course, now that he’s dead in such an awful way, it doesn’t seem so funny.”

  “You thought that maybe he was having sex when you heard the grunts?”

  Delia waved her hand back and forth. “Possibly. Are men that age even capable of having sex? I’m not talking elderly. I’m talking old!”

  “He was old,” Decker told her. “So if you assumed it was sex, did you ever see anyone go in or out of the apartment?”

  Ian said, “Twice we saw the same lady go in and out. She wore a short dress and black boots and was carrying a massage table. She was clearly of dubious intent. That’s why we thought the grunts were those kinds of grunts.”

  “Tell me about the woman,” Decker said. “What did she look like?”

  “Big blond hair, big chest, and long legs.”

  “Artificial big chest,” Delia corrected. “I’m not saying she was doing something illegal. Could be she was giving the old kook a massage. But it could have been something more, judging by her looks and her tawdry outfit.”

  “And you saw this woman twice?”

  “Yes.” Delia looked at Ian. “But we heard the grunting like . . . four, maybe five times?”

  “Five times,” Ian said. “Between the grunting and the growling, I’d finally had enough of being Mr. Nice Guy. I complained to the manager.”

  “We were at our wit’s end,” Ian said. “Paxton said he’d take care of i
t. And he did.”

  “After that, no more noises?”

  “No more grunting, no more growling,” Delia said. “Finally!”

  “And when was the last time you heard the grunting or growling?”

  “I don’t remember exactly,” Ian told him. “But within a month of our complaining, the old kook moved out, much to our delight.”

  “At least we thought he had moved out,” Delia said. “We didn’t realize he had so many apartments in the building.”

  “But at least he wasn’t our problem anymore,” Ian said.

  “He still was, in a way. Now they’re fumigating because of him.”

  “The man spread his malevolence everywhere!” Ian barked.

  “At least we’re finally rid of—” Delia stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry he was murdered, but he was a pain in the ass.”

  “That woman who you saw going in and out,” Decker said. “Ever see any kind of logo or name on her shirt?”

  “No,” Delia said. “Do you advertise that kind of thing?”

  “Some do, believe it or not.”

  “I never noticed anything.” Delia turned to Ian, who shook his head no.

  “We’re asking this of everyone who had any contact with Mr. Penny,” Decker said. “If you could give us an account of what you were doing last Sunday or Monday, it would help us with our paperwork.”

  “Sunday is easy,” Delia said. “We had dinner with friends.” She turned to Ian. “The Kotes and the Abelsons.”

  “That is correct,” Ian said.

  “Until what time?”

  “About eleven.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “We left and went home to bed,” Delia said. “I had to get up early to go to work and take the baby to day care.”

  “We can give you the phone numbers if you want,” Ian said.

  “Sure,” Decker said. “What about Monday?”

  The two of them thought for what seemed like a long time. Delia finally said, “I think we just came home from work, ate dinner, watched TV, and went to bed.”

  Ian raised a finger in the air. “It was lasagna. You made spinach and ricotta cheese lasagna with Bolognese sauce.”