The Beast

by Faye Kellerman

  “E-mail it to Talia. I don’t do e-mail. I’m a Luddite. I don’t do virtual life. Too busy doing the real thing. Send me his picture ASAP.”

  “Why are you so interested in Bruce Havert?”

  “If he’s pimping hookers in Nevada, he’s moving into my territory.”

  “All of Nevada is your territory?”

  “The entire world is my territory. Nevada is just my home base.”

  “Gotcha. You’ll let me know what you find out.”

  “I will. If you can nail his ass for murder all the better. One less idiot to contend with. Speaking of idiots, how’d my son do at the trial?”

  “Your son is definitely not an idiot, Chris.”

  “He’s seventeen, all seventeen-year-olds are idiots, ergo he’s an idiot. How is he?”

  “Fine. You do know that the case was pled out, right?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “And you also know that Gabe is still with us in L.A., right?”

  A split second pause. “Why?”

  “He’s got some upcoming performances. He’s getting help from his former teacher, Nick Mark. Gabe wants to stay with us for six weeks. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Not if you don’t.” Another pause. “Is he still seeing that little Persian girl?”

  “I think so.”

  “Dummy. At his age, he shouldn’t be hooked to a single girl. He should be screwing around.”

  “He’s in love with her.”

  “He can love her and still fuck other girls. He’s seventeen. What does he know?”

  “I guess the kid has a moral compass, Chris.”

  “I know.” Donatti sighed. “Where the fuck did I go wrong?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  WITH DARIUS PENNY in the backseat, Marge and Oliver were circumspect. They spoke to each other in low voices even though Penny was occupied with his own business call. Marge said, “I did a little online research this morning. You can buy almost anything by mail order if you claim it’s for conservation. In some states, it’s really easy to get licenses for private zoos. Ohio is notorious for people keeping big animals.”

  “What about snakes?”

  “Most of the sites I checked out were pet shops, and most of the reptiles weren’t venomous. But you can get venomous snakes if you want them. Exotics like king cobras and Gaboon vipers are ironically easier to find because they are exotic. Most of the people who keep California rattlers are amateur snake hunters who had caught them. But sometimes they’ll swap and sell.”

  “But someone would still have to set up the cages. He couldn’t do that by himself.”

  “The thing is, Scott, if you take good care of them, snakes can live a long time—fifteen, twenty years—with the larger ones living even longer. So it is conceivable that the old guy bought them a while back and set up the cages a long time ago.”

  “What about insects?”

  “Spiders live a lot longer than you’d think. Female tarantulas can live twenty years. Scorpions less so, but some have made it past a decade. Things like hissing cockroaches, shorter: one to five years. So those kinds of insects he probably bought when he was an old man.”

  Oliver spoke quietly. “Marge, he had to be paying someone to maintain the cages, especially if he was on a walker.”

  “I’m sure he did pay someone. But personally, I have my doubts about the walker thing. I think he carted out the wheelchair when he wanted the pity factor or he used it to distract or stall . . . like with complaining neighbors.”

  “Marge, even if he could walk on his own two feet, he was old.”

  “So he moved slowly.”

  “I could see him feeding the insects and fish,” Oliver said. “I could see him even feeding a tiger. Just set out a bowl of meat—”

  “Or fingers,” Marge said in an undertone.

  Oliver made a face. “But I can’t see the old guy feeding venomous snakes and cleaning out the cages. Plus, I know from personal experience that fish tanks have to be cleaned as well. Fish excrete. If the tanks get too polluted, the fish die. He had some sort of a service, Marge.”

  “Yeah, Decker and I were talking about that yesterday. He agrees with you. We’re all on the same page. He probably used Vignette Garrison. She was in the apartment just a few days before. What else would she be doing there? What I’m wondering about is this. Why didn’t she tell Decker about the snakes and the bugs? She fully admitted she took care of the tiger.”

  Oliver said, “Maybe she didn’t want the responsibility if some of the snakes got loose.”

  “So she’d admit to us that she knew about the tiger, but she wouldn’t admit to knowing about the reptiles and insects and fish, most of which are legal to keep?”

  “Good point,” Oliver admitted.

  The two of them were quiet. Darius Penny was shouting into his phone.

  Marge said, “This is what we have. We have hookers who packed up and left. And then we have Vignette Garrison.” A pause. “My vote is the hookers. They bolted. Vignette is still around. And if she was helping Hobart with his menagerie, and if Hobart was paying her to help him, why would she kill him?”

  “Maybe he got fresh with her,” Oliver said. “The guy was weird.”

  Marge whispered, “We have two injuries: BFT and gunshot. You see her doing both of those things?”

  “I don’t know,” Oliver said. “But how hard would it be to take out an old man, especially if she was comfortable around the tiger?”

  Darius Penny was still yelling, “Are you there? Are you there?”

  Out loud, Marge said to him, “I should have warned you. Reception is going to be spotty and then it’s going to disappear.”

  Penny called back his office. “I know you can barely hear me. I’m going to the mountains . . . I’ll call you later.” He disconnected the line. “Do you know how much longer it’ll take until we get there?”

  “About another half hour,” Marge told him.

  “Anything I should know about this place?”

  “It’s our first time as well.”

  “Anything I should know about Vignette Garrison?”

  “Never met her,” Marge said. “The excursion will be a learning curve for all of us.”

  THE LEPRECHAUN WAS pacing the living room floor. George Paxton wore tiny jeans, a tiny white shirt, and a tiny corduroy jacket. “Why do you keep bothering me?”

  “Mr. Paxton, someone was murdered in one of your buildings. I’m sure you don’t want that to happen again.”

  “It’s not going to happen again.”

  “So you think Mr. Penny was the specific target?”

  “Did I say that?” More trampling the floor and more anger. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, if he wasn’t the target, you’ve got a random killer that could strike again.”

  Paxton stopped moving. “Okay. Maybe he was the target.” He started to tread the carpets again. “All those weird characters going in and out of his place.”

  “When we first spoke you said you only saw a few buxom women go into the apartment. Think you could identify them if I showed you pictures?”

  “Probably.”

  Decker took out two photographic six-packs that he had made up this morning. One had Randi’s picture in the lower middle and the other had Ginger in the upper-right-hand corner. “Do any of these girls look familiar?”

  Paxton stopped flattening the carpets long enough to stare at the pictures. He pointed to Randi. “This one. I saw her going in and out a couple of times.”

  “Which of Penny’s apartments?”

  “The one that’s now vacant. The unit under his current apartment.”

  “Okay.” Decker brought out the other photo lineup. “What about these women?”

  He pointed to Ginger. “I saw her a few times with the first one. Never by herself.”

  “So they came together?”

  “The blonde came alone. The two of them came together a couple of times.”


  “And you’re being truthful?”

  “I resent that.”

  “Mr. Paxton, if you have more to tell me, it’s better to get it out now than to have me find out later on.”

  “Of course, I’m being truthful.” A pause. “What do you expect me to tell you?”

  “That you helped Mr. Penny arrange his trysts for money.”

  The man blushed deep red. “You’re accusing me of pimping?”

  “More like procuring, but we don’t have to be technical. Did you help him?”

  The man folded his arms across his chest. “I didn’t pimp for him!”

  “I believe you. See. That was simple enough.”

  But Decker knew that wasn’t the end of the story.

  “What did you do for him? Besides ignoring his apartments, which contained deadly animals, for money?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “It was like that. What else did he pay you for?”

  “I opened the doors a couple of times for the ladies. Wasn’t any big deal. Kinda like picking up a package.” The man was red. “Can you leave me alone now?”

  Decker focused on the bald man’s face. “How many times were you actually inside Penny’s apartments?”

  Paxton’s eyes darkened. “Why is that important?”

  “Because the man was murdered.”

  “You can’t think that I had something to do with it.” Silence. “That’s absurd.”

  “Tell me why it’s absurd.”

  “Because I hadn’t been in his apartment for weeks.”

  “Tell me why I should believe you.”

  “Because why the hell would I hurt him?” The gnome was pacing again. “He could only give me money if he was alive.”

  “So you kept him alive for the money?”

  “No, you’re twisting . . .” Paxton got furious. “I think you’d better leave.”

  “Okay.” Decker made a point of looking at his watch. “I have a little extra time. Maybe I’ll visit your boss now.”

  The man turned a deep shade of crimson. “You’re blackmailing me.”

  “God forbid!”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Just answer my simple questions. How often were you in Penny’s apartments?”

  “I told you I let the hookers in once or twice . . . at most a half dozen times.”

  “So we’re up to six—”

  “All I did is open the door for them at Mr. Penny’s request.”

  Decker said, “Did you ever do repairs for Mr. Penny? Fix a clogged sink. Replace a lightbulb?”

  The man seemed wary. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Do it by yourself or did you call someone?”

  “If it’s just tightening a bolt or screwing in a light plate, I did it myself. If it was a major plumbing problem, I’d call someone.”

  “Okay,” Decker said. “How often do you fix stuff for Mr. Penny? Once a month? Once a week?”

  “Not even once a month. Three, maybe four times a year. And only for the two apartments that were on top of each other. The others . . . the units that were next to his apartment . . . I never went inside. And after what you found in there, I know why he never let me in.”

  “That’s sort of why I wanted to talk to you this morning,” Decker said. “Do you have any idea how he got hold of all those venomous snakes and fish and insects?”

  “He got hold of a tiger. I would imagine fish and snakes are easier than that.”

  “Did you ever see any packages that were marked livestock or live animals or something like that?”

  “No,” Paxton said. “You’re telling me that you can buy poisonous snakes and have them delivered in the mail in a box?”

  “Mr. Penny had to get them from somewhere.”

  “Well I never saw anything marked dangerous or poisonous snake! Jesus, I would have called the police, okay?”

  “Did Hobart Penny get any deliveries?”

  “I know he got his groceries delivered. I know he had medicine delivered, but beyond that, I couldn’t tell you.”

  Decker said, “His animals were well cared for. Who tended to all the cages and fish tanks?”

  “Like I’d know? I didn’t even know he had snakes and fish.”

  “You’re the manager. You’re supposed to know.”

  “Look, Lieutenant, I admitted that I bent the rules with Penny. But I wasn’t his nursemaid. There are dozens of units in that building alone. I’ve got enough to do without spying on the guy.”

  “But you did notice the ladies. And you did open doors for them.”

  “He paid me a few bills to let them in.”

  “How much is a few bills?”

  “Twenty dollars a pop. I did it around six times. One hundred and twenty dollars. It’s not exactly a killing.”

  Interesting choice of words. Decker said, “You opened the door for these hookers around six times. But you’re telling me that you didn’t know anything about the tiger. Or his snakes and fish and spiders. Am I supposed to believe that?”

  “Believe what you want, but it’s true. If I knew about that shit, I would have called the police. A few skanks giving head to an old guy, I’m not gonna say anything. But a tiger or a rattlesnake? I mean, c’mon!”

  His facial tics said he was clearly lying, but Decker moved on. “When the police went inside Mr. Penny’s apartment, it was a sty because the tiger had made a mess. What was it like when he was alive? You were inside and I wasn’t.”

  Paxton looked genuinely confused. “It was an apartment. It had a couch and a table and a bed.”

  “Neat? Sloppy?”

  “I guess it was neat. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture. Just the basics.”

  “Did he have a computer?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “A flat-screen on the wall? A DVR player?”

  “He was eighty-nine and a recluse. I don’t see him as the high-tech type.”

  “Lots of elderly people have TVs and they’re ripe pickings for robbery. Did he appear to have anything of value?”

  “If he did, he hid it under the mattress.” Paxton pinkened. “I just meant that I didn’t see anything valuable.”

  “Would you be willing to come into my office and answer these questions while hooked up to a polygraph?”

  “Are you kidding me?” The gnome threw up his hands. “Yes. Sure. Next week? I’ve got a busy schedule this week.”

  “How about a week from today? Two in the afternoon?”

  Paxton exhaled. “Fine. I’ll come in. But the answers will be the same. The guy was eccentric but I guess most rich people are.”

  Decker paused. “One more thing, and this goes back to robbery as a motive for his murder. I know you said that Mr. Penny lived very simply. Did you ever see anything hanging on his walls?”

  “Nope. The man lived like a monk.”

  “With hookers going in and out?”

  “I didn’t mean he was a monk. Just that his unit was pretty empty.”

  “No artwork of any kind?”

  Paxton’s laugh was unsettling. “Are you kidding me?” Another laugh. “Jesus, the man was weird with a capital W. You saw what he collected and it certainly wasn’t art.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  AS MARGE PULLED the car into a dirt lot, a thin figure wearing jeans, a jacket, and hiking boots came out of a trailer. She had straggly blond hair that stuck out from under a ski cap and wore gloves with the tips of the fingers cut off. Marge shut off the motor and got out. “Vignette Garrison?”

  “Hi. Welcome.”

  “Sergeant Dunn of LAPD,” Marge said. “This is Detective Oliver.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She scrunched her forehead. “Do you want to do the tour first, or do you want to ask me questions? If you want to talk, we should go into the trailer. It’s a little warmer there.”

  Slowly Darius Penny emerged from the backseat. He seemed to be most concerned about where he stepped, and for good
reason. The lot was a muddy mess and his very shiny loafers did not appear to have rubber soles. First, he walked on his tiptoes. Then he gave up. He held out his hand to Vignette. “Darius Penny.”

  “Oh my God!” Vignette took his proffered hand and clasped it with her fingers. “Vignette Garrison. I am so sorry about your father. What a wonderful man he was!”

  The lawyer winced as he extricated his hand. “Are we talking about the same man?”

  Vignette’s mouth opened and closed. “He was wonderful to Global Sanctuary.” When she didn’t get any response, she said, “He loved animals.”

  Penny eyed her up and down. “What exactly do you do here?”

  “I’d be happy to give you a tour.”

  “It’s smells a little ripe for eleven in the morning.” His nose was wrinkled. “Or is that just me.” He exhaled. “How about a summary of the place? I didn’t bring my mukluks with me.”

  Marge smiled, but Vignette didn’t catch the humor. She took in a breath and let it out. “We are the last stop for exotic animals that nobody wants or for people who can no longer care for the animals. We are a no-kill facility, unless of course the animal is a grave danger to itself or others. If it wasn’t for places like this, a lot of these animals would have to be put to sleep.”

  “What kind of animals do you have here?”

  “Everything really. I’d love to take you around.”

  “Do you charge admission?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Charge admission . . . like a zoo.”

  “This isn’t a zoo.” Vignette was confused. “Like we’re kinda in the middle of nowhere.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” Penny said.

  “Mr. Penny, we’re a nonprofit sanctuary. We depend on the kindness of people like your father to keep the place running.”

  “Is that the only way you secure money?” the lawyer asked. “From donations?”

  “That, private grants, and some government funding. It’s mostly donations. Your father was always so generous with us. He kept us afloat during hard times. And when you run a nonprofit, it’s always hard times.”

  The lawyer looked upward at the mountains. Faint animal sounds wafted through the misty air. He sighed. “Well, this is the situation, Vignette.” He made a face again. “In order to perform my executor duties, I have to see your operation.”