Predator

Rina took down two mugs. “You’re a pretty cool character, Gabe. You’ll be fine.”

He played with the knot on his tie. “Where’s the lieutenant?”

“He’s still at work. It was an all-night.”

“Wow. What’s the case?”

“This one is for the books.” Rina smiled. “Last night, he and animal control extracted a tiger out of an apartment.”

“A tiger?”

“Yes, a tiger that was living in an apartment.”

“Wow.” A pause. “Cool.”

Rina poured the coffee and handed him a mug. “More like, wow … dangerous.”

Gabe smiled and sipped. “How’d they get the tiger out?”

“Someone from animal control shot it with a tranquilizing dart. Once it was down, they went inside and took it out in a cage.”

“Whoa.” He sat back in the chair and was silent for a moment. “I hear a composition in this. Like double bass for the growl, and tuba for the lumbering animal, and a high-pitched staccato from the violins every time it scratches and then this like almost trumpet clarion blare for the animal control, then several measures of rest followed by an earsplitting pop as the dart goes into the body and this shimmering but electrifying strings as it loses consciousness … and deep bass as it’s dragged out …” Gabe stared at nothing in particular. “I can hear it like … perfectly.”

All Rina heard was noise from the refrigerator. “Kind of like Peter and the Wolf on crack.”

Gabe laughed. “Exactly.” He put down his coffee and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “And this extraction took up the entire night?”

“No,” Rina said. “Once animal control got the tiger out, they found a dead body inside the apartment.”

“So the tiger killed the guy inside?”

“From what Peter told me, the body was the result of a homicide. The tiger was incidental and had nothing to do with the man’s death.”

“That’s really weird.”

“As a lieutenant, Peter only works on the weird cases. Because he was up all night, he may not show up to the trial until much later.”

“That’s okay. Life goes on.” He looked at Rina. “But you’ll be there, right?”

“Of course I’ll be there.” She put down her coffee cup and kissed his nearly naked head. “Don’t worry. It should all be over soon—”

The phone rang. It was a quarter to seven in the morning. Usually when that happened, it was one of the kids calling from back east. They never paid attention to the three-hour difference.

Rina said, “Excuse me. It’s probably Hannah either wishing you luck or she’s in crisis.”

“Either way, tell her hi for me.”

Rina lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me,” Decker said.

“Are you all right?”

“Just tired, but that’s not why I’m calling. Last night while I was dealing with wild animals, Dylan Lashay had a stroke. He’s in the hospital in critical condition. Nurit Luke talked to his lawyers. Everyone agreed to postpone the trial indefinitely.”

“Oh my!” A pause. “How does Wendy Hesse feel about that?”

At the mention of Wendy Hesse’s name, Gabe picked up his head. “What’s going on?”

Rina held up her hand to Gabe. “Could you repeat that? I couldn’t hear.”

“I said that Wendy’s not happy, of course. Her son is dead and she wants justice, but with these new circumstances, even she isn’t in favor of dragging it out any longer. The entire case should be pled out in a couple of hours, and that, my dear, is the end. Tell Gabe, it’s over.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate getting the monkey off his back.”

“What monkey off my back?” Gabe asked.

Decker said, “I’ll be home in an hour or so. Maybe we’ll all go out for breakfast before I drop off to sleep.”

Rina smiled. “That would be great. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Decker disconnected the line.

“What monkey are you talking about?” Gabe was exasperated.

“Dylan Lashay suffered a stroke. He’s in critical condition. The trial is indefinitely postponed and will probably be pled out. To quote the Loo, ‘Tell Gabe it’s over.’”

“Wow! That’s great!” Gabe sat back. “That’s really good news. I won’t have to go to court anymore. And Yasmine won’t have to testify, either. That’s great, great news!”

“A big relief to you and to her, no doubt.” Rina paused. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”

Gabe looked up. It was always better to tell the truth.

But maybe not the whole truth.

“Rina, I haven’t called her in over a year. I haven’t e-mailed her or texted her or talked to her on Skype or anything. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be happy for her.”

“Of course you can be happy for her. And I suppose your personal life isn’t any of my business.”

“It’s okay. I know you mean well.”

“I do. Should I change your flight to leave tomorrow?”

“Actually, I already changed it. I decided to stay through the weekend, if that’s okay with you guys.”

“Of course, it’s okay.” A pause. “Can I ask you why?”

Gabe was prepared for the question. “I’m all caught up at school. I felt that I could use the extra few days to unwind before I go into fully operational mode. I’m much more relaxed here than at school.”

“That’s really nice. I want you to feel like this is your home, too.” Rina finished her coffee. “The Loo wants to go out for breakfast. You’re invited.”

“I’d love to come. Can I change first?”

“Although you look adorable in a suit, I’m sure jeans and a T-shirt would be much more comfortable.”

The smile on his face was wide and bright. Gabe headed off to his room, not feeling the least bit guilty about stretching the truth. He loved Rina for what she had done for him, but certainly she didn’t have to know everything about his personal business.

It was his life to live.

It was his life to love.

It was his life to crash and burn.

CHAPTER FIVE

Revived by calories, caffeine, and several hours of sleep, Decker read about the night’s activities on the front page of the Daily News, a picture of the cage being carted out of the apartment building. When he was done, he started sorting through the pile of pink phone slips that had amassed during his three-hour absence. He had finished the majority of the callbacks when Marge and Oliver knocked on his open office door. The clock read one in the afternoon.

“That was just about the worst crime scene I’ve ever been to from a forensics’ point of view,” Oliver groused. “It was so contaminated by animal blood and shit that it was impossible to tell what I was looking at.”

Marge said, “The good news is we found another twenty-two bullet and a couple of casings … I won’t tell you where. Okay, I will tell you where.” When she did, Decker made a face.

Oliver said, “I also bagged a couple of tools that might have made the depression in the skull, but I’m not loving any of them.”

“Like what?” Decker asked.

“A broom handle, a soup ladle, the back of a cleaver.” A pause. “I’m thinking what’s an old guy doing with a cleaver? Then I’m thinking that someone had to cut up the meat for kitty.”

Marge was paging through her notes. “Okay, from the canvassing, we didn’t get too much. Hardly anyone remembers seeing the old man.”

“What about noises coming from his apartment?”

“Yeah, we got a few of ‘I might have heard something’ or ‘I thought I heard something.’ The people I spoke to didn’t call it in. He did get a lot of deliveries. Not unusual for a shut-in.”

“Meat for the cat?” Decker asked.

“Deliveries from the local Albertsons and Ralphs. I’ll find out the specifics,” Marge said. “As far as phone records, he had a landline but no cell phone. That’s pretty much in keeping for a recluse and a guy his age. Did you by any chance receive a phone call from Ryan Wilner?”

“Regarding?”

“I wanted to find out where they took the tiger and if she was shot. It might make a difference in how we approach the case if she was harmed. If she wasn’t, maybe the perpetrator knew the beast.”

“I’ll call him,” Decker said. “But who uses a twenty-two to take out a tiger.”

“Not on her skull, but soft tissue is soft tissue.”

Decker acknowledged the point.

Marge said, “What about Penny’s kin?”

“The rich ones are always protected, but using charm, the Internet, and a phone book, I did get some numbers.” Decker flipped his phone messages. “Here’s a contact for the daughter: Baroness Graciela Johannesbourgh. When you call up, ask for Hollie Hanson. I believe she is the executive secretary of the baroness’s foundation.” He handed Marge a piece of paper with the information.

“Foundation for what?”

“Cervical dystonia,” Decker said. “I looked it up. It’s when your head rotates to the side of your neck and freezes in that position. The medical name is torticollis. It’s treated with botulinum toxin to relax the muscles. It can be genetic. I have no idea if the foundation is a personal thing or just the goodness of her heart.”

Decker rifled through more papers.

“Here we go. This is a contact number for Darius Penny at Klineman, Barrows, Purchas and Penny. Darius’s secretary is named Kevin.” That pink slip with the information went to Oliver.

“Did you tell them what it was about?” Scott asked.

“Just that it concerned Hobart Penny,” Decker said. “No details. I’m sure they both assume that it has to do with his death—the man was old—but I told them nothing about the murder. Both numbers are two-one-two area code: Manhattan. Whatever you do, be cautious. These types lawyer up when you ask them about the weather.”

“What do you know about their respective financial situations?” Oliver asked.

“Nothing.”

“Okay. I’ll do some digging.”

Marge said, “What about the ex-wife?”

Decker said, “Sabrina Talbot lives in Montecito in Santa Barbara County. I Google-mapped the residence and plot. The house is one of those huge Mediterranean things set on lots of acreage. I suppose that you wouldn’t mind driving up to talk to her.”

“I can handle that.” Marge smiled. “Might you want me to call Will or anyone in SBPD who knows anything about her?”

“Now there’s a fine idea,” Decker said. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“I can leave around eleven.”

“I’m free,” Oliver said. “I’ll come with you.”

“Will you now?”

“I’m good on a road trip.”

“Oliver, haven’t you heard the old saying about two people versus three.”

“That is the old saying. The new one goes, two is company, three’s a party.”

“I’m taking this from a guy who thinks Facebook is a collection of mug shots.”

“True, I’m old-fashioned when it comes to social networking,” Oliver said. “But when it comes to just plain social, I’m always game.”

The call came in a few hours later. “This is Lieutenant Decker.”

“Ryan Wilner.”

“Hello, Agent Wilner, how’s our baby doing?”

“It was a long night for her. She’s disoriented, but Vignette told me she’s starting to feed, which is a very good sign.”

“Vignette?”

“She’s the director of the sanctuary. She wants to talk to you.”

“Okay.” A momentary pause. “Do you know what it’s about?”

“Just that she was upset about the old man’s death. Apparently he was a big supporter of the sanctuary, so she knew him well.”

Decker’s ears perked up. “I’ll give her a call. Do you have her number?”

Wilner read the digits over the phone. “You should visit the place. She and her staff do a great job.”

“I just might do that.” He hung up and immediately punched in Vignette’s numbers. It rang twice before it was picked up. There was a lot of static on the line.

“Global Earth Sanctuary.” The voice was female.

“Yes, this is Lieutenant Decker from Los Angeles Police. May I please talk to Vignette?”

“This is Vignette. Thanks for calling me, Lieutenant.” The voice was youthful.

“No problem,” Decker said. “I’m getting terrible reception.”

“It’s awful out here. Most of the time, my cell doesn’t even connect. We may get cut off.”

“Okay. So we’ll take what we have. How can I help you?”

“It’s about Mr. Penny. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“He was eighty-nine.”

“But so vital.”

Vital, Decker thought. The man sounded like a shut-in, but maybe he had another life that only she knew about. “Did he visit the sanctuary often?”

“Not often. He didn’t like leaving Tiki alone. I’m sure you understand why.”

“It would be a problem if the tiger got out.”

“That wasn’t the issue. Mostly it was because she was so attached to him. She didn’t like it when he was gone.”

“Did you know the tiger well?”

“Tiki and I had a healthy respect for each other.”

“So may I assume that you visited Mr. Penny and Tiki in his apartment?”

“Of course. Someone had to give Tiki her shots.”

“You gave a tiger shots?”

“After she was sedated of course.”

“Vignette, I’m sure you know this. But it’s illegal to keep a wild animal like a tiger in a suburban area.”

“Of course I know that. That’s why Mr. Penny didn’t come here all that often. All he wanted was to live out his life with Tiki.” A sigh over the line. “I guess he got his wish.”

Decker tried to be patient. “Vignette, if you are aware of other wild animals living in residential areas, you should report them to the police. You’ve got to know that the chance for a disaster is high.”

“No other tigers as far as I know. It’s all I can do to take care of what animals I have here. And I have a license to do that, in case you’re wondering.”

She not only sounded youthful, but she was also acting like a petulant kid. Decker said, “That’s good to know.”

“Look, Lieutenant, I begged Mr. Penny to give her up, but he wouldn’t. So what should I do? Snitch on the biggest supporter we have?”

Rather than confront her, it was best to keep things civil. “When was the last time you were at the apartment?”

“I was just there maybe three, four days ago. And Mr. Penny seemed just fine. Was it a heart attack?”

She seemed blithely unaware. Or she was a good actress. Decker sidestepped the question. “Do you know where he got the tiger?”

“Not offhand. You can get cubs through mail order. Sometimes you can get animals from smaller defunct zoos or circuses or animal acts. But I don’t know about Tiki.”

Perfect segue, Decker thought. “You know, I’d really like to come down to your place and see your sanctuary. That way we can talk in person, which is much better than over the phone.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Just wrapping things up,” Decker lied.

“What things?” A pause. “Why are the police involved?”

“We were called in to take care of the body.”

“Oh … okay.”

“But I still have a few questions about Mr. Penny. Maybe you can help me.”

She said, “I’ll answer your questions if you’ll answer mine.”

“What are your questions, Vignette?”

“I know this is going to sound like I’m a vulture … do you know if there was a will or anything like that?”

Decker said, “I don’t know.”

“It’s not for me personally,” Vignette said. “It’s totally for the animals. Mr. Penny was a great supporter. I don’t know how long the sanctuary can last without him.”

You mean without his money. Decker said, “Could we meet tomorrow and talk a little more?”

“Sure. Come down. I’ll show you what we do, so you won’t think that I’m just about greed.”

But it was always about greed. “What time works for you?”

“Around eleven would be perfect.”

“I’ll see you then, Vignette. I’m sorry; I didn’t catch a last name.”

“Garrison.”

“What’s your official title?”

“Acting director of the sanctuary. We had a permanent director … he was a vet actually, but he moved to Alaska to study the mating habits of the Kodiaks.”

“Not for the fainthearted.”

“It’s really just a matter of gaining trust, Lieutenant. When the trust is there, it doesn’t matter how fierce the animal is. You can have grizzlies that behave like puppy dogs and puppy dogs that behave like grizzlies.”

“That’s true,” Decker said. It wouldn’t serve his purposes to argue. In his mind, he’d much rather face a snapping puppy than a happy grizzly. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”

“Great!” Vignette chirped. “I’ll give you the grand tour. And maybe you can find out about a will?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Decker hung up.

Did the word grasping mean anything to her?

Yet, she had a point. Surely the man had a will.

And where there’s a will, there’s a lawyer.

CHAPTER SIX

The web site for the Cervical Dystonia Center was founded twenty-five years ago by Baroness Graciela Johannesbourgh. The pictures of gala events in the recent past showed a tight-faced, tight-lipped, stick-thin blonde in her fifties wearing a multitude of gowns on a multitude of occasions. In the earlier archival pictures, Marge had noticed the baroness’s pronounced cant of the head to the right side. As the years passed, the twisting had lessened until her posture seemed completely normal. It used to be that cervical dystonia was a problem without many solutions, but now the condition was treated quite successfully with Botox.

Two in the afternoon, PST, meant five in the afternoon, EST. The foundation was probably closed, but she called anyway. The phone was picked up by a smoky voice.

“Cervical Dystonia Center.”

“Yes, this is Sergeant Marge Dunn from the Los Angeles Police Department. Is Hollie Hanson available?”

“This is Hollie.” A pause. “What can I help you with, Sergeant?”

“I’m trying to get hold of Graciela Johannesbourgh. I was told that you could connect me to her.”

“What is this in regards to?”

“Hobart Penny.”

“Is he all right?”

“It’s a personal matter.”

“I see.” A pause. “If you give me your name and number, I can pass the information forward to the baroness.”

Marge reiterated her name and gave Hollie the cell phone number. “If she could call me back, I’d appreciate it.”

“You know, Sergeant, I am aware of Mr. Penny’s age. And I also know that a call from the police isn’t typical unless there’s something wrong.”

Marge said, “Please have Ms. Johannesbourgh call me back.”

“I’ll give the baroness your message.”

“Thank you very—” But Marge was talking to a dead line. Next was Darius Penny. With any luck, he’d still be in the office. The line connected, she was transferred, and transferred, and transferred until she actually reached Darius Penny.

“It’s about my father?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He passed?”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

“When?”

Marge hesitated. “Probably two days ago.”

“Probably …” Silence. “It took a while to discover the body.”

“Something like that.”

“No surprise there. My father was a hermit. Where’s the body now?”

“With the county coroner.”

“Do you have a contact number? I’ll call right away and have someone transfer the body to a funeral home.”

“Sir, the body is being autopsied.”

“Autopsied? My father was eighty-nine. What on earth merits an autopsy?”

The man sounded annoyed. Since there was no easy way to break the news, Marge decided to be forthright. “I’m sorry to say this, Mr. Penny, but your father was found murdered.”

“Murdered? Oh my God! What … what happened?”

At last some genuine emotion. She said, “I can’t say for certain. That’s why the coroner is doing an autopsy.”

“Was it bad? Oh my God, it must have been bad. Was it a robbery? Not that my father kept anything of value in that cruddy apartment. But sometimes he had cash. This is just crazy. Was it a robbery?”

“We’re still investigating.”

“Are you part of the investigation or is it your job to call people up and drop bombshells?”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Penny. And yes, it is a bombshell.”

“Do you have a suspect?”

“The investigation just started, Mr. Penny. All this just happened last night.”

The lawyer paused. “Do you want to know where I was last night?”

She was taken aback. “Sure.”

“I worked until around midnight, then came home, grabbed six hours of sleep, and was back at my desk by seven. That has been my routine—day in and day out—for the last twenty years except for vacations. The last time I took time off was six months ago. My wife and I went to our island in Greece. Any other questions I can answer for you?”

“I do have a few. Are you coming to L.A. to deal with the burial?”

“I suppose I have to. I’ve barely had time to process what you’ve told … murdered?”

“We think so. Would you have any ideas about what happened?”

“Not really. I know my father made many enemies, but he’s been out of commission for years. Why would anyone harm him now, especially with death looming at his door?”

“Do you have names of some of those enemies?”

“No one specific comes to mind. My father was very abrasive. He had half of the Dale Carnegie method right. He influenced people. The friend part … not so much.”

“Okay. Does your father have a lawyer that we could talk to?”

“Dad has a slew of lawyers. He generally used McCray, Aaronson and Greig as his firm. Why?”

“I assume your dad had a will. Sometimes a will points us in the right direction.”

“I’ve been in charge of Dad’s estate planning for the last twenty-five years. He definitely has a will and he’s changed it a number of times, depending on who has curried his favor. Dad was mercurial.”

“What kind of changes did your father make?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the particulars. Let’s just say his changes had to do with who was flattering him. When you are worth over half a billion dollars, you deal with a lot of sycophants.”

“Did you invest his money personally?”

“No, no, no. I am the president of his foundation. But Dad used our firm for his estate planning, so I am well aware of what he’s worth. But as far as control over his fortune, I had nothing to do with how the money was invested or spent. But I do know that Dad has his assets spread out among a dozen different brokerage houses. Sometimes, I’d write checks at his behest.”

“What kind of checks?”

“Charity. As I told you, I’m president of his foundation.”

“So you were in regular contact with your father?”

“My father was a recluse. I haven’t seen him since he married Sabrina. And even after the divorce, we rarely spoke. Whenever he wanted something specific, he’d notify me via phone call but mostly written word. Then I’d execute the order.”

“So you two must have had some kind of relationship if he gave you that power.”

“I think I was the least of many evils. We don’t really have a relationship, but my father recognized that I was honest.”

Don’t have a relationship. Still using present tense. “What kind of charities did your father support?”

“They’d vary, depending on his mood. And let me tell you, the man was very, very temperamental. He was my father and he supported his family, but he’s not likable. He was a womanizer and a louse when he drank. Is this interview going to take a while? If it is, could I call you back in a bit?”

Marge said, “Just a couple more questions. Are you coming to L.A. to make arrangements for the body?”

“My dad had made prior arrangements to be buried somewhere in L.A. I’ll come in for the burial. I can’t talk for my sister—Oh dear. Did you call her? My sister?”

“I left a message with Hollie Hanson to have her call me.”

“So you haven’t spoken to her?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll call and tell her the news. What else do you want to know?”