FAYE KELLERMAN
Predator
[Published in the USA as The Beast]

To Jonathan, as always

To my editor, Carrie Feron

And to my fans who have supported me for the last twenty-five years!

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

About the Author

Also by Faye Kellerman

Copyright

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

It was the stuff of nightmares, starting with the slow walk down the courtroom aisle: as if his stall tactics had the power to stop the inevitable. Seven hours of testimony, but it wasn’t the length of time that was horrific. When practicing the piano, Gabe had done marathon sessions twice as long as that. But he had always used his music to zone out, and that was impossible to do when being grilled on the witness stand. It had required concentrating on things he was trying so hard to forget: how that day had started out so normal and within minutes had turned into something almost deadly.

By four in the afternoon, the trial had finally recessed and the prosecution was essentially done, although Gabe knew the lawyers would have more questions on redirect. He walked out of the courtroom with his foster mother, Rina Decker, on one side and his foster dad, the lieutenant, on the other. They guided him into a waiting car. Sergeant Marge Dunn was behind the wheel.

She maneuvered the silent group through the streets of the San Fernando Valley—a suburb of L.A.—until they reached the driveway of the Decker house. Once inside, Gabe collapsed on the living room couch, took off his glasses, and closed his eyes.

Rina took off her tam, liberating a sheet of black, shoulder-length hair, and regarded the boy. He was nearly bald—courtesy of an indie film he had starred in—and his complexion was pale and pasty. Little red bumps covered his forehead.

She said, “I’m going to change and get dinner ready.” At the sound of her voice, Gabe opened his eyes. “You must be starving.”

“Actually I feel queasy.” He rubbed his green orbs and put his specs back on. “Once I start eating, I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

Decker and Marge came in a moment later, chatting about business. The lieutenant loosened his tie, and then took a seat next to the boy. The poor kid was constantly jockeying back and forth between the teen and adult worlds. For the last year, his foster son had been at Juilliard, finishing almost two years in one. Decker threw his arm around the kid’s shoulder and kissed the top of his peach fuzz head. Gabe wasn’t totally bald, but what was growing in was blondish.

Gabe asked, “How’d I do?”

“Phenomenal,” Decker said. “I wish every witness I had was half as good as you.”

Marge sat opposite the boys. “You were a dream for the prosecution: completely credible, plainspoken, and damn cute.” When Gabe smiled, she said, “Plus being a movie star doesn’t hurt.”

“Oh jeez. It was barely above a student film on a shoestring budget. It’ll never go anywhere.”

Decker smiled. “You never know.”

“Believe me, I know. Did I ever tell you about my breakdown scene? I’m running down this long hallway of the sanitarium buck naked with my hair flying in back as attendants in white coats try to catch me. When they catch me, they start to shave my head and I’m screaming, ‘Not my hair, not my hair.’ I haven’t seen the movie, so I’ll have to take the director’s word that it was a great scene.”

“You haven’t watched your own movie?” Marge asked.

“No. Too embarrassed. Not at me being naked, but I’m pretty sure I’m a dreadful actor.”

Marge smiled, stood up, and picked a piece of pilled wool off of her beige sweater. “Well, gentlemen, I’ve got to go back to the station house. I left a pile of paperwork on my desk.”

“Not to mention everything that I dropped in your lap,” Decker said. “Thanks for picking up the slack.”

Rina walked in. She had donned a long-sleeved black T-shirt, a jean skirt, and slippers. “You’re not staying for dinner, Marge?”

“Can’t. Too much work to do.”

Decker looked at his watch. “I’ll come join you in about an hour if you’re still around. I’ll bring you a care package from tonight’s dinner.”

“In that case, I’ll make sure I’m around.” Marge waved and left.

Decker said to his wife, “You need any help?”

“I’m fine. It’s been a long day and a little quiet is okay with me.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

Gabe said, “I should shower. I smell pretty bad. I was sweating a lot.”

“Normal.”

“I suppose this is only a warm-up for tomorrow. Defense is going to have a field day with me.”

“You’ll be fine. Just stick to who you are and tell the truth.”

“That I’m the son of a hit man?”

“Gabe—”

“I mean who are we kidding? You know they’re gonna bring him up.”

“Probably. And if they do, your lawyer will object, because Christopher Donatti is irrelevant.”

“He’s a criminal.”

“He is, but you aren’t.”

“He runs whorehouses.”

“Whorehouses are legal in Nevada.”

“He cut up Dylan Lashay and turned him into a mass of jelly.”

“Now you’re speculating.” Decker looked at the boy. “Okay. I’m the defense and cross direct, okay.” He cleared his throat and tried to act like a lawyer. “Have you ever participated in anything criminal? And be careful what you answer.”

Gabe thought a moment. “I smoked weed.”

“Ever take pills?”

“Prescription medication.”

“Such as.”

“Paxil, Xanax, Zoloft, Prozac … a cornucopia of pharmaceuticals. My doctors rotate around to see what’s affective. And the answer to that is—nothing.”

“It is sufficient to just list the medications, Gabriel.”

“I know.”

“Are you anxious now?”

“I’m very anxious.”

“Good answer,” Decker said. “Who wouldn’t be anxious during this process? The prosecution has presented you today as a gifted teen that has gone through a very traumatic experience. On cross, defense will try to trip you up. They’ll ask you about your dad, they’ll ask you about me. Always pause before you answer to give the prosecution time to object. And whatever you do, don’t speculate. On redirect, the lawyers will make sure that the jury knows that you are not your father’s son.”

Gabe said, “I don’t really care about myself. I’m worried about Yasmine. It kills me to picture her being hammered at by some jerk lawyer.”

“She’s sixteen, sheltered, an A student, and physically, she’s small and delicate. She’ll probably cry. Everyone will go lightly on her. What they’ll do is ask her to repeat verbatim what Dylan and the others said to her and argue about the meaning of their statements. I’m sure the defense will say something like they were just kidding around. Bad taste, but no serious intent.”

“Dylan was going to rape her.”

“He might have even killed her if you didn’t step in.” Decker paused. “It could be she won’t make it to the witness-box. After your testimony, they may try again for a plea bargain.”

“Dylan’s physically messed up. Why didn’t they plea bargain in the first place?”

“The Lashays wouldn’t agree to jail time. We offered them a prison hospital, but the parents wouldn’t take it, claiming the prison hospital doesn’t have the wherewithal to care for Dylan in his current state.”

“Surely someone can wipe his drool,” Gabe muttered. “I hope he dies a terrible death.”

“He probably will,” Decker said. “In the meantime, he’s living a terrible life.”

Riding with the windows down, Decker enjoyed the air after being locked away in a stuffy and tense courtroom. He wasn’t anticipating anything more than a mountain of paperwork to deal with, but then his cell went off just as he was parking in the station house’s lot. Bluetooth told him Marge Dunn was on the line. “Yo, Sergeant, I’m right outside.”

“Stay there. I’m coming down.”

The phone disconnected. A few minutes later, she came out of the building and jogged over to the car. Sliding onto the passenger seat, she closed the door. The night was cool, and she wrapped her hands in the sleeves of her knitted hoodie. She gave him the address, which was fifteen minutes away. There was a tense look on her face. “We have an issue.”

“Yeah, I ascertained that.”

“Do you remember an eccentric millionaire named Hobart Penny?”

“Some kind of engineer-inventor. Made his money in aerospace I want to say?”

“That was Howard Hughes. But you’re not too far off. He holds about fifty different patents for high-heat polymers including glues and plastics used in aerospace. The consensus on the Internet says he’s worth around a half-billion dollars.”

“Sizable chunk of change.”

“Exactly. And like Hughes, he became a recluse. He’s now either eighty-eight or eighty-nine, depending on what site you’re at. Did you know he lived in our district?”

“Lived?”

“Or maybe it’s still the present tense, but I don’t think so. He rents an apartment in the Glencove district and has resided there for the past twenty-five years.”

“I had no idea.”

“Neither did most of the people in the area. We got a call about a half hour ago from a unit adjacent to his. Something stinks inside Penny’s apartment.”

“That’s not good.”

“Not good but not unusual, considering his age. Okay. So he’s been dead for a couple of days. We can deal with that. But here’s the problem. The complainant has been hearing strange sounds coming from his apartment.”

“Like?”

“Clicking, scratching, and an unmistakable roaring.”

“Roaring? As in a lion roaring?”

“Or it could be some other big cat. The complainant had gathered up some of his fellow apartment dwellers along with the building’s manager, whose name is George Paxton. I talked to the manager, told him I was sending some people down to get everyone out of the apartment building—as in immediately.”

“God yes! We need a total evacuation of the structure.”

“If you want the apartment buildings adjacent to be evacuated for good measure, I’ll radio for more units.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Better to be safe, right. You’ve called animal control?”

“Of course. I’ve requested people with experience working with big cats. That might take awhile.”

Decker shook his head. “This is crazy.”

“It’s a first for me.”

Silence.

Decker said, “How did you end up with the call?”

“Someone in-house transferred the call to homicide. Not a bad decision, considering we’ve got an old recluse, a rotten smell, and a roaring animal. I’d say the chance for finding a dead body is very high.”

The area was largely residential: a mix of apartments, condos, and single-family homes, but there was a small strip mall of businesses located across the street from the address. The black night mixed with floodlights and with blinking lights from the bars on the cruisers. Several ambulances had been called and were standing by, just in case. After double parking, Decker and Marge got out, flashed their badges, and were allowed entry into the activity. About fifty yards up was a huddle of animal control agents in tan uniforms. He and Marge fast walked over to the circle and displayed their badges. At that specific moment, something bestial let out a ferocious bellow. Decker jumped back. The roar was especially eerie because it was a foggy and moonless night. He held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “What the hey?”

A sandy-haired, muscular man in his thirties stuck out his hand, first to Marge, then to Decker. Introductions were made all around—three men and a woman roughly ranging in age from midtwenties to midforties. “Ryan Wilner.”

Decker said, “I thought it was going to take a while for you guys to get here.”

“Me and Hathaway were in GLAZA, teaching a seminar on big cats. Zoo is a straight shot to here if there’s no traffic.”

Hathaway was tall and bald. His first name was Paul. He said, “We’re usually the big cat guys, but we do everything.”

Marge said, “How often do you deal with wild animals?”

“Wild animals all the time—raccoons, skunks, possum … even bears coming in from Angeles Crest. Exotics are another bag of tricks. We deal with a big cat maybe once a year, mostly lions or tigers, but I’ve done jaguars and leopards. Couple times I’ve been asked to help out with wolf-hybrid packs that had turned on their owner.”

Wilner said, “I just did a chimp about a month ago.”

“Lots of reptiles.” The woman who spoke had close-cropped blond hair and gray eyes and stood about six feet. Her name tag said andrea jullius. “Local poisonous snakes like California rattlers or sidewinders. But like Ryan said, we get the exotics. Just recently, me and Jake pulled out a Gaboon viper and a monitor lizard from a trailer in Saugus.”

Jake was Jake Richey. He was in his twenties with yellow hair. He looked like a surfer dude. “I’ve done lots of snake captures, but that was my first Gaboon viper.”

Andrea said, “You wouldn’t believe the things people keep as pets, including crocs and alligators.”

“What about that grizzly about a year ago?” Hathaway said. “That was a trick.”

Wilner said, “And how about that female Asian elephant two years ago? In the same month, we captured a runaway male bison that was the family pet until it went into puberty and nearly took down the entire house.”

But Decker was concentrating on the problem at hand. “How on earth do you get a big cat into Los Angeles?”

“Mail order. You acquire some land and a license and say you’re going to set up a breeding program or a for-profit zoo or circus.”

“That is crazy!” Marge said.

“Not as crazy as the people who keep them as pets,” Andrea Jullius said.

Wilner said, “People are delusional; always think that they have magical powers over the beast. Inevitably a wild animal lives up to its name. That’s where we come in. If everything works out well, the animal winds up in a sanctuary. It’s no fun putting down an animal that isn’t doing anything wrong except living out its DNA.”

Another fierce roar pierced the miasma. Decker and Marge exchanged glances. She said, “That animal sounds pissed.”

“It’s very pissed,” Wilner said. “We’re going over our next step.”

“Which is?” Decker said.

“Drill some peepholes and see what we’re dealing with.”

“My bet’s on a Bengal female tiger,” Hathaway said.

“I agree,” Wilner said. “A male lion would be five times as loud. When the area is cleared out, we’ll put on some protective gear and drill some holes. Once we see what we’re working with, we figure out how to tranquilize it and get it out of here before we have a major problem.”

Another howl echoed through the dripping fog. It was engulfing, as if being swallowed alive. Decker spoke to Marge. “We should assign some agents to the apartment doorway, just in case our friend feels like busting loose.”

“One step ahead of you. It’s already done,” Wilner said. “I got one with a tranquilizing gun, one with a hunting gun. We aren’t taking any chances.” He turned to Agent Andrea Jullius. “What’s going on with the equipment from the zoo?”

“Twenty more minutes.”

Wilner tossed keys to Hathaway. “You wanna go get the protective gear?”

“Sure,” Hathaway said.

“Do you have a vest for me?” Decker said. “I want to take a look through the peepholes. Homicide was called because the apartment was rented to an old man.”

“Our policy is no civilians,” Wilner told him. “And what are the chances that the old man inside is still alive?”

Decker said, “This is my community, and I feel responsible for everything that goes on here. I want to see the layout of the apartment so I know what I’m dealing with.”

“It’s gonna be grisly.”

“I’ve done grisly before. Once I saw a dead guy being gnawed on by a wild mountain lion. It bothered me, but that’s okay. When things stop bothering me, I’ll know it’s time to quit.”

CHAPTER TWO

With his pillow vibrating underneath his head, Gabe awoke with a start. It was eleven in the evening and he’d been out for an hour, falling asleep with his glasses on, his book landing on the floor. He groped around and pulled out the cell. “Hello?”

“How was it?” Her voice was a whisper.

Instantly Gabe was up and alert. He and Yasmine weren’t supposed to be talking to each other, especially once the trial started, which was perfectly fine with Yasmine’s mother. Sohala Nourmand was the typical Persian Jewish mama who wanted her daughter to date solely within the tribe. Not only was Gabe the wrong ethnicity, he was also the wrong religion. So over the past year, Sohala had forbidden contact between them. He and Yasmine hadn’t exchanged phone calls, IMs, e-mails, texts, or Facebook posts. He knew that Sohala had checked Yasmine’s electronics on a regular basis.

But nothing was foolproof. They had kept in touch the old-fashioned way—snail mail. When Yasmine first wrote to him by hand, he couldn’t answer her back, a source of frustration. Finally, she got a POB. It was strange, writing real letters instead of e-mails, but after a while he really enjoyed the personality that came through her handwriting. His stamp output was one of his main expenses.

He hadn’t heard her voice in almost a year. It was simply thrilling. He sat up, curling his knees to his chest. “Where are you?”

“In bed with the covers pulled over my head. I borrowed my friend’s phone to call you. How was it today?”

“Really tiring.”

“What’d they ask you?”

“It was Nurit Luke—the state’s lawyer. She just led me through that day.”

“Was it horrible?”

“It was … it took up a lot of time, but at least she was on our side. Tomorrow I have the cross with Dylan’s lawyers. That’ll probably be horrible, especially because of my background.”

“I’m so sorry.” There was a catch in Yasmine’s voice. “Gabriel, I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too, cuckoo bird.” He felt his eyes water. “We’ll get through this. The good news is you don’t have to worry about Dylan. The guy is major league messed up physically. You don’t ever have to be afraid again.”

“I hope you’re right.” But her voice was cracked.

“When you see him, you’ll know I’m right. It breaks my heart to hear you so anxious.”

“I’m okay.” But she wasn’t.

“The lieutenant thinks that there’s even a chance for a plea bargain. If that’s the case, you won’t even have to testify.”

“That would be fantastic!” A long pause. “Too much to hope for.”

“One step at a time, Yasmine. It’s the only way to stay sane. How are you otherwise?”

“Most of the time, it’s like I’m on autopilot. Just kinda numb.”

“Are you talking to anyone?”

“You mean like a therapist? I already went down that road. It didn’t work. It’s better for me to just throw myself into school work.” A pause. “So afterward … like you’re going back to New York?”

“Probably. Why? What do you need?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s on your mind? Tell me.”

“I was just hoping that you could wait until I’m done testifying before you go back. But that’s just being selfish.”

“I don’t have to do anything specific. I’m caught up, and my next performance is six weeks from now. If you need me, I’m here. End of story.”

“What are you playing?”

“A Schubert four-hand piece with a guy I know from Germany and a sonata by a contemporary composer named Jettley who lectures part-time at Juilliard. I’m also doing Beethoven’s fourteenth sonata—Moonlight.”

“Oh … that’s not so bad. Even I can play that … not like you of course.”

Gabe smiled. “The first two movements are all emotion and finesse. The third movement’s a little trickier. You can hear it on YouTube. Glen Gould. If you want to see the fingering, look at Valentina Lisitsa.”

“Okay. I’ll do that right after we hang up.”

“If you want, sure. The point is I can practice in Los Angeles as easily as in New York. If you need me, I’m here for you.”

“I just thought that maybe we could see each other after it was over.”

“I’m in.” Gabe’s heart started thumping. “Tell me when and where.”

“It can’t be until after I’m done testifying. Can you wait that long?”

“I’d do anything for you. Like I said, when and where?”

“I was thinking about next Sunday. I’ve already told my mom that I’m going to the library to study. I don’t think she fully believes me, but maybe by the time she finds out, you’ll be back in New York.”

“Perfect. Where should I pick you up?”

“You don’t have to pick me up, Gabe. I drive now, remember.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” A pause. “Wow. Where did the year go? So Sunday is great. Where do you want to meet?”

“Somewhere private.” Yasmine’s voice started to crack again. “It’s been so long and I’ve been so miserable. And I’m sure after they shred me to bits, I’ll be even more miserable. No one except you can understand. I just want a couple of hours to be alone with you, Gabriel.”

“I feel the same way, Yasmine. You know how much I love you.”

“Do you still?”

“One hundred percent.”

“It’s just we’re so far apart and I never get to talk to you. And I’m sure you have a zillion girls around you all the time, now that you’re a movie star.”

“You’re joking, right?” No response. Gabe said, “Yasmine, I’m bald, broken out, and I lost the weight that I gained because I’ve been so nervous. I look like Supergeek. I’ve got nothing in my life except a piano. I work all the time. I haven’t had a moment to be bad, even if I had wanted to. I pine for you like a pathetic old dog. Just tell me where you want to meet and I’ll be there.”

She didn’t speak for a long time, so long that Gabe thought she had disconnected. “Hello?”

“I’m still here.” Another pause. “There’s a motel not far from my school.” She gave him the name and the street. “Can you do something with that?”

His heart was beating so fast, he felt faint. “Yeah, definitely.” A long pause. “Are you sure? I don’t want to get you in serious trouble.”

“So what if my mom found out. What could she do? Ground me again?”

“She’d ship you off to Israel.”

“She can’t keep us apart forever. Let me worry about my mom. You take care of the arrangements, okay?”

Gabe’s mouth was dry. “Okay.”

“And bring something to eat. I’ll meet you there at three, so I might be a little hungry. And be outside in the parking lot, so I don’t have to go up to the desk or anything. That would be real embarrassing.”

“I’ll be outside in the parking lot at three with food, waiting for you. Be on time—for a change.”

“I swear I will.” Then Yasmine said, “You know what happens when we get together, Gabe. It’s like instant chemistry.”

“I know. I can’t help it.”

“I can’t, either.” A pause. “I’m not saying yes or anything, but you should bring something … just in case. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse and his heart was galloping in his chest. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“We’ve got a Bengal female.” Wilner stepped aside and allowed Decker to look through the peephole. The space had been demolished—overturned furniture streaked with blood and feces. There were deep, clawed grooves on walls and floors. Flies buzzed everywhere. A wretched odor of a decayed carcass wafted through the hallway.

The animal, however, was magnificent, even as it paced amid the wreckage. Her fur gleamed amber and black, and she had reflective gold eyes, massive sharp claws, and ivory-colored fangs. Decker had never seen a tiger that close, nor had he actually heard an animal’s roar at such a high decibel level. It sent shock waves coursing through his body. He stood aside from the viewing spot and gave Marge a chance to see. She peered inside and then backed away with a single shake of her head. “She’s dragging a chain around.”

“I noticed,” Decker said. “It’s attached to a collar around her neck.”

Wilner said, “She probably broke it off from her mooring. We’ll saw it off when she’s out.” The animal agent was looking over his carefully devised schedule. He had a checklist of supplies, and an animal gurney along with a steel enclosure had been placed outside the apartment’s front door. Wilner had also acquired the key to the service elevator, since the passenger one was too narrow for the cage.

“This is the plan.” He was still reading off his list. “Jake’ll get a clean shot off. After she’s tranquilized, we’ll bust in and take her out on a gurney, load her into the pen, and take her down in our truck.” Wilner looked up. “After Jake fires the shot, no one moves a muscle until I give the all-clear signal.” He demonstrated the sign to his fellow officers: a hand in the air swooping down.

Decker asked, “What if the tiger busts out before she’s tranquilized?”

“We’ve got big game guns, Lieutenant. As much as I hate putting an animal down, we know where our prior-ities are.”

“I want to stick around,” Decker said. “This is my community.”

“Me, too,” Marge said. When Wilner looked skeptical, she said, “Cross my heart I won’t get in your way.”

Paul Hathaway threw them a pair of protective vests. “Stay way down the hallway behind the barriers we erected. If something goes wrong, we’ll take care of it. Don’t try to help out.”

“That’s a Roger Wilco with me,” Marge said.

Jake Richey was looking through the hole. “Ideally, we could enlarge this area so I could see and aim through the same hole. But I’m worried if I make the hole too big, she can get a purchase and stick a claw through.” He was still assessing the situation. “How about I drill right about … here?” He marked a spot eye level with the first hole but about two inches to the left. “Just big enough so I can stick the bore through it. I think that’ll work.”

Wilner handed Richey the drill. As soon as the noise came on, the animal began to scratch furiously at the door. When it bellowed, Decker’s heart took a jump. The sound enveloped him in a 360-degree cage of anger and muscle.

Richey was unperturbed. A minute later, he stopped and placed the bore through the new aperture. “I think I’m okay. Let’s give it a whirl.”

Hathaway ordered Decker and Marge behind the makeshift barrier. The protection wasn’t much more than wood beams temporarily nailed across the hallway. Decker took out his gun, and Marge did the same. She gave him a smile, but she was nervous. That made two of them. The scene suddenly became devoid of human voice, the aural vacuum disturbed only by the fierce grunts and clawing that came from behind a wall.

Richey lifted the gun and positioned the tip of the bore inside the hole. Then he peered inside the sight hole with his left eye. If he was tense, there was nothing about him on the exterior that registered anxiety.

Waiting.

The seconds ticking by.

Waiting again.

More time.

Richey squeezed the trigger and then immediately took several giant steps backward. Amid a pop, a howl, and a roar, the animal crashed against a wall. The building shook on its foundation, a quick jolt underfoot as a razor-sharp claw suddenly splintered through the upper section of the door. Wilner kept his hand in the air, indicating that no one should move as the tiger mauled the door in a feral rage.

It was one of the longest thirty seconds of Decker’s life.

Eventually the ferocious howls dwindled to halfhearted growling, then mewling until the claw fell back into the apartment and all was quiet inside. Wilner nodded to Richey, who looked inside. “She’s down.”

Wilner gave the signal, and like horses out of the gates, the control officers went to work. Within a matter of minutes, the front door was down, the agents were in, and the tiger was loaded onto the gurney. The poor girl was sacked out, her mouth agape with her tongue hanging out. As if the animal didn’t weigh enough already, a steel collar encircled her neck, and that was attached to six feet of chain.

Using brute muscle strength and extreme caution, they transferred her from the gurney into the enclosure, which lifted up on pneumatic wheels. Before they shut the steel door, Wilner gave her another shot of dope. “A quiet ride is always a happy ride.”

“Did you see a body inside?” Decker asked.

Wilner shrugged. “I didn’t see anything like that, but I wasn’t searching for one. That’s your bailiwick. Wear a mask. It stinks inside.”

The service elevator doors opened, and the tiger along with her keepers were gone.

They had left the door to the apartment wide open. The hot air inside the hallway had become foul … gag inducing. Decker’s heart was still racing as he and Marge emerged from behind the barrier.

“Quite a show.” He put his gun back in his shoulder harness. “Now our real work begins.”

CHAPTER THREE

Marge began to suit up in earnest: a paper cover for her hair, paper shoe covers, a face mask, and double latex gloves. Even with all that protection, her stomach roiled. The fetid odor was overwhelming. “We’re walking into a biological hazard as far as I’m concerned. There must be twenty generations of bacteria growing inside by now.”

Decker said, “Wait out here and I’ll go look for a body. If there isn’t one, why should both of us be grossed out?”

“Thanks, but I’m coming with you. Suppose there are a bunch of tiger cubs hidden in the bedroom or something. Or maybe he kept other exotic pets like a Gaboon viper or a monitor lizard. Someone has to call 911 if you get bit.”

Decker smiled as he put on his face mask. “Your loyalty is admirable. C’mon, Dunn. Let’s get this over with.”

The living room was a hurricane with putrid waves gassing up from the steamy floors. Deep claw marks striated the walls, and the furniture was torn to tatters. There were enormous piles of feces flecked white with maggots and bread crumbed with flies and beetles. Insects hummed everywhere. The refrigerator had been knocked over, food spilling out onto the wood floors turning them as sticky as tar. Butcher paper had been shredded to confetti. Most of the meat from the fridge had been consumed, but what hadn’t been eaten was gray and oozing brown liquid. It took a steady foot and good balance to avoid stepping in something toxic.

Marge felt light-headed, but she soldiered on, following Decker into the bedroom.

That scene was made even more appalling by the presence of a distorted, bloated body. The corpse had partially liquefied, vital fluids and tissue soaking into the sheets and dripping on the floor below. Blood and guts were everywhere, sprayed on the walls and splashed onto the furniture.

Marge said, “I’ll call the coroner’s office.”

Decker nodded.

“Mind if I make the call from the hallway? Even with the mask it’s still stinky.”

“Sure. Then we’ll figure out a to-do list.”

Marge fished out a pencil and her notebook. “Tell me what you need.”

Decker said, “After you call up the Crypt, call … let me think who’s on tonight.” A pause. “Tell Scott Oliver and Wanda Bontemps to come down here. We need to relocate the residents for a day or two. The apartment building is off-limits as a biological hazard. Nobody comes back until this mess is cleaned up. If you need another detective, call up Drew Messing.” Decker was still staring at the body. “Do we even know if this is Hobart Penny?”

Marge just shook her head.

Decker continued. “No one comes inside here except those with official business.”

“The tenants might want to go back and grab some clothes or a phone or a computer. What do I tell them?”

“We can probably escort them in and out. It’ll take awhile, but it’ll keep them less pissed off. I’ll also need a couple of uniforms at the door to secure the scene.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s it for now.”

Marge talked through her face mask. “You’re going to stick around inside?”

“I am. I’m still not sure what I’m looking at.”

Marge held off making the phone call to the Crypt. “You know … if I ignore all the disgusting mess—and the fact that a tiger lived in the apartment—this looks more like a homicide than a natural death … all that splatter on the walls?”

“That spray was definitely the result of ruptured arteries pumping out fresh blood.” His eyes scanned the room. “This splotch over here looks like blowback from a blunt force trauma injury. You wouldn’t get these kinds of droplets and blood mist from simply dying and then having a tiger eat you.”

“If the tiger mauled you or bit you when you were still alive, you’d very well have this kind of spray.”

“That’s why I’m looking for signs of mauling and/or bite marks. It’s hard to tell because the body is so distorted.”

Marge continued to study the scene: nauseating to look at and even more sickening to smell. Still she began to think like a professional homicide detective. “The face … such as it is … looks elderly. The stubble is white.”

“I agree. It’s an older man. How old is Penny again?”

“Eighty-eight or eighty-nine.”

“The body could be that old. To me, it looks like a thin, elderly man that has bloated up with gas postmortem.”

“The corpse is decomposing by the minute. The organs are leaking out and the body’s framework has lost a lot of its integrity, but …” She pointed a latex-gloved finger. “I can make out some scratches on the skin’s surface over here … over here as well.”

“Good eye.” Decker stared at the spot. “The scratches don’t seem all that deep.”

“Agreed. Less like a mauling and more like the tiger was pawing him, maybe?”

“Trying to get a reaction from a corpse.”

“Yeah, that could be.” Marge studied the body. “It’s hard to see skin surface detail with all the discoloration. The scratches could actually be deeper, but because the body is so bloated, they appear more superficial.”

Decker nodded. “Do you see any bite marks?”

“Not so far. Wish we could turn him over.”

“That’ll happen soon enough.” Neither he nor Marge could touch the body, which officially belonged to the coroner’s office. But they still could make observations. “His forehead is misshapen. The cranium could have caved in from his brains liquefying. Most likely, someone took a whack at his forehead.”

Marge nodded. “Looks like a stellate pattern. With that and all the blowback, we should be hunting around for a weapon: something hard with a round end.”

“A weapon would be good. I’d also like to find some ID. It’d be nice to have the victim identified. Makes for a neater case file.”

The coroner’s assistant was someone Decker had worked with on other cases. A Hispanic in her forties, Gloria was perfect for the job because she was competent, cordial, and efficient. Wearing the official black jacket with yellow lettering, she was sweating profusely in the bedroom, now christened the “sauna from hell.” Carefully, she rolled the body onto its side and scrutinized the back, the skin currently colored eggplant purple thanks to lividity—the pooling of blood to the lowest gravitational spot. The skin was beginning to slough off from the musculature underneath. “Okay. Here we go.”

She lay the body back down and moved over to the other side. She rolled it ever so gently and pointed to a hole.

“Looks like a bullet wound.” She lay the body back down and studied the front of the decaying corpse. “Can’t see any exit hole. The body is very swollen, so a hole may not be apparent. Did you find any bullet or bullet casings inside the apartment?”

“Not yet,” Marge said. “But now that we know a firearm might be involved, we’ll look for something. Would the wound have been fatal?”

“Impossible to tell until you open him up.” She stood up and regarded the bloated corpse. “There was definitely blunt force trauma to the forehead.” She pointed to the lower eye sockets. “This caved-in part is caused by the eyeballs dropping down inside the head—a natural phenomenon. But over here …” She pointed to the upper brown section of the skull. “Someone hit the victim with something hard.”

“We noticed that,” Marge said. “Homicide?”

“I’m not the medical examiner, so I don’t make the determination,” Gloria said. “But don’t go on vacation anytime soon.”

Marge smiled. “I’ll call up SID.”

“Thanks, Gloria.” Decker picked up a paper evidence bag, and the two of them walked into what once was Hobart Penny’s living room. “What I want to know is how the killer got past the tiger?”

Marge said, “There was around six feet of chain on her. If she was originally chained up, she’d have a little room to move about. But possibly you could sidestep the animal. Or maybe the victim escorted the killer around the tiger.”

“If the killer was escorted by Penny coming in, how did the killer get around the tiger coming out of the apartment once Penny was dead?”

Marge shrugged. “Maybe the guy threw the animal meat laced with a sedative. There’s a lot of rotting meat … along with piles of shit, diarrhea, and vomit. Maybe the animal was poisoned.”

Decker thought about the theory. “So the perp killed the victim with the gun and a possible whack on the head but didn’t shoot the tiger. Instead, he gave the tiger poisoned meat?”

“Maybe he ran out of bullets. Maybe he did shoot the tiger, but unless the shot was perfect, it would probably take more than a shot from a pistol to bring it down.”

“Do we even know if the tiger was shot?” Decker asked. “It wasn’t walking like it was injured.”

“It sounded pretty pissed off.”

Decker conceded the point. “So you’re figuring that the victim knew the perpetrator and escorted him by the animal to get in. Then the perp shot the victim and gave poisonous meat to the tiger?”

“I have no idea,” Marge said. “Maybe the perp knew the victim and his habits well enough to know how to get around the animal.”

Decker shrugged. “Possibly. Let’s go outside.”

They went into the hallway—hot and humid and stinky. Two uniformed officers were on either side of the door, both of them wearing pained expressions. Detective Scott Oliver looked up from a sheet of paper. He had come down to the scene, dressed in a black suit and a pink shirt. He waved his hand in front of his nose. “I was just about to go out and help Wanda and Drew with interviewing the tenants. We really need to canvass the apartment building.”

“The apartments do need to be canvassed but not by you,” Decker said. “I’m giving Marge and you the vaunted assignment to look for evidence.”

Oliver’s shoulder’s sagged. “Lucky me.”

“Luckier than the victim.”

“What evidence are we talking about?”

Marge said, “The CI found a bullet hole in the body. A dent in his forehead also looks like blunt force trauma. We’re looking for shell casings possibly and a weapon that fits the depression.”

“Have we made an ID for the vic?”

Marge said, “We found a wallet on a dresser with an old ID card belonging to Hobart Penny. It’s hard to tell if the body is him from a small picture.”

“Any driver’s license?”

“Not in the wallet,” Decker said. “I’ve bagged a brush, a toothbrush, and a dirty mug of coffee for DNA evidence.” He turned to Marge. “I know the man was a recluse, but what about relatives? A guy that rich … there must be people we could contact.”

Marge said, “From what I read, he’s twice divorced. The last time he was married was twenty-five years ago. There are two kids from the first wife, whom he divorced thirty-five years ago. The first wife died ten years ago. From what I read, he’s also estranged from his kids because of papa’s odd behavior.”

“Odd is an understatement. What kind of person keeps a tiger as a pet?” When no one offered any psychological insight, Decker said, “How old are his children?”

Marge checked her notes. “The son—Darius—is around fifty-five, wealthy in his own right. He’s a lawyer and some kind of capital venture person. The daughter—Graciela—is fifty-eight. She’s a New York society woman married to a count or a baron.”

“What about the second wife?” Oliver asked. “What happened to her?”

“She”—a flipping of the pages of her notepad—“is still alive … Sabrina Talbot, fifty-eight. The marriage lasted five years.”

“So she was twenty-eight when they married?” Oliver asked.

“Yeah … he was fifty-nine. He gave her a generous settlement, and I read something about his adult children not being happy about it.” Marge looked up. “But this all happened twenty-five years ago. Who holds a grudge for that long?”

“Someone was pissed enough to bash in his head and shoot him,” Oliver said.

Decker said, “I’ll research the family history from the station house. I have access to a computer and it smells a lot better.” He took in Oliver’s sartorial splendor. “You might want to leave your jacket in the car and roll up your pants. Marge has shoe covers for you.”

“Ugh,” Oliver said. “It’s going to be one of those nights.”

“Scotty, it’s already been one of those nights,” Decker answered. “You just arrived fashionably late.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Marge could almost remember a time when one in the morning meant being asleep. For the last twenty years as a homicide cop, one in the morning meant a phone call directing her to a crime scene, some of them more grisly than others but all of them horrendous. At present, she and Oliver were gathering forensic evidence. Amid the mess and the outrage, there were a few directional arrows that pointed to what went down. When she spotted something shiny winking from a pile of feces, she had a good idea what it was. But that didn’t make the task any more pleasant.

“I don’t really have to do this, do I?” Marge’s question to Oliver was not rhetorical. “I outrank you.”

“But you also love me,” Oliver said.

“Not that much.”

Silence. “Flip a coin?” Oliver suggested.

Marge pulled a quarter from her purse, tossed it in the air, and caught it. “Call.”

“Heads.”

She slapped the coin on the underside of her arm and took away her hand. George Washington was staring up at her. “I’m going to cry now.”

Oliver pretended not to hear, making busy by trying to find a weapon that matched the depression in the victim’s head. Since the coroner’s office had removed the body, he was left with only photographs of the wound. It seemed to be more round than ovoid, about an inch to an inch and a half in diameter. Oliver’s first choice was a hammer. He was attempting to locate a toolbox or a tool drawer.

Cursing her luck, Marge bent down. The smell was atrocious. She wrinkled her nose, and then stuck two gloved fingers into a squishy mound of tiger poop. Extracting the metal, she regarded the slime-coated hunk of steel. “A twenty-two. At least I found something valuable to offset the gross factor. Can you give me a bag, please?”

“Just because you said please.” He handed her an evidence bag. “I guess the logical question was how did a bullet get inside the mound of shit? It doesn’t seem like something an animal would normally eat.”

“Yeah, Decker and I were wondering about why the victim was shot but not the tiger. At least, I don’t think the tiger was shot. We were also thinking about how someone got around the tiger to get to the victim.”

“What’d you come up with?”

“The tiger was drugged by a piece of tainted meat. The tiger knew the perpetrator and didn’t view him—or her—as a threat. The tiger was chained up, so the perp could move in and out without being attacked. Or the tiger was shot, and in all the commotion, no one saw a bullet hole. Let me know if you can think of anything else. I’ll call Agent Wilner in the morning and find out the status of the big girl.”

“Where does one take a stray tiger? Last I heard there was no pound for big cats.”

“There are a few sanctuaries for wild animals. I seem to recall some kind of nonprofit wild animal shelter when I worked in Foothill—around two decades ago, so I don’t even know if it still exists.” Marge dropped the bullet in the bag. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Talk to me.”

“If we already found one bullet in poop, is there other important evidence in poop that we’re choosing to overlook?”

Oliver glared at Marge. He said, “Why don’t we just bag it all and give it to SID?”

“Why don’t I take these two massive piles and you take that one and that one?”

“You can’t assign a rookie to this one?”

“My X-ray eyes are scanning the room as we speak.” Marge turned her head to the left and to the right. “Only you and me, bud.”

“I don’t see why I have to do this.”

Marge said, “In case you didn’t get it the first time. I take these, you take those.”

“How about if I canvass the neighborhood and Wanda gets her hands dirty.”

“How about we get this over with ASAP? This is reality, not a reality show, and I don’t have all night. Actually, I do have all night, but I don’t want to use up all night.”

Reluctantly Oliver bent down in front of the first pile of feces. “What I don’t do to earn a paycheck.”

“At least you’ve got a job.”

“This is disgusting.”

“True, but irrelevant. Just go for it. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, blah, blah, blah.”

He plunged his hand into the pile and groaned. “Frankly, Dunn, I prefer the past to present. I was younger, I had dark hair, and I had yet to pay a cent of alimony.”

Rina was an early riser, but Gabe must have gotten up with the sun. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” He ran his hand over his downy scalp. His hair was beginning to grow in. It was a few days away from looking like a buzz cut. “Want some coffee? Machine’s all set, but I didn’t want to turn on the pot until you were up. Stale coffee sucks.”

“That’s considerate of you. I’d love some coffee. How long have you been up?”

“About an hour.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I slept a little. I’m all right.”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“You did terrific yesterday.”

“No one was hammering away at me. I’m sure today will be different. It’s okay. Whatever happens … I mean what can I do about it?”

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?”

“If your firm did your father’s estate planning, you must know the contents of your father’s will.”

“That’s not a question, Sergeant, that’s a statement.”

Marge was quiet.

Penny said, “This is not a discussion to be had over the phone. Let’s just say there is plenty to go around. No reason for any of the principals to be covetous. I’m wealthy and my sister is even wealthier. We both were aware that it was only a matter of time before my father passed on.”

“A matter of time? Was your father in poor health?”

“Not that I know of, but he was old.” A long pause. “The fact that someone hurried his death along is troublesome. I’m wondering if a phony will isn’t about to make an appearance. Anyway that’s not your concern. Or maybe it will be your concern. I should hang up now. I have to call my sister. This is just terrible—the murder. No one deserves to have their life cut down.”

“Could I call you later?”

“How about if I have time, I’ll call you later.”

“When do you think you’ll be coming into L.A.?”

“When are you done with the autopsy?”

“Probably by tomorrow.”

“Please call me when you’re done so I can transfer the body to a funeral home. I’ll try to schedule the funeral on Monday or Tuesday.”

“Do you think your sister will come out?”

“I honestly don’t know. Graciela had even less tolerance for Dad than I do.”

“When you come out to L.A., I’d like to talk to you a little more at length.”

“No problem. I really do have to go now, Sergeant Dunn.”

“One more thing. Were you aware that your father kept a tiger in his apartment?”

“A tiger?” A pause. “Are you serious?”

“An adult female tiger. We had to extract the tiger before we could even enter the apartment.”

“Oh my God! Did the tiger attack … no, that wouldn’t be a police matter. Is my father’s body even recognizable?”

“As far as we could tell, the tiger didn’t lay a paw on your dad.”

“That’s good to know. I knew my father was giving that crazy organization some money, but I had no idea he had become so personally involved in wild animal rescue. To keep a tiger in his apartment is beyond ludicrous.”

“What wild animal organization did he support?”

“Global Earth Sanctuary. It’s in San Bernardino. I know because I sent out the checks.”

“Was he giving them a lot of money?”

“Pocket change for what he was worth: a hundred thousand a year. If you have further questions, you’d be better off calling them. I really must hang up now.”

“Thank you for your time. Be sure to call us when you’re in Los Angeles.”

“Yes, I will. Bye.”

Marge hung up the phone. The man was professional and straightforward when answering questions. For the time being, Marge put him at the bottom of the list.

“I have an appointment to tour the sanctuary tomorrow at eleven,” Decker told Marge. He was at his desk with his feet propped up; she was sitting on a chair and paging through her notes. “You can come if you’d like.”

“I’d love to come with you, but Sabrina Talbot called back. Oliver and I are meeting her in Santa Barbara tomorrow at eleven in the morning.”

“That’s fine. If I get a weird feeling about the place, we’ll do a return visit.”

“Have you looked up the organization yet?”

“Just the Web site. It began with a woman named Fern Robeson, who bought some acreage in the San Bernardino Mountains in 1975. According to the bio, she started taking in wild animals because there was no other refuge for them. One thing led to another, and now her place is a way station for all sorts of wild animals.”

“What kind of animals?”

“Anything—lions, tigers, bears, snakes, apes, chimps, crocs. She has her own private zoo.”

“Is she licensed to do that?”

“Now she is. The place was almost shut down thirty years ago. Fern persevered, went on a massive fund-raising campaign, and received over a million dollars for the cause. Eventually she managed to secure a license to house wild animals. Fern died three years ago at seventy-two. There is some money in her foundation to care for the animals, but it is quickly running out. When I talked to the acting director—a woman named Vignette Garrison—she wasn’t sure that Global Earth would last more than a year without Penny’s support. I don’t know how much he gave, but it must be sizable. Exotic animals are expensive to feed.”

“Penny’s son said the old man was giving about a hundred gees a year.”

“Well, that is sizable.”

“You know, you just can’t put all those animals together,” Marge said. “They live in different environments. The place must be large.”

“I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Know anything about Vignette Garrison?”

“She’s thirty-seven, unmarried, and has devoted her life to saving wild animals. She worked as an assistant in a vet’s office before becoming involved with Global Earth. She’s been there for fifteen years.”

“Do you have a picture of her?”

“Not on me. I can pull up the web site.”

“Let me guess,” Marge said. “She’s tall and stick thin with stringy blond hair and no makeup.”

“I don’t know how tall she is, but she looks very thin.” Decker pushed a button and printed out her picture from the sanctuary’s web site. He gave it to Marge. “She was Fern Robeson’s protégée. She asked me about Penny’s will when I spoke to her.”

“Really,” Marge said. “That’s not only crass, but it also says to me that she has something to gain by his death.”

“Penny was giving her money while he was alive,” Decker said. “Unless she expects a windfall once he dies, why knock him off? And that brings up another question. Penny was old. Why kill him at all? Makes more sense to just wait it out and let nature take its course.”

Marge said, “Darius Penny said his old man was mercurial. If the old guy was about to change his will and leave you nothing, you might want him dead before he has a chance to make the change.”

“How would Vignette Garrison know if he was about to change his will?”

“Maybe she pissed him off,” Marge said. “Maybe he told her.”

“Why would he tell her?”

“To manipulate her or maybe just to be mean,” Marge said. “Darius said his father had made a lot of enemies. He was a mean guy, especially when he drank.” She thought a moment. “I don’t remember seeing alcohol bottles around. I’ll ask Scott about that.”

Decker ran his fingers through gray hairs streaked with youthful red. “If Darius Penny’s firm handled the estate, he would know if his dad was changing the will.”

“He doesn’t seem like a good prospect for the murder. He’s rich in his own right. Plus for the last two months, Darius has been at work from seven in the morning to midnight.”

“And you’ve verified that?”

“Not yet, but something like that would be easily verifiable. He works in a skyscraper near the Battery. Those buildings have video cameras everywhere.” Marge gave him a smile. “If you want to send me to New York for verification, I’m willing.”

“I bet you are.” Decker laughed. “Look, sister, I’ve put in for meals and gas money for your upcoming trip to Santa Barbara. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. All you’ll find there is bad breath.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Arriving home by seven in the evening, Decker was surprised to find the house dimly lit with no aromas wafting from the kitchen. He flipped on additional living room lamps and called out Rina’s name, but received no answer. It was unlike his wife to be a no-show without explanation. Maybe it was time to check his phone message. Then Gabe came out of his room.

Decker said, “Any idea where my wife is?”

“Your wife had a school meeting. She said she’d be home around nine.”

“Fabulous.”

“There are some leftover cold cuts and potato salad in the fridge.”

“Sounds real yummy.”

Gabe smiled. “Wanna go out? I wouldn’t mind a steak. I’ll even pay. My bank account is flush.”

“Steak is fine with me, and I’m not yet destitute.”

“Want me to drive?”

Decker held up a finger as he listened to his phone message, then stowed his phone in his pocket. “Uh, how about we take the Porsche?”

“That’s fine. I can drive a stick.”

“You can, but you won’t.” Decker went over to a desk drawer and fished out the ignition key. “I’ll get the car and meet you out front. Put on the alarm.”

Five minutes later, Gabe hopped into the passenger seat of Decker’s silver 911 Targa. He was wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans two sizes too big. He wasn’t making a fashion statement with his pants. Of late the kid hadn’t eaten enough to maintain his weight. “Thanks for rescuing me from starvation.”

“I was working all day. What is your excuse for not eating?”

“I dunno. It took me a long time to settle down.”

“From the news about Dylan Lashay.”

“Yeah. Wow, what a relief! I’ve been a basket case this last month just thinking about testifying. God, I’m glad it’s over! Maybe I can finally move forward.”

“Maybe you can put on a couple of pounds. I’ve heard that Manhattan has one or two good restaurants. Take my daughter out and the check is on me. When are you going back?”

“Tuesday.”

Decker was taken aback. “You’re staying through the weekend?”

“Yeah, like I explained to Rina, I just want to unwind a little bit.”

Decker threw him a look, and Gabe blushed. “So when are you meeting her?”

“What?”

“Don’t snow me, kid. You’re a terrible liar.” Gabe was silent. Decker said, “Don’t do it, Gabriel. It’ll set you back. Just as important, it’ll set her back. And from a selfish point of view, I don’t want to have to deal with her parents again.”

“They won’t find out.”

“That’s what you said the last time. And stop clenching your teeth.”

Gabe tried to relax. “Are you going to rat me out?”

“I should, but I won’t.” The boy had curled into in a ball. “Gabe, you need to think of her welfare.”

“Peter, I swear we’re not gonna do anything.” A lie: Decker wasn’t buying it. “I barely had contact with her the past couple of years.” Another lie that didn’t wash. Finally Gabe threw up his hands. “What’s the big deal?”

“Gabriel, if her parents find out, she’s got a lot more to lose than you do.”

He ran his hand over his head. “For the record, she called me.”

“That’s irrelevant. You’re the one who has to say no.”

“I don’t want to say no. Why should I?”

“Because she’s smitten with you and can’t think straight.”

“I’m smitten with her.”

“I don’t doubt that, but guys function differently. You’re both way too young for commitment. Surely there are girls in New York that come with a lot less baggage.”

“Surely there are, but I’m not interested, okay?”

Decker smiled. “Must be true love.”

“Can we change the subject? How’s the tiger doing?”

“Funny you should ask. I’m going to visit her tomorrow at a wild animal sanctuary.”

“Cool. Can I come with you?”

Decker looked at him. “You want to come with me?”

“Sure. It sounds interesting. I love what I do, but occasionally it might be fun to venture outside.”

“Uh, it’s official business.”

“Okay. I understand.”

Decker shrugged. “I suppose you can tour around while I conduct my interviews.”

“That would be great! Who are you interviewing?”

“Can’t say. It’s part of an ongoing murder investigation.”

“Can I help?”

Decker held back a smile. “Uh, I think I’ve got it covered.”

“I’m sure you do.” Gabe laughed. “Thanks for letting me come. I promise I won’t get mauled by a lion.”

“Maybe you’d rather face a lion than face Yasmine’s father?”

“We’re back there again?”

“All I’m saying is we both could use a good steak dinner and everyone’s entitled to a last meal.”

“Nothing is going to happen!” Gabe said.

“Yeah, yeah, famous last words.” Decker parked the car in front of a kosher steak house. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

The two of them got out of the car. Gabe said, “Thanks for taking me out to dinner.”

“My pleasure.”

“And thanks also for being a cool guy.”

“I’m a cool guy?”

“Peter, you are the essence of coolness. If everyone was as cool as you are, we’d never have to worry about global warming.”

Sliding up the on-ramp of the 210, Decker followed the Foothill freeway for forty-plus miles until it hit Highway 15, a dividing line between Angeles Crest and the San Bernardino Mountains. The range, going north and south, cleaved Southern California into Pacific Ocean to the west and the Mojave Desert on the east, the lowest place in the United States at 282 feet below sea level.

The road climbed upward until the elevations were measured in thousands instead of hundreds. In the late fall, the dogwoods, maples, and oaks had lost their leaves, standing dormant and skeletal. But there was still plenty of green provided by the plethora of pines and cedars. The air was cold and crisp, the sky was overcast, and as the car scaled the heights, the road twisted and curled. A sprinkling of snow attempted to cover brown detritus of rotting leaves, pine needles, and animal scat.

It was slow going. Then the road forked into two unpaved lanes. The navigation system became unglued and Decker had to rely on directions and a two-year-old hiking map. The car bumped along a rutted strip at about ten per hour. After twenty minutes, he saw the weathered post topped by a makeshift sign: global earth sanctuary 3mi. An arrow pointed the way.

The temperature had dipped to the low forties, and Decker cranked up the heat. Assuming they’d be outside most of time, he had packed scarves and gloves and had given Gabe one of his bomber jackets. The length was okay, but being that he outweighed the kid by eighty pounds, the girth was way off.

Gabe had been listening to his iPhone most of the way. As they passed the sign to the sanctuary, he took out the earbuds and stared outside, rubbing his arms. “This is Southern California?”

“It’s a big state. You can get just about any climate you want except glaciers.”

“Sometimes … when I see unspoiled terrain like this … I just want to jump out and lose myself in nature. The problem is with my body weight and mountain man skills, I’d probably last about a day.”

“Did you ever go camping with your family?”

Gabe laughed. “Are you kidding me? Chris Donatti camping?”

“The man knows how to shoot.”

“Only two-legged prey. No, I grew up suburban, urban. How far is this place?”

“According to the directions, it’s three miles from the sign.”

“Thanks for taking me. Sorry if I’ve been bad company.”

Decker smiled. “You’re exactly the type of company I like. The quiet helps me think.”

“Yeah, you don’t even turn on the radio or anything. I couldn’t last more than ten minutes without something filling up my ears.”

“When it’s silent, your brain fills in the music,” Decker told him. “After all these years, I think I’ve finally learned how to listen.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

The lane finally dead-ended in a dirt lot that had been cleared for parking. There were several vehicles—a white van, a four-wheel drive, a Honda, and a golf cart that sat underneath a naked sycamore. The property held three trailers along with miles of chain-link fencing crisscrossing the trails. He and Gabe got out, the boy sticking his hands in his pockets. Decker adjusted his scarf. A bald, stoop-shouldered man came out of one of the trailers and walked over to a white chest refrigerator. He opened the lid and began to stuff plastic bags of meat in a leather pouch.

“Excuse me,” Decker said in a loud voice.

The man looked up. “Can I help you?”

Decker walked toward him so he wouldn’t have to shout. “I’m looking for Vignette Garrison.”

The man pointed at the trailer in the middle. “Her office is there, but I think she’s out with the animals.”

“Okay if we wait inside her office? Little chilly out here.”

“Fine with me, but you won’t find it too much warmer inside. All we have are floor heaters.” Despite the slumped posture, the man was tall with cornflower blue eyes and white stubble.

Decker said, “Do you work here full-time?”

“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 that 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.

“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.

“This is all good stuff,” Oliver said. “Do you think if I turned on enough charm, Ms. Talbot might give me a roll in the hay?”

“No.”

“Don’t be too vague, Dunn. Tell me what you really think.”

“I like this lemon bar. If I didn’t think I was being watched, I’d sneak a few up in a paper napkin and hide them in my purse.”

Oliver laughed. Five more minutes passed and then a rush of wind burst through the doors. The detectives stood up.

The woman was a presence: over six feet with broad shoulders, slim hips, and a mane of blond hair. She had blue eyes, high cheekbones, and pale skin. There was spiderwebbing at the corners of the eyes and mouth, but none of that shiny stretched skin common to plastic surgery. She was dressed in a dirty shirt and gardening pants, a floppy hat on her head. She tossed the chapeau on the French furniture.

“Gawd, I’m a mess.” She checked her hands then offered them to Marge and Oliver. “Sabrina Talbot. Sorry about the dirty fingernails. Even with gloves, I lunched my French manicure. Nails and gardening don’t mix.” She brushed off her pants, bits of dirt falling on the Persian rug, and then sat down on a chair. “Sit, sit. And don’t worry if you spill. I reupholster the furniture every two years. It’s about that time. I’m thinking of going deco. I was in my ‘ice’ phase when I did this room. Now it reminds me of an igloo. Sit, sit.”

The detectives sat, introduced themselves with each of them giving her a card.

“I know that you’re here about Hobart.” A single tear down the cheek. “Who would want to harm an eccentric old man?”

“So you know he was murdered,” Marge said.

“Gracie phoned me last night. It was a brief conversation, and she was also short on the details. I’m hoping you can fill me in on what happened.”

“Gracie is Graciela Johannesbourgh?” Marge asked.

“Yes.”

“So you’re still in contact with Mr. Penny’s daughter.”

“Gracie and I have become friends—mostly out of our concern for Hobart’s mental health. Over the years, he’d become increasingly odd. Now I’m not immune to eccentricity. My entire maternal half lives in a series of tiny English villages, each one more quirky than the next. But with Hobart, it had crossed the line from different to problematic.”

Marge had taken out her notebook. “How’s that?”

“We met when I was young. I was immediately taken with him. He was a very vital man. He reminded me of my father, so I understood men like Hobart very well.”

“What do you mean ‘men like Hobart’?”

“You know, these hypermacho males always trying to prove to themselves that they’re Ernest Hemingway’s successor—running with the bulls at Pamplona, mountain climbing in Nepal, navigating an uncharted river in the Amazon. Men like that are well understood in my circles.”

“What are your circles?” Oliver asked.

“You mean you didn’t Google me?” She stared at him with mock offense.

“I looked you up,” Marge said. “All it mentioned was that you were the former wife of Hobart Penny.”

“Then I’ve done my job well,” Sabrina said. “My parents believed that you should be in the news for birth, marriage, and death. I suppose divorce now is acceptable, but that’s it. Let me give you a little family history. My great-great-grandfather was Jacob Remington—as in Remington aircraft. My mother was a Remington. My father was an Eldinger on his mother’s side. If you look up the families, you’ll see that I come from old, old money. We’re the old-fashioned snooty WASPs. My parents were thrilled when I married Hobart … that someone wasn’t going to fleece me. Not that they needed to worry.” She pointed to her head. “I know where every dollar goes. Meticulous is my guideline. Hobart liked that about me. That I wasn’t just arm candy. Even with my pedigree and my looks and my brains, it took Hobart five years to propose. It probably had to do with his divorce from his first wife and my age. We met when I was nineteen.”

“Was Hobart’s divorce a messy one?” Marge asked.

“Not terribly messy, but there was no love lost. I was not the cause of the breakup. Hobart always had other women. And he was always odd, the stereotypical mad inventor. Not the most socially adroit. I think number one wife had had enough of him.”

Oliver flipped over a notebook page. “How did you two meet?”

“At a boring old fund-raiser for some disadvantaged something. We locked eyes, and that was it for me, although his roving eye was apparent even when we were dating. I thought that being wed to me would cure him, silly goose that I was.”

“Can you clarify what you mean by a little odd?” Marge asked.

“Although Hobart exuded animal sexuality, he really didn’t give a shit about people—except for beautiful women, who he more or less objectified.” She draped a leg over the armrest. “He’d always had a fascination with wild animals—a TR kind of thing, you know.”

“TR?” Oliver asked.

“Teddy Roosevelt. The man who shot lions and rowed down the Amazon when he wasn’t being president. Now I loved a good safari just like the next person. But I like safaris the way that I do safaris—first-class accommodations and armed guards in the open jeep. Maybe a hike or two as long as someone else is carrying the backpack. Hobart wanted to camp out in the wilds of Africa. I mean camp for goodness sakes. As in pitch a tent and eat out of tins and make our own fire and gather up the water from a stream two miles away. Now I ask you. Do I look like the sleeping bag type?”

“Not to my eye,” Oliver said.

Sabrina sighed. “Something cracked in Hobart as time passed. He went from being rich and odd to being a very odd, rich man. What really scared me were the delusions.”

“What kind of delusions?”

“This is going to sound ridiculous, but he started to believe that he was a wild animal trapped in a human body much the way that people think that they’re vampires or witches or werewolves. In his case, he was certain that he was really some kind of a big cat. Sometimes it was a lion, sometimes it was a tiger. It wasn’t as if he lost his grip on reality. He could tell you every single stock on the NYSE. He was completely oriented. And he knew that he wasn’t really a big cat. He just felt that inside his human body was the soul of a tiger. He began to grow a wild beard. He also grew out his nails. He scratched the hell out of me every time we made love. Then he started to bite. Nibbles at first, but it progressed until several times, he broke skin. That was when I said to him, ‘Hobart, you need help.’”

“And?” Marge asked.

“He went into treatment. The psychiatrist told me that underneath the delusions was a severely depressed and schizoid man. So they medicated him and gave him mood elevators. He didn’t like the drugs. He claimed they interfered with his sexual function. That part wasn’t a delusion. But instead of going back for a different medication, he just dropped out. Once he was off the medication, he reverted back to his former ways. He got weirder and weirder. I’d finally had enough when he started marking the furniture.”

“Yikes,” Oliver said.

“I begged him to get help, but he flatly refused. He might have gotten help eventually if he hadn’t gotten involved with all those … clubs.”

Marge’s ears went on high alert. “What clubs?”

“Private clubs that did God only knows what as well as the crazy animal rights organizations that fed his delusions. He gave them money in exchange for their tolerance.”

Marge said, “Can you be more specific about the private clubs. It might give us a lead in his murder.”

“Sadomasochistic. This was years ago. I’m sure the ones he used have all folded and newer ones have popped up.” Sabrina sighed. “Hobart used to travel all over the country to ferret out the ones he liked. He found women who would dress up in cat suits and masks and have sex with him.”

“He told you this?” Oliver asked.

The woman’s face went red. “He confessed, but only after I found pictures of him humping young girls wearing tiger masks. I also found pictures of him with … animals. It was nauseating.”

Marge and Oliver nodded sympathetically.

“He said it wasn’t personal, that a tiger had to do what a tiger had to do.” She waved her hand in the air. “I mean, do I look like an idiot? I tried to reason with him … I held on as long as I could … but I knew it was over.”

Silence. Oliver said, “Ms. Talbot, if you could remember any of the names of the clubs—even if they’ve folded—it might help.”

“He never told me.” Sabrina examined her nails. “He moved out about a year after I found the pictures. The divorce was amicable. He gave me a very large settlement. His children were not happy about it. I couldn’t blame them. Hobart was not in his right mind. Being noble, being rich myself, and not wanting to get involved in lawsuits, I put two-thirds of the money into trusts for Hobart’s grandchildren. The other third was my combat pay. My generosity with the grandchildren did not go unappreciated. Gracie and I became friends. Darius called to thank me. The one thing the three of us did do was to convince Hobart—in one of his more lucid moments—to put his estate planning in the care of Darius’s law firm.”

“And he agreed?” Marge asked.

“Yes. Darius was smart about it. He funded whatever Hobart asked him to fund. Every so often, the two of them would go over his assets and how Hobart wanted to structure his will and what charities to give money to. So far as I know, there was never any impropriety on Darius’s part.”

She crossed her arms over her dirty shirt. “After we divorced, he slowly sank into the life of a recluse. He took that tiny wretched apartment. Eventually he just became a shut-in. Never went anywhere except to that sanctuary that he supported.”

“Global Earth Sanctuary?”

“Beats me.” A pause. “Talking about this has given me a big headache.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Talbot, but the conversation has been helpful,” Marge said. “I am curious about those sadomasochistic clubs. You asked who might have killed an eccentric old man, and now I have an idea. What if your ex-husband had been giving money to someone in the sex trade and suddenly stopped? These people are not only sleazy, they’re also dangerous. Maybe someone got angry.”

Sabrina said, “He hasn’t been going to those kinds of clubs for decades.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not positive but …” She shrugged.

“What about hiring out?” Oliver said. “Lots of escort services make house calls.”

“Maybe … if she could get past Tiki.”

Marge turned and faced Sabrina. “So you knew about the tiger?”

“Oh my word, she nearly bit my head off when I came to visit him that one time. I never went back.”

Oliver said, “Ms. Talbot, if you knew he kept a tiger, why didn’t you report it to authorities?”

She rubbed her temples. “Look, Detective, I should have. But at the time, I didn’t want to crush the only living thing that the man cared about. And I knew that Hobart would just mail away for another animal. Since Tiki seemed to be bonded to Hobart, I thought the known was better than the unknown.”

Sabrina checked her watch.

“I really do need to end this. I can’t say that this has been fun, but it’s been … therapeutic in a sense. I haven’t really thought about Hobart in years. I do hope you’ll catch the person who did this to him.”

Marge stood up. “Ms. Talbot, did you keep anything personal that belonged to your husband after he moved out?”

“Personal? Like diaries?”

“Diaries, letters, old photographs or old papers.”

“There might be a box or two of his possessions in the storage wing.”

“Do you think we might have a look at them?”

“Sure, but I don’t know exactly where they are or if I even have them anymore.”

“We don’t mind hunting around if it’s okay with you.” Oliver sneaked another cookie.

Sabrina said, “Would you like a box of cookies? I have a freezer full of them. Eleanor bakes them all the time.” Before he could answer, she pressed a button and the maid came back. “Could you give these nice people a box of your delicious cookies?”

“Yes, Madame. Of course, Madame.”

“Thank you.”

The maid left, and a moment later, Thor reappeared: a staff that ran like a well-oiled machine. “How can I help you?”

“Thor, could you take them to the storage wing for me? They want to see if I have anything left from my ex-husband.”

“They can stay here, Ms. Talbot. I can look around to see if you’ve retained anything from Mr. Penny.”

She looked at Oliver, who said, “We always find it helpful to hunt around ourselves.”

Marge said, “We understand if you don’t want two strangers looking around your belongings. He can come with us if that would make you feel better.”

“Yes, that would be a grand idea. I suppose it would be rather reckless of me to have you snoop around without supervision. Thor, go with the detectives. If they have any questions, feel free to answer them. But don’t get in their way.”

“Certainly, Ms. Talbot.”

“Take care.” She waved. “And don’t forget the cookies, Detective Oliver.”

“Thank you.”

“You can always come back for more.” She smiled. “Bye.”

When she left, Thor said, “This way.”

“Thank you,” Marge told him.

Thor walked six paces ahead down the marble hallway. Oliver whispered to Marge, “Was it my self-deluded ego or was she actually flirting with me?”

Marge shrugged. “The proper word is toying.”

“Sure wouldn’t mind being her plaything.” A big grin.

“Don’t be fooled by the charm. She could eat you for a prelude to a midnight snack.”

“Yum, yum.”

Marge laughed. “You know, Oliver, you’re lucky that I’ve got your back.” A beat. “I not only have your back, I’ve got it protected by a loaded gun. And let me tell you, brother, there’s nothing sexier in this world than a woman with a dead aim.”

CHAPTER NINE

The Global Earth Sanctuary sat on acreage that was dissected by multiple sinuous trails hugging numerous enclosures of chain-link and barbed wire fencing. The air was filled with animal sounds: roars, growls, grunts, hoots, hollers, huffs, yips and yaps, and other things that go bump in the night. It smelled ripe, and the odor would have been stronger had it been warmer. Vignette was walking at a good clip, so Decker didn’t have a lot of time to look around. But on the occasions when he did turn his head, his eyes took in blurry and shadowed shapes walking on all fours. His own feet were feeling the chill even through his socks as he hiked up the narrow pathways of mud and pebbles. Eventually a man of about sixty years came into view. He was dressed in a work shirt, vest, jeans, and boots. He gave them a wave.

“Hi there, Vern. I’m going to check out Cody now.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Might be a good idea.” The three of them kept walking until they neared a cage containing an upright mass of fur that was limping and pacing at the same time. The animal wasn’t just roaring. It was an ear-shattering bellow. It was only machismo that prevented Decker from covering his ears.

Vignette looked around the cage and shook her head. “He didn’t touch his lunch.” She pointed to a pile of fruit, leaves, and other undecipherable blobs. “Cody’s normally a good eater. He’s agitated about something.”

Y’think? Decker said, “How strong are those pens?”

“Cody’s not going anywhere.” She turned to Vern. “Well, I suppose I’d better have a look. Do you have the rifle?”

“It’s down at the trailer.”

“S’right. It’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure about that, Vignette?” Vern was concerned.

“I’ll be fine.” Without hesitation, she approached the beast, stopping at the wire fencing. She held a bag of raw fish and a spear. To the grizzly, she said, “What’s going on, Cody?”

At the sound of her voice, the animal lumbered over to the fence, dropped to all fours, and groaned. She said, “Grizzlies don’t see well, but their smell and hearing are excellent.”

Decker just kept staring, his heart beating faster than usual. He hoped he wasn’t about to witness something gruesome. Penny’s crime scene was still fresh in his brain.

She said, “What’s the matter, little guy?”

Little guy?

She took a whistle from her pocket and blew it once. Cody’s verbal protests had reduced to whimpering. The animal stood upright and pressed his right paw against the fence. The claws were thick and long and very sharp. She examined the paw carefully, and then fed him a hunk of raw fish impaled on the tip of the spear. “He’ll do anything for salmon.”

She blew the whistle again. This time the left paw was offered for examination. Afterward, he was rewarded with more salmon. “No problem so far.” A third blow of the whistle.

The bear sat on his rump and showed Vignette his right foot. “Oh my. That looks nasty, Cody. I’d be pissed, too, if I were you.”

Decker was five feet behind her. “What’s wrong?”

Vignette gave the bear a chunk of pink flesh on the spear. “He cut his foot pad on something sharp. I’m going to have to treat it before it gets infected.” She took out a small chub of salmon and put a capsule in the dead fish’s mouth. “Okay, guy, let’s see what I can do for you.” She fed Cody the laced flesh—using the spear as his eating implement—and then looked at her watch. Five minutes later, the bear rolled over and started to snore. She threw Vern the keys. “You know the rules. Lock me in. Keep an eye on him. And if I get caught, do NOT open the door under any circumstance.”

“You’re going in there?” Decker was aghast.

“I got about fifteen minutes to work.” Vignette winked at him. “Wish me luck.”

Decker was speechless. Vern unlocked the cage door, and Vignette went inside. She worked swiftly and professionally. First she disinfected the cut, washing it out with a squeeze bottle of salt water. Then she followed with a medicinal salve or ointment. Lastly, she sealed the wound as best she could with liquid bandage material.

Decker was constantly checking his watch. With each passing minute, he became more nervous. Vern said, “He’s startin’ to move, Vignette.”

“I’m almost done. I just want to make sure …” Her words trailed off.

It was Decker who now began to pace. “Please get out of there.”

Vingette got up. “I’m fine. Main thing is he’s fine.”

“No, the main thing is that you get out of there alive and whole.”

She smiled and dusted her pants off. Vern opened the gate and closed it quickly, rapping the solid chain around the gate and securing it with a padlock. As soon as the bear was upright, he teetered over to Vignette and moaned. She offered him more fish, and even though the animal was woozy, he took the bait.

“That’s a good boy,” she cooed. “You feel better?”

The bear grumbled then walked away, limping of course, but it was less marked.

The three of them watched in silence as the bear tried to restore his balance. Every few minutes, he hobbled over to Vignette, who fed him salmon in progressively tinier pieces until she told him, no more. Fifteen minutes later, his nose twitched and he trudged over to his lunch. He started with an appetizer of raspberries on the branch.

“Good job,” Vern told Vignette.

“Just glad he’s better.”

“Wow.” Decker was daunted. “I can see why Mr. Penny was a supporter.”

Vignette’s smile was in full wattage. “Now you understand why I care so much. It’s for Cody and Tiki and all the animals here. They can’t talk, so I talk for them.”

“You seem to be a good interpreter,” Decker said.

Vignette smiled. “How about a tour, now that Cody’s been taken care of.”

“Sure.”

She turned to Vern. “Keep an eye on our fellah. If he becomes agitated again, we’ll do it officially and call in the vet.”

“I’ll do just that, Vignette.”

“This way,” she told Decker. They walked a few moments in silence. “So you really don’t know anything more about Mr. Penny’s will?”

“I told you all I know.”

“I know I seem greedy, but running a nonprofit is like the jungle. Only the strong survive. If you’re timid, you either die of starvation or you’re eaten alive.”

As they continued to stroll, Vignette pointed out the different cages and enclosures, giving Decker a personal story of each animal: how it was obtained, how the environment was maximized for survival, how the diets were individualized, and finally the cost of maintaining the animal. “We barely manage on a shoestring budget. We depend on people like Mr. Penny for support.”

“How much support did he supply?”

“A lot of our operating costs came from his generosity.” She stopped in front of a tiger pen. “Tiki’s in the back of the enclosure, protected in her own cage. It’s going to take a while before she’ll be allowed to roam in the enclosure. We have to make sure that Juno and Bigfoot will accept her.”

“You’ve got a male and a female tiger?”

Vignette nodded.

“How is Tiki doing?”

“All I can tell you is that she’s been eating. That’s good.”

“Have you had a chance to examine her?”

“The vet comes this Friday.”

“So you don’t know if she’s hurt or anything?”

“No.” Vignette turned to Decker. “Why would she be hurt?”

“She was left alone in the apartment for a while. There were all sorts of broken glass and sharp objects on the floor.”

“Oh, I see what you’re getting at. So far as I can tell, she’s fine. But I have no idea what she ingested and what she looks like internally.” They stared at the two tigers in the enclosures. “Gorgeous animals.”

“Where did these two come from?”

“A for-profit zoo that went under and another mail-order fiasco. We’re lucky that these two get along.”

“Are you going to breed them?”

“Not a chance. Like I said, we don’t know the genetics, and the last thing we want are unstable and unhealthy lines. All the males have been neutered and the girls have been spayed.”

They moved on. Decker said, “I know from my reading that Global Earth Sanctuary originally started out in the Santa Clarita Valley area. Why’d you move?”

“This place is like twenty times bigger than the old one in Santa Clarita. Fern was quite the visionary. Man, that was crazy when we moved! It took forever to transport all the animals. We had to do it at night for safety reasons.”

“So does Global Earth own the land here?”

“Yep.”

“Outright, or is it mortgaged?”

Vignette stopped walking. “Why?”

“Just trying to get an idea of costs. If it’s just paying to maintain all the animals, that’s bad enough. But if you have a mortgage, wow, that’s really hard.”

“Tell me about it. Seen enough?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I’m a little cold. Let’s go back.” The woman reversed directions, and the two of them started down the trails.

Decker said, “I’m just wondering how Fern got the money to pay for all of this.”

“I don’t know.” Vignette bit her lip. “But I do know you’re asking questions out of more than just plain curiosity.”

“Did Penny help Global Earth buy the land?”

“The first time I ever talked to Penny was when he called up and asked about tiger cubs. If he had contact with the organization before that, I don’t know about it. Like I told you, after Fern died, Allan Gray worked as the acting head of Global Earth.”

“The vet who took off for Alaska to study grizzlies.”

“Yes. He left behind a real mess. Records were incomplete and indecipherable. I could have reached him and asked questions. But it was easier to just start from scratch. I took this job out of love for the animals, not because I was particularly good at leading organizations.”

Decker nodded. “So you don’t have any old records or …”

Again, Vignette stopped. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“There’s no good way to tell you this, Vignette.” A pause. “Hobart Penny didn’t die a natural death. He was murdered.”

The eyes widened and the color drained from her cheeks, which had been red because of the cold. “Murdered?”

“Yes. That’s why the police are involved. It’s not just because of an errant tiger.”

“Oh my God!” She brought her gloves to her cheeks in a silent scream. “What happened?”

“Investigation is ongoing. That’s why I’m talking to you. Mr. Penny seemed to have been a recluse the last twenty-five years. You’ve had recent contact with him. Anything you can tell me about him would be very helpful.”

“Oh my God!” She stared at Decker. “And here I am talking about a will. You must be looking at me as a suspect!”

“Right now all I’m just trying to do is get some facts.”

“I had absolutely nothing to do with his murder! I just want you to know that.”

Decker nodded. “Would you mind answering a few more questions?”

“Not at all.”

“You said the last time you saw Penny was three or four days ago, when you gave Tiki her shots?”

“Yeah, that’s—How was he murdered?”

Decker rubbed his hands and ignored the question. “My homicide detectives and I have had a lot of discussion about the crime. One question keeps coming up. How could anyone get past a loose tiger?”

“Tiki wasn’t chained up?”

“Oh … so when you came over to visit, Penny chained her up?” Decker asked.

“At first, she was chained up … for sure.” Vignette thought a moment. “Slowly we started to trust each other until we both felt comfortable being around each other. Tiki’s a very gentle soul. Not much of the wild in her.”

“So she got used to your presence?”

“Yeah, pretty quickly, too. We used to knock her out before I gave her the shots so she wouldn’t realize that someone was hurting her. You always take a chance when you knock a big animal out. Even if they remain healthy, when an animal comes out of anesthesia, it’s always unpredictable.” Again Vignette seemed lost in thought. “Hobart had a collapsible cage in the closet. Maybe Tiki was caged when the murderer came in.”

“We didn’t find a cage in the apartment. She did have about a six-foot-long chain around her neck.”

“The chain makes sense.” A pause. “Maybe Penny got rid of the cage. Initially we used it so I could give Tiki her shots. Then she got wise to us—that the cage meant shots and she wouldn’t go in. That’s when we started to knock her out with drugs.” Vignette sighed. “She never held it against me. She’s just a real nice tiger.”

“But she’s still a tiger.”

“Yes, of course. But even among wild animals, there are different dispositions.” She hesitated. “Was it a robbery? He didn’t keep a lot of stuff in his apartment.”

“From our observations, I would agree with you.”

“Who on earth would want to hurt an old man?”

“I don’t know that, either.”

“Talk about wild animals.” The woman shook her head with woe. “I’ll take my beasts over your beasts any day of the year.”

CHAPTER TEN

The descent seemed faster than the ascent: standard in travel as well as in life. Decker hardly remembered driving down the mountain, each twist of the wheel on autopilot as his brain fired one idea after another, none of which would explain why Global Earth Sanctuary had anything to do with Hobart Penny’s death. As soon as the car hit the bottom of the foothills, his Bluetooth sprang to life.

Marge’s voice. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the last half hour. Where were you?”

“Out of cellular reach,” Decker told her. “What’s up?”

“Hobart had an interesting past, more than the usual sex, drugs, and rock and roll. It seems our guy liked to go to sex clubs all over the country, dressed up like a tiger and screw women from behind.”

Oliver added, “Sometimes it was a lion or a leopard … just for variety’s sake.”

Decker glanced at Gabe. The boy had his head tilted back with his eyes closed. He appeared to be lost in his music. “Who told you this?”

“The ex,” Oliver said.

“And you believe her?”

Marge said, “We found the snapshots in a few leftover boxes in the storage wing of Sabrina Talbot’s house.”

“Storage wing?”

“Yep. Her house is big enough for an entire storage wing. The bigger question is why she kept the pictures. She certainly didn’t need them for blackmail. Sabrina Talbot is filthy rich.”

“Filthy, filthy rich,” Oliver added.

Marge said, “Sabrina told us that in the recesses of Hobart’s mind, he actually thought he was a tiger in a man’s body. Sabrina said it got to the point that when they screwed, he used to claw and bite her on the neck.”

Oliver said, “Then she came across pictures of Hobart fucking young girls, all of them in tiger masks. Even with that, it still took her a year to make the divorce final.”

Decker shot a quick look at Gabe. The teen still had his eyes closed but was doing something to the volume of his iPhone. Decker said, “Turn that thing up.”

“What thing?” Marge asked.

“I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Gabe.”

Gabe opened his eyes, a slow smile spread on his face. “Excuse me?”

“What’s Gabe doing with you?” Marge asked.

“I’ll explain later.” To the boy, Decker said, “Stop eavesdropping.”

“You’re talking very loud.”

Decker said, “Let me call you back.”

Marge said, “When will you be back at the station house?”

“About an hour.”

“Okay. We’ll see you then.”

Decker was about to sign off. Then he said, “How old were the pictures?”

“Penny looked to be in his fifties. The pictures were Polaroids. ’Memba them?”

“I do. I’ll talk to you later.”

“You never told me what Gabe is doing there with you.”

“Sorry you’re breaking up.” Decker cut the connection.

Gabe took out his earbuds. “What’re Polaroids?”

“Not important.”

“I can look it up on my iPhone.”

Decker said, “Way back in the Pleistocene era, before mankind as we know it went digital, you took pictures with film.”

“I know that.” Gabe was offended.

“Polaroid camera delivery system was a way to instantly print out pictures. It meant you didn’t have to take your rolls of film into the drugstore to have them processed and turned into pictures, which usually took around a week. Later they came up with photo shops that could turn your film around in twenty-four hours. And then those went out when digital went in. But Polaroids were good because of privacy: no one would see your pictures unless you showed them around.”

“Ah. So you could take like porno shots and not be worried about it.”

“Yes, you could and yes, people did.” Decker smiled. “You can always tell what new technology is going to take hold. If it has potential for pornography, it’s a winner.”

Gabe smiled. “I know I shouldn’t have been listening, but if you want to find out about sex clubs, you should talk to Chris.”

“It was over thirty years ago. Chris was around six.”

“So you’re saying that a kinky old man hasn’t been to a sex club in thirty years?”

“He was almost ninety when he was murdered.”

“So? He was rich, and there’s Viagra. You should see some of the relics that my dad caters to.” When Decker didn’t answer, Gabe said, “Besides, my dad owes you.”

“He doesn’t owe me.”

“He dumped me on you and Rina.”

“You got a bullet in your ribs under my watch. I owe him.”

“That’s only because you were doing him a favor in the first place.”

“Maybe at first, I was doing him a favor. Maybe now, he’s doing me the favor.” Decker gave him a gentle whack on the back of his head. “I appreciate your thoughts. They’re good ones.”

“I’m just sayin’ …” The car was quiet. “Do you want to hear what Everett James had to say about Global Earth Sanctuary?”

A quick glance to the boy. “You’re just full of information.”

“With a father like Chris, you learn to listen a lot.”

“You’re just a little ole fly on the wall, aren’t you?” Decker laughed. “What did you and Everett James talk about?”

“He does the accounting for the sanctuary pro bono. Ninety-nine percent of what we talked about was accounting. Basically, he told me how much money it takes to maintain the animals. When he heard about the old guy’s death, Hobart Penny, right?”

“That is correct.”

“Penny is an odd name for a gazillionaire.”

“Irony abounds.”

Gabe smiled again. “Everett did say that it was gonna be hard to keep the place going without Penny’s checks. Even with Penny’s donations, the place would get behind in their payments.”

“Payments to whom?”

“He didn’t specify, but he did say that the sanctuary got some of the food gratis: the meat in particular. You know, hamburger beyond the expiration date but probably still good to use. But even so, tigers and lions had big appetites. Also, many animals had very specific dietary needs. And then there were all the supplements and vet care. He asked me if I wanted to make a donation.”

“That was inappropriate. I hope you didn’t give him anything.”

“I had twenty bucks in my wallet. I gave it to him.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“That’s not the point. I happen to actually work an adult job. But he didn’t know that. He did know I was seventeen. How many kids my age have enough pocket change to give away to charity? Sounds like the place is hard up.”

Consistent with Vignette harping away on a will. “Did Everett mention anything about a mortgage on the property?”

“I don’t remember him talking about that, but I kinda tuned him out when he talked numbers.”

“What do you mean by numbers?”

“I dunno. How much they had to spend on food versus care versus this or that. It felt like one big math word problem. I nodded and smiled a lot.”

“Did you pick up any hint that something funny might be going on, like the place was cooking the books?”

Gabe said, “What do you mean ‘cooking the books’?”

Decker slowed down. “‘Cooking the books’ means impropriety in the accounting practices. Did he mention anything about embezzlement or fraud?”

“Nah, nothing like that.” Gabe’s face was one of concentration. “Everett said Penny’s money was important. He said that Global Earth often had to take out short loans to buy food and medicine for the animals until miracle money came in. A specific type of loan … what did he call it?”

“A bridge loan?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’m impressed.”

“What kind of miracle money is he talking about?”

“Money from unexpected donors.”

“Did he mention names?”

“Well, Penny, of course. Sometimes it was a foundation or organization. Not PETA. He specifically told me that PETA didn’t like that Global Earth kept the animals in enclosures. Sorry … I don’t remember. Next time I’ll take notes.”

Again, Decker gently whacked him on the back of his head.

“Can I come back to the station house with you?”

“No.”

“I’m bored.”

“Then go back to New York.” When Gabe turned sullen, Decker said, “If I get a phone call from an irate Persian mother, I’m not going to be happy.”

“For Chrissakes, we’re just friends okay? We went through a trauma together. We’ve got a bond that no one else understands. We’re just gonna talk!”

“Do you also have a bridge to sell me?” Gabe crossed his arms across his chest and stared out the window. Decker said, “Guess I’m not so cool after all.”

The boy fiddled with his iPhone and pretended not to hear.

Decker continued speaking. “Gabriel, listen to me. I know it’s hard for you. I know you care for this girl. I don’t doubt your feelings. But Yasmine is a minor, and her parents don’t want you around. You’ve got to respect their wishes until she’s eighteen. That, my boy, is the long and the short of it.”

The kid huffed.

Decker said, “You’ve got to call her up. You can tell her you love her, because you do. But you also need to tell her that it’s not a good idea to get together until she’s older. And then go back to New York and concentrate on your studies and let her concentrate on her studies.”

“We’re just going to talk. What’s the crime in that?”

“Gabe—”

“Fine. Okay. You’re right. I’ll do everything you say, okay. Just let me do it in person.”

“That’s a mistake, son.”

“She asked to see me, Peter. I can’t tell her no. Yasmine was involved in that sadistic mess because of me. And she stood by me when she could have run away from those thugs. She put her own safety at risk. Yes, I love her, but I also prize loyalty and commitment: two things that neither of my parents understands. I know that the trial is over, but that doesn’t mean that all the shit suddenly evaporates.”

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