The Beast (13 page)

“If we can’t track down the manager and we’re still not getting an answer by knocking on the door, we’ll pull paper tomorrow and get inside.”

“I think we’re on to something,” Marge said. “First of all, that would explain why people kept saying that the sounds jumped around. Maybe the tiger was living in more than one apartment. Secondly, the crime scene still smells. Both Scott and I felt that the odor was coming downward. Who knows what else was up there?”

“Or is still up there,” Decker said. “Before we go opening panels, we should make sure that Penny wasn’t also harboring other exotics.”

“I’m with you on that one,” Oliver said.

Decker said, “First, find out which apartments Penny was renting. If he was renting only his own, then we’re back to square one. But if he was actually renting other apartments, then you’re onto something. Then we’ll have to call up Ryan Wilner and his crew. I want them to be with you before you open anything up.”

Marge nodded solemnly. “For sure. I wouldn’t like to open something up and have a Gaboon viper drop onto my face.”

“You know that the stench could also be coming from something other than a wild animal,” Oliver said.

“Another
body
?” Marge said.

“Why not?” Oliver said.

“The man was a recluse.”

“Someone got to him, Margie,” Decker said. “We all know that once you kill, it’s a lot easier the second time around.”

F
IRST TAPE IS
from the security camera in front of the Korean market.”

Oliver placed the cassette in the machine. He, Marge, and Decker stared at the TV monitor. Within seconds, a static and a grainy black-and-white scene appeared, the shot extending from the doorway of the grocery store to the curb. A sedan was parked in front—that much they could make out—but it was impossible to see the front or the back of any license plates. The cars also blocked the view into the street.

“What’s this going to tell us?” Decker said. “You can’t see the apartment building from the angle of the camera.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty useless.” Oliver had taken off his suit jacket. His shirt was bright orange. It almost glowed in the dark.

Marge put on her glasses. Today she had dressed for comfort—wool slacks and a brown cashmere sweater that had begun to pill. “The start date is two days before we got the call about Penny, so we’re in the right time frame.”

The scene on the monitor appeared frozen. Decker said, “Why don’t you advance it and see what pops?”

“No problem,” Oliver said,

Marge said, “Once the car drives off, we should get a better view of the street.”

Eventually they started seeing figures in the frames: a woman walking a dog passed by, two teenage boys going in and out of the store, three more people entering the market and coming back out. Pedestrians on the sidewalk. Two hours into the tape, a man in his thirties got into the sedan that was blocking the view of the street and drove away. The space was taken up immediately by a Volvo station wagon. A middle-aged woman came around the car and went inside the market. A moment later, she was out again, carrying a paper cup with a lid. She drove off.

More people in and out of the market, more cars in and out of the parking space.

Nightfall came. All was quiet. All was blurred. Without daylight, it was impossible to make out anything.

Day two at dawn: a day before the body was discovered.

The curb was devoid of cars, which allowed them to see vehicles passing by on the street. At 8:16, a Honda Accord parked in front of the camera.

More people.

More cars.

A whole lot of nothing.

At two-thirty in the afternoon, a red Ford Escort drove away from the spot, and thirty seconds later, the space was taken by a two-year-old light-colored Prius. Then a female figure appeared on the sidewalk in front of the market. She was garbed in a tight, dark sweater, skinny jeans, and fashion boots with stiletto heels. She was holding a duffel bag. She walked a few steps until she was out of the camera’s range.

“Freeze,” Decker said. “Did either of you notice a gym in the area?”

When both Marge and Oliver shook their heads, Decker said, “Is there a gym in any of the apartments nearby?”

Marge said, “Not in the complexes, no. They’re pretty basic. It could be she has a treadmill in her apartment.”

“Then why carry a duffel bag? C’mon, people. Does she look like she dressed for the gym?”

“I’ll go backward and see if we can get a license plate off the Prius.” Oliver reversed the tape frame by frame.

“Stop . . . right . . . there.” Decker squinted, took his glasses off, put his glasses back on, then squinted again. “You can see the front of the car, and the frame for the license plate, but I can’t make out the numbers.”

Marge looked closely. “Five-
T-Y
. . .
R
or
A . . .
this could be enhanced if you think it’s worth it. Or maybe the license will show better in the computer store’s security tape.”

“Just mark down the time and date of this frame so we can go back to it. Now forward it frame by frame. I want to get a good look at the girl.”

Oliver complied. In slo-mo, the girl had light hair—assumedly blond—and was very curvy. Her age was impossible to tell—anywhere from twenties to fifties. “Masey Roberts remembers a blonde in stilettos of dubious intention going in and out of Penny’s apartment. Don’t you think the boots are a little S and M?”

“Definitely.” Marge made a face. “But even if she is our service girl, she could be servicing anyone in the area.”

Decker said, “See if you can get a copy of her face and take it to Masey Roberts. Maybe she can identify her as the blonde visiting Penny.”

“Will do.” Marge chuckled. “Wow. Eighty-nine. I guess everything’s possible with Viagra.”

Decker said, “When you called me on the squawk box yesterday, Gabe could hear everything . . . which wasn’t discreet, I admit. He told me his father’s brothels patronized all sorts of men. Penny was definitely wealthy enough to afford home visits.”

Marge said, “It could be nothing more than a sexy woman with a duffel bag, but if we can get a face ID on her, why not?”

Oliver said, “Maybe we can get a closer look at the license plate when she pulls the car away from the curb.”

The tape kept rolling: more people in and out of the framework,
but no one beyond the woman with the duffel caught Decker’s attention. Two hours later, the blonde in the boots came back. Her hair was disheveled and she looked rushed and harried. She was dressed in exactly the same clothes, and she was carrying what looked like a foldable massage table, along with her purse. Oliver stopped the machine. “Where’s the duffel?”

Marge said, “Where’d she get the massage table?”

“Very puzzling.” Oliver inched the frames forward. They still couldn’t get a decent read on her face, but they did get a partial on the plates.

Marge wrote the numbers down. “I’ll check it out.”

Additional viewing yielded nothing as interesting. Two hours later, the tape was up to the date and time of the police visit. Oliver ejected the cassette from the machine. He stood up and stretched, then checked his phone. “I called George Paxton at eight this morning. It’s eleven, and he still hasn’t called us back. It’s beginning to piss me off.”

“It feels like he’s avoiding you,” Decker said. “Call up a judge to see if you can’t get a warrant to enter the apartment above Penny’s unit. And then call back the manager and tell him you’ve requested a warrant. Maybe that’ll light a fire under his butt.”

Oliver rubbed his eyes. “Any judge in particular that you like?”

“Aaron Burger or Cassie Deluca.”

Marge stood up. “Want some coffee before we continue with our movie night?”

“Sounds good. Let me check my messages and we’ll meet back in a half hour.”

Forty minutes later, they met back in the video room.

“Sorry I’m late,” Oliver said. “Paxton finally called back. When I told him what I wanted, he began to hedge, claiming that Penny didn’t rent the apartment above, but then he said that he really didn’t know much about the tenants on the lease. Not that he’d tell me who was on the lease . . . privacy and all that jazz.”

“He’s right about that,” Decker said.

“Yeah, unfortunately. When I asked him if he’d open up the
apartment for me, just to make sure there are no leftover snakes or rats or anything, he flatly refused. He said if there’s something stinky coming from the apartment, he’d open it up and get his only cleaning crew. I told him if he messed with the apartment and it turned out to be part of a crime scene, he’d be in shit’s creek.”

“What he’d say?” Marge said.

“We left it at that. The upshot: he won’t go in, but he won’t let me go in without a warrant. So I called up Judge Deluca. She wasn’t keen on letting us in, either, since Hobart Penny isn’t on the lease. But then I used the wild animal angle—public safety—and she relented. She agreed to let us enter the premises to check it out for beasts or any other public health hazards. If we don’t find health issues, exotic animals, or a crime scene, we’re not allowed to disturb the apartment.”

“We can work with that.”

“Yes, indeed we can. Deluca said to come by the courthouse at three and she’d have it ready for us.”

“Good,” Decker said. “Did you call animal control?”

“Yep. They’ll meet us down there at four.” He turned to Marge. “You’re coming with me, right?”

Marge said, “I have to rearrange a couple of things, but I’ll be there.”

Decker said, “So let’s finish up with the tape. I have a meeting in an hour.”

“We can do this without you, Pete,” Marge said.

“I’ve got a little time. Put in the security tape from the computer store. See if we can get a better angle on the duffel bag lady and her car.”

Oliver said, “Why don’t you give me the time of the lady’s first appearance on the Korean market’s security tape and I’ll key up the same time on the computer store’s tape.” Once Marge gave him the information, Oliver clapped his hands together. “Okay, let’s see what we got.”

The computer store’s tape showed only the hump of the Prius’s hatchback: no license plate numbers. But they all spotted something else that was very interesting.

Another light-colored Prius.

The trio was suddenly perched at attention.

Decker said, “Which Prius belongs to Duffel Bag blonde in the boots?” It was a rhetorical question because all three were watching it for the first time. Nothing happened for five seconds, and then Duffel Bag came into view. Another ten seconds passed with Duffel Bag on the sidewalk in front of the two Priuses, tapping the toe of her boot. Then Duffel Bag was met by another babe: this one was a brunette. She wore a leather bomber jacket, skinny jeans, and stiletto dark boots. She carried another duffel bag as well as a massage table.

The two women did not embrace. They did not exchange words. They didn’t even acknowledge each other.

But they did walk away together.

“Okay then,” Oliver said. “Now we know where the massage table came from.”

“Let’s back it up,” Marge said. “Maybe we can get the back license of one car or the front license of the other.”

Oliver took the tape in reverse, and then advanced it frame by frame by frame. Massage Table Brunette had been the first one on the scene. The back of her car was not visible, which meant the license plate was out of the camera’s range. But when Duffel Bag Blonde parked her car in front of the brunette’s vehicle, the back license of the blonde’s Prius was clearly visible. All three of them jotted down the number.

Decker said, “Speed it up. I want to see what’s going on right before the cars pull away.”

Oliver complied. Two hours later, according to the time on the tape, the blonde returned with the massage table and without the duffel bag. They watched the screen as Blonde put the massage table into the hatch. They could see Brunette’s Prius from the front passenger door to the front bumper on the right side, but they couldn’t make out any driver, even when the car left the curb and drove away, because Blonde’s Prius was blocking the view. Blonde left about thirty seconds after Brunette.

Decker said, “That’s frustrating.”

“At least we got Blonde’s license plate,” Marge reminded him.

“Run it through and see what we’re dealing with,” Decker said. “There’s something fishy about those two. Get back to me when you have information. Also, let me know when you have the warrant. I’m going to rearrange a couple of things. I want to be there when you guys open up the apartment.”

“It’s Friday,” Marge pointed out. “We’re bound to go past sundown.”

Meaning the work would last into the start of Shabbos. On Fridays, Decker usually delegated evening work unless it was high profile. This was on the border. He said, “Thanks for being considerate. If it turns out to be nothing, I can probably make it home within ten minutes. If it turns out to be something, then you would have called me anyway.” He stood up. “The way I see it: no harm, no foul.”

A
FEW CLICKS ON
the computer gave Marge what she needed. She pushed the print button and then went on to Google and Facebook, putting in the name she had received from the DMV. She printed those out as well. Her eyes swept across the squad room. Oliver was on the phone. She snapped her fingers until he looked up, then gave him the A-OK sign, and pointed to Decker’s office.

The Loo was also on the phone. She gave him the computer printouts and sat across from his desk. He read the papers while carrying on a conversation. Finally, he hung up. “Casey’s Massage and Escort?”

“According to the ads, they have professional masseurs and masseuses who work in the privacy of your home. The cars of choice are powder blue Priuses: the eco-friendly outcall service. Don’t know if it’s a legitimate operation or not. I’ll run the name past vice. I’ve also called up Masey Roberts. We’ve arranged a meeting to see if this was the blonde that she saw going into Penny’s apartment.”