The Beast (27 page)

“What do you care, Deck? He’s eighteen in four months. Then you’re home free.”

“You know it doesn’t work that way,” Marge told him. “How old are your children, Scott? Thirty plus? Do you ever stop worrying about them?”

“I never
worry
about them. I worry about myself. I’m the one with the gray hairs.”

“You’ve still got a lot of dark hair.”

“Courtesy of Grecian Formula.”

Marge looked at him. “You dye your hair?”

“Don’t you?”

“I’m a woman.”

“So I’m vain. I know that age is gonna overtake me one day. But I’m not going down without a fight.”

RANDI MILLER’S ADDRESS
matched with a nondescript, beige-colored, two-story apartment complex a couple of miles north from Hobart Penny’s apartment building. Casey’s Escort and Massage was a mile to the east. It was eight-thirty, the evening cool with a fine layer of mist casting haloes around the streetlamps. He had the heat on high, the radio on low, tuned to the classical station instead of country.
Gabe had influenced him more than he realized. With time on his hands, he called Rina for the second time in an hour.

“Anything?” she asked him.

“Nothing. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“If you’re sitting in your car to avoid domestic conflict, I will tell you that all is well. No mad Persians attacking kith and kin.”

“How’s the kid?”

“Practicing.”

“How are my other children?”

“You mean the
real
children?” Rina asked.

Decker smiled, but a sad one. “Must be hard to feel so unwanted.”

“He knows he’s welcome here. We’d adopt him if we could. He’ll figure it out. And in answer to your question about the other progeny, they’re all doing very well. I talked to all of them and everyone was fine. I said a
Shehechianu.
Did you eat dinner?”

“I grabbed a soggy tuna sandwich.”

“Yummy. What’s your schedule for tomorrow?”

“So far I have a funeral at four-thirty. Want to go out tomorrow night for dinner? If all goes well, I’ll be home at a reasonable hour and we can discuss the world over steak and a glass of red wine at La Gondola.”

“Or I can buy steak and a bottle of cab and we can discuss the world while eating on table trays in the bedroom.”

“What about the kid?”

“He’s spending tomorrow night at his aunt’s house.”

“I like your idea way better than mine.” His cell beeped. “I’ve got another call coming in.”

“I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Decker depressed the button.

Marge said, “Our chicken lady confirmed that Randi Miller and Ginger Buck used to work next door.”

“By name?”

“No, not by name but by fast-food order. Randi liked grilled chicken breast, salad without dressing, and a Diet Coke. Ginger loved fried chicken wings, coleslaw, and an iced tea. Next step is to
get the pictures identified by Anwar Mahadi, the landlord. I left a message on his cell. Where are you?”

“Two buildings away from Randi Miller’s apartment.”

“Oliver and I are five minutes away from Ginger Buck’s. Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

AFTER A MINUTE
of solid knocking, Decker left one of his business cards on the doorframe. The neighbor across from Randi’s apartment opened the door and peeked out.

“Hello?” Decker asked. “Hi?”

Guardedly, she stepped outside. She seemed to be in her twenties with short dark hair and round brown eyes. She was wearing a terry cloth robe. “Did I hear you say you were the police?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Decker gave her the business card. “I’m looking for Randi Miller.”

The woman read the card and made a face. “I think you have the wrong apartment. No one named Randi Miller lives here.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “How about Rocki Feller?” A blank look. “Or anything close to those names maybe?”

“She told me her name was Ronni Muller.”

“Ronni with an
i,
” Decker said.

“I don’t know how she spelled it.” The woman looked worried. “So her name isn’t Ronni Muller?”

“Do you know where she is?” Decker asked.

“She’s not here anymore. The moving van came two weekends ago.”

“You saw her moving out?”

“Yes, I did. She said she got a new job in Vegas.”

“Any forwarding address?”

“Not to me.” The woman studied the card. “You’re a lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am. Does the building have a manager?”

“Whenever something breaks, I call Joseph. I don’t know if he’s the manager. I think he’s like a handyman that works for the building.”

“Do you have his phone number?”

“Somewhere. Is Ronnie like a fugitive or something?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because why else would the police be here? I mean I’ve seen all the cop shows. The lieutenant always stays back and barks orders to everyone else.”

“I can bark with the best of them.” Decker asked again why she thought Randi or Ronni was a fugitive.

“Well, the different names for starters. Isn’t that suspicious?”

“It’s unusual,” Decker said. “So you have that phone number for the handyman?”

“Yeah. Right. I’m Simone. Wanna come in so we don’t have to talk in a hallway?”

“Thanks.” Her apartment was small and spare. Neat, though. Someone with an organized mind. Simone disappeared and came back a moment later with the number. “Here you go.”

“Can I ask you a couple of questions about Ronni?”

“Her real name is Ronni or Randi?”

“I think it’s Randi Miller. Did she tell you anything about her new job in Vegas? Maybe she mentioned the name of a casino?”

“If she did, I don’t remember it.”

“So you don’t know where she’s going to work or . . .”

“Just that she got a new job in Vegas.” Simone scrunched up her forehead. “You know, she could have said Reno or even Tahoe. It was somewhere in Nevada.”

Instead of a city, Decker now had to consider the entire state. “Did you and Ronni ever socialize?”

“Like party together?” She shook her head no. “She didn’t party. At least, she didn’t party in her apartment.”

That was a surprise. “Quiet person?”

“I never heard anything.”

“Ever see the inside of her apartment?”

“Not really. We weren’t friends. We weren’t enemies. We were just neighbors. I’d wave. She’d wave. I’d say hello, she’d say hello. Couple of times I picked up a package for her. Once she picked up a package for me.”

“Did you ever notice anyone going in or out of her apartment?”

Simone bit her lower lip. “Just a few times. I wasn’t being nosy or anything, but you know how it is with apartments. It’s important to know who’s in your building.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

“A guy.” She looked away, trying to recapture her memory. “Maybe six foot . . . slicked-back dark hair . . . a big chin.” She regarded Decker. “He was wearing a black suit, no tie. He looked like a typical L.A. guy . . . an agent or a lawyer maybe.”

Decker didn’t have a picture of Havert on him. Stupid.

She continued on. “Once . . . no, maybe twice . . . I saw a woman. I wouldn’t have noticed her except that she looked like a stripper. You know.” She cupped her hands and placed them in front of her chest. “Big ones.”

Decker took out the picture of Ginger Buck. “Would this be her?”

Simone’s eyes widened. “Yeah, that’s her. Oh wow! What did they do?”

“So far nothing. I’d just like to talk to them. If you see either one of them, could you call me?”

“Of course. But I don’t think that Ronni’s coming back. It wasn’t just the moving van or the new job in Vegas or Reno or whatever. It was the look on her face, Lieutenant. It said as plain as day: ‘good-bye and good riddance.’”

O
VER THE CELL,
Decker said, “Randi Miller is no longer at her apartment. Neighbor said she packed out for Nevada.” He explained the details. “Any luck on your end?”

“You got way more than we did,” Marge said. “All we know is Ginger Buck isn’t answering the door. We left our card. We called the manager and left a message.”

Decker said, “What about Bruce Havert? Any address or a phone number?”

“All we have is the picture that Lee Wang pulled up on the computer.”

“And nothing from the cops in North Las Vegas?”

“No. By the way, those guys are wondering if you have anything new on Garth Hammerling.”

“They know as much as I do: that he was spotted in southern New Mexico about six months ago. I’m sure he’s crossed the border into Mexico. If I had anything new on that monster, they’d know about it.” Decker looked at his watch: almost ten. “Go home. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Are you coming with us to Global Sanctuary tomorrow?”

“No, I’ll leave that up to you this time. I was thinking all last night about Vignette Garrison. Is Darius Penny going to tell her about the will?”

“Don’t know. He might want to be careful, since she hasn’t been cleared as a suspect.”

“No, she has not been cleared,” Decker said.
Not at all
. “Who supplied Penny with all those venomous snakes and fish and insects?”

“Pet stores sell some of them. Maybe mail order. Didn’t Vignette tell you he got the tiger mail order?”

“She did. But even if Penny got them through the Net or mail order, someone had to set up the cages and tanks. Even if he did it all himself twenty years ago, once he got old, someone had to take care of the animals. You have to have your wits about you when you’re feeding venomous animals. Penny was old and infirm.”

Marge paused. “I think he had help and Vignette Garrison is a good candidate. But she wasn’t around twenty years ago, Pete.”

“She had a predecessor,” Decker said. “I know it looks bad for the hookers, fleeing right after the murder, but I’m not ruling out Vignette. When you talk to her, ask her about the maintenance of Penny’s menagerie, including the food supply. If she thinks that money is on the line, she might even tell us the truth.”

“Or just the opposite.” Marge said, “When money’s involved, lying usually follows.” A pause. “At least she didn’t rabbit.”

“As far as we know.”

“If she didn’t rabbit before she got money, she’s not going to split with a carrot dangling in her face. What are you up to tomorrow?”

“Rina just asked me the same question. The only thing on the books is the funeral. I’ll reinterview George Paxton and show him the pictures of Randi and Ginger/Georgie/Georgina Harris that we pulled off the computer. I want to let him know that we’ve still got an eye on him, especially since Penny gave Paxton hush money.”

Marge said, “Paxton also had the keys to all of Hobart’s apartments. And he was the only one who
knew
about Hobart’s other apartments.”

“Think he could get around a tiger?”

“He could if he knew Penny was alone in one apartment while the tiger was in another apartment.”

“Motive?”

She thought a moment. “Didn’t one of his children say something about his hoarding cash? When we saw the apartment, it was a mess. We could have missed a cache somewhere.”

“Possibly. But don’t you see Paxton more as an opportunistic thief than a murderer. I can see Paxton shooting him, but not bashing Penny’s head in. Too up close and personal. Did we ever find a weapon for the blunt force trauma?”

“No, but I’ve been thinking about it, especially since hookers seem to be in the picture. The depression was almost round. The CI said it looked like a small baseball bat. What about a blackjack from a dominatrix?”

“When we find Randi and Ginger/Georgina, we can include that as one of our many questions . . . if we find them. Nevada has lots of hookers. Some are even legal.”

“Lucky for you, Rabbi. You have a pet pimp.”

RINA AND GABE
were playing Scrabble. Gabe wore a T-shirt and sweatpants, and Rina was in pajamas and a robe. They both looked up when he came in.

Decker said, “Who’s winning?”

“We’re not scoring,” Rina said. “It’s speed Scrabble. We each have a minute to make a word. This is our . . . what, like our fifth game?”

“Something like that.” Gabe was concentrating on his tile rack.

“I’ll get your dinner.” Rina dumped her letters in the bag and got up. “I had all vowels anyway.” She went into the kitchen.

“I’m a little beat. Good night.” When Decker didn’t answer back, Gabe said, “Are you still mad at me?”

“What?” Decker’s attention was elsewhere. “No, not at all. I’m thinking about your dad. I have to call him, and I’m not happy about it.”

“You’re going to tell Chris about last night?”

“You mean your encounter with Sohala?” Decker smiled. “Gabe, that’s over and done with. I’m thinking about how to deal with Chris without looking like I need help . . . which I do. He’s a night owl, right?”

“He’s a night predator.” Gabe looked at his watch. “He’s up and running right now, that’s for sure.”

“Does he answer his phone?”

“I dunno. I never call him. I figure if he wants to talk, he’ll contact me.”

“Does he contact you?”

“He texts like once a week.
Are you alive
? I answer yes, and that’s the end of it.”

“Is he more likely to take a call from you or me?” Decker asked.

“You absolutely.”

“Okay. Then I’ll make the dreaded call.” Decker regarded the kid, who looked forlorn. “Do you ever hear from your mother?”

“All the time. We Skype a lot. She wants me to come to India.”

“And?”

“I’ve asked my agent for gigs in Bombay. You know, kill two birds with one stone.”

“So you
want
to see her.”

“More like I’m
willing
to see her.” He paused. “If I get a gig, I’ll go. Jacob offered to go with me. He’s a good guy.”

Rina came in with a plate of food and a glass of wine. “Who’s a good guy?”

“Jacob,” Decker said. “Your son.”

“Our son. What’d he do?”

“Offered to go with me to India,” Gabe said.

“You’re going to India?”

“No, but if I go to India, he offered to go with me.”

“Peachy,” Rina said. “Yonkie is over thirty, but he has the impulse control of a seventeen-year-old.”