The Beast (33 page)

“Yes—”

“I’ve got to get back to work. Can you give him a message for me, Yasmine? I’m having a hard time with some fingering. I want you to write this down.”

Gabe took the phone. “I’m here.”

“Pookey, how
are
you? Are you finally getting sex?”

“What’s the passage?” When she told him, he said, “Try a crossover with the index finger of your left hand. It’ll free up your pinky for the C-sharp.”

“That’s still an octave plus three. We can’t all have ape hands.”

“Your hands are long enough. That’s why you have to practice.”

“Har-dee-har-har. Gotta go.”

Yasmine took the phone. “Anna, wait.”

“Hi, Pookey . . . or you can be Pookette. What’s up, Pookette?”

“First of all, thank you for taking care of Gabriel.”

“Man, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I thought he was gonna die. He just dropped. And then he became a zombie for a month. I finally told him he had to get it together or I’d call you. It was a threat, but it worked.”

Yasmine jumped into the conversation. “Anna, if he ever has any big problems, you
must
call me.”

“Pookette, I
wanted
to call you. I knew I was in over my head mainly because I have no capacity to nurture. But he didn’t kill himself, so I take that as a victory. Oh, shit, I’m late! My fans await. I also gotta watch my tip jar. We get lots of sketchy people. Bye, Pookette. Kiss Pookey for me.” She hung up.

Wordlessly, Yasmine gave him back the phone. Gabe stowed it in his pocket.

Sohala came out. “I have your purse, Yasmine. Let’s go.”

Yasmine looked at Gabe. “Do we still have any studio time left?”

A glance at his watch. He said, “About a half hour. Why? Feeling better?”

“Yeah, I am.” She looked at her mother. “Let’s go back to the studio.”

“You drive me crazy.” The three of them walked back inside the sound room. “You stay, you go, you stay, you go—”

“Sit, Mommy,” Yasmine interrupted. “I want you to hear something.”

Gabe sat down on the piano bench and put on a set of headphones. But instead of going to her microphone, Yasmine sat next to him and put her hand on his knee. “Play the third movement of the Moonlight Sonata.”

“Now?”

“Yes. I want my mom to hear you.” A pause. “Do you not know it by heart?”

“Of course I know it by heart. I’m going to play it in a month. I’d better know it cold.” Gabe shrugged. “Give me a minute. I need to get in the zone.” He turned to her. “Sorry, but I need my space.”

“Of course.” Yasmine got up and sat by her mom.

“What are you doing?” Sohala asked her.

Yasmine said, “Just listen.”

Gabe placed his fingers on the piano, closed his eyes, and began to play.

But of course Gabriel didn’t just play. He transformed. The piano was not an instrument of the hands and fingers, it was a living organism interpreting the composition of the human brain. Words could describe other senses: the sound of rushing water, the smell of dewy pine, the taste of charred corn on the cob, the sight of a deep blue sky, the touch of a baby’s soft cheek. But how could anyone describe something as sublime as Beethoven’s piano sonatas with words? How could anyone describe the complexity of a sound so extraordinary? Yasmine could see Gabe’s fingers fly over the keyboard; she could see the intensity of his face, the physicality of his posture playing a demanding piece. But there was no way to describe the product of what came out other than to hear it. Six minutes and forty-two seconds of pure, unadulterated awe.

When Gabe finished, he opened his eyes and nodded. “Pretty decent, no?”

Yasmine didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to her mother. “Mommy . . . how can you possibly expect me to ever, ever give him up? How can I give up a boy who risked his own life to save mine?
How can I give up a boy who makes music like that? And on top of that, he’s gorgeous. I’d have to be
crazy
!”

Sohala was silent. Then she said, “He’ll break your heart.”

When Gabe started to speak, Yasmine held up her hand. “And if he does break my heart, Mommy, I will survive. Look at all the horrible stuff that happened to me. I’m still here. I’m still functioning. I can take heartbreak—even bad heartbreak—without evaporating, okay.”

“You don’t know,” Sohala said.

“Then I’ll learn. But I can’t learn unless I experience it.” Yasmine took her mother’s hand. “I will never give him up. You have to
accept
that.” No one spoke. “The relationship might die, but you can’t kill it. At the very least you have to let us . . .
talk
! That’s the only way we can figure things out.”

The studio was silent.

“Hokay,” Sohala finally said. “You can talk to him while he’s here. It’s hokay. No hanky-panky.”

“No hanky-panky is fine,” Yasmine said.

“It is?” Gabe said.

Yasmine smiled. “Stop it.”

Sohala said, “Then after he leaves, you break up—”

“No, Mommy, you have to let
us
work this out. Not you—Gabe and me. If it’s serious, he’ll convert. If he doesn’t covert, I’ll break up with him. He knows that.”

“That was never a problem,” Gabe said. “I lived with the Deckers for two years. Believe me, I know the Jewish drill.”

Sohala knew this was a battle she wasn’t going to win at this moment. She stood up. “We go home now.”

Yasmine said, “You go home, Mommy. Gabe will take me home.” Her stare was fierce. “I’m going home with him. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

Sohala exhaled. “Yasmini, I love you, but you cause me all my gray hairs. If I die early, it’s your fault.”

“I will take the blame.” Yasmine got up. “I’ll walk you to the car and let Gabe finish up with the recording engineer.”

She came back ten minutes later. Gabe said, “I made an appointment for Thursday.”

“I’ll practice more. I know I can do better.”

“You sang beautifully. You did everything beautifully. You were masterly. Thank you for those wonderful things you said about me.”

“I meant every word.”

“Did I tell you I love you today?” Gabe took her in his arms and kissed her with passion. “This is probably hanky-panky, but you made the promise, not me.”

They kissed. Then they walked out of the studio, hand in hand.

Gabe said, “You were . . . unbelievably terrific, Yasmini.”

“I know.” She smiled. “You’re lucky to have me.”

“I agree!” He kissed her hand. “Just please try to trust me, okay?”

She kissed his hand back. “I swear I will never doubt you again, Gabriel.”

“Of course you’ll doubt me again. And over the next fifty years, I know that there will be times when I doubt you. We love each other madly, but we’re artistic: egotistical, hotheaded, perfectionistic, compulsive, and complete and unadulterated neurotics. But like your mom says, it’s hokay. It’s just the nature of the beast.”

H
ER CHEEKS HELD
a slight blush and her gait was a tad wobbly, but Sabrina Talbot walked tall and she was on time: a beautiful woman in a black dress with spiked heels and an open trench coat. Her blond hair framed a flawless face: the perfect nose, the sensual lips, the sky blue eyes. She held out a manicured hand, and Decker shook it, leading her into his office and offering her a seat. He closed the door. On the desktop was a pitcher of water and a glass. Decker sat down and picked up a mug.

“I’m drinking coffee,” he said. “Can I get you a cup?”

“No, thank you.”

“Water?”

“Nope.” Her hands were folded in her lap. She looked around. “This couldn’t be the ghastly interview room that Gracie was talking about.”

“No, it’s my ghastly office. They got the interview room because there were two of them and my office is small.”

“And here I thought I was getting the star treatment.”

“If the police station had a green room, you’d be the first occupant.”

Her smile had wattage. “I’m assuming my presence here has less to do with my charm and more to do with pumping me for information.” A pause. “I don’t know what I could tell you that I haven’t already told the handsome gentleman and the lady.”

“Detective Oliver and Sergeant Dunn.” Decker picked up a pen and opened his notebook. “We appreciate your cooperation and don’t want to stress your good nature. I know you haven’t had contact with Mr. Penny in quite a while.”

“Years.”

Decker took a sip of coffee. “I know you’re close to his children, so I didn’t want to ask questions in front of them—”

“You want to talk about our sex life—mine and Hobart’s.”

“I understand he became creepy and animalistic toward the end.”

“He became crazy toward the end.”

“People manifest craziness in all sorts of ways.”

“He didn’t get off on wearing a diaper and asking to be breast-fed. He went on the attack, and that was fitting with his personality. He was a very dominant man.”

“He scratched you and claimed it was the tiger in him.”

“I see you communicate with your detectives.”

Decker jotted down a few notes. “That’s how you run an investigation.”

“The wounds went from my shoulder to my neck. The marriage was over. Actually, when I found the pictures and he admitted going to the clubs, I knew there was nothing left.”

“Did you ever go with him to the clubs?”

“No. He traveled when he did those things, and he never asked me to join him.”

“I’m sorry if this is personal, but I have to ask. Did he ever bring women into the house?”

Her sigh was from long ago and from being long-suffering. “Yes. Would you like to know the details? I do remember them.”

“Humiliating?”

“Hobart enjoyed the humiliation. He enjoyed humiliating the world.”

“How about pain? Was he into pain?”

“Biting and scratching hurt, Lieutenant. He never asked about my welfare.”

“Did he ever slap or hit or whip you?”

Sabrina’s expression was contemplative. “He scratched, he bit, he grabbed and held on tight. No hitting that I can recall.”

“Did he ever threaten you with a weapon if you didn’t do what he wanted?”

“No, I always did what he wanted.”

“Did he ever try to choke you?”

“No. It might have progressed to that, but we split up.”

Decker said, “What about the other women he brought home, Ms. Talbot? How did he treat them in your presence?”

“He fucked them in my presence.”

“Did he bite them?”

“I’m sure he bit a few.”

“Did he bite them hard enough to draw blood?”

She was thinking about it. “He drew blood, yes.”

“Anything beyond the biting? Did you ever see Hobart hit or beat up a woman?”

“A few slaps on the butt.” She bit her lower lip. “He didn’t beat them up when I was around.”

“Did you ever see him threaten a woman with a weapon?”

“Not that I remember.”

“So, you never saw your ex-husband cutting a woman with a knife . . . even superficially?”

She didn’t answer for a long time. Then she said, “I presume you have a reason for asking these questions beyond prurient interest.” She leaned forward. “Did Hobart do something . . . bad?”

“That’s why I wanted to speak with you alone. His children don’t have to hear this . . . yet. In your ex-husband’s apartment, we found body parts.”

The woman went pale and covered her mouth. “Oh my God!” Her complexion had turned ashen. “Oh my God!”

“Do you need to use the bathroom?”

She shook her head no but poured herself a glass of water and bolted it down. “What kind of body parts?”

“Human fingers. More than one, and belonging to more than one person.”

“Oh dear Lord!” Again she covered her mouth. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I have a reason for telling you this. I want to know if that awful image brings to mind anything in your past.”

“Like what?”

“You tell me.”

“I’ve never seen Hobart do anything that would end up with body parts.”

“So you’ve never witnessed Hobart murdering someone.”

“Good God no!” She leaped to her feet. “Absolutely not!” She started pacing. “He bit . . . he scratched . . . he liked doing the ass. That’s not against the law though.”

“That’s not against the law unless it was forced.”

“It wasn’t forced. He paid the girls handsomely for it, which was amazing, because Hobart was a cheapskate.”

“He paid for sex?”

“Of course he paid for sex. You talk about weapons? With Hobart, money was the ultimate weapon. How else would he get hot, young girls to come home with him?”

“Have a seat, Sabrina.” Reluctantly she sat back down. Decker said, “You told my detectives that you were attracted to his magnetic personality. Maybe others were as well.”

“No, they were attracted to his wallet, which was quite an aphrodisiac.” She looked directly at Decker’s face. “Hobart loved to spend money on
humiliation.
When I started enjoying it back door, he didn’t like it anymore. So he sought other subjects to humiliate.”

“Were they professionals? The girls he brought home?”

“They were pretty girls who’d do kinky things for money—which, I suppose, is the definition of a whore. The upshot is he brought home young girls and did stuff with them. He liked me to
watch because it made me feel small. Sometimes he’d tie me up and make me watch. If I closed my eyes, he’d douse my face with water so I’d look.” She sighed. “Are we done?”

“If we hadn’t found body parts, Ms. Talbot, I wouldn’t be asking you these questions.” Decker said, “Were the girls ever alone with him or were you always there?”

Sabrina looked down. “Sometimes Hobart took the girls to a second room in the back of the house. I was
not
invited to join them. As you might have guessed, I was more than happy to be excluded and left alone.”

“And the girls left the next morning alive?”

“Of course they were alive.”

“So you
saw
the girls leave your house
alive
.”

“I just assumed.”

“Do you remember any of them leaving after a night with your husband?” When she didn’t answer, Decker said, “So you didn’t know what he did when he was alone with the women he picked up. Am I right about that?”