The Beast (39 page)

“Buried it in Angeles Crest.”

Marge nodded. That statement made total sense. That national forest was about twenty minutes from the crime scene: acres upon acres of unspoiled foliage that hid illegal activity, and it had always been a prime dumping spot.

Havert glanced away. “You’re gonna want to know where, right?”

“Right.”

“I don’t remember exactly. We just drove and drove until we found a remote spot where the ground was soft so I could dig a hole, you know.”

Marge said, “You dug a hole?”

“Yeah, of course. I wasn’t just gonna dump her. Georgie deserved a burial.”

A burial
? Marge said, “You brought a shovel with you, Bruce?”

“Yeah,” Havert admitted. “I mean, after Randi explained what had happened, I knew we were going to take the body. So I took a shovel with me.”

“The body is buried in Angeles Crest,” Oliver said.

“Yeah.”

“And the gun, Bruce?”

“I don’t know anything about a gun. Maybe Randi does, but I don’t.”

Marge leaned over and patted his knee. “This entire mess wasn’t your fault, Bruce. You weren’t even there. But the girls roped you into coming, so now you’re involved—even though you didn’t want to be involved.”

He regarded her with suspicious eyes.

“This is your time to be honest with us,” Marge said.

“I
am
being honest!”

“I know you are,” Marge told him. “And that’s why you know that Randi tossed the gun out the window while you were driving through Angeles Crest. You saw her do it, right?”

Havert rubbed his eyes. “No, Sergeant, I never saw her ditch a gun. Period. Case closed.”

“Okay, Bruce, I believe you.” Marge decided to move on. She’d readdress the gun later. “Let’s fill in some more details, because there are lots of blanks between the time you got to the apartment and the time you took off for Vegas. I’m trying to get a timeline.”

Oliver said, “Yeah, like returning the Priuses to the dealer.”

“Why would I need two Priuses?”

Marge said, “What Detective Oliver is saying is that you had the presence of mind to take one of the cars back to the dealer before you took off for Las Vegas.”

Oliver said, “And the presence of mind to clear out your office before you left town.”

“There was hardly anything there: some folding chairs and tables and a couple of computers,” Havert told him. “It took about an hour.”

“What about the files?” Oliver asked.

“Everything was computerized except for a few receipts and stuff like that. I erased the computer hard drive. I tore up any paperwork and tossed them in a Dumpster on the way to Vegas. So I have nothing to show you.”

That sounded like the truth. Marge said, “Let’s back it up one more time—”

“Oh God.”

“A little patience, Bruce.”

“We’ve been going at it for . . .” He checked his watch. “God, I’ve been talking to you clowns for four hours.”

“I just want to get things right. It’s for your own good.”

Oliver said, “You got a panic call from Randi. Then you went to Hobart Penny’s apartment, right?”

“Right.”

“In your car?”

“Yeah, of course in my car.”

“So now you had
three
cars,” Marge said. “Your car, Georgie’s car, and Randi’s car.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Okay.” Marge thought a moment. “What did you do with the extra car?”

“You mean my car?”

“Yes, your car.”

“I left it there until we could pick it up later.”

“Okay.” The logistics were getting complicated. Marge said, “Let me repeat this back to make sure I got it right. You and Randi left the apartment together. And you drove Georgie’s Prius and Randi drove her Prius.”

“Right.”

“How long were you there . . . in the apartment?”

“Not too long.”

“A minute, two minutes, a half hour?” Marge said. “I mean it probably took you some time to get the body out of there without anyone noticing.”

“I don’t remember how long. Not too long. The tiger was starting to move.”

“And what did you do immediately after leaving the apartment? Bury the body? Clean up the office? Return the Prius to the dealer? What was the order of events?”

A long pause. “We went to clean out the office.”

“So where was Georgie’s body?” Oliver asked.

“In the back of my car.” Havert looked ashen. “She was already dead. What difference does it make?”

“No one is challenging you, Bruce,” Marge said. “Just trying to get everything down. What did you do after you cleaned out the office?”

“Returned Georgie’s Prius to the dealer.”

“And then?”

“We . . . Randi and I went back to pick up my car. And then we drove to Angeles Crest together. We didn’t want her body dissect . . . descrated . . . desecrated.” Moisture in his eyes. “That’s why we took her body from the apartment. We didn’t want to turn her into tiger shit.”

“Also, the body would have connected you to the murder.” Oliver shrugged casually. “Am I right about that?”

Havert didn’t answer. Marge thought about Bruce’s blow-by-blow account, which he had repeated over and over.

But there was still a missing step: transferring the body from the apartment to the back of his car without being noticed.

Marge took a sip of water while she thought some more.

She had told Havert that they had him “on tape” lugging the duffel bags out of the apartment. He never once denied it.

The duffel bags.

As in
plural.

Something reverberated in her head, specifically Bruce Havert’s job history. Marge said, “Let me backtrack for a moment, Bruce.”

“Oh God—”

“Just bear with me. Randi called you down to the apartment.”

“Yes.”

“She was panicked because Penny was dead, Georgina was dead, and the tiger was waking up.”

“Right.”

“So you told her you’d come down to the apartment to help remove Georgina’s body. Because you didn’t want her to be eaten by the tiger.”

“Exactly.”

“So you brought your shovel because you knew you were going to have to bury her.”

“She deserved to be buried.” Havert’s tone was self-righteous.

“I understand. So you went to the apartment and picked up Georgie’s body.”

“I already admitted that. What’s the point of repeating stuff over and over?”

“The point is you had to get her body out of the apartment without arousing suspicion. We have you on tape toting out the duffel bags that Georgie and Randi had brought with them.”

Silence.

“Bruce, you were toting
two
duffel bags. Because . . . you know and I know . . . that Georgina wouldn’t have fit in a single duffel bag. It was way too small for that.”

Havert’s face went green. Before he could speak, before he could ask for a lawyer, Marge said, “Along with the shovel, you brought a couple of butcher knives, right?”

Havert still didn’t answer.

Marge said, “Bruce, she was already dead. She didn’t know the difference.”

Still no answer.

“You worked as a short-order cook,” Marge said. “I’m sure you cut up a lot of chickens in your days.”

More silence.

“You dismembered her, didn’t you?” Marge’s voice was even.

A nod.

“Could you answer the question with a yes or no? Did you dismember Georgina Harris?”

“Yes . . .” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t kill anyone.” Havert wiped his eyes. “How can I get you to believe me?”

Marge slid a blank, yellow legal pad and pen across the table. “It would help if you wrote down what happened in your own words. That way we can stop asking you all these questions.”

Havert nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Marge got up and so did Oliver.

They closed the door to the interview room and left him with his grotesque thoughts.

B
RUCE HAVERT EVENTUALLY
wised up and got a lawyer, but there was more than enough to hold him, and that bought the detectives a little time. The arraignment was scheduled for tomorrow morning, and unless there were legal theatrics, the case would go back to L.A. It was unlikely that Havert would make the bond, but Detective Jack Crone had assigned surveillance duty just in case.

Shortly before ten in the evening, Marge and Oliver left the LVMPD to grab dinner. They found an Indian restaurant with an all-you-can-eat buffet for five ninety-nine, which would have been perfect except that the place was closing in five minutes. From behind a window, an Indian woman with a long gray braid and a lime green sari welcomed them in with a beckoning hand.

They came inside. It was warm and smelled of exotic spices. The buffet was still intact, but God only knew how long the food had been sitting there in tray warmers.

Lime Green Sari said, “I’ve got fresh batches in the kitchen. It’s a little of this and a little of that. Let me make a plate up for you. I’ll charge you the same as the buffet. I’m Domani, by the way.”

“Thank you, Domani,” Marge told her. “It all sounds good.”

“Sounds great,” Oliver said. “Are you sure we aren’t hanging you up?”

“No, stay as long as you want. We’re cleaning in the kitchen.”

Marge thanked her. Both of them were exhausted. It had been a long day, and neither of them felt like talking. Domani returned a minute later carrying a tray of Indian specialties: tandoori chicken, tandoori lamb, fried shrimp, rice with vegetables and chicken, lentil dal, spinach with cheese, spicy eggplant, and a dish of mixed potatoes, carrots, and peas. There were three dipping sauces and a heaping mound of garlic naan. She gave them two empty plates and poured water. “Anything else?”

Marge was salivating. She didn’t realize how hungry she was. “This is perfect.”

“I’ll bring out some chai. I’ve also got rice pudding when you’re done. Bon appétit.”

“Thanks.” Oliver helped himself to the meat. “This looks good.”

“Does it ever.” Marge took some vegetables.

“Did you ever get hold of Decker?”

“I called, he called. He didn’t leave a message and I didn’t leave much of one myself. Havert’s case wasn’t something I could sum up after the beep. I did tell him that’d we’re doing an overnight.”

“Where are we staying?”

“Some suite-type motel. Looks clean enough and has several slots in the lobby.”

“Great.” Oliver took a big bite of lamb and dipped it in some spicy brown sauce. “Tasty. Or maybe I’m just starved.” Another bite. “How much of Havert do you believe?”

“I was going to ask you the same question. I think he could murder someone—if you can dismember, you can murder—but I believe him when he said he wasn’t there when the murder went down.”

“Why?”

“Good question.” She sipped water. “For one thing, I couldn’t trip him up in a lie. He admitted getting the call, going down to the
apartment, and bringing a shovel. Hell, he admitted dismembering the body and burying her. It’s not like the usual: he prates on until he’s caught with his foot in his mouth and has to backtrack. What about you?”

“I’m still on the fence. Once we get him back to L.A., we’ll ask him to take a polygraph on the promise that if he passes, we’ll support a lower charge. I suppose the next step is finding Randi Miller and finding Georgina’s body.”

“If there is really a body. She may still have a beating heart. Maybe Georgina killed the old man and it wasn’t self-defense. If we think she’s dead, we won’t be looking for her. She’s free to start a new life from scratch.”

Oliver said, “That’s why we need the body.”

Marge’s cell was playing Mozart’s
Turkish Rondo
. “It’s Decker.” She depressed the green button. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Where are you?” Decker asked.

“We’re still in Vegas.”

“How convenient,” Decker said. “I’m in Vegas, too. We need to talk, and it’s not something I want to do over a phone. Where are you, as in an address?”

“We’re at a restaurant. Hold on.” Marge got the address and gave it to him.

Decker consulted with the cabbie. “I’m two minutes away.”

“It’s Indian food. Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“We’ll save you some vegetables.” Marge hung up.

Domani had been clearing away the buffet warming trays. “I can get you some more vegetables from the back.”

“That would be great,” Marge said. “Our boss is coming in.”

“Your boss? At ten in the evening?”

“This is unusual even for him. It must be important.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Cops,” Oliver said.

“You’re cops?” The woman looked confused. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

“We’re from LAPD, not Las Vegas Metro,” Marge said.

“Oh . . . that explains it. You’re picking up a bum and taking him back to L.A.?”

“Something like that.”

“Happens all the time. Las Vegas attracts lots of losers. I hope you mix your work with a little recreation.”

“With the boss is coming, it’s gonna be more work and less recreation,” Oliver said.

Domani laughed. “Well, if you do have a chance to hit the Strip, good luck.”

“Sure you don’t mind us staying after hours?” Marge asked. “It sounds like he has lots to tell us.”

“No problem.” Marge gave her a fifty. Domani’s eyes went wide. She said, “Are you kidding me? You can stay overnight as far as I’m concerned.”

“A few hours tops. It’s just our way of thanking you for cooperating with law enforcement.” Marge smiled. “It’s all yours as long as you keep that saag paneer and baingan bharta coming.”

WHEELING A CANVAS
overnight bag, Decker looked around then sat next to Marge and across from Oliver. He wore a polo shirt under a leather bomber jacket, a pair of jeans, and black leather cowboy boots. He sank back in the chair and looked at the ceiling. He smiled, but it was without energy. “Willy says hello.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s a good guy, Marge. A good guy and a good detective.” Decker opened his bag and pulled out a notebook and peered around. “Is this a good place to talk?”

The buffet trays had been cleared and the restaurant was empty. Clean-up noises were coming from the kitchen. Marge said, “The owner said we can stay as long as we want.”