The Beast (43 page)

“Like what?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Vignette said. “Ouch!”

“Sorry.” Decker’s heart was still beating out of his chest. He was sweating, and it was cool inside the trailer. “Vignette, I’m going to tell you the truth because I owe you.” He sewed another stitch. “There was another person who came into the apartment after the hooker left. I think he shot Penny in the back, although the old guy was a goner anyway. That person took a wad of his cash. We’re looking for someone who had access to Penny’s apartment and could get past the tiger.”

In a soft voice, Vignette said, “It wasn’t me. I didn’t have a key to his apartment, just to the snake and insect apartments.”

“A person could access Mr. Penny’s main apartment through those apartments.”

“First I’ve heard of it.”

“When you’re better, I need to ask you questions.”

“I’m not doing anything. Ask away.”

“It’s not the time.”

“Lieutenant, let’s get this over with.”

“Okay. When was the last time you saw Mr. Penny?”

“I told you that already. I saw him two or three days before he was killed. I fed and changed all the snakes and insect terrariums. And I cleaned all the aquariums. It was a full-day job. I saw Mr. Penny for about two minutes so he could pay me.”

“I might not have believed you before. But I believe you now.” She didn’t answer. Decker’s heart was still beating hard. He said, “Would you be willing to take a lie detector test?”

She looked up at him. “I already told you I’d do that. You never got back to me.”

“We got distracted with the hooker. Would you take one now?”

“Absolutely. I had nothing to do with Mr. Penny’s death and I’d never steal his money.”

“I’ll set something up . . . when you’re feeling a little bit better.”

“I’ll be fine in a couple of hours. Got any codeine on you? Maybe you can swipe something from the evidence room.” When Decker laughed, she said, “Actually I have animal painkillers. I’m not so sure on the human dosage, so I’ll have to stick it out with Aleve.”

“Aleve ain’t gonna cut it. Aren’t you nervous about Cody hurting you again?”

“Nah, he doesn’t even know what he did. We’ll be best friends tomorrow.”

It took another fifteen minutes until Decker was finished up and was satisfied with his job. He cut the last stitch with scissors and dabbed the final result with alcohol and Neosporin. Then he wrapped up her shoulder, using all the gauze that was left in the first aid kit. “You need to get this checked out ASAP. If you won’t go to a hospital, tell me a doctor I can take you to. You know you’re going to need antibiotics.”

“You, too.”

“We’re talking about you. Where should I take you?”

“I’ll go to my vet. He’ll understand my position. He’s in Pomona thirty minutes from here.”

“Give him a call. I’ll drive you down.”

“First I want to see how Cody is doing. I want to make sure he’s not traumatized.”

Decker was incredulous. “No, first you have to see a doctor.”

“You’re all take and no give, you know?”

Decker exhaled. “I’ve brought you bad news; I’ll give you some good news.”

Her eyes lit up. “You found out about the will.”

“Nothing specific,” Decker lied. “Only that you are in it.”

Her grin was ear to ear. “That’s great! When can I call Mr. Penny the lawyer?”

“Why don’t you wait until he calls you? I’ll see if I can hurry him along.” Decker pointed to the phone. “Make the call to your vet.”

“I don’t have reception here.”

“Then let’s just go to Pomona and you can call from my cell.”
When she balked, he kept insisting. Finally he got her into his car. “As soon as I get reception, call your vet.”

“This can’t take too long. I’ve got other animals to feed.”

“Vignette, if you don’t take care of yourself, there will be no other animals.”

She was quiet. Then she said, “You’re right. I’m a little hungry.”

“It’s all that adrenaline depletion. I promise I’ll buy you lunch after you’ve been seen.”

She turned to him. “I’d rather you give money to the sanctuary.”

“I’ll do both if you remember that I’m a lowly cop. I live on a government salary.”

“And you’ll retire with a pretty sizable pension,” she said. “But I don’t begrudge you that. I wouldn’t change places for anything. I could never ride around in a car all day.”

“And I could never work with wild animals. Ain’t it great that there’re different strokes for different folks.”

P
AXTON WASN’T AT
his office at the apartment building. When Marge suggested that perhaps she should call him up so they wouldn’t waste any more time, Oliver protested. “And ruin the element of surprise?”

“What element of surprise? We’re not arresting him. The guy isn’t going to admit to shooting Penny in the back.”

“If he’s guilty of something, Marge, he’ll bolt as soon as we call him.”

Marge got behind the wheel and shut the door. She waited to talk until Oliver took off his black jacket, hung it up on the hook, and slid into the passenger seat. “So what do you propose?”

“Let’s drop by his house. It’s about ten minutes away. If he’s not home, no harm, no foul.”

“Okay.” Marge turned on the motor and opened the window. It was pleasant outside, and she was wearing a light sweater: too cool for the AC but too warm to drive without some air circulation. “We’ll drop by his house. But if he isn’t in, I’m going to call him and actually arrange something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver said. “Has Decker contacted you?”

“Not yet. Reception is bad out there.”

“I’m gonna try anyway. Because if Vignette admitted to shooting the guy, we don’t have to worry about Paxton.”

“Sure.”

Oliver punched in Decker’s number. It went straight to voice mail. He stowed the phone back in his packet. “If Paxton’s not home, wanna get some lunch. It’s after one.”

“After I make the phone call, sure. What’s the address again?”

Oliver read off the digits. “It’s about ten blocks away. Where do you want to go for lunch? Are you in the mood for Italian?”

“How about Greek?”

“Yeah, Greek’s good. Let’s do Yanni’s.”

“Great. If we have some leftover time, I’d like to go back to Ki Park, the chicken lady,” Marge said. “Will’s coming down. Her takeout is really good.”

“Okay.” Oliver smoothed his trousers. “You’re not worried about it spoiling in the car?”

“How about we get the chicken after we talk to Paxton. I’ll put it in the fridge at work. I’m sure Decker’s going to want to compare notes.” She looked at her watch again. “What time did he leave for the sanctuary?”

“A little after eleven.”

“So he won’t be back for a while.” A car was parked in front of Paxton’s address. Marge did a U-turn and pulled the car up to the curb directly across the street. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

“Like always.” Oliver opened the passenger door.

“Do you want your suit jacket?”

“Sure . . . not that the creep deserves my sartorial splendor.”

“Just for appearance’s sake,” Marge told him.

“Yeah, why not?” Oliver reached behind and put it on.

They got out of the car and crossed the street.

When they got halfway up the sidewalk, the shots rang out. A bullet whipped past Marge’s head, a second grazed Oliver’s arm. Marge grabbed him and they ran and ducked for cover behind the car parked in front of the house.

“What the fuck!” Oliver checked his arm. “Shit!”

“Are you hurt?”

“Just a graze! Motherfucker!”

Marge was already on the phone with 911. “This is Sergeant Marge Dunn, LAPD. Shots fired. I’ve got a wounded officer. I need immediate backups from all units. Do you have the address—” Another bullet exploded the driver’s window of the parked car. “
Shit!
”

Dispatch from 911 said, “Units and ambulance are on their way.”

“Hurry!” Marge drew her gun and peeked out from behind the parked car. The area around the house was devoid of pedestrians. A half a block down, a mother was walking her baby in a stroller. “Oh God! Look over there, Oliver. I’ve got to get her out of the area. Are you okay enough to cover me?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Go!”

Blood was dripping onto his suit jacket. Marge wasn’t so sure that it was just a graze, but Oliver wasn’t letting on if it was something more. She darted out from behind the car and instantly another shot popped into the air. Oliver returned the fire and things turned quiet.

By the time Marge caught up with the woman walking her baby in the stroller, she heard the beautiful wail of police sirens. After the mother turned around and scurried in the opposite direction, Marge did a two-arm wave to the cruiser. When it pulled over, she showed her badge to the two uniforms and hopped inside the car. She realized she was out of breath. “We were on our way to a routine interview and the motherfucker began shooting at us. My partner’s behind the red Ford Escort with a wounded arm.”

The black-and-white tore down the street, arriving at the house, pulling up perpendicularly to the street to block oncoming traffic. There were already two other cruisers, which had come down the street from the opposite direction. The uniformed driver asked Marge, “Do you know who’s shooting at you?”

“Haven’t seen a face but the house belongs to a guy named George Paxton. Son of a
bitch
!”

Someone had relieved Oliver of his position behind the parked car. Marge spotted him several houses down the street, sitting on the sidewalk. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeve. A cop had unrolled some gauze and was trying to mop up the bleeding from his arm. Marge showed her badge and moved in. “I’ll do that. Check in to see if the ambulance is on its way.”

“I did. It’s coming.”

“Then go back and help out your fellow officers. Be careful. The guy is crazy!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, positive. Go.” After he left, Marge cleaned the area around the wound to inspect the damages. She groaned. “This isn’t a graze, partner. You got shot.”

“I did?”

“On the top below the deltoid. Can you move your arm?”

“Yeah.” He demonstrated. “I can move it, but it hurts.”

“Stop moving.”

“You told me to move.”

“Well, then stop moving now . . . bone doesn’t appear to be broken . . . thank God!”

“What did God ever do for me that I should thank him?”

“You’re in one piece, that’s what.” There were tears in her eyes. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“I could have told you that.” A pause. “What caliber?”

“What?”

“The bullet wound. What caliber?”

“It looks like a twenty-two from the hole.”

“The bullet ripped through my jacket, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Fuck. That was an Armani I got on sale at the outlets.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“The department will buy me a new one. Sure it’s a twenty-two?”

“No. When this is over, I’ll see if I can find the bullet.” She regarded the affected area. “It’s pretty clean. How are you doing? Stupid question!”

“I’m okay, Margie, stop worrying.” He shook his head. “What the fuck is that idiot doing?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

“Call Decker,” Oliver said. “Let him know what’s going on.”

“As soon as you’re taken care of.”

“I’m fine.” He yanked his arm away, peeled off the gauze, and looked at the bullet hole. “Yeah, it’s probably a twenty-two.”

“Can you let me finish whatever crappy job I’m doing?” Marge rolled out another section of fresh gauze. “Where’s the fucking ambulance?”

“Stop getting so emotional. I’ll be fine. I’ll take a couple of weeks off and that’s fine with me. Sometimes I fucking hate this job!”

The ambulance turned onto the street. Marge got up and waved. “Fin-a-lly!” The wagon pulled over and the paramedics got out. Oliver nodded to his partner. “Go find out what’s happening.”

“Let me call Decker first.” The cell again went immediately into voice mail. “God, I hate this!”

“Go back and be useful, Margie,” Oliver told her. “I’m in good hands. Better than yours. Go get the idiot before someone else gets hurt!” Under his breath, he muttered, “Motherfucking asshole!”

Marge walked back toward Paxton’s house. From a distance, she saw a huddle of black uniforms on the front lawn of his home. She watched with curiosity, and as the pack parted, a little gnome of a man was hoisted up to his feet.

George Paxton was once again wearing green. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and he was being escorted by two officers to a cruiser. As one of the uniforms lowered Paxton’s head to get into the car, the gnome’s eyes found Marge’s face. He glared at her and screamed out that he wanted a lawyer.

It was his right.

He was sure as hell going to need one.

SOMEONE KNOCKED ON
the doorjamb. When Decker raised his head from his paperwork, Marge gave him the thumbs-up. “We found a
stash of recently washed bills. God bless the U.S. mint. Money is hard to clean thoroughly. Some of the bills had specks of blood on them. We took those for DNA analysis.”

“Great.”

“Most important, we found the gun. Ballistics says it’s a match. Yay and double yay!”

“He actually kept the gun?”

“He did.” Marge pulled up a chair opposite his desk and sat down. She was dressed all in black, as if in mourning, although Oliver was fine. He was already home, being doted on by his three sons, daughters-in-law, and his steady girlfriend, Carmen, whom he referred to as the Latina bombshell. In reality, she was a dedicated junior high school teacher in a high crime area.

“Any reason he didn’t ditch it?”

“I really don’t know,” Marge told him. “Pride, carelessness, a lasting memory of his deed.” She shrugged. “This is what I suspect happened, although I have no proof just yet.”

“Tell me.”

“Here goes. After one of the neighbors complained about shots coming from Penny’s apartment, he went in to investigate. He saw that Penny was dead. But then rather than call the police, he began to stuff his pockets with the bloody cash left behind. Then Penny must have moved or groaned. Paxton panicked, picked up the nearby gun, and fired into his back. Then, realizing that the gun had his bloody fingerprints, he took the weapon with him along with all the cash. Maybe eventually he would have ditched it. Lucky for us, he was slow. Slow and stupid. Really stupid. Why would you open fire on the cops?”