all that often. All he wanted was to live out his life with Tiki.” A sigh over the line. “I guess he got his wish.”
Decker tried to be patient. “Vignette, if you are aware of other wild animals living in residential areas, you should report them to the police. You’ve got to know that the chance for a disaster is high.”
“No other tigers as far as I know. It’s all I can do to take care of what animals I have here. And I have a license to do that, in case you’re wondering.”
She not only sounded youthful, but she was also acting like a petulant kid. Decker said, “That’s good to know.”
“Look, Lieutenant, I begged Mr. Penny to give her up, but he wouldn’t. So what should I do? Snitch on the biggest supporter we have?”
Rather than confront her, it was best to keep things civil. “When was the last time you were at the apartment?”
“I was just there maybe three, four days ago. And Mr. Penny seemed just fine. Was it a heart attack?”
She seemed blithely unaware. Or she was a good actress. Decker sidestepped the question. “Do you know where he got the tiger?”
“Not offhand. You can get cubs through mail order. Sometimes you can get animals from smaller defunct zoos or circuses or animal acts. But I don’t know about Tiki.”
Perfect segue, Decker thought. “You know, I’d really like to come down to your place and see your sanctuary. That way we can talk in person, which is much better than over the phone.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“Just wrapping things up,” Decker lied.
“What things?” A pause. “Why are the police involved?”
“We were called in to take care of the body.”
“Oh … okay.”
“But I still have a few questions about Mr. Penny. Maybe you can help me.”
She said, “I’ll answer your questions if you’ll answer mine.”
“What are your questions, Vignette?”
“I know this is going to sound like I’m a vulture … do you know if there was a will or anything like that?”
Decker said, “I don’t know.”
“It’s not for me personally,” Vignette said. “It’s totally for the animals. Mr. Penny was a great supporter. I don’t know how long the sanctuary can last without him.”
You mean without his money. Decker said, “Could we meet tomorrow and talk a little more?”
“Sure. Come down. I’ll show you what we do, so you won’t think that I’m just about greed.”
But it was always about greed. “What time works for you?”
“Around eleven would be perfect.”
“I’ll see you then, Vignette. I’m sorry; I didn’t catch a last name.”
“Garrison.”
“What’s your official title?”
“Acting director of the sanctuary. We had a permanent director … he was a vet actually, but he moved to Alaska to study the mating habits of the Kodiaks.”
“Not for the fainthearted.”
“It’s really just a matter of gaining trust, Lieutenant. When the trust is there, it doesn’t matter how fierce the animal is. You can have grizzlies that behave like puppy dogs and puppy dogs that behave like grizzlies.”
“That’s true,” Decker said. It wouldn’t serve his purposes to argue. In his mind, he’d much rather face a snapping puppy than a happy grizzly. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”
“Great!” Vignette chirped. “I’ll give you the grand tour. And maybe you can find out about a will?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Decker hung up.
Did the word grasping mean anything to her?
Yet, she had a point. Surely the man had a will.
And where there’s a will, there’s a lawyer.
The web site for the Cervical Dystonia Center was founded twenty-five years ago by Baroness Graciela Johannesbourgh. The pictures of gala events in the recent past showed a tight-faced, tight-lipped, stick-thin blonde in her fifties wearing a multitude of gowns on a multitude of occasions. In the earlier archival pictures, Marge had noticed the baroness’s pronounced cant of the head to the right side. As the years passed, the twisting had lessened until her posture seemed completely normal. It used to be that cervical dystonia was a problem without many solutions, but now the condition was treated quite successfully with Botox.
Two in the afternoon, PST, meant five in the afternoon, EST. The foundation was probably closed, but she called anyway. The phone was picked up by a smoky voice.
“Cervical Dystonia Center.”
“Yes, this is Sergeant Marge Dunn from the Los Angeles Police Department. Is Hollie Hanson available?”
“This is Hollie.” A pause. “What can I help you with, Sergeant?”
“I’m trying to get hold of Graciela Johannesbourgh. I was told that you could connect me to her.”
“What is this in regards to?”
“Hobart Penny.”
“Is he all right?”
“It’s a personal matter.”
“I see.” A pause. “If you give me your name and number, I can pass the information forward to the baroness.”
Marge reiterated her name and gave Hollie the cell phone number. “If she could call me back, I’d appreciate it.”
“You know, Sergeant, I am aware of Mr. Penny’s age. And I also know that a call from the police isn’t typical unless there’s something wrong.”
Marge said, “Please have Ms. Johannesbourgh call me back.”
“I’ll give the baroness your message.”
“Thank you very—” But Marge was talking to a dead line. Next was Darius Penny. With any luck, he’d still be in the office. The line connected, she was transferred, and transferred, and transferred until she actually reached Darius Penny.
“It’s about my father?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He passed?”
“Yes, sir, he did.”
“When?”
Marge hesitated. “Probably two days ago.”
“Probably …” Silence. “It took a while to discover the body.”
“Something like that.”
“No surprise there. My father was a hermit. Where’s the body now?”
“With the county coroner.”
“Do you have a contact number? I’ll call right away and have someone transfer the body to a funeral home.”
“Sir, the body is being autopsied.”
“Autopsied? My father was eighty-nine. What on earth merits an autopsy?”
The man sounded annoyed. Since there was no easy way to break the news, Marge decided to be forthright. “I’m sorry to