Instantly Gabe was up and alert. He and Yasmine weren’t supposed to be talking to each other, especially once the trial started, which was perfectly fine with Yasmine’s mother. Sohala Nourmand was the typical Persian Jewish mama who wanted her daughter to date solely within the tribe. Not only was Gabe the wrong ethnicity, he was also the wrong religion. So over the past year, Sohala had forbidden contact between them. He and Yasmine hadn’t exchanged phone calls, IMs, e-mails, texts, or Facebook posts. He knew that Sohala had checked Yasmine’s electronics on a regular basis.
But nothing was foolproof. They had kept in touch the old-fashioned way—snail mail. When Yasmine first wrote to him by hand, he couldn’t answer her back, a source of frustration. Finally, she got a POB. It was strange, writing real letters instead of e-mails, but after a while he really enjoyed the personality that came through her handwriting. His stamp output was one of his main expenses.
He hadn’t heard her voice in almost a year. It was simply thrilling. He sat up, curling his knees to his chest. “Where are you?”
“In bed with the covers pulled over my head. I borrowed my friend’s phone to call you. How was it today?”
“Really tiring.”
“What’d they ask you?”
“It was Nurit Luke—the state’s lawyer. She just led me through that day.”
“Was it horrible?”
“It was . . . it took up a lot of time, but at least she was on our side. Tomorrow I have the cross with Dylan’s lawyers. That’ll probably be horrible, especially because of my background.”
“I’m so sorry.” There was a catch in Yasmine’s voice. “Gabriel, I miss you so much.”
“I miss you, too, cuckoo bird.” He felt his eyes water. “We’ll get through this. The good news is you don’t have to worry about Dylan. The guy is major league messed up physically. You don’t ever have to be afraid again.”
“I hope you’re right.” But her voice was cracked.
“When you see him, you’ll know I’m right. It breaks my heart to hear you so anxious.”
“I’m okay.” But she wasn’t.
“The lieutenant thinks that there’s even a chance for a plea bargain. If that’s the case, you won’t even have to testify.”
“That would be fantastic!” A long pause. “Too much to hope for.”
“One step at a time, Yasmine. It’s the only way to stay sane. How are you otherwise?”
“Most of the time, it’s like I’m on autopilot. Just kinda numb.”
“Are you talking to anyone?”
“You mean like a therapist? I already went down that road. It didn’t work. It’s better for me to just throw myself into school work.” A pause. “So afterward . . . like you’re going back to New York?”
“Probably. Why? What do you need?”
“Nothing.”
“What’s on your mind? Tell me.”
“I was just hoping that you could wait until I’m done testifying before you go back. But that’s just being selfish.”
“I don’t have to do anything specific. I’m caught up, and my next performance is six weeks from now. If you need me, I’m here. End of story.”
“What are you playing?”
“A Schubert four-hand piece with a guy I know from Germany and a sonata by a contemporary composer named Jettley who lectures part-time at Juilliard. I’m also doing Beethoven’s fourteenth sonata—Moonlight.”
“Oh . . . that’s not so bad. Even I can play that . . . not like you of course.”
Gabe smiled. “The first two movements are all emotion and finesse. The third movement’s a little trickier. You can hear it on YouTube. Glen Gould. If you want to see the fingering, look at Valentina Lisitsa.”
“Okay. I’ll do that right after we hang up.”
“If you want, sure. The point is I can practice in Los Angeles as easily as in New York. If you need me, I’m here for you.”
“I just thought that maybe we could see each other after it was over.”
“I’m in.” Gabe’s heart started thumping. “Tell me when and where.”
“It can’t be until after I’m done testifying. Can you wait that long?”
“I’d do anything for you. Like I said, when and where?”
“I was thinking about next Sunday. I’ve already told my mom that I’m going to the library to study. I don’t think she fully believes me, but maybe by the time she finds out, you’ll be back in New York.”
“Perfect. Where should I pick you up?”
“You don’t have to pick me up, Gabe. I drive now, remember.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” A pause. “Wow. Where did the year go? So Sunday is great. Where do you want to meet?”
“Somewhere private.” Yasmine’s voice started to crack again. “It’s been so long and I’ve been so miserable. And I’m sure after they shred me to bits, I’ll be even more miserable. No one except you can understand. I just want a couple of hours to be alone with you, Gabriel.”
“I feel the same way, Yasmini. You know how much I love you.”
“Do you still?”
“One hundred percent.”
“It’s just we’re so far apart and I never get to talk to you. And I’m sure you have a zillion girls around you all the time, now that you’re a movie star.”
“You’re joking, right?” No response. Gabe said, “Yasmine, I’m bald, broken out, and I lost the weight that I gained because I’ve been so nervous. I look like Supergeek. I’ve got nothing in my life except a piano. I work all the time. I haven’t had a moment to be bad, even if I had wanted to. I pine for you like a pathetic old dog. Just tell me where you want to meet and I’ll be there.”
She didn’t speak for a long time, so long that Gabe thought she had disconnected. “Hello?”
“I’m still here.” Another pause. “There’s a motel not far from my school.” She gave him the name and the street. “Can you do something with that?”
His heart was beating so fast, he felt faint. “Yeah, definitely.” A long pause. “Are you sure? I don’t want to get you in serious trouble.”
“So what if my mom found out. What could she do? Ground me again?”
“She’d ship you off to Israel.”
“She can’t keep us apart forever. Let me worry about my mom. You take care of the arrangements, okay?”
Gabe’s mouth was dry. “Okay.”
“And bring something to eat. I’ll meet you there at three, so I might be a little hungry. And be outside in the parking lot, so I don’t have to go up to the desk or anything. That would be real embarrassing.”
“I’ll be outside in the parking lot at three with food, waiting for you. Be on time—for a change.”
“I swear I will.” Then Yasmine said, “You know what happens when we get together, Gabe. It’s like instant chemistry.”
“I know. I can’t help it.”
“I can’t, either.” A pause. “I’m not saying yes or anything, but you should bring something . . . just in case. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse and his heart was galloping in his chest. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“WE’VE GOT A Bengal female.” Wilner stepped aside and allowed Decker to look through the peephole. The space had been demolished—overturned furniture streaked with blood and feces. There were deep, clawed grooves on walls and floors. Flies buzzed everywhere. A wretched odor of a decayed carcass wafted through the hallway.
The animal, however, was magnificent, even as it paced amid the wreckage. Her fur gleamed amber and black, and she had reflective gold eyes, massive sharp claws, and ivory-colored fangs. Decker had never seen a tiger that close, nor had he actually heard an animal’s roar at such a high decibel level. It sent shock waves coursing through his body. He stood aside from the viewing spot and gave Marge a chance to see. She peered inside and then backed away with a single shake of her head. “She’s dragging a chain around.”
“I noticed,” Decker sai
d. “It’s attached to a collar around her neck.”
Wilner said, “She probably broke it off from her mooring. We’ll saw it off when she’s out.” The animal agent was looking over his carefully devised schedule. He had a checklist of supplies, and an animal gurney along with a steel enclosure had been placed outside the apartment’s front door. Wilner had also acquired the key to the service elevator, since the passenger one was too narrow for the cage.
“This is the plan.” He was still reading off his list. “Jake’ll get a clean shot off. After she’s tranquilized, we’ll bust in and take her out on a gurney, load her into the pen, and take her down in our truck.” Wilner looked up. “After Jake fires the shot, no one moves a muscle until I give the all-clear signal.” He demonstrated the sign to his fellow officers: a hand in the air swooping down.
Decker asked, “What if the tiger busts out before she’s tranquilized?”
“We’ve got big game guns, Lieutenant. As much as I hate putting an animal down, we know where our priorities are.”
“I want to stick around,” Decker said. “This is my community.”
“Me, too,” Marge said. When Wilner looked skeptical, she said, “Cross my heart I won’t get in your way.”
Paul Hathaway threw them a pair of protective vests. “Stay way down the hallway behind the barriers we erected. If something goes wrong, we’ll take care of it. Don’t try to help out.”
“That’s a Roger Wilco with me,” Marge said.
Jake Richey was looking through the hole. “Ideally, we could enlarge this area so I could see and aim through the same hole. But I’m worried if I make the hole too big, she can get a purchase and stick a claw through.” He was still assessing the situation. “How about I drill right about . . . here?” He marked a spot eye level with the first hole but about two inches to the left. “Just big enough so I can stick the bore through it. I think that’ll work.”
Wilner handed Richey the drill. As soon as the noise came on, the animal began to scratch furiously at the door. When it bellowed, Decker’s heart took a jump. The sound enveloped him in a 360-degree cage of anger and muscle.
Richey was unperturbed. A minute later, he stopped and placed the bore through the new aperture. “I think I’m okay. Let’s give it a whirl.”
Hathaway ordered Decker and Marge behind the makeshift barrier. The protection wasn’t much more than wood beams temporarily nailed across the hallway. Decker took out his gun, and Marge did the same. She gave him a smile, but she was nervous. That made two of them. The scene suddenly became devoid of human voice, the aural vacuum disturbed only by the fierce grunts and clawing that came from behind a wall.
Richey lifted the gun and positioned the tip of the bore inside the hole. Then he peered inside the sight hole with his left eye. If he was tense, there was nothing about him on the exterior that registered anxiety.
Waiting.
The seconds ticking by.
Waiting again.
More time.
Richey squeezed the trigger and then immediately took several giant steps backward. Amid a pop, a howl, and a roar, the animal crashed against a wall. The building shook on its foundation, a quick jolt underfoot as a razor-sharp claw suddenly splintered through the upper section of the door. Wilner kept his hand in the air, indicating that no one should move as the tiger mauled the door in a feral rage.
It was one of the longest thirty seconds of Decker’s life.
Eventually the ferocious howls dwindled to halfhearted growling, then mewling until the claw fell back into the apartment and all was quiet inside. Wilner nodded to Richey, who looked inside. “She’s down.”
Wilner gave the signal, and like horses out of the gates, the control officers went to work. Within a matter of minutes, the front door was down, the agents were in, and the tiger was loaded onto the gurney. The poor girl was sacked out, her mouth agape with her tongue hanging out. As if the animal didn’t weigh enough already, a steel collar encircled her neck, and that was attached to six feet of chain.
Using brut muscle strength and extreme caution, they transferred her from the gurney into the enclosure, which lifted up on pneumatic wheels. Before they shut the steel door, Wilner gave her another shot of dope. “A quiet ride is always a happy ride.”
“Did you see a body inside?” Decker asked.
Wilner shrugged. “I didn’t see anything like that, but I wasn’t searching for one. That’s your bailiwick. Wear a mask. It stinks inside.”
The service elevator doors opened, and the tiger along with her keepers were gone.
They had left the door to the apartment wide open. The hot air inside the hallway had become foul . . . gag inducing. Decker’s heart was still racing as he and Marge emerged from behind the barrier.
“Quite a show.” He put his gun back in his shoulder harness. “Now our real work begins.”
CHAPTER THREE
MARGE BEGAN TO suit up in earnest: a paper cover for her hair, paper shoe covers, a face mask, and double latex gloves. Even with all that protection, her stomach roiled. The fetid odor was overwhelming. “We’re walking into a biological hazard as far as I’m concerned. There must be twenty generations of bacteria growing inside by now.”
Decker said, “Wait out here and I’ll go look for a body. If there isn’t one, why should both of us be grossed out?”
“Thanks, but I’m coming with you. Suppose there are a bunch of tiger cubs hidden in the bedroom or something. Or maybe he kept other exotic pets like a Gaboon viper or a monitor lizard. Someone has to call 911 if you get bit.”
Decker smiled as he put on his face mask. “Your loyalty is admirable. C’mon, Dunn. Let’s get this over with.”
The living room was a hurricane with putrid waves gassing up from the steamy floors. Deep claw marks striated the walls, and the furniture was torn to tatters. There were enormous piles of feces flecked white with maggots and bread crumbed with flies and beetles. Insects hummed everywhere. The refrigerator had been knocked over, food spilling out onto the wood floors turning them as sticky as tar. Butcher paper had been shredded to confetti. Most of the meat from the fridge had been consumed, but what hadn’t been eaten was gray and oozing brown liquid. It took a steady foot and good balance to avoid stepping in something toxic.
Marge felt light-headed, but she soldiered on, following Decker into the bedroom.
That scene was made even more appalling by the presence of a distorted, bloated body. The corpse had partially liquefied, vital fluids and tissue soaking into the sheets and dripping on the floor below. Blood and guts were everywhere, sprayed on the walls and splashed onto the furniture.
Marge said, “I’ll call the coroner’s office.”
Decker nodded.
“Mind if I make the call from the hallway? Even with the mask it’s still stinky.”
“Sure. Then we’ll figure out a to-do list.”
Marge fished out a pencil and her notebook. “Tell me what you need.”
Decker said, “After you call up the Crypt, call . . . let me think who’s on tonight.” A pause. “Tell Scott Oliver and Wanda Bontemps to come down here. We need to relocate the residents for a day or two. The apartment building is off-limits as a biological hazard. Nobody comes back until this mess is cleaned up. If you need another detective, call up Drew Messing.” Decker was still staring at the body. “Do we even know if this is Hobart Penny?”
Marge just shook her head.
Decker continued. “No one comes inside here except those with official business.”
“The tenants might want to go back and grab some clothes or a phone or a computer. What do I tell them?”
“We can probably escort them in and out. It’ll take awhile, but it’ll keep them less pissed off. I’ll also need a couple of uniforms at the door to secure the scene.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s it for now.”
Marge talked through her face mask. “You’re going to stick around inside?”
<
br /> “I am. I’m still not sure what I’m looking at.”
Marge held off making the phone call to the Crypt. “You know . . . if I ignore all the disgusting mess—and the fact that a tiger lived in the apartment—this looks more like a homicide than a natural death . . . all that splatter on the walls?”
“That spray was definitely the result of ruptured arteries pumping out fresh blood.” His eyes scanned the room. “This splotch over here looks like blowback from a blunt force trauma injury. You wouldn’t get these kinds of droplets and blood mist from simply dying and then having a tiger eat you.”
“If the tiger mauled you or bit you when you were still alive, you’d very well have this kind of spray.”
“That’s why I’m looking for signs of mauling and/or bite marks. It’s hard to tell because the body is so distorted.”
Marge continued to study the scene: nauseating to look at and even more sickening to smell. Still she began to think like a professional homicide detective. “The face . . . such as it is . . . looks elderly. The stubble is white.”
“I agree. It’s an older man. How old is Penny again?”
“Eighty-eight or eighty-nine.”
“The body could be that old. To me, it looks like a thin, elderly man that has bloated up with gas postmortem.”
“The corpse is decomposing by the minute. The organs are leaking out and the body’s framework has lost a lot of its integrity, but . . .” She pointed a latex-gloved finger. “I can make out some scratches on the skin’s surface over here . . . over here as well.”
“Good eye.” Decker stared at the spot. “The scratches don’t seem all that deep.”
“Agreed. Less like a mauling and more like the tiger was pawing him, maybe?”
“Trying to get a reaction from a corpse.”
“Yeah, that could be.” Marge studied the body. “It’s hard to see skin surface detail with all the discoloration. The scratches could actually be deeper, but because the body is so bloated, they appear more superficial.”
Decker nodded. “Do you see any bite marks.”
“Not so far. Wish we could turn him over.”
“That’ll happen soon enough.” Neither he nor Marge could touch the body, which officially belonged to the coroner’s office. But they still could make observations. “His forehead is misshapen. The cranium could have caved in from his brains liquefying. Most likely, someone took a whack at his forehead.”
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