The Beast

by Faye Kellerman

“Agreed. Does she have any idea how many girls he picked up?”

  “No. But even if it was once every six months . . . over ten years that could be a lot of girls.”

  “And she doesn’t know where he picked them up from?”

  “All she told me was that they didn’t look like professionals . . . more like drunken party girls. Any idea about the club situation twenty-five to thirty years ago?”

  “I just came here five years ago. They say this town caters to the newly wed and the newly dead, and it’s been that way for a long time.”

  “There must be some clubs.”

  “Yeah, we have our nightlife. Lots of bars but mostly in restaurants. We have some dance clubs—a couple of salsa clubs, one hip-hop, a few C and W places in the Pass. We have singles bars, gay bars . . . probably anything you want. But it’s scaled down to a city this size.”

  “Penny had been in his fifties when he lived here. If he went to hip places, then he’d probably stand out as an older guy.”

  “You throw around cash, you get the ladies.” Barnes thought a moment. “What was popular in music thirty years ago? Was that psychedelic or disco or . . .”

  “Disco would be more late 1970s.” Decker pulled out a tablet that he often used to photograph crime scenes. “Okay. In 1985, Tina Turner won a Grammy for Record of the Year.”

  “She’s pop.”

  “Yeah . . . oh, wow. Thriller came out in 1982.” Decker looked up. “Wasn’t that kind of a lead-in to the Goth movement?”

  “That would seem about right.”

  “Here we go . . . 1980s in Canada . . . start of the Goth movement. . . . Pornography by the Cure. So you got Thriller and the Goth movement and probably an increase in satanic rituals. That would fit right in for a guy like Penny. He liked dressing up in costumes. He was into sadomasochism.” Decker looked up. “Any idea about the Goth scene here?”

  “No.”

  Decker ruminated on his ideas. “You know if Penny was a regular at any club, he’d run out of girls pretty quickly. What the guy needed was a continual source of party girls. Aren’t you about ten miles away from UCSB?”

  “Yes, we are.” Barnes gave him a thumbs-up. “A fresh stock of girls every single year—young and impressionable and away from Mommy and Daddy for the first time.”

  “Like you said, throw around enough cash and add drugs to the mix and a certain percentage could be talked into anything.”

  “Okay,” Barnes said. “This is what I’ll do. After I’m done with Ms. Talbot, I’ll check the cold cases on file with the police. If nothing comes up, I’ll find a contact at the university.”

  “Would the university involve Santa Barbara PD in Missing Person cases?”

  “If the person wasn’t found after a day or two, I’m sure UCSB police would make contact with all the local police stations. A missing girl would be well publicized.”

  Decker said, “Would you mind if I stuck around for a bit . . . nosed into your business?”

  “It’s both of our business.” Barnes gave him a pat on the back. “I have the jurisdiction, but you have the body parts.”

  Havert wasn’t as easy as they had hoped. With the mention of Georgie Harris’s death, he began to idle. He took another cup of coffee, he asked for another glass of water, and then he asked to get dressed again. This time they let him put on clothes. The detectives strategized, and because it was murder, they elected to bring Havert down to the station house.

  The dealer agreed to go with them, looking refreshed in a bowling shirt, jeans, and sandals. He had combed his black hair in a modern take on an Elvis ducktail. Four cops were too much for one interview room, so Crone and Silver decided to view the proceedings from the other side of the camera. It was about four in the afternoon.

  The first hour consisted of building up rapport that Marge and Oliver had lost in travel from the house to the station house. But eventually they got him to the same mental space, edging him to move forward. Baby steps, but he had to start somewhere.

  “You just don’t understand what they were dealing with,” he said.

  Marge had the sympathetic ear. “I’m sure I don’t. So tell me.”

  “The man was . . .” A hand through the hair. Lots of fidgeting. “I told Randi to be careful, that it was getting out of control. But the money . . . it’s always about the money, right?” His eyes darted from Oliver to Marge, trying to get confirmation. “I mean he tossed around hundreds like toilet paper. Especially when it was both of them.”

  Marge took out a notebook. “Georgina Harris and Randi Miller together?”

  “Yeah, the two of them could pull a couple of grand a session. Even with my cut, we all walked away happy.”

  Oliver kept the conversation going. “How long was a typical session?”

  “Under an hour most of the time. A lot of money for a short period of time.”

  “How many times did he hire both girls?”

  “Dozens.”

  Marge leaned in. “Bruce, I need your input. What went wrong this time?”

  “Oh God, do you have all night?”

  “As long as you want,” Marge said. “Just take your time.”

  He checked his watch. “I’m gonna have to leave for work, you know.”

  Silence.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with his murder. I swear. He was crazy! You know about the tiger.”

  “Yes.”

  “He also had a whole bunch of other disgusting things in his possession: poisonous snakes and bugs and lizards.”

  “We found that out as well.”

  “He used to cart out the snakes just to scare the girls. He would offer them a hundred dollars per minute if they’d hold the snake. At first they were freaked, and he got off on that. But then Randi figured out pretty quickly when the snake had been recently fed and wasn’t interested in biting. Most of the time, it just slept in her arms. She acted scared cause it turned him on. I thought that she was crazy. I mean, you can’t predict what a snake is going to do, right?”

  “Right,” Oliver said. “Did the murder have anything to do with the snake or the tiger or . . .”

  “I told you I wasn’t there when it happened.”

  Marge said, “But you were there after it happened.”

  “Randi was hysterical. She didn’t know what to do, and the tiger was starting to wake up.”

  “So the tiger was there when you arrived at the apartment?”

  “Yeah, that was the problem. It began to move, and Randi was panicked. She couldn’t just leave Georgie there . . . I mean, to the tiger, she would have been fresh meat.” Havert made a face. “It’s sickening to think about it.”

  “So when Randi called you, Georgina was already dead?”

  “Of course she was already dead. Randi swore up and down that it was self-defense.”

  “Okay . . .” Marge looked up from her notebook. “Why don’t you start with Randi’s phone call to you? What did she tell you?”

  “That Penny was dead and now the tiger was moving. What should she do?”

  Oliver said, “What’d you tell her?”

  “I told her to get the hell out. But then she told me about Georgie being dead. Should she leave her or what . . . God, I felt sick to my stomach!”

  Marge nodded. “So what did you say to her after she told you Georgie was dead?”

  “Told her I’d be down in ten minutes.”

  Oliver said, “Did she tell you any details over the phone?”

  Havert scratched his ear. “Just that the old man pulled out a gun.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have a clue.” Havert paused. “I still don’t know why he did it. Randi said that Georgie tried to get the gun away while Randi hit him. Then the gun went off and Georgie was dead and then he was dead.”

  “Bruce, we have to break this down step by step, okay?” Marge said. “First Penny pointed the gun at the girls?”

  “Right.”

  “Then what happ
ened?”

  “Uh . . . Randi told me that Georgie tried to get the gun away from him.”

  “So Georgie tries to get the gun. Then what happened?”

  “There was a struggle. The gun went off and killed Georgie.”

  “So after Georgie was killed, what did Randi do?”

  “She made a grab for the gun. Then it went off and killed the old man. It was self-defense.”

  Oliver and Marge exchanged glances. He said, “Randi shot the old man while the two of them were fighting over the gun?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You mentioned something about Randi hitting the old man? What was that all about?”

  “I think she was trying to get him off Georgie. I really don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

  “What did she hit the old man with?”

  “Her fists, I think.”

  Oliver was dubious. He had seen the blunt force trauma inflicted on the old man’s head. That wasn’t done with a fist, even if the skull had been brittle. “I’m just a little . . . uneasy about something, Bruce. Both Georgie and Randi were street savvy and in their thirties. Penny was an old man. If I were betting on a fight, I would bet on the girls.”

  “The old guy was really strong!” Havert said. “At least, that’s what Randi told me.”

  “So if he was really strong, when he pulled out the gun, why didn’t the girls just run away? Surely they could outrun him.”

  “I guess they froze.”

  “They didn’t freeze. You said they jumped him.”

  Havert was flustered. “I don’t know. I told you I wasn’t there.”

  Marge stepped in. “I’m confused, Bruce. You said something about Randi bashing the old guy over the head.”

  “I said Randi hit him, not bashed him over the head.”

  “Where did she hit him?” Oliver asked.

  “She didn’t tell me.”

  Marge said, “But you did see the body after everything happened.”

  “Yeah, for about a second. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.”

  Marge nodded to keep him thinking she was on his side. “Could you be a little more specific about what the body looked like? It could be important later on.”

  “He looked dead, Sergeant. How much longer is this gonna take?”

  “A while, Bruce. Unfortunately, we have a lot of questions,” Marge said. “Where was the old guy shot?”

  “In the head.” He shuddered.

  “Penny was shot in the head?”

  “I think so. His head was a bloody mess. Can we move on?”

  Marge said, “You know what would really help us out? The murder weapon.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “If Randi got the gun away from him, she’d have it, correct?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Oliver said, “Bruce, the gun wasn’t left in the room. Either she has it or you have it.”

  “I don’t have it,” Havert insisted.

  “So Randi has it.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Did she toss it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know that she tossed it. I don’t know what happened to the gun. Swear to God!”

  Marge digested Havert’s story. Parts of his statements had the ring of truth; other parts were on the fly. Havert did say that Randi had whacked the old man, and that was backed up by forensic evidence. It was the shooting part that wasn’t so clear. How did Penny, who was struggling to keep the gun, get shot in the back? “Could we go over this again?”

  “I’ve got to go to work,” Havert said.

  Marge said, “You know you’re not going anywhere. We’ll let you call in sick to your boss. That shows we’re not out to screw you.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “We could charge you with a dozen things. The main thing is to hear the truth, and I believe that you’re trying to be honest. Let’s back it up again. Tell us from the beginning what happened?”

  Havert was losing it. “How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

  Oliver prodded him forward. “You picked up the phone and it was Randi in a panic. Go on.”

  “Like I already said, she was freaked. The old man had shot Georgie dead and in self-defense, she shot the old man. She asked me what she should do.”

  “And you said . . .”

  “I told her to get the hell out of there. But then she told me that Georgie was dead. I couldn’t leave her body there. I told Randi I’d be right down.” A pause. “I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I guess I shoulda called the police.”

  “It would have saved you some time and energy.”

  “I was scared. I run a legitimate business, but I don’t know what the girls do on their own time. I didn’t want to get them into trouble. I just reacted. I know it was dumb to remove the body, but we couldn’t leave her behind. We couldn’t let the damn tiger eat her, for God’s sake!”

  Oliver said, “What did you do with Georgina’s body?”

  “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.”

&n
bsp; “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?”