Predator

Yet, she had a point. Surely the man had a will.

And where there’s a will, there’s a lawyer.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_4a640294-b872-55d2-b7cf-d86a172b7b43)

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 say this, Mr. Penny, but your father was found murdered.”

“Murdered? Oh my God! What … what happened?”

At last some genuine emotion. She said, “I can’t say for certain. That’s why the coroner is doing an autopsy.”

“Was it bad? Oh my God, it must have been bad. Was it a robbery? Not that my father kept anything of value in that cruddy apartment. But sometimes he had cash. This is just crazy. Was it a robbery?”

“We’re still investigating.”

“Are you part of the investigation or is it your job to call people up and drop bombshells?”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Penny. And yes, it is a bombshell.”

“Do you have a suspect?”

“The investigation just started, Mr. Penny. All this just happened last night.”

The lawyer paused. “Do you want to know where I was last night?”

She was taken aback. “Sure.”

“I worked until around midnight, then came home, grabbed six hours of sleep, and was back at my desk by seven. That has been my routine—day in and day out—for the last twenty years except for vacations. The last time I took time off was six months ago. My wife and I went to our island in Greece. Any other questions I can answer for you?”

“I do have a few. Are you coming to L.A. to deal with the burial?”

“I suppose I have to. I’ve barely had time to process what you’ve told … murdered?”

“We think so. Would you have any ideas about what happened?”

“Not really. I know my father made many enemies, but he’s been out of commission for years. Why would anyone harm him now, especially with death looming at his door?”

“Do you have names of some of those enemies?”

“No one specific comes to mind. My father was very abrasive. He had half of the Dale Carnegie method right. He influenced people. The friend part … not so much.”