Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 16

by The Burnt House

  “I can’t answer that because I don’t know, but I wouldn’t think so.”

  “Did you actually see her board the aircraft?”

  “Oh, boy.” Leslie thought for a moment. “I can’t swear to that, either, but I can’t imagine her not being on the flight since she told me she was on her way back home.” She took another sip of coffee. “I suppose it’s possible that she got a call from management…but at that hour of the morning?”

  “Nothing on her cell,” Marge told her.

  Decker said, “If Roseanne was in civilian clothing, does that mean she wasn’t working on the early-morning flight to Burbank…what was the flight number?”

  “That would have been 1325, but we changed the numbers…obviously.”

  “Okay, so say Roseanne boarded 1325 in civilian clothing. Does that mean she wasn’t working the flight?”

  “I would say yes to that.”

  “So if she wasn’t working 1325, do you have any idea why she would have jumped back onto flight 1324?”

  “Maybe she was substituting at the last minute,” Leslie said. “Or by that time, maybe someone from management had called and asked her to come back up for another interview.”

  “Nothing on her phone records indicated that,” Marge said.

  “Maybe she called management on an office phone to save long-distance minutes,” Leslie said.

  “Do you think she did that?” Decker asked.

  “I don’t know, Lieutenant, I’m just throwing out possibilities.”

  “We appreciate that,” Decker answered. “So she told you she had come up to San Jose to try to get a job based in the city.”

  “Yes.”

  “Any idea where she stayed?”

  Leslie shrugged and averted her eyes. Marge said, “We’ve talked to Raymond Holmes, Ms. Bracco.”

  “Please call me Leslie.” She smiled. “So you know about him.”

  “Yes, we do,” Marge said. “Did Roseanne mention Mr. Holmes to you?”

  She thought for several moments. “Not specifically to me, but it was common knowledge that they knew each other.”

  “Do you know Raymond Holmes?” Decker asked.

  “Oh yes. He used to travel WestAir quite a bit…not lately, though. Maybe Roseanne soured him on the airline.”

  “And you know they had an affair.”

  “He’d occasionally talk about Roseanne…where they went, what they did. I thought it was very tacky, but Roseanne was open, so I suppose he figured why not be open as well. Ray isn’t the most…modest of men. He used to brag about his financial prowess…trying to impress. It never impressed me.”

  Marge said, “Mr. Holmes told us that he hadn’t seen Roseanne for about six months prior to the accident.”

  Leslie said, “I wouldn’t know.”

  “He also mentioned a girlfriend of Roseanne’s in San Jose…two of them actually.” Marge checked her notes, not because she forgot the names but to look official. “Christie and Janet or Janice.”

  “Christie Peterson and Janice Valley. They’re both working as flight attendants for WestAir. Janice is based in Reno now…has been for the last four months, I believe. Christie lives in the area.”

  “So it’s possible that Roseanne could have stayed with Christie?” Decker said.

  “Certainly. Would you like me to call her for you? I feel better about that than my giving you her home phone number.”

  “That would be great,” Decker said.

  Leslie got up from the love seat and went behind closed doors. Ten minutes later, she emerged with several slips of paper. “Here’s her address and her telephone number. She said she could see you in about a half hour.”

  “That would be perfect,” Decker said. “Did you ask her if Roseanne had stayed with her?”

  “No, that’s not my business, that’s your business. I only told her that two detectives from L.A. are here and would like to speak to her about Roseanne. Christie was quite emotional. Please tread lightly.”

  “That’s what we try to do,” Decker answered.

  “I know. You’re only doing your job.” A sigh. “Since it’s going to be dark, I drew you a little map.”

  “That’ll help,” Marge said. “Thanks so much.”

  “Here’s my card if you think of anything else you want to ask me.”

  Decker took it and reached inside his pocket. “And if you think of something germane to the case, here’s my card.”

  Leslie took it, reached down from her purse, and pulled out a Sidekick. She entered the number with professional efficiency. “Done.”

  Decker smiled. “You’re very thorough, ma’am. You’d be a terrific asset to any company.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile was tinged with sadness. “I was always a compulsive person. I think it’s because of my background—alcoholic, abusive parents. If you’re unlucky, you fall into their same bad habits. If you’re lucky and you meet a man like Jack, you develop more benign habits as a way of coping with anxiety.”

  22

  WITH A DECENT eye for detail, Holmes had described Christie Peterson accurately, down to her long legs and svelte calves. She topped out around five six and was very, very thin, her sweatpants ballooning around her like bellows. Since she was wearing a short-sleeve top, her twig arms were visible, elbows jutting out like nunchakus.

  The flight attendant lived alone in a two-bedroom boxy condo near the heart of the city. Her furniture was functional and nondescript, sitting on wall-to-wall off-white Berber carpeting. She had prepared for the detectives’ visit by setting out a pitcher of water along with a bowl of mixed nuts. Sipping white wine, Christie had offered to pour Chardonnay for the detectives, but both of them had declined.

  Decker explained why they had come for a visit and Christie had confirmed what both detectives had suspected. Roseanne had stayed the night with her. When they asked her about Roseanne’s state of mind, the flight attendant did not hesitate.

  “She was upset with Ivan,” Christie told them.

  “Did she tell you why?” Marge asked her.

  “She sure did. It was that lap dancer he was seeing—Marissa or Melissa, something with an ‘M.’ Roseanne knew that they had a thing going, but what really infuriated her was that Ivan was still going to the club and spending money on her.” A soft laugh. “Roseanne felt that if he was screwing her, he should be getting it for free!”

  “When did she contact you about staying at your place for the evening?”

  “Hmm…I have to think.” Christie took another sip of wine. “Maybe around ten or eleven in the morning, I’d say.”

  Marge pulled out Roseanne’s cell-phone records. “I have a call to a San Jose number at ten thirty-three A.M..” She gave her the date and read the digits out loud.

  “That’s me,” Christie said.

  “And do you remember what was said in that conversation?”

  “Just that she was coming up and needed a place to crash for the evening. I heard the tension in her voice and asked if everything was okay. She told me she’d tell me all about it when we met. I didn’t push it.”

  “When did you two get together?” Decker asked her.

  “Around…sixish.” She licked her top lip and put down the wineglass. “We went out for a bite to eat. She was still upset. She did mention something about a fight, but she was clearly was more interested in the future. She had come up to interview for a transfer back to San Jose. She was seriously considering divorce and wanted to be closer to her parents.”

  “Did she tell you what time she was interviewed?”

  “No.” The flight attendant shook her head. “Nothing about the time.”

  “How’d the interview go?” Marge asked her.

  “Well. She said they had a position for her. She was happy. I remember her saying something like…‘at least something in my life is working out.’”

  “How long did dinner last?” Marge inquired.

  Christie shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
She brightened. “I can tell you that we were back in my place before nine because I went out that evening. I invited Roseanne along, but she declined. She was calling it an evening.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Mostly likely I went to one of the local clubs.”

  “What time did you get home?” Decker asked.

  “I can’t honestly say, but Roseanne was still up. We talked a little bit. She seemed calmer and I remember saying: you look better or refreshed or something like that. That’s when she told me that she had finally decided to leave Ivan.”

  “Did she seem happy about her decision?”

  “Happy isn’t the right word. More like…at peace. I think she felt that this was the only way to move her life forward. I just gave her support. I went to bed late that night: that much I remember. She was gone when I woke up. I suspect she never even went to bed. She left the key and a real sweet note on my dining room table.”

  At last! Marge thought. Maybe they’d have something concrete from Roseanne. “Do you have the note?”

  “Sorry, no. I threw it away.” Tears formed in the flight attendant’s eyes. “Maybe it’s better that I threw it away. It’s so painful when I think about her.”

  DECKER PUT THE car key in the ignition and glanced at the clock in the dash. It was almost eight. He still had time before his flight took off, but not as much time as he thought he’d have. “Are you sure I can’t drop you off somewhere?”

  Marge said, “No. Will seems perfectly okay with meeting me at the airport.”

  “He’s a good guy.” Decker started the car.

  “That he is.” She sank against the passenger headrest and closed her eyes. She really needed a good dinner and a fine bottle of wine. Marge furrowed her brow. “What’s that noise, Pete?”

  Decker heard it just as soon as she asked the question. A loud thump, thump, thump as the car wiggled and wobbled. “Not good.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Decker braked carefully, slowing to a crawl and pulling over to the curb at his first opportunity. They both got out of the car to inspect the damage.

  There was not one, but two flat tires—passenger front and rear.

  “Holy moly,” Marge said. “This is serious stuff.”

  “Shit!” Decker stamped his foot. He looked at his watch.

  Marge placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of it, Pete. You call a taxi and catch your plane.”

  Decker was still staring at the drooping car frame. “I can’t believe it!” He bent down to further examine the flats. “Son of a bitch!” He got up from a crouch. “Some motherfucker cut the tires!”

  Marge was stoic as she dialed Will Barnes’s cell. “It happens. Go call a cab and get out of here.”

  “No friggin’ way I’m leaving you to take care of this mess alone!”

  “I won’t be alone. I’ll have Will.”

  Decker ignored her and dialed information for the toll-free phone number of WestAir.

  “Hey there, it’s me,” Marge said into the receiver. “We have a setback here. Someone slashed the tires of our rental…No idea, only that it had to have happened while we were at our last interview because the tires didn’t go flat until we drove…Yeah, we didn’t even notice it until we were several blocks away. Where are we? That’s a very good question. Hold on and I’ll get my GPS…” She pushed several buttons on her phone. “Hi, Willy, are you still there?…Okay, it looks like we’re on Bradford Street.” She hunted around for the nearest address. “We’re parked in front of 13455 Bradford. It’s a residential area…No, you don’t have to come down. I’ll cab myself to you, but I want to wait until the police…Thanks, honey. If you insist, then I’ll see you in about fifteen.”

  She hung up and regarded Decker, who was on the phone. “I’m on hold.”

  “Will’s coming down.”

  Decker said, “Are you going back on the five-thirty A.M. WestAir?”

  “Yep, but you really don’t have to stick around.”

  Decker held up his hand and spoke into the phone. “That sounds fine. Yes, I’d like the confirmation number. Can you hold a minute while I get a pen?” Immediately Marge handed him a pencil and her notepad. Decker whispered thank you. “All right, I’m ready now.” He wrote down the number and hung up. The next call was to Rina. By the time he was done explaining the situation to his wife, Marge had called the police and the car rental company.

  Ten minutes later, Will Barnes pulled up behind the deflated rental. He got out, thumbs locked under a thick leather belt that held up a pair of faded jeans. A white shirt with a bolo tie completed the image. Barnes was tall and muscular, in good shape for a man in his late fifties. He shook hands with Decker and gave Marge a peck on the cheek. Barnes’s round ruddy face had been treated to a very smooth shave. His dark eyes grew smokier as he assessed the situation. “Damn, that’s a pisser!”

  “Do you know if there’s a vandalism problem in this area?” Decker asked him.

  “Can’t say for sure, Pete. The local police would know that better than me. But I do know that this is Silicon Valley. There are lots of teens here with too much money and too little supervision.”

  “Looks like kids to me, too,” Marge said. “Some ass riding by in a convertible, slashing passenger tires as he goes.”

  A squad car pulled up behind Barnes’s car. Five minutes later, a tow truck from the rental car service joined the festivities. After introductions were made all around, the cops assessed the wanton vandalism and began writing their reports. Neighbors began peeking through windows and opening front doors. Suddenly people began to walk their dogs, asking questions, looking woefully at the sorry rental. A few had had minor incidents—a smashed window and occasional graffiti. Most were quick to say that the neighborhood was safe.

  It took a little under an hour for the police to finish up. By the time order was restored, it was almost ten and Marge was famished. She looked at Will. “I’m still up for dinner, although I have no idea what’s open.”

  “The place I originally wanted to go to closes at eleven,” Barnes said, “but I managed a reservation for three at Sarni’s. Great, basic Italian food and it’s open until midnight.”

  Marge slipped her arm around Will’s waist. “My hero.” She smiled at Decker. “I take it that’s okay with you.”

  Decker said, “Thanks for the invitation, but I’m beat. If it isn’t too far out of the way, just drop me off at my motel.”

  “You’ve got to eat, boss,” Marge said.

  “I’m fine, really. You two go have a good time.”

  Barnes didn’t try to talk him out of it. “Where’s your motel?”

  “The Airport Foundation Inn.”

  “It’s right on the way.”

  The three of them piled into Barnes’s Honda Accord. Twenty minutes later, Decker found a nearby coffee shop and ordered an egg-salad sandwich on rye toast and decaf coffee. He doodled on his notepad as he thought about what had become of Roseanne.

  He made a chart entitled “The Last Day of Roseanne Dresden’s Life” and summed it up in the following steps.

  Sometime before 10:33 in the morning, she has a fight with her husband, and calls up Christie Peterson to crash at her pad for the night.

  Then she calls up WestAir in San Jose and asks for an interview. According to Christie, Roseanne wants to transfer to San Jose to be closer to her parents. She goes for an interview. There’s a position available.

  She goes out to dinner with Christie around six in the evening.

  Christie goes out at nine and returns late. Roseanne is still up. She tells Christie that she has decided to file for divorce.

  Roseanne meets Leslie Bracco at four-fifteen in the morning on the day of the crash. She basically tells Bracco the same thing she told Christie. As far as Leslie knows, Roseanne has boarded the five A.M. from San Jose to Burbank.

  From this point on, there were loads of possibilities for Roseanne.

  She could hav
e died in 1324—a strong possibility.

  Once again, she could have waged war with her husband, Ivan, when she returned. This time with deadly results.

  She could have gone back home, packed up her belongings, and walked off the face of the earth. But then why would she bother with an interview in San Jose?

  There is a slight chance that she didn’t hop the return flight to Burbank. Maybe she changed her mind and remained in San Jose, and something bad happened to her here—either with Raymond Holmes or maybe some other unknown factor.

  Decker scratched his head and doodled as he finished the last of his sandwich. He took out his cell and called up a number he had written on his notepad earlier in the afternoon. The line was answered after three rings. A gruff voice growled out a hello.

  “Mr. Holmes, this is Lieutenant Peter Decker…”

  “Hold on a minute.” Decker heard muffled conversation behind the receiver. Several minutes later a whispered voice shot venom over the line. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  Decker looked at his watch and spoke calmly. “I have eleven-oh-six. I know you get up early, but I thought I might catch you before you went to bed. If this is a bad time, I’ll call you tomorrow—”

  “First you disrupt me at work, now you bother me at my home. This is harassment!”

  “Not harassment, Mr. Holmes, just a few simple questions.”

  “You can ask them through my lawyer.”

  “Not a problem, but are you sure you want to get into that? I know you want to keep your wife out of police business and I have no problem with that. But if you go the lawyer route, she’s going to find out—”

  “What do you want from me? I haven’t seen Roseanne in over eight months. What can I do to make you believe me? Take a lie-detector test?”

  That was exactly what Decker wanted. What luck! “That’s an idea. It sure would take the heat off. When’s the next time you’re coming down to L.A.?”