The Burnt House (22 page)

Welcome to the club
, Oliver thought. “Why did you initially tell us that you fought around four in the afternoon?”

“I don’t remember telling you that, Detective.” Dresden shrugged. “I mean, if you say I did, I believe you, but I don’t know why I would tell you we fought in the afternoon when it was the morning. What would be the purpose of that?”

Oliver noticed that his hands were no longer shaking. Either the booze was making him relax or he felt more comfortable with the questioning. “Well, then that clears up one inconsistency we had. But we still have a problem and it’s a biggie. Where did Roseanne go once she landed in Burbank?”

“I have no idea,” Dresden said. “Everyone has been telling me that Roseanne died in the accident. You two are the only ones who seem to think that she didn’t die in the accident…” He turned his attention to Marge, who was writing furiously in her notepad. “What are you doing?”

“Just making some observations…trying to get a feel for your wife’s life.”

“Yeah, well, I think I’ve answered enough of your questions. You can leave now.”

Marge dropped her pen. “Oops.” She fell to her knees and looked under the rim of the couch. “Where did that sucker go?”

Her hand slipped underneath. One spot of the carpet felt stiff, indicating that it had once been covered with something sticky. It could have been blood, but that wasn’t what she was after. Something small and metallic pink had winked at her. She reeled the object in with her fingers: rectangular and flat and about the size of a packet of cigarettes.

A cell phone—a metallic pink that abounded with small daisies. She flipped it over. On the back were the block letters
R.D.
She held it up for Ivan to see. “What’s this?”

“That’s mine.” Ivan leaped across the room to wrest it from Marge’s grip. His skin had turned sunburn red. “You can go now!”

“Yours?” Marge asked. “You have a pink cell phone with the initials
R.D.
on the back?”

“Get out!”

Dresden’s cell started to chime. Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and abruptly stopped. Too late: he’d given himself away.

Oliver held up his mobile. “I just called your cell, Mr. Dresden.” He pointed to the pink case. “That baby isn’t ringing, but your pocket is.”

“So what the fuck does that prove? I lost my phone months ago. You found it for me. Thanks. Now get the hell out of here or I’m not only calling my lawyer, I’m calling the cops!”

Oliver held up his hands. “Peace, bro. We’re going.”

Dresden jerked the door open and screamed, “Don’t come back unless you have a warrant!” He was flushed, with shaking hands that rattled the ice in his scotch.

Marge and Oliver crossed over the living room carpet as they made their way to the open door.

They took their sweet time.

D
ECKER SHIFTED THE
phone from one ear to the other. “Run that by me again.”

“I dropped a pen in Dresden’s apartment,” Marge said. “When I bent down to retrieve it under the couch, by accident, I pulled out a pink cell phone. Dresden claimed it was his, but when Oliver called Dresden’s cell-phone number, his pocket rang…not the phone that I found.”

“Okay.”

“Then he claimed that this pink cell phone—with daisies all over it and the initials
R.D.
on the back—was his lost cell phone.”

“Okay. So what are we trying to do—hold on a sec.” Hollander had emerged from the bowels of the Crypt. Decker checked his watch. “What’s going on?”

“They’ll be packed up and ready to roll in ten minutes.”

“It’s almost five.”

“I called Koby. The tech agreed to wait, but I think it’s going to cost the LAPD a gourmet dinner.”

“We can manage that. So we’re still okay with the hospital to use the machine?”

“That I haven’t asked because I don’t want to know the answer.”

Decker raked his hands through his hair and exhaled. “How long does it take to pack up a friggin’ skull?”

“Patience, Loo.” Hollander smiled and played with the curled ends of his mustache. “You don’t want to lose evidence, do you?”

Decker rolled his eyes and returned to his phone conversation. “Sorry, Marge, I’m back. So what’s going on here?”

Marge said, “In short, both Oliver and I are convinced that I found Roseanne Dresden’s phone. If she died on the plane crash, what was her phone doing under the couch?”

“You just happened to find her phone?”

“Yep,” Marge fibbed. “I dropped my pen and found the phone. Simple as that.”

“You weren’t hunting around for anything.”

“I was taking notes around the condo, but I wasn’t hunting for anything other than my dropped pen.”

“No opening drawers or closets or—”

“No, nothing like that. I dropped my pen and I found the phone.”

“And now Dresden’s claiming that it’s his phone?”

“No, he’s claiming that it’s a phone that he lost months ago.”

“And how are we going to disprove that?”

“It was in a pink case with daisies and has the initials
R.D.
on the back.”

“It still could be his phone.”

“I know.” She thought a moment. “The easiest thing is to find out where Roseanne purchased the phone and see if it matches the invoice. Then we could find out if Dresden ever purchased a phone like that.”

“Even if we found out where Roseanne bought the phone, which I don’t see how we can do that, it won’t prove anything. Dresden could say she bought it for him. Or he could just deny that you even found her phone. How would you prove otherwise?”

Marge said, “It’s a distinctive phone, Pete. How could I describe it that clearly if I had never met Roseanne?”

“Dresden could still claim she bought it for him.”

“With the initials
R.D.
on the back?”

“She used it and then gave it to him.”

“Then how about if I interview some of Roseanne’s friends? I’ll have them describe Roseanne’s phone to me.”

“To counter that, Dresden could say that you found out what it looks like by talking to her friends and then framed him.”

Marge tried again. “How about if I wrote out a statement about what happened this afternoon? Oliver and I could sign and date it, and then we’d have proof that our observations about the phone predated all the interviews with Roseanne’s friends.”

Decker thought about her suggestions. “I think one of our secretaries is a notary. Get her to witness the signing. That way Dresden can’t claim that you postdated the documents.”

“Great.”

“That takes care of the honesty issue for you and Oliver, but it doesn’t take care of the witnesses. Dresden can always claim that you coached Roseanne’s friends to say what you wanted and they cooperated because they hated him. He’d have a point. Roseanne’s friends did hate him.”

“What if we take the notary with us? Have the witnesses sign a piece of paper that this was the first time we asked them questions about Roseanne’s phone.”

“That could work,” Decker conceded. “Okay, let’s do this. Keep the interviews really clean. Call up Roseanne’s friends and request a brief face-to-face. We’ll ask each of them two questions. One: Did Roseanne own a cell phone? Two: If she did, describe it for me using as much detail as you can. We’ll have statements for them to sign, saying that the witnesses answered these two questions without prompting or any kind of interference from LAPD. We can have their signature notarized. That will legitimize the statements against corruption.”

Decker shifted gears again.

“Okay, round two. Where are we going with all these nice, notarized statements?”

“If Roseanne died in the crash, her cell phone should have been found at the accident site or it should have been obliterated. Instead, we find it under her couch. We’re claiming that Roseanne wasn’t in the crash, but went home to her condo after taking the five
A.M.
flight down from San Jose into Burbank. And that was the last we ever heard from her.”

“The cell could be an old phone.”

“Or it could be her most recent phone. We know she had it with her in San Jose because she made a call from it. So we have to assume that it returned with her. So what was it doing in the condo if she died in the crash?”

“Maybe she sped home after she reached Burbank, lost the phone in the condo, and didn’t have time to look for it because she raced back to the airport.”

“The condo’s in the West Valley. No way she could make that trip and get to the airport on time to make the flight even if there was
no
traffic on the freeway. We all know what kind of traffic is on the 101 at seven, seven-thirty in the morning.”

“I just thought of something,” Decker said. “Where was her car at the time of the crash? Wasn’t it parked at the airport?”

“I have no idea, but I do know that Dresden is driving the Beemer now. My guess is that he’s planning on keeping it because he already sold his car to pay down the lap-dancing debts. Ivan was quick to remind us that although her assets are frozen, there’s no law that prohibits him from using her car.”

“There probably is a law against it, but who’s going to take him to court?”

“Pete, even if Roseanne’s Beemer was parked at the airport, it doesn’t mean that she drove it there. It could have been planted after the fact.”

Hollander tapped Decker’s shoulder and gave him a thumbs-up sign. “We’re ready.”

“Marge, I have to go in thirty seconds. I’m assuming you’re going
through all this hassle with finding witnesses to identify Roseanne’s phone in order to convince a judge that Roseanne’s phone had no business being in her condo if she had died in the crash. Therefore, if she didn’t die in the crash, the phone under the couch means that Roseanne was in her condo the morning of the crash, and disappeared right after that. We suspect Ivan, and Roseanne’s phone being under the couch is a good reason for us to get a search warrant.”

“I couldn’t have said it better.”

“On a lucky day, it might work. First, get the witnesses to describe the phone. And even if we find witnesses that swear that the phone was Roseanne’s, there’s nothing to stop Ivan from claiming that he bought a phone exactly like it.”

“Pink with daisies and an
R.D.
on the back?”

“Maybe Ivan was getting in touch with his feminine side.”

THE GROUP CONSISTED
of Decker, Hollander, Koby, two coroner’s investigators—Gloria and Fred—and a computerized tomography (CT) technician named Jordon Shakman. The tech was six five and black and went by the nickname Shak. He and Koby had known each other for over seven years, drawn to each other by work and by how well their names meshed. Back when Koby was single, the two of them used to party together, always making dinner reservations as Koby and Shak, which perked up ears especially when Shaquille O’Neal used to play center for the Big L Unit. Needless to say, they got star treatment even
after
they showed up. People realized that they weren’t the real deal, but they were big enough to look mean, and no one questioned their identity.

“Record time,” Koby told the tech when they were done.

Shak said, “It goes faster when we’re working with a skull instead of some little freaked-out kid.”

“It would freak me out,” Decker said, looking at the CT tube.

“At least the CT is open,” Shak said. “You should see the reaction to an MRI tube. I’ve seen grown men reduced to tears when we start to slide them in.”

“What’s our next move?” Decker asked.

Shak turned to the coroner’s investigators. “Do you have a release order on where to send the images?”

Gloria answered. She was a woman in her late thirties with dark, inquisitive eyes. “I have all the paperwork right here.” She handed Shak the folder. “The forensic pathologist will contact you in the morning to tell you where to send the images. You can send them directly to her computer, but we’ll also need the hard-copy prints as well since the Crypt doesn’t have the facilities to develop any images.”

“We can do it for it, but it may take a couple of days.”

Gloria looked at Decker. “How does that fit in with your time frame, Lieutenant?”

“Sooner is always better, but we still have to secure a prototyping machine. That could take a while.”

“I’ve got my feelers out,” Hollander answered.

“If anyone can do it, Mike, it’s you.” Decker turned to the technician. “Do you have any observations that you think might be important to us?”

“I’m just a tech,” Shak said. “All the interpretation is done by a radiologist.”

“I think we’re done.” Decker turned to the investigators. “Are you two all right packing up the skull?”

“We’re just fine, Lieutenant,” Fred answered.

Gloria said, “You can go, gentlemen.”

Decker held out his hand to Shak. “Thanks for all your help.”

Koby cleared his throat. “It’s close to six, Peter. Cindy’s shift ends at eleven, so Shak and I were going to get some dinner. Would you and Michael like to join us?”

“Great! I’m famished!” Hollander cried out. “Uh…if it’s okay with the boss. He drove me over the hill.”

It wasn’t okay with the boss. All Decker wanted to do was go home, take a hot shower, and spend some time with his family. But Hollander, Koby, and Shak had all been doing him favors—big ones, and without complaint. It was time for payback. “Let me check with Rina. If she’s all right with it, I’m in.”

Shak eyed Gloria, trying not to be obvious. “You’re welcome to come…both of you.”

Gloria broke into a radiant smile. “I’ve got to get Ms. Doe back home.” She handed Shak her business card. “Maybe another time.”

“Great…” Shak’s smile was oddly shy. “Great.”

Decker hung up his cell. “It’s fine with Rina.”

Koby beamed. “Fantastic. In anticipation of your yes, I made reservations. I think you’ll like the place. It has wonderful Italian food. Who doesn’t like Italian?”

“This is just like the good old days.” Hollander patted his stomach. “I’m having so much fun I’ll even pick up the tab.”

“Nonsense,” Decker said. “The academy has gotten more than its money’s worth today. LAPD will gladly pick up the tab.”

THE VOICE OVER
the squawk box announced that Farley Lodestone was on line three. Decker didn’t bother to check his watch. If Farley was calling, it was nine in the morning. The man was more consistent than an alarm clock. Decker counted to three, depressed the button, and picked up the phone. “Hello, Farley. How are you today?”

“The same like every day. What’s going on?”

“Actually, things are going on.” Decker spoke with confidence. “We’re tracking down an interesting lead, but you know I can’t tell you what it is.”

“Why not? I can keep a secret.”

Decker smiled. “I know you can, Farley; it’s just not the way we operate. I’m just saying that we haven’t forgotten about Roseanne. How could we when you call us every day to remind us?”

Lodestone grumped. “And I’ll continue to call until we find out something.”

“I don’t blame you. As a father, I’d do the same thing. I think Shareen and you have exhibited enormous patience. I want to thank you for trusting my handling of the case.”

“Who said I trust you?”

Decker smiled. “Maybe I was flattering myself. You have every reason to be skeptical, Farley, but I’m out there doing what I can.”

There was a pause. “Shareen says I’m being a pain in the butt. I don’t care. I’m gonna call every day and keep calling every day. That’s just the person I am. It’s nothing personal. You understand me, right?”

“Completely.”

“To show you how serious I am, I put your cell number and the station’s number on my buddy-list phone program. So I can call you up anytime for six ninety-nine a month and talk as long as I want. If I’m gonna call you, might as well be economical about it.”

“We’re on it, Farley. Thanks for calling.”

“Right now, Lieutenant, I gotta say to you thanks for nothing. But don’t take that personal, either. One day, I hope to say thanks for everything.”

HOLLANDER WAS ELATED
over the phone. “After much finagling, pleading, and cajoling, I managed to get hold of a prototype machine at Katumi Motors. No need for thanks. Money would do just fine.”

Decker’s smile was wide and genuine. “Mike, you’ve been a godsend.”

“There is a small snag. We can’t use it during working hours. I had originally set up the process for next Saturday. Then I remembered, you don’t work on Saturday, so I changed it to Sunday. It’ll be late morning or early afternoon.”

“Great. I’ll coordinate with the Crypt to make sure we have the CT-scan images.”

“No one likes to work on Sunday, Rabbi. You may need to pay for a round of beer.”

“That can be done.” Marge knocked on the frame of his open door. She and Oliver were waiting for his time. “Thanks for everything, Mike. I’ll be there. I gotta go.”

“No prob, Pete, and thanks for the business. Koby and Cindy are a great couple. You did good.”