Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 16 Page 11

“No, it was a typical California building: wood-framed stucco, no basement.”

  “What about subterranean parking?”

  “I believe it had a lot in the back…built in days when land was a lot cheaper. I’m remembering it as one parking space per unit and the rest was street parking.”

  “And how many units did the building have?”

  “Fifteen. Why do you ask?”

  “You said the body was found above the foundation.”

  “I don’t think I said yes or no. Why do you ask?”

  “Back then, didn’t they build lots of Southern California buildings with crawl spaces between the subfloor and the foundation?”

  “I would say yes. The earthquake codes were different. They don’t do that anymore. Usually the subfloor is attached to the foundation.”

  “But in the older buildings, that’s where they put the plumbing, right?”

  “Yeah, they’d put the sewer lines down there, especially if the building was multistoried.”

  “You should find out if the building had a crawl space. It would be a perfect dump for a body since most of the tenants wouldn’t be aware of its existence. Or maybe the person who killed your Jane Doe could have been someone involved with constructing the building.”

  “That’s exactly what we’re thinking. We’re looking up the builders as well as the tenants. And all the tradesmen. Plumbers, phone people…pest control.”

  “But, Daddy, wouldn’t those people stick out? I mean, if you see a guy walking around your house or apartment, you’re going to ask who it is.”

  “And…”

  “All I’m saying is that a service guy might feel intimidated dumping a body in a building. He might be scared that someone would see him poking around. I’m thinking that anyone who would dump a body into the crawl space has to feel he wouldn’t attract attention.”

  “That’s a very good point,” Decker told her. “So running with your idea, maybe we’re dealing with a janitor or super or maintenance guy who lived in the building. No one would think twice about seeing him getting dirty, hauling out trash, or poking around the insides of a building.”

  “When in doubt, look at the maintenance man,” Cindy teased him. “I’ve watched enough of those crime-reconstruction shows to know it’s always the janitor.”

  Decker smiled. “I’ll tell someone on the team to check it out. Good thinking, Detective.”

  Cindy felt herself go hot and knew she was blushing. Whenever her father praised her, she felt an inordinate swell of pride. She looked down and pretended to be interested in the dishes. “Who’s primary on the assignment?”

  “Either Scott or Marge. I don’t even know if they figured it out yet.”

  “Sounds like you have your hands full, Dad. But look at it this way. You’re not pushing paper.”

  “Yeah, be careful what you wish for.”

  Cindy placed a Pyrex pan in the dishwasher. “Koby was offered a promotion.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Decker told her. “When did this happen?”

  “Couple of weeks ago.”

  “And you’re first telling me now?”

  “He doesn’t know if he wants it. It’s more money but more time on the job, more paperwork, and it takes him off the floor and primary patient care, which is what he really likes. He shouldn’t be killing himself for a few extra dollars. But he’s obsessed with saving money for the construction.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you with the remodeling.”

  “I know and I really appreciate it. But even if we can do most of the framing ourselves, there are still skills that we’re not going to attempt like electrical and plumbing. Last thing I want is a broken sewer line or a fried husband or father.”

  “I agree.”

  “Whatever we decide, it’s going to take money. Mom’s offered to lend us some cash, but Koby has his reservations. That’s why he’s considering the promotion or options that will make him more money.”

  “Money’s important, but he should be happy.”

  “That’s what I tell him.” Cindy paused. “Alan offered to help out.”

  “Uh…fine.”

  Cindy gave her father a smile. “Did I detect a bit of hesitation on your part?”

  “Not at all. Your stepfather keeps your mom happy and that makes everything easier.” Decker gave a tepid smile. “I just never knew he was handy.”

  “He and Mom have been really into home improvement. I think they own stock in Lowe’s or something.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Installing new appliances—new dishwasher, refrigerator, and microwave. Alan also built a bookcase and a table.”

  “How’d his handiwork come out?”

  “Not too bad, actually.”

  “Good. We can use as much help as possible. Do you have an architect?”

  “We have a neighbor who’s helping us out at a reduced fee. AIA certified. Nice woman who does good work. I lucked out: a neighbor architect, a handy father and husband, a somewhat handy stepfather…count my blessings.”

  “We’ll have good old barn raising.”

  “Thanks, Daddy, I really appreciate it.” Cindy offered him a luminous smile. “And I’d like to add that I’m very proud of you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re talking to me like a colleague instead of a daughter. To wit, we’ve been together for almost an hour and you have yet to give me a word of advice except to tell me that I shouldn’t treat any police case as routine, and that’s just what my partner says, so I can’t even claim that was an overprotective daddism.”

  Decker started to say something, but nodded instead.

  “Is it hard for you not to give me advice?” Cindy asked. “Tell me the truth.”

  “Well, put it this way.” Decker thought a moment. “My tongue is nearly severed from biting it so hard.”

  12

  AS A SATELLITE airport, Burbank usually had manageable crowds, which translated into shorter check-in and security lines, and officials who were friendlier and, in general, less bureaucratic. But even a small airport had post-9/11 concerns, and the head of security kept Marge Dunn parked on the wrong side of the metal detectors since she was lacking proper authorization. Because there wasn’t any hope of getting clearance from WestAir, Marge resorted to plan B, working her charm on the staff behind the check-in counter.

  There was no scheduled WestAir flight in or out for the next two hours and the sole person manning the counter appeared lonely and bored. Marge put him in his late twenties, sporting a round face and a pinched mouth. She smoothed her navy skirt, rotating the waistband until the zipper sat against her left side. Why the contraption on this particular skirt moved to center when she walked was one of those unexplained mysteries of life. She sauntered up to the WestAir desk and flashed the man her cheeriest smile. He responded in kind and displayed his own white teeth.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I think you can. I’m from Acona Insurance Corporation, which is a subsidiary of Livalli Corp. We’re working on a specific claim in regard to flight 1324 and we need verification for the benefactor that the victim was on said flight—”

  “I’m sorry,” the clerk said. “All questions regarding flight 1324 need to go through the WestAir task force. I can give you the task-force phone number, if you’d like.”

  Marge leaned over and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Can I be frank, Mr….”

  “Baine.”

  “Mr. Baine, I’m Marge Dunn.” She held out her hand and a reluctant Mr. Baine shook it. “Your task force has a problem returning telephone calls. I don’t think they’re very anxious to settle their claims.” She watched Baine’s reaction. When he didn’t immediately defend the company, she depressed her brain’s ad-lib button. “We suspect the company is having severe cash-flow problems. We understand that they’ve even withheld some payrolls checks—”

  “Only once,” Baine interrupted.

  “I’m not he
re to knock the management, Mr. Baine, I just need information.” She brought her face closer to his. “I’m representing one of your own flight attendants—Roseanne Dresden. I just need to verify that she was on the flight and then I can give her poor husband a little solace as well as money.”

  The clerk harrumphed.

  “Do I detect a note of skepticism?” Marge inquired.

  A shrug. “I didn’t know either of them very well.”

  “Yet you have your opinions.”

  “She was well liked. He wasn’t.”

  Marge nodded. “I’ll hear anything you want to tell me.”

  “My opinions won’t help your situation. Why do you need verification for Roseanne specifically?”

  “All of the other bodies have been recovered except hers.”

  Baine was taken aback. “I thought they found it a couple of weeks ago.”

  “False alarm.”

  “Really.” Baine pursed his little lips. “That’s too bad.”

  “It’s heartbreaking, actually. Her parents are waiting for news, but we’ve got nothing to tell them.” Marge paused for effect. “This is the situation, Mr. Baine. Roseanne wasn’t ticketed for the flight. We were told that she hopped one of the jumper seats, and was on her way to work in San Jose. But we haven’t found anything that puts her on the plane other than the fact that no one has heard from her since the crash.”

  “And that’s not enough?”

  “Not in this century. If she boarded the flight, she had to pass through security. None of the security agents specifically remember seeing her, but that was a long time ago.” A little lie, but it was harmless. “All I want to know is who worked the gate for flight 1324. Maybe someone remembers seeing Roseanne board the flight.”

  Baine was silent, weighing something in his brain. He picked up a phone and turned his back as he spoke into the receiver. A moment later he hung up and pointed to the exit. “Directly across the street, there’s a coffee shop. She’s waiting for you there. You can’t miss her…she’s in uniform.”

  “Thank you. And she has a name?”

  “She does, but it’s up to her if she wants to give it to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” As Marge turned to leave, he said, “It was actually two times.”

  She faced him. “Pardon?”

  He crooked a finger and she leaned over. Baine whispered, “WestAir held back a month of paychecks—for all their employees. We had to accept the conditions or else the company claimed it would file for Chapter Eleven. Even with that, there still may be some cutbacks.”

  “Wow, that’s a rotten deal.”

  “What can I do? I need this job.”

  “At least the cuts affected everyone,” Marge said.

  “So they say,” Baine answered. “Last I heard, the CEO still owned his yacht.”

  A SLIM ATTRACTIVE redhead held out her hand to Marge. “Erika Lessing.”

  “Marge Dunn.”

  Introductions done, they sat opposite each other at a corner table. The coffee shop was one of those retro cafés made to look like a fifties automat. The tables and chairs were tubular metal and the upholstery was faux leather colored oxblood red. Waitresses wore white uniforms protected by frilly aprons and had little white caps on their heads.

  Erika was easy to spot in her WestAir uniform: the white shirt, black skirt, and yellow blazer made her look like a bumblebee. She seemed no older than her late twenties with her ginger hair swirling in a nest of curls. Her eyes were dark brown and tired. “You’re a claims adjuster?” She focused her eyes on Marge’s face. “My father was an adjuster. I worked for him for several summers. I got to know the business very well. There’s good money in insurance. You want to know why I didn’t pursue it?”

  “Sure.”

  “I got tired of people lying. Idiots padding every claim, trying to suck the company dry because the morons figured that insurance is paying, so why not? The company retaliates by raising rates to exorbitant levels, or worse, by stalling legitimate claims and dragging its heels. Meanwhile, some poor jerk with a totaled car taking the bus to work for months, waiting for the check to finally materialize five years later. It deals with the worst aspects of human beings.”

  “Tell me how you really feel,” Marge said. “Don’t hold back.”

  Erika’s smile was angry and tight. “Eliot told me you’re looking for the people who worked the gate for flight 1324.”

  “Eliot being the Mr. Baine at the check-in counter.”

  “Yes, that’s him. He called me because he knew I was across the street, trying to relax and read the paper before I go to work.”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but you can understand why this is important.”

  “I worked the gate,” she admitted. “Normally I wouldn’t talk to you, but if after all this time, someone is still nosing around Roseanne Dresden, I figure it’s time to say my piece.” A deep sigh of regret. “I feel like unloading, and tag, you’re it.”

  “I’m open to anything you want to tell me.”

  “You don’t know how stressful the last couple of months have been.” She pointed to her chest. “I checked in all those people. I feel like I sent them off to die. I know it’s not rational, but…” She shook her head. “Honestly, I’m still in shock. I’m depressed all the time. And angry and listless. And I feel so damn guilty!”

  “Things sound very tough at your company and it doesn’t sound like you’re getting any support.”

  “None. They don’t even like us to talk about it. Afraid we’ll say something that might inspire more lawsuits. Right now that’s all they’re concerned about. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “Of course not.”

  Erika’s eyes moistened. “So here’s my story, Ms. Dunn. In general, I made good decisions. I took the right job for me…well, up until the incident. I bought a condo when rates were low. I have a wonderful set of friends…but everyone has their downfall.”

  “And yours is men,” Marge said automatically.

  “It’s that obvious?”

  “I’ve been there. Don’t fret. There’s hope in the future.”

  “I’d like to think so.” Another sigh. “I liked Roseanne, I really…” Her voice choked up. “I just have this thing for bad boys. I’ve gone to the altar three times and I’m only twenty-eight. Just when I think I’m ready to finally settle down, some wise guy with a sexy smirk winks and worms his way into my heart.”

  “Ivan Dresden.”

  “Have you ever met him?”

  “I’ve seen a picture. He’s good-looking.”

  “Gorgeous but a real con artist, but ultimately it was my decision to take off my clothes. I didn’t care that he was married, but I should have cared that he was married to Roseanne. I considered her a friend, and for those six months, I lived in fear that she’d find out.”

  “Who finally called it off?”

  “I did. You can’t work with someone in a closed environment like the inside of a plane if there’s bad blood. Your life may depend on them.”

  “And you’re sure that Roseanne never found out?”

  “I’m certain she never knew. Not that I didn’t have a couple of close calls. Once when we were out to lunch she broke down and confessed that she thought Ivan was having an affair. When she muttered those words, time stood still. I almost confessed, but then it was clear that she was railing against another woman. Good thing I was slow to react. Apparently, the creep was two-timing both of us!”

  “Do you remember the name of the other woman?”

  “Melissa…Miranda…” She shrugged. “No one who worked for WestAir.” She took another sip of coffee. “I have a reason for telling you about my sordid little escapades. What you’re really looking for—if I understood Eliot correctly—is a witness who saw Roseanne board flight 1324.”

  Marge felt her heart jump. “You saw her board the aircraft.”

  “No, I didn’t see her board
the aircraft and that’s the whole point. Since I had an affair with Roseanne’s husband, I made it a point to notice Roseanne so I can prepare myself. I have to do that…prepare myself mentally. I’m fair and I blush easily. I didn’t want her asking questions like ‘What’s wrong?’”

  “Aha.”

  “If Roseanne would have passed through those gates, I would have noticed her. But I didn’t see her. That means she wasn’t there.”

  “Could she have boarded the aircraft before you got to the gate?”

  “No, because I was already at the gate checking people in when the aircraft came in from an early morning flight from San Jose.”

  “Could Roseanne have been on the flight coming in from San Jose and not have gotten off the plane?”

  Erika gave the question some thought. “It’s possible. Sometimes the flight attendants don’t deplane, but usually they do. We prefer to freshen up in facilities that are bigger than a bread box. Anyway, that wasn’t the story, was it? The story was she boarded the plane here in Burbank and sat in a jump seat.”

  “But it is possible that her husband got Roseanne’s flights all mixed up. He could have been listening to his wife with half an ear and jumped at the opportunity to get rid of her so he could call up one of his many girlfriends.”

  “Can I ask why you, as an insurance adjuster, have delved into Ivan Dresden’s bad habits?” Erika narrowed her eyes. “You know you haven’t shown me a lick of identification. Insurance adjusters do that routinely. So why don’t you tell me who you really are since I was forthright with you?”

  Marge gauged her hard eyes. Erika was hostile, but she was also in pain. There had probably been times in the heat of the affair when she had wished Roseanne dead. Now she was carrying around an irrational guilt that her wish had come true. Marge dug into her purse and pulled out her badge and ID card.

  “Police?” Erika was genuinely surprised. “Why are the police involved?”

  “Because Roseanne’s body hasn’t turned up, so officially she’s a missing person. It’s been over two months since anyone heard from her, so it’s very likely that she’s dead…and it’s starting to look like she didn’t die in the crash. That’s where I come in. I’m from homicide.”