Faye Kellerman - The Burnt House

“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.”

“You think she was murdered?”

“Right now I’m trying to rule out murder. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to do that.”

“You think it was Ivan?” Erika kneaded her hands. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

“I couldn’t answer you even if I knew. But I’m being honest when I tell you that I don’t even know if she was murdered. That’s why I need to talk to everyone who was involved with the crash. So far, your company has been making things very difficult. But you have been very helpful.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“You won’t regret it. You’re bringing justice to a friend.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

“One more question and then I’m done,” Marge said. “Was anyone else working the gate with you, Ms. Lessing?”

The woman didn’t answer. She stopped playing with her hands, took a final sip of her custom coffee, and stood. “Sara McKeel. But you didn’t get the name from me.”

THE NUMBER OF missing women who fit the physical forensics of Jane Doe’s charred body was staggering. Decker had pulled up over a decade’s worth of missing-persons files-from 1971 when the building went up through 1981-when Marge knocked on the door frame to his office.

“Come in, sit down, and tell me some good news,” Decker said. “Because from where I’m sitting, things are sucking big-time.”

“Why’s that?” Marge pulled up a chair and sat across from the lieutenant.

“One hundred and seventeen women and girls went missing between ’71 and ’81 in the Valley alone. Some were probably custody cases, some may have resolved without our knowing it, but some have to be open files. A few of you unlucky souls are going to be assigned the nasty task of announcing heartbreak to families who may have felt they were finally moving on with their lives.”

“I think we should let Wanda and Julius do the calling. Both of them have nice phone voices.”

Decker handed her a bunch of stacks. “You’re a sergeant. Make the assignments as you see fit.”

“I love my rank.” Marge took the paperwork and sat it on her lap. “I wanted to bring you up-to-date with Roseanne Dresden.”

“Good or bad?”

“Illuminating. I had two interviews with the women who worked the desk for flight 1324. Neither remembers Roseanne boarding the aircraft. One of the flight attendants-Sara McKeel-wouldn’t swear that Roseanne didn’t board, but she didn’t recall seeing Roseanne that morning. The other flight attendant was a woman named Erika Lessing and she told a different story.” Marge recapped the conversation. “Erika swears up and down that she would have noticed if Roseanne had boarded the plane. She had an acute madar-mistress radar.”

Decker nodded. “But Lessing didn’t know if Roseanne was on the previous flight from San Jose and had stayed on board.”

“No, she couldn’t tell me that. So I guess the next thing to do would be to call up San Jose and ask them if Roseanne boarded 1324 from their location.”

Scott Oliver knocked then walked into Decker’s office, looking very Casual Friday. Navy crewneck sweater with a blue oxford-weave shirt underneath, and black chino pants. Sneakers on his feet. Decker said, “Who gave you the day off?”

“We’re interviewing Priscilla Huntley in about forty minutes. If we’re going to take a trip down memory lane, I thought I’d look the part.”

Marge said, “You look way more fifties than seventies, Scott.”

“First of all, I can’t come to work in torn jeans and a tie-dye shirt, stinking of tobacco and weed, unless I’m doing narcotics, which-thank God-I’m not.”