Faye Kellerman - The Burnt House

“Maybe he has money coming…maybe not.”

She started biting her thumbnail. “He makes it sound like it’s a go.”

“Insurance is going to scour through Ivan’s personal records before the company releases a red cent. So if the clever Mr. Dresden is counting on a windfall, he may want to rethink his position. Were you having an affair with Ivan?”

She shrugged. “None of your business.”

“Marina, we’ve got warrants for paperwork.” They did have warrants, only it was for Roseanne’s paper not Ivan’s. “Hotels, motels, gifts, dinners…everything is going to show up on credit-card receipts. I’m personally going to check them out, flashing your picture to hotel clerks and maître d’s. Someone is bound to recognize you. So tell me your side of the story.”

She appraised him very carefully. He wasn’t going away. “Nothing to tell. Boys and girls have been doing the nasty for years. So what?”

“What I really want to know is did you fuck him before or after Roseanne died?”

Another shrug.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“She was fucking around, too, you know.”

Oliver acted as if the news was a surprise. “Tell me about it.”

Marina’s eyes widened enthusiastically as she shunted the blame of their sordid affair onto Roseanne. “Ivan told me she had lots of one-night stands. She was a flight attendant. You know how they are!”

Most of the female flight attendants Oliver knew were hardworking, married women. “Uh-huh. Did Ivan ever mention any names?”

“No. Just that she was doing it with some rich old guy up in San Jose.”

“Name?”

“Roy something. I think that’s what Ivan said.”

“Could it have been Ray?”

“Sure.”

Consistent with the information given to Decker by Arielle Toombs. “Anything else you know about him?”

“Just that he and Roseanne were involved for more than just a one-night stand. Ivan said he bought her gifts. He found a diamond watch. When he asked her about it, Roseanne told him it was Christmas present from WestAir. She told him the diamonds weren’t real.” A sarcastic laugh escaped from her lips. “He said that the brand was Chopin and that’s a very expensive watch brand. So he knew she was lying.”

“Chopard?” Oliver asked.

“Maybe that was it. Anyway, I don’t see WestAir giving out diamond watches as Christmas presents.”

“That’s true. How long have you been sleeping with him?”

“None of your business. Believe me, I’m discreet. Otherwise Ivan would stop coming here to see me.” A nervous laugh. “Gotta keep them wanting more. Please don’t tell Mr. Michelli. It’s against the rules and I need this job!”

So now Oliver had the leverage he needed. He said, “I’m always interested in a fair trade. If you don’t talk to Ivan, I don’t see why I should say anything to Dante Michelli. And we both know that I’ll find out if you talked to Ivan. Do you get my drift?”

Marina nodded slowly. “I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

“And so do I.” Oliver handed her a card. “Call if you think of something you’d like to tell me. Any little detail is fine. Even if you think it isn’t important, it might be.”

Marina swept her foot along the floor. “So when do you think the insurance company will pay out?”

“First we need a body, Marina. Nothing’s going to happen until then.”

“Okay.” She tapped her toe on the ground. “Ivan told me they were kaput, you know. Roseanne was going to divorce him and take him to the cleaners.”

“That part was probably true.”

“Just lucky for him that she died before she could divorce him.”

Oliver’s smile was slow and wide.

Sometimes people make their own luck.

SAME MIKE HOLLANDER but older: the man looked his full seventy years, with a ruddy round face, a big, bulbous nose, and a mop of snowy hair. A thick white walrus mustache obscured the top of his lip, and now he had added a goatee. With just a little bit more facial hair, Mike was Santa Claus incarnate. He wore glasses and a hearing aid, both new since the last time they had met. Maybe hiring his crew and him wasn’t one of Decker’s finest moments of planning. Not that he looked feeble, but he showed his age. At least his handshake was firm.

“Great to see you, Pete.”

“Likewise, Mike, you’re looking good.”

“I’m looking old, but that’s better than looking fine in a coffin.”

“C’mon, you’re not ready for that.”

“Not if I can help it, but God may have other plans.”

“You sound like my wife.”

“That’s good. Rina was always wise.”

They were sitting in a booth at a local coffee shop, halfway between Devonshire and Foothill. Mike had retired in the district he had served for over thirty-five years. The waitress-a fifty-plus woman with a bouffant hairdo-seemed to know Hollander by taking his order as “the usual.” Decker asked for a salad and coffee.

Mike may have looked elderly, but he looked happy. Decker told him that.

“Finally doing what I want to do,” Mike answered. “You know I always like working with my hands. Now I get to do that and help people out. Problem is we’re getting too successful. I’m busier than I’d like to be.” He sipped his coffee. “But being busy never killed anyone.”

“How many people do you have working on a crew?”

“Anywhere from twenty to thirty.”

Decker was taken aback. “That’s a huge amount of people.”

“I know lots of seniors with time on their hands…retired men who drive their wives crazy. You don’t know how many pies I get from grateful women. We may work a little slower, but because there are so many hands, the job moves faster than traditional contractors. You’ve got the plans for your daughter’s house?”

“I do.” Decker brought them out of his briefcase and spread them across the tabletop. Hollander adjusted his glasses and studied the drawings silently. After a few minutes, he took out a pad of paper and began to make notes. He didn’t speak for the next ten minutes, and when he did, he was all business.

“The architect did a good job. Thorough. The plans aren’t that complicated and he specked out several options depending on how much they want to spend. I also know discount places for appliances, flooring, hardware, granite, marble…fit-and-finish materials. If your daughter can call me and tell me what she has in mind, I could probably price this out for you in a couple of weeks.”

“Any idea of the cost?”

“You’re adding about eight hundred square feet, including a new kitchen and two and a half bathrooms. Hmm…depending on material…oh, anywhere between sixty and one-twenty.”

“That’s quite a range.”

“Depending on materials. You’re not going to get lower than sixty. If you do, the guy’s a crook.”

Decker knew that was true. “That price is doable.”

“You’re paying for it?”

“I’m going to offer to help them out. My son-in-law is going to do some of the demolition himself.”

“That’ll save some money. You know I’ll give you the best price I can, but these people gotta come away with some money in their pockets.”

“Absolutely. Thanks for looking at the plans. I’ll have Cindy call you as soon as she can.”

“Great.” Hollander slipped the prints in his briefcase. “So enough about me. Tell me what’s happening in the wonderful world of detective work.”

The waitress arrived with their food just as Mike had asked the question. She looked at Decker. “You’re a cop?”

Hollander said, “Best detective I ever worked with. Now he’s a lieutenant. If he had acted more politico, he could have made captain.”