Faye Kellerman - The Burnt House

“What?” Dresden asked.

“When did the terrible fight take place?”

“Around eight in the morning.”

“Eight in the morning?” Oliver questioned him.

“Yeah, something like that. I already told you that. Don’t you guys take notes?”

“As a matter of fact we do. That’s why I’m puzzled. The first time we spoke to you, you told us that you two had fought around four in the afternoon.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, you must have made a mistake,” Dresden insisted. “It was the morning. We fought right before I went to work. Roseanne just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She started in on me, blasting me without any provocation. I was stupid, I was lazy, I wasn’t any good…just insulting the shit out of me. I couldn’t figure out what I did other than say ‘good morning.’ Maybe I didn’t say it with enough feeling. Maybe she had her period. Maybe she was just in the mood to be a bitch. As long as I live, I will never understand women.”

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.”