Faye Kellerman: The Burnt House

“They should have a record,” Shareen said. “But they’re not telling me yes, they have one, or no, they don’t have one.”

“Right now they’re not saying nothing without their lawyer,” Lodestone said.

Shareen said, “Roseanne used to work San Jose. So I figure that maybe WestAir was shorthanded in San Jose. So I called up San Jose, and asked if Roseanne was scheduled to work some routes up there. First they tell me no, then they tell me yes, then they tell me that if I want to talk to them again, they’ll put me in contact with their attorneys.”

“Same old, same old,” Lodestone said.

Shareen patted her husband’s knee. “Their hemming and hawing was making us very suspicious.”

Decker nodded. It did sound funny on the surface, but the airline was probably in disarray.

“I talked to Ivan,” Shareen said. “I just didn’t like what he told me.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That at the last minute, Roseanne changed her plans to work in San Jose. He told me emphatically that she was on the plane and he was upset enough without me making up stories about her not being on the plane. Then he said, in the long run, we were hurting not helping and that he and several other people had lawsuits pending, so we should kindly shut up.”

“He told you to shut up?”

“Not in those exact words, but that’s what he said between the lines. Then he told me I was in denial.” The old woman’s eyes watered. “I’m not in denial, Lieutenant. I know in my heart of hearts that Roseanne is dead. I just don’t think it was the crash that killed her.”

“You said Roseanne had worked San Jose before,” Decker said. “Could she have gone up to San Jose to visit someone?”

“Who, sir?” Lodestone said. “She’s married.”

“I was thinking about a friend.”

Shareen said, “If she was hitching a ride to visit someone, then WestAir would have had to issue her a ticket. The only way she could have boarded the plane without a ticket is if she was working the flight-which WestAir admitted to me that she wasn’t.”

“But then they backtracked,” Decker said.

“They’re lying,” Lodestone insisted. “They haven’t found her body! You know why they haven’t found her body? ’Cause it isn’t there. If that isn’t proof enough of something’s wrong, then I don’t know what is.”

“Mr. Lodestone, I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but neither the coroner’s office nor the NTSB has claimed to recover all the bodies. And even with those that they have recovered, it takes time to do positive identification.”

“Lieutenant, I talked to the sumbitch and asked him point blank why they haven’t dug up her body. You know what the sumbitch told me?”

“No, Mr. Lodestone, what did he tell you?”

“That they just didn’t dig deep enough. Can you believe that?”

Maybe it was true. Piles of debris still hampered much of the recovery operations. Still, it was a strange remark. Decker nodded sympathetically.

“Does that sound like a grieving husband to you?” Lodestone asked him.

It didn’t, but Decker had stopped trying to pigeonhole grief long ago.

Shareen said, “The only reason that Roseanne’s name is on the list is because Ivan Dresden called the newspapers and told them to put her down on the list.”

Decker didn’t like the sound of that. “Are you certain about that?”

Shareen backed down. “Well, that’s what I think.”

Lodestone said, “When he found out about the plane crash, he finally found a way to kill her and hide it. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he blew up the plane on purpose.”

Decker had heard people say outlandish things when upset, so his accusations fell on deaf ears. None of the vehemence surprised him, although the intricacy of the fabrication that they had created to explain their daughter’s death was beyond the pale. “Has Ivan Dresden ever threatened your daughter before?”

“He was having an affair.” Shareen had neatly sidestepped the question. “She was going to divorce him.”

“The condo’s in her name,” Lodestone told him. “I helped her buy it. He was gonna lose everything if the divorce went through.”

“And what did he do for a living again?” Decker asked. “Something with finance?”

“Broker for Merrill Lynch. That’s a fancy title for a salesman.”

“And what do you do, Mr. Lodestone?”

“Hardware…three stores and every single one of ’em is profitable.” A smile bisected his face. “Used to bother Mr. High and Mighty that I make more money with my nails and screws than he does with his fancy stocks and bonds.”

Shareen said, “No one has seen or heard from Roseanne since the crash, Lieutenant.”

That’s because she has disintegrated into dust. There was denial and there was this kind of denial, people so horrified and filled with rage that they actively hunted for an object to absorb their venom. Their anger was so encompassing that it blocked out not only the anguish, but also reason.

Decker said, “And you’re sure that she wasn’t on the airplane?”

“I called up a few of her friends,” Shareen responded. “No one remembers anything about Roseanne working San Jose.”

“Can you tell me the names of the friends you talked to, Mrs. Lodestone?”

“Certainly.” She picked up a purse and opened it. “I have a list in my handbag.”

Lodestone clapped his hands. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Decker held out his palm to slow the old man down. “One step at a time.” After Shareen handed him the list, he took a moment to look over the names. “And this is everyone you’ve talked to?”

“Yes, sir, and the addresses and phone numbers are current.”

An efficient woman. “Well, I suppose this is as good a place to start as any.”

Moisture in the woman’s eyes ran over the lower lids and down her cheeks. “Thank you, Lieutenant, for taking us seriously.”

Decker patted her hand. “In return, I want you to do me a favor, Mr. and Mrs. Lodestone. After investigating these leads, if I feel that Roseanne was definitely on that plane, I’d like you to understand when I say that I can’t do any more.”

“Fair enough,” Lodestone answered. “What are you gonna do besides call up those people on Shareen’s list?”

“I’ve got a few options.”

“Like what?” Lodestone pushed.

“I’ll talk to the airlines…talk to the flight attendants who worked the desk to see if anyone remembers seeing Roseanne board the flight.”

“That’s good because we tried doing that,” Lodestone said. “WestAir wouldn’t return our phone calls.”

Shareen said, “If you could push them hard enough, I’d bet my bottom dollar that you’ll find out she wasn’t scheduled to work San Jose.”

“Maybe it was a last-minute change in schedule.”

“I don’t think so. There’s something fishy going on and WestAir isn’t talking.”

“I’m sure they’re worried about lawsuits,” Decker said.

“They should be worried,” Lodestone told him. “If my plane crashed and killed a bunch of people, I’d be worried, too. They can be worried all they want, but they don’t have to worry about a lawsuit from us ’cause they didn’t kill Rosie. That sumbitch did it and that’s all I have to say.”

T HE NEXT MORNING, Decker called in Marge Dunn. She had just come back from a spirited weekend with a man she had declared to be a keeper. Will Barnes was in his late fifties-a detective out of Berkeley who was divorced with no children, but got along well with Marge’s adopted daughter, Vega, now a young adult studying astrophysics at Caltech. For the last six months, Barnes and Dunn had seemed perfectly content with a long-distance relationship. As of a couple of weeks ago, Barnes was telling Marge about an opening in the Santa Barbara Police Department-less pay but about two hundred miles closer to L.A. That meant the relationship would be within commuting distance.