Faye Kellerman - The Garden Of Eden And Other Criminal Delights

“That’s for certain. You tell the grocery clerk to keep quiet?”

“I told him if he didn’t, I’d check out his green card. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

The interview room had a table and four chairs. Adele Michaels sat on one side, Detective Scott Oliver across from her. She was playing with her pack of cigarettes, looking nervous. Oliver laid the photo spread-six front-face pictures, five stooges and Lombard, matched for age, race, size, and features. It took the real estate agent approximately twenty seconds.

“That’s him!” Adele hit the black-and-white of Lombard. “That’s the guy I almost locked in the house. He kept asking me questions.”

“Thank you, Ms. Michaels,” Oliver said.

“Do I get to pick him out of a lineup now?”

“No, ma’am. As far as we know, the man hasn’t done anything wrong except stay too late at your open house. If you see him again, don’t mention anything about this, okay?”

“Why would I see him again?”

“Maybe he was a legitimate buyer.” Oliver shrugged. “Or… not accusing anyone, but sometimes people who do nasty things enjoy returning to the scene of the crime.”

“No chance of that,” Adele said. “Body or no body, the house sold.”

“After going through the recent Missing Persons files in the Valley, San Fernando, Burbank, and Glendale, I came up with a dozen possibilities,” Wang told Decker. They were sitting in the Loo’s office. Decker was in his chair, Wang standing over the desk. “Unfortunately-or happily, for the families-nothing panned out.”

Decker said, “Sure it wasn’t denial?”

“They showed me pictures of their daughters. They didn’t appear to be our vic, but if you want, I could bring them in and show them the body.”

Decker thought a moment. “Why put them through something that awful when you’re pretty sure it’s not their loved ones? Besides, you still have the city MP to check out.”

“I’ll start on those this afternoon.”

Wang was about to leave when Marge walked into the room, dusting a speck of dirt off her black jacket lapel. She wore beige pants and had on flat shoes with rubber soles. “That’s what I love about dark colors. They never show dirt. Lord only knows why I put on light pants. I’m just asking for trouble. Do I smell coffee?”

“I just made a fresh pot,” Decker said. “Help yourself.”

Marge walked over to the table and poured coffee into a paper cup. Decker always provided fresh coffee for anyone who walked into his office. It made him popular with the rank and file. “ Lombard works at a large firm, one of those chichi downtown places that have a million names, like Cratchet, Hatchet, and Patchet.” She checked her notes. “The actual name is Frisk, Taylor, Pollin, Berman, and Pope. They have almost fifty partners. Lombard isn’t one of them.”

“How long has he worked there?” Decker asked.

Marge put down her coffee and flipped through her notepad. “I don’t know if I have that… Oh, here we go. Five years. Stable guy.”

Decker raised his eyebrows. “Way back, I was a lawyer for about six months.”

“I didn’t know that,” Wang said.

“It’s something he doesn’t advertise,” Marge said, “but it makes him handy around the PDs.”

Decker smiled. “The point is, when I started out in law, it was well known that ambitious people don’t stick around in big firms if they don’t make junior partner by year two or three.”

Wang said, “Maybe Lombard’s just not that ambitious.”

“Or maybe the firm offered other benefits, like a certain lady,” Decker said. “Did you talk to anyone in the firm to see if our vic worked there?”

“That was my next step,” Margie said.

Wang said, “If we start showing a postmortem picture of our victim, we’re going to arouse interest at the firm. Are you worried about Lombard bolting?”

“It’s always a possibility.” Decker thought a moment. “Body’s still in the crypt?”

“Unless corpses can walk, I would say yes,” Wang answered.

“Wise guy,” Decker muttered. “Okay, let’s do this. Put a little makeup on her, fix her hair, and dress her. Then have someone take another picture of her gussied up. Do you think we could convince someone in Human Resources at Cratchet, Hatchet, et cetera, that she’s still alive?”

“Pshaw, Loo, nothing’s impossible,” Marge said. “This is Hollywood!”

The young clerk’s brown eyes first squinted, then widened with surprise. The HR office of Frisk, Taylor, and friends was tucked into a corner of the fifteenth floor in a twenty-three-story chrome and glass building. The firm took up not only floor fifteen but sixteen and seventeen as well, anonymous corridors of Berber carpeting and white walls. Sitting in his little cubicle, the clerk studied the picture, his eyes traveling from the picture to Marge’s face. “Is that Solana?”

Marge played along. “Yes, of course.”

“She doesn’t look so healthy.”

The clerk’s comment gave Marge a better ruse than the one she had originally invented. “That’s why I need to see her. She’s a diabetic.”

“I didn’t know that. It wasn’t on her medical form when she applied for the job.” The clerk suddenly looked suspicious. “Why are you talking to me instead of Solana?”

A logical question: Luckily, Marge was good at thinking on her feet. “Our pharmaceutical company has come out with some very important new drugs, and she was one of our subjects. But she hasn’t shown up for the last couple of days. I tried calling her at home, but no one answers. She put this place down as her employment. I hoped I might catch her here, but I don’t know what department she works in.”

The clerk gave Marge a strange look. Then he reluctantly checked his files, jotted down some numbers, and picked up the phone. Marge could hear the voice mail kicking in-Solana’s voice.

The victim had a voice.

The clerk said, “Hi, Solana, it’s Jack from HR. Can you give me a call when you get in?” He hung up. “She’s not at her desk.”

“Can you call someone else to find out if she’s even at work? We’re a little concerned.”

He sighed heavily but cooperated. This time he actually spoke to a human on the other end of the line. “Hi, Terry, it’s Jack.” He smiled and dropped his voice. “Yes, I’m in, what do you think? Do you want me to bring the wine?”

At this point Marge cleared her throat. Jack looked miffed and held up a finger. “Okay, I’ll do the reds, let Randy do the whites… Right, right, right. Okay, it’s a deal. Terry, before you hang up, I’ve got someone from…” He looked at Marge.

“Taykell and Company Pharmaceuticals.”

“Someone from a drug company looking for Solana Perez. Do you know where she is?… I did call, and all I got was voice mail. Do you know if she’s in today?… Of course I’ll hold.” He glanced at Marge. “Someone’s hunting her down.”

“Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome. I can’t believe she actually let someone take her picture when she looked so awful. The poor thing is as white as chalk.”

“She wasn’t feeling very well.”

“You know, she should have listed her illness on the application. Our health insurance has to know- Hi… oh? For how long? Okay. Okay. Okay, I’ll see you Thursday. Bye.” The clerk exhaled. “She hasn’t been at work for three days.” He frowned. “Do you think something’s happened to her?”

“Yes, I think something’s happened to her,” Marge said. “I’d like to see her personnel records.”

Again Jack frowned. “Those are confidential.”

Marge drew out her shield. “Don’t make me get a subpoena.”