Faye Kellerman - The Garden Of Eden And Other Criminal Delights

The clerk’s mouth dropped open. “You’re police? Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”

“Because if Solana was here, I could just talk to her, clear up this mess, and you’d be none the wiser. But she isn’t here and hasn’t been here for three days. That’s why I’m asking for her records.”

“What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything, Jack. It’s what was done to her.”

Jack whitened several shades. “Oh my God! That picture! Is it… Is she…”

“I’m afraid so.”

Jack quickly excused himself and made a mad dash down the hallway. Marge heard some retching and hoped he had made it to the bathroom in time.

The Homicide group was stuffed into Decker’s office. Lee Wang, Wanda Beautemps, Marge Dunn, and Scott Oliver were devouring several takeout pizzas. Decker was wolfing down one of his wife’s famous roast beef sandwiches. It was past seven, and they all had appetites worthy of a pack of hyenas. “First thing we’ve got to do is positively ID our victim as Solana Perez. What do we know about her?”

Marge said, “No husband, according to her application. She’s from a border town in Texas. Her parents are Ana and Jorge Perez, but contacting them has been hard. There’s no address or phone number. Nothing in Texas directory information. Scott and I are thinking that she’s from immigrant parents.”

“That’s not good,” Decker said. “We’ve got to get the body ID’d. Let’s bring someone from her office down to the morgue.”

“Not Lombard,” Oliver said. “He’ll deny knowing her, if he’s smart.”

“No, not Lombard, or any other lawyer, for that matter. I don’t want anyone charging the department three hundred and fifty an hour. Round up a secretary.” Decker looked at Beautemps and Wang. “Lee, set something up at the crypt, say around ten tomorrow. Wanda, you go to the firm and find someone who knew Solana and can identify her. The two places aren’t too far apart. You should be in and out in an hour, especially if Lee sets up the body for camera viewing beforehand.”

Wang said, “I was going to work on the city’s Missing Person files. I only got through a quarter of them this afternoon.”

“You can do that afterward. Besides, it won’t be necessary if we get a positive ID.” Decker turned to Wanda. “If you don’t get a positive ID, you help go through the MP files in the city.”

“No problem,” Wanda answered.

“Great,” Decker said. “Now, if our body is Solana, it’s really tempting to jump to conclusions about Lombard, but let’s keep an open mind. We know Solana is missing. And we know that Lombard was in the house where the body was dumped. We know that Solana and Lombard worked in the same department.”

“You forgot to mention that our vic was three months pregnant and he’s a married guy,” Oliver put in. “Ask the guy for a blood test. We can see if he’s the father.”

“Even if Lombard is the father, it doesn’t mean he killed her,” Decker said.

Marge said, “Everything’s circumstantial except him showing up at the house two days before some poor devil finds our body stuffed in a closet. With that, Lombard ’s painting a nice picture for the DA.”

“Sure would be nice to find where the vic was killed,” Oliver said.

“Funny you should think of that, Scottie,” Decker said. “I just got off the phone with Solana’s landlord. He’s meeting me at her apartment in forty minutes.”

Marge asked, “Where did she live?”

“Reseda. Who wants to join me?”

There was resounding silence.

“Okay, let me rephrase that. Who’s on call?”

“I think that would be Oliver and me,” Marge said.

Wang stood up. “Thanks for dinner, Loo.” He looked at Wanda. “See you tomorrow at ten.”

“Wait, I’ll walk you out.” Wanda threw away her paper plate and picked up her purse. “See you tomorrow.”

After they left, Decker spoke to Oliver. “You look like you swallowed quinine.”

Oliver sighed heavily. “I was planning to meet someone for drinks. She’s gorgeous and in her forties. You’d approve.”

“Don’t start, Oliver. I outrank you.”

“I’m serious, Pete. I’m trying to act somewhat age-appropriate.”

Marge added, “Especially because forty now seems young to him.”

Decker smiled. “All right, Oliver, go on your date. Margie and I can handle this. If the apartment turns out to be the crime scene, I’ll page you.”

“I’m suspicious when you’re too nice.”

“Nah, don’t be fooled. It’s part of my persona as the benevolent dictator.”

Decker and Marge accompanied Irv Fletcher up a flight of outdoor steps. The apartment building was an anonymous white box with sparkles in the stucco. The landlord was in his late seventies, short, slight, and bald, but with a spring in his step. “Her rent wasn’t due for another week, so I had no reason to contact her.”

“Good tenant?” Decker asked.

“The best kind: the one who pays her rent on time.”

Decker had a thought. He still had Solana’s postmortem picture in his pocket. “Did you know her well?”

“Never met her. Everything was done through an agent.”

So much for the quick ID. At the top of the stairs, Fletcher fished out a ring of keys. “You think something happened to her?”

“Maybe,” Marge said. “She hasn’t been at work for the last couple of days.”

As they got closer to the apartment, a faint stale smell wafted through the chilly air. “Here we go… number eight.”

“Do you mind if I open the door?” Decker asked. “Fingerprints, you know.”

“Sure, sure.” Fletcher handed him the master key. Decker put on a pair of latex gloves, inserted the key into the lock, and opened the door. He groped around the wall until he found the light switch. It turned on two floor lamps, bathing the tiny living room in soft light.

A couch decorated with lacy pillows, and a coffee table, a chair and an end table, a set of bookshelves that held more DVDs than paperbacks, discount furniture, cheap but serviceable. The same space also held a dinette service for four and moribund flowers in a vase set in the middle of the table, dropping dead petals. The water stank of rotten eggs.

Marge and Decker exchanged looks. Marge said, “Mr. Fletcher, would you mind waiting outside?”

“Sure, sure. You mind if I sit in my car? It’s a little warmer in there.”

“No, sir, not at all. We’ll be down in a bit.” Decker walked around and peered into the kitchen, an out-pouching of the living area. It appeared clean and tidy. He went back into the living room and studied the floor, slowly walking toward the lone bedroom. Before he opened the shut door, he crouched down and stared at the joint where the jamb met the floor. “Looks like some blood here, mixed with hair. Our victim had a contusion on the side of her head.”

Marge said, “He was dragging her out and bumped her head on the doorjamb.”

Decker nodded. “I don’t see any smear tracks from the wound. He came back and cleaned up pretty good. But not all that good, if he left this. I’ll have the techs luminol the area tonight.” He got up from his squat and opened the door.

The room was orderly. The bed had been made; the night-stand held a lamp and a book. Framed photographs lined the dresser. Decker pointed to a pretty young woman with long flowing hair and full red lips. A glint twinkled in her brown eyes. She appeared around twenty. Decker took out the postmortem photograph. It was the same woman, but the two snapshots couldn’t have looked any more different.

Marge sighed. “Well, it looks like we’ve ID’d our victim.”

“And most likely found the crime scene.” Decker pointed to a corner of the room, at a blotch of something rusty brown. He bent down, sniffed it, and made a face.