“No, because I was already at the gate checking people in when the aircraft came in from an early morning flight from San Jose.”
“Could Roseanne have been on the flight coming in from San Jose and not have gotten off the plane?”
Erika gave the question some thought. “It’s possible. Sometimes the flight attendants don’t deplane, but usually they do. We prefer to freshen up in facilities that are bigger than a bread box. Anyway, that wasn’t the story, was it? The story was she boarded the plane here in Burbank and sat in a jump seat.”
“But it is possible that her husband got Roseanne’s flights all mixed up. He could have been listening to his wife with half an ear and jumped at the opportunity to get rid of her so he could call up one of his many girlfriends.”
“Can I ask why you, as an insurance adjuster, have delved into Ivan Dresden’s bad habits?” Erika narrowed her eyes. “You know you haven’t shown me a lick of identification. Insurance adjusters do that routinely. So why don’t you tell me who you really are since I was forthright with you?”
Marge gauged her hard eyes. Erika was hostile, but she was also in pain. There had probably been times in the heat of the affair when she had wished Roseanne dead. Now she was carrying around an irrational guilt that her wish had come true. Marge dug into her purse and pulled out her badge and ID card.
“Police?” Erika was genuinely surprised. “Why are the police involved?”
“Because Roseanne’s body hasn’t turned up, so officially she’s a missing person. It’s been over two months since anyone heard from her, so it’s very likely that she’s dead…and it’s starting to look like she didn’t die in the crash. That’s where I come in. I’m from homicide.”
“You think she was murdered?”
“Right now I’m trying to rule out murder. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to do that.”
“You think it was Ivan?” Erika kneaded her hands. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“I couldn’t answer you even if I knew. But I’m being honest when I tell you that I don’t even know if she was murdered. That’s why I need to talk to everyone who was involved with the crash. So far, your company has been making things very difficult. But you have been very helpful.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“You won’t regret it. You’re bringing justice to a friend.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.”
“One more question and then I’m done,” Marge said. “Was anyone else working the gate with you, Ms. Lessing?”
The woman didn’t answer. She stopped playing with her hands, took a final sip of her custom coffee, and stood. “Sara McKeel. But you didn’t get the name from me.”
THE NUMBER OF missing women who fit the physical forensics of Jane Doe’s charred body was staggering. Decker had pulled up over a decade’s worth of missing-persons files-from 1971 when the building went up through 1981-when Marge knocked on the door frame to his office.
“Come in, sit down, and tell me some good news,” Decker said. “Because from where I’m sitting, things are sucking big-time.”
“Why’s that?” Marge pulled up a chair and sat across from the lieutenant.
“One hundred and seventeen women and girls went missing between ’71 and ’81 in the Valley alone. Some were probably custody cases, some may have resolved without our knowing it, but some have to be open files. A few of you unlucky souls are going to be assigned the nasty task of announcing heartbreak to families who may have felt they were finally moving on with their lives.”
“I think we should let Wanda and Julius do the calling. Both of them have nice phone voices.”
Decker handed her a bunch of stacks. “You’re a sergeant. Make the assignments as you see fit.”
“I love my rank.” Marge took the paperwork and sat it on her lap. “I wanted to bring you up-to-date with Roseanne Dresden.”
“Good or bad?”
“Illuminating. I had two interviews with the women who worked the desk for flight 1324. Neither remembers Roseanne boarding the aircraft. One of the flight attendants-Sara McKeel-wouldn’t swear that Roseanne didn’t board, but she didn’t recall seeing Roseanne that morning. The other flight attendant was a woman named Erika Lessing and she told a different story.” Marge recapped the conversation. “Erika swears up and down that she would have noticed if Roseanne had boarded the plane. She had an acute madar-mistress radar.”
Decker nodded. “But Lessing didn’t know if Roseanne was on the previous flight from San Jose and had stayed on board.”
“No, she couldn’t tell me that. So I guess the next thing to do would be to call up San Jose and ask them if Roseanne boarded 1324 from their location.”
Scott Oliver knocked then walked into Decker’s office, looking very Casual Friday. Navy crewneck sweater with a blue oxford-weave shirt underneath, and black chino pants. Sneakers on his feet. Decker said, “Who gave you the day off?”
“We’re interviewing Priscilla Huntley in about forty minutes. If we’re going to take a trip down memory lane, I thought I’d look the part.”
Marge said, “You look way more fifties than seventies, Scott.”
“First of all, I can’t come to work in torn jeans and a tie-dye shirt, stinking of tobacco and weed, unless I’m doing narcotics, which-thank God-I’m not.”
“You did narcotics?” Marge asked.
“About a zillion years ago when I was young, invincible, and hookers had diseases that could be controlled by antibiotics. But let us not digress. While my dress might not be in sync with those patronizing a Zeppelin concert, I think I would have melded very nicely with the Priscilla and the Major crowd, even back then.”
“Explanation accepted,” Decker said.
Oliver said, “We’ve got to go, Margie. Her agent is waiting for us. He absolutely refuses to let us interview her without him being there.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s protective of Priscilla, but more than that, he’s madly in love with her. He doesn’t want a stud like myself horning in on his territory.”
“Uh-huh-”
“What uh-huh! Some women find me utterly charming.” A pause. “Some women find me ludicrous. So what? I’m too egotistical to believe them, and even if I did, I’m too old to care.”
13
U SUALLY MARGE DROVE, but since they opted to take the Cruiser-Scott’s Venetian-red Chrysler hot rod, not a police car-Oliver was behind the wheel. He was annoyed for several reasons. From the moment Marge sat down in the passenger seat, she started in with the cell phone, yakking to her daughter nonstop. He was also pissed because he was following Miles Marlowe-Priscilla’s aged agent-who was in an old Buick, tooling along at the speed of ten miles per hour.
Marge spoke into her cell. “So go to the movies and then study for your microbiology test…Vega, the test is a week away. Two hours of diversion will probably clear your mind…okay, okay, you know yourself better than I do…uh-huh, uh-huh…So how about if Willie and I take you both out for dinner on Saturday night? That way you don’t have to refuse Josh twice in a row.”
Marge switched to the other ear.
“That’ll work? No, honey, it’s not a problem, I’m sure Willie would love to meet him-”
Oliver cleared his throat.
“Honey, I’m about to go interview someone. So we’re on for Saturday, all right? Okay…okay…okay…okay…bye.” She hung up her cell and spoke to Oliver. “I’m going out on a double date.”
“Who gets the backseat?”
Marge punched him in the shoulder.
“Move it!” Oliver told the Buick in front of him. “Just put your foot down on the accelerator. The pistons will do the rest!”
“He can’t hear you-”
“The old man belongs on the Galápagos with all the other ancient tortoises,” Oliver said.