The Dresden unit was on the third floor of a three-story building. Ivan answered the knock with a scowl on his face. Briefly, Marge studied the man and decided that pictures didn’t do him justice. He had thick black hair, startling blue eyes, and a strong chin, his only imperfection being small pits and dots that landscaped his skin. He was slightly shorter than Marge, around five ten, but he carried himself with an air of haughtiness thanks to a good-looking face and a sculpted body. He wore a black muscle T, long black sweats, with a towel around his neck, though he didn’t look as if he had just worked out. Every hair was in place, not a bead of sweat anywhere.
“Thanks for seeing us, Mr. Dresden,” Marge said.
“Do I have a choice?” he snapped back. “It’s not enough that I have to grieve for my wife, but you people are preventing me from getting my insurance. Money can’t take the place of Roseanne, but I don’t see why I should have to suffer any more than I’m doing.”
They were still standing outside. Oliver said, “Maybe it would be better if we talked indoors, sir?”
Dresden snorted but moved out of the way. The detectives entered the condo and looked around. The furniture was chain store contemporary, but nicely appointed. The place wasn’t a sty, by any means, but it could have used some tidying. There was a week’s worth of newspapers scattered about, and a trash can filled with empty beer cans, take-out Styrofoam cartons, and dozens of torn health-bar wrappers. Plus, the room would have benefited from a woman’s touch-flowers, pictures, candles-because everything was done in stark lines and in pale colors-whites, grays, and pastel blues, except for a lone black leather couch.
“As long as you’re here, you might as well sit down.” Dresden threw some newspapers onto the floor, revealing a sofa cushion. He waited until the detectives sat, then resumed his lament. “Maybe if I smile and say ‘pretty please,’ you’ll let me have what’s rightfully mine.”
“What makes you think we’re withholding anything from you?” Marge asked.
“Oh, c’mon! Do I look like a moron?” He pulled the towel off his neck and snapped it in the air. “I know that insurance companies will do anything not to pay, but it doesn’t help that the police keep asking about a body. Like it’s my fault that the recovery crew is a bunch of incompetent jerks?”
Oliver stepped in. “So you think that your wife died in the crash, Mr. Dresden?”
Dresden became incredulous. “Of course she died in the crash! You have another idea, I’m open to suggestions!”
“I know you’re aggravated.” Oliver crossed and uncrossed his legs. “Insurance hasn’t helped us one iota, either. And WestAir…” He waved his hand. “They’ve been downright obstructionist. So you’re our last hope. We need your help.”
“And if you help us out, we might be able to help you out,” Marge said.
“Mutually beneficial,” Oliver told him. “We’re going to have to ask you a couple of questions, but don’t take it the wrong way. We’re just doing our job.” Dresden made a sour face, but Oliver recognized mollification when he saw it. “When was the last time you heard from Roseanne?”
Dresden scratched his cheek. “These questions…do I need a lawyer?”
“Why would you need a lawyer?” Marge asked.
“Look, Ivan…can I call you Ivan?” Oliver asked. “We’re here to get help. I’m not asking these questions to trip you up. I’m asking questions because we’re trying to get a time line for your wife, which, by the way, is also what insurance needs.”
“We’re trying to re-create her last night before the crash.” Marge held up her notepad. “I got it broken down into hours. Just filling in the blanks.”
“Routine stuff,” Oliver said.
There was silence. Then Dresden said, “Okay. I’ll help you out as long as you tell me that Roseanne’s parents didn’t send you.”
“They didn’t send us and that’s the truth,” Marge said. “But I’ll be honest. They’ve been calling the station house nonstop for the past two months. They don’t like you.”
“They’re fucking nuts!”
“They’re persistent in their opinions,” Marge said.
“Exactly why I didn’t tell them the truth about the last time I saw Roseanne.” A sigh. “Roseanne and I had a monster fight the day before the crash. She stormed out of the condo around…I guess it was about four in the afternoon.” His expression held a faraway look. “Next morning, I heard about the crash.” His eye watered. “I totally freaked…I…”
He didn’t finish his sentence. Oliver said, “Did you know that she had been assigned to work flight 1324?”
He took a few moments to catch his breath. “I got this phone message from her the night before…that she was subbing for someone and was up in San Jose for the evening. She told me that we’d talk about what happened when she got back the next morning. But then…” He threw up his hands.
“Okay,” Marge said. “What time did she call you?”
“I don’t know really. I got in very late and didn’t call her back.” He shook his head. “I wish I had…you know, talked to her before it happened. We had our issues, but still…you can’t imagine how guilty I feel.” He slapped his hands over his face. “I just can’t think about it. It’s too upsetting.”
Marge said, “I’m sorry to have to intrude like this, but where were you the night before the crash?”
“Not in San Jose. I can tell you that much. I was upset after the fight. I went out and got drunk. Not the smartest thing to do, but…”
“What was the fight about?” Marge asked.
“The usual.” The detectives waited. “Money.”
“Nothing about women?” Oliver didn’t wait for an answer. “We’ve done enough homework to know that things weren’t great between you two. You had your side friends and she was angry about it. But we also heard that she had some friends as well.”
Dresden went silent. Oliver supposed that even though Dresden was fooling around, his wife’s infidelity had wounded his pride. Gently he said, “Was the fight about her infidelity?”
“That wasn’t the core issue. But when we got angry, we both threw around the dirt. We had a more…liberated way of thinking. Anyway, the fight, like most of our fights, was about the almighty buck.”
“We heard she was pretty pissed off about your side friends,” Marge said.
“And I was pissed off about her sugar daddy. But like I said, that wasn’t the main issue.”
“Could she have flown up to San Jose to see him?”
“Doubt it,” Ivan answered too quickly. “That ended a long time ago.”
“How long?” Oliver said.
Then it was clear to see that the lightbulb went off in the husband’s brain.
One, Roseanne was up in San Jose.
Two, the recovery team never found her body.
Ivan became wide-eyed. “You think Roseanne went to see him and something happened to her?”
“We’re investigating everything,” Marge said. “The sooner we find out what happened, the sooner you can get your money.”
“Specifics would help, Ivan, to make sure we’re all on the same page,” Oliver told him. “For the records, who is he?”
“You don’t know?”
“How about a name?”
“Raymond Holmes. When I saw him, I couldn’t believe that Roseanne would sink that low for a Chopard watch.”