The flight attendant lived alone in a two-bedroom boxy condo near the heart of the city. Her furniture was functional and nondescript, sitting on wall-to-wall off-white Berber carpeting. She had prepared for the detectives’ visit by setting out a pitcher of water along with a bowl of mixed nuts. Sipping white wine, Christie had offered to pour Chardonnay for the detectives, but both of them had declined.
Decker explained why they had come for a visit and Christie had confirmed what both detectives had suspected. Roseanne had stayed the night with her. When they asked her about Roseanne’s state of mind, the flight attendant did not hesitate.
“She was upset with Ivan,” Christie told them.
“Did she tell you why?” Marge asked her.
“She sure did. It was that lap dancer he was seeing-Marissa or Melissa, something with an ‘M.’ Roseanne knew that they had a thing going, but what really infuriated her was that Ivan was still going to the club and spending money on her.” A soft laugh. “Roseanne felt that if he was screwing her, he should be getting it for free!”
“When did she contact you about staying at your place for the evening?”
“Hmm…I have to think.” Christie took another sip of wine. “Maybe around ten or eleven in the morning, I’d say.”
Marge pulled out Roseanne’s cell-phone records. “I have a call to a San Jose number at ten thirty-three A.M…” She gave her the date and read the digits out loud.
“That’s me,” Christie said.
“And do you remember what was said in that conversation?”
“Just that she was coming up and needed a place to crash for the evening. I heard the tension in her voice and asked if everything was okay. She told me she’d tell me all about it when we met. I didn’t push it.”
“When did you two get together?” Decker asked her.
“Around…sixish.” She licked her top lip and put down the wineglass. “We went out for a bite to eat. She was still upset. She did mention something about a fight, but she was clearly was more interested in the future. She had come up to interview for a transfer back to San Jose. She was seriously considering divorce and wanted to be closer to her parents.”
“Did she tell you what time she was interviewed?”
“No.” The flight attendant shook her head. “Nothing about the time.”
“How’d the interview go?” Marge asked her.
“Well. She said they had a position for her. She was happy. I remember her saying something like…‘at least something in my life is working out.’”
“How long did dinner last?” Marge inquired.
Christie shrugged. “I don’t remember.” She brightened. “I can tell you that we were back in my place before nine because I went out that evening. I invited Roseanne along, but she declined. She was calling it an evening.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Mostly likely I went to one of the local clubs.”
“What time did you get home?” Decker asked.
“I can’t honestly say, but Roseanne was still up. We talked a little bit. She seemed calmer and I remember saying: you look better or refreshed or something like that. That’s when she told me that she had finally decided to leave Ivan.”
“Did she seem happy about her decision?”
“Happy isn’t the right word. More like…at peace. I think she felt that this was the only way to move her life forward. I just gave her support. I went to bed late that night: that much I remember. She was gone when I woke up. I suspect she never even went to bed. She left the key and a real sweet note on my dining room table.”
At last! Marge thought. Maybe they’d have something concrete from Roseanne. “Do you have the note?”
“Sorry, no. I threw it away.” Tears formed in the flight attendant’s eyes. “Maybe it’s better that I threw it away. It’s so painful when I think about her.”
DECKER PUT THE car key in the ignition and glanced at the clock in the dash. It was almost eight. He still had time before his flight took off, but not as much time as he thought he’d have. “Are you sure I can’t drop you off somewhere?”
Marge said, “No. Will seems perfectly okay with meeting me at the airport.”
“He’s a good guy.” Decker started the car.
“That he is.” She sank against the passenger headrest and closed her eyes. She really needed a good dinner and a fine bottle of wine. Marge furrowed her brow. “What’s that noise, Pete?”
Decker heard it just as soon as she asked the question. A loud thump, thump, thump as the car wiggled and wobbled. “Not good.”
“No, it’s not.”
Decker braked carefully, slowing to a crawl and pulling over to the curb at his first opportunity. They both got out of the car to inspect the damage.
There was not one, but two flat tires-passenger front and rear.
“Holy moly,” Marge said. “This is serious stuff.”
“Shit!” Decker stamped his foot. He looked at his watch.
Marge placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of it, Pete. You call a taxi and catch your plane.”
Decker was still staring at the drooping car frame. “I can’t believe it!” He bent down to further examine the flats. “Son of a bitch!” He got up from a crouch. “Some motherfucker cut the tires!”
Marge was stoic as she dialed Will Barnes’s cell. “It happens. Go call a cab and get out of here.”
“No friggin’ way I’m leaving you to take care of this mess alone!”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Will.”
Decker ignored her and dialed information for the toll-free phone number of WestAir.
“Hey there, it’s me,” Marge said into the receiver. “We have a setback here. Someone slashed the tires of our rental…No idea, only that it had to have happened while we were at our last interview because the tires didn’t go flat until we drove…Yeah, we didn’t even notice it until we were several blocks away. Where are we? That’s a very good question. Hold on and I’ll get my GPS…” She pushed several buttons on her phone. “Hi, Willy, are you still there?…Okay, it looks like we’re on Bradford Street.” She hunted around for the nearest address. “We’re parked in front of 13455 Bradford. It’s a residential area…No, you don’t have to come down. I’ll cab myself to you, but I want to wait until the police…Thanks, honey. If you insist, then I’ll see you in about fifteen.”
She hung up and regarded Decker, who was on the phone. “I’m on hold.”
“Will’s coming down.”
Decker said, “Are you going back on the five-thirty A.M. WestAir?”
“Yep, but you really don’t have to stick around.”
Decker held up his hand and spoke into the phone. “That sounds fine. Yes, I’d like the confirmation number. Can you hold a minute while I get a pen?” Immediately Marge handed him a pencil and her notepad. Decker whispered thank you. “All right, I’m ready now.” He wrote down the number and hung up. The next call was to Rina. By the time he was done explaining the situation to his wife, Marge had called the police and the car rental company.
Ten minutes later, Will Barnes pulled up behind the deflated rental. He got out, thumbs locked under a thick leather belt that held up a pair of faded jeans. A white shirt with a bolo tie completed the image. Barnes was tall and muscular, in good shape for a man in his late fifties. He shook hands with Decker and gave Marge a peck on the cheek. Barnes’s round ruddy face had been treated to a very smooth shave. His dark eyes grew smokier as he assessed the situation. “Damn, that’s a pisser!”
“Do you know if there’s a vandalism problem in this area?” Decker asked him.
“Can’t say for sure, Pete. The local police would know that better than me. But I do know that this is Silicon Valley. There are lots of teens here with too much money and too little supervision.”
“Looks like kids to me, too,” Marge said. “Some ass riding by in a convertible, slashing passenger tires as he goes.”