“So you’ve told me before. Just because they haven’t found her doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.”
“Mr. Dresden, we know that Roseanne came back from San Jose to Burbank the morning of the accident. We know that because we have gone up to San Jose and we have talked to people who put her on the flight back to Bob Hope Airport. We also know that she wasn’t working the early-morning flight. We know that because we’ve talked to people who worked for WestAir who said she wasn’t assigned that route and she had been dressed in civilian clothes. Are you with me so far?”
Dresden was silent, nursing his drink. Oliver realized his hands were shaking.
He said, “What we’re all wondering is why Roseanne would go back to San Jose when she just arrived from there if she wasn’t working the route?”
“How would I know?” Dresden’s eyes darkened. “Maybe she got a call from her boyfriend.”
“Who are we talking about? Holmes?”
“Who else? Maybe the rich bastard made her an offer that she couldn’t refuse. Ever think of that?”
Marge spoke from across the room. “As a matter of fact, sir, we did. We interviewed Holmes. He hadn’t spoken to her for the last three months of her life.”
Dresden sneered. “And you believed him?”
“No, we didn’t believe him. That’s why we asked if he would take a polygraph test for us.”
“That’s a lie-detector test-”
“I goddamn know what a polygraph is!”
“So we were kind of wondering,” Oliver said. “Maybe you would do the same thing.”
“Take a polygraph?” Dresden tried to sound incredulous. “For what reason?”
“Just to clear yourself.”
“Of what? First of all, those stupid tests are notoriously unreliable. You know they can’t be used in court.”
Oliver smiled benignly. “Of course. But when a person passes them, well…we like that.”
“I told you before and I’ll tell you again. Roseanne and I had a terrible fight. She stormed out of the house and that was the last time I saw her.”
“Yeah, what time did you and she fight again?” Oliver asked.
“What?” Dresden asked.
“When did the terrible fight take place?”
“Around eight in the morning.”
“Eight in the morning?” Oliver questioned him.
“Yeah, something like that. I already told you that. Don’t you guys take notes?”
“As a matter of fact we do. That’s why I’m puzzled. The first time we spoke to you, you told us that you two had fought around four in the afternoon.”
“I did?”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, you must have made a mistake,” Dresden insisted. “It was the morning. We fought right before I went to work. Roseanne just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She started in on me, blasting me without any provocation. I was stupid, I was lazy, I wasn’t any good…just insulting the shit out of me. I couldn’t figure out what I did other than say ‘good morning.’ Maybe I didn’t say it with enough feeling. Maybe she had her period. Maybe she was just in the mood to be a bitch. As long as I live, I will never understand women.”
Welcome to the club, Oliver thought. “Why did you initially tell us that you fought around four in the afternoon?”
“I don’t remember telling you that, Detective.” Dresden shrugged. “I mean, if you say I did, I believe you, but I don’t know why I would tell you we fought in the afternoon when it was the morning. What would be the purpose of that?”
Oliver noticed that his hands were no longer shaking. Either the booze was making him relax or he felt more comfortable with the questioning. “Well, then that clears up one inconsistency we had. But we still have a problem and it’s a biggie. Where did Roseanne go once she landed in Burbank?”
“I have no idea,” Dresden said. “Everyone has been telling me that Roseanne died in the accident. You two are the only ones who seem to think that she didn’t die in the accident…” He turned his attention to Marge, who was writing furiously in her notepad. “What are you doing?”
“Just making some observations…trying to get a feel for your wife’s life.”
“Yeah, well, I think I’ve answered enough of your questions. You can leave now.”
Marge dropped her pen. “Oops.” She fell to her knees and looked under the rim of the couch. “Where did that sucker go?”
Her hand slipped underneath. One spot of the carpet felt stiff, indicating that it had once been covered with something sticky. It could have been blood, but that wasn’t what she was after. Something small and metallic pink had winked at her. She reeled the object in with her fingers: rectangular and flat and about the size of a packet of cigarettes.
A cell phone-a metallic pink that abounded with small daisies. She flipped it over. On the back were the block letters R.D. She held it up for Ivan to see. “What’s this?”
“That’s mine.” Ivan leaped across the room to wrest it from Marge’s grip. His skin had turned sunburn red. “You can go now!”
“Yours?” Marge asked. “You have a pink cell phone with the initials R.D. on the back?”
“Get out!”
Dresden’s cell started to chime. Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and abruptly stopped. Too late: he’d given himself away.
Oliver held up his mobile. “I just called your cell, Mr. Dresden.” He pointed to the pink case. “That baby isn’t ringing, but your pocket is.”
“So what the fuck does that prove? I lost my phone months ago. You found it for me. Thanks. Now get the hell out of here or I’m not only calling my lawyer, I’m calling the cops!”
Oliver held up his hands. “Peace, bro. We’re going.”
Dresden jerked the door open and screamed, “Don’t come back unless you have a warrant!” He was flushed, with shaking hands that rattled the ice in his scotch.
Marge and Oliver crossed over the living room carpet as they made their way to the open door.
They took their sweet time.
25
D ECKER SHIFTED THE phone from one ear to the other. “Run that by me again.”
“I dropped a pen in Dresden’s apartment,” Marge said. “When I bent down to retrieve it under the couch, by accident, I pulled out a pink cell phone. Dresden claimed it was his, but when Oliver called Dresden’s cell-phone number, his pocket rang…not the phone that I found.”
“Okay.”
“Then he claimed that this pink cell phone-with daisies all over it and the initials R.D. on the back-was his lost cell phone.”
“Okay. So what are we trying to do-hold on a sec.” Hollander had emerged from the bowels of the Crypt. Decker checked his watch. “What’s going on?”
“They’ll be packed up and ready to roll in ten minutes.”
“It’s almost five.”
“I called Koby. The tech agreed to wait, but I think it’s going to cost the LAPD a gourmet dinner.”
“We can manage that. So we’re still okay with the hospital to use the machine?”
“That I haven’t asked because I don’t want to know the answer.”
Decker raked his hands through his hair and exhaled. “How long does it take to pack up a friggin’ skull?”
“Patience, Loo.” Hollander smiled and played with the curled ends of his mustache. “You don’t want to lose evidence, do you?”
Decker rolled his eyes and returned to his phone conversation. “Sorry, Marge, I’m back. So what’s going on here?”
Marge said, “In short, both Oliver and I are convinced that I found Roseanne Dresden’s phone. If she died on the plane crash, what was her phone doing under the couch?”
“You just happened to find her phone?”
“Yep,” Marge fibbed. “I dropped my pen and found the phone. Simple as that.”
“You weren’t hunting around for anything.”
“I was taking notes around the condo, but I wasn’t hunting for anything other than my dropped pen.”