“That crossed my mind when Hermione told me the story,” Wanda said. “But why would he do it in daylight? Why not just wait for the cover of night?”
“Ivan is not a cool cookie,” Marge said. “Suppose they got into an argument. Ivan admits that they fought the day before. Maybe she came home early in the morning and they fought again. This time, he got really mad and pushed her. We found her cell under the couch. Maybe she fell backward and hit her head. She gets knocked out cold and he just panicked.”
Wang said, “People fall and hit their head, but usually they don’t die right away. Do you honestly see the guy throwing her in the trunk and then killing her and burying her?”
“Like I said, maybe he panicked. Ivan accidentally or on purpose knocks her out. He wraps her in a blanket, takes her out to her car, and stuffs her in the trunk. He goes out and gets rid of the body. Then, on the way back, he hears about the plane crash and figures he’ll blame her disappearance on the accident. But then people might ask why her car is parked in the condo parking complex and not at the airport. So Ivan drives the Beemer to the airport, leaves it there, takes a cab back to the condo, drives to work, then turns on the faucet, and tells everyone that Roseanne died in the crash.”
The group nodded. Decker was the first one to speak. “It’s logical, but wasn’t Ivan at work by eight-thirty or nine? If the man was racing out at seven in the morning, he doesn’t have enough time to find a spot, bury her, take her car to the airport, then find a ride back to his condo so he can pick up his own car and be at work by nine.”
Wang said, “Maybe the witness got her times mixed up.”
Decker said, “Killing someone in a car in broad daylight is very chancy. So is dragging a body and shoving it into the trunk. There’s also a real possibility that her car was speeding because she was rushing to make the doomed flight.”
Marge said, “Erika Lessing, the flight attendant who worked the counter for WestAir, distinctly remembers not seeing Roseanne.”
“A positive witness is better than a negative one,” Decker said. “Roseanne could have slipped in without Erika noticing her.”
“Of course,” Marge answered, “but the bigger issue is that Roseanne’s remains haven’t been found at the crash sight.”
Decker said, “That, together with a witness who saw the car speeding off, is what we’re going to use to get a warrant to search the car. If Roseanne was violently murdered inside her vehicle or in the trunk, we would probably find more blood than would be expected, a reasonable amount even if Ivan cleaned the car.
“Assuming he didn’t change the carpets,” Wanda said. “What if he did?”
“Then that would be suspicious,” Marge said.
“Exactly,” Decker said. “So before we even bother a judge with a warrant, let’s investigate to see if Ivan did anything with the car that would arouse suspicions.”
“Like changing the carpets?” Oliver said. “What do you want? For us to start checking BMW dealers?”
Wanda said, “If he was hiding bloody carpets, do you think he’d use a dealer?”
Decker said, “Even so, start with the dealerships. Best place to order new carpets, and there aren’t that many of them in this area. If that doesn’t work, canvass the independent car-repair shops. Ivan’s not a genius but he wouldn’t drive around in a car with blood-soaked carpets.”
“Yeah, but he seemed really excited about driving Roseanne’s Beemer,” Oliver said. “Nothing as sweet as driving a car you didn’t pay for.”
AT ELEVEN TWENTY-SIX A.M., a grinning Decker announced that Raymond Holmes’s right finger-and right thumbprints matched the fingerprints on file at Roswell Correctional for Belize Hernandez. Upon hearing the first bit of definite news, the squad room broke into cheers. His matching prints together with the old man’s story made the contractor a prime candidate in Beth Devargas’s murder, and jumped Holmes to the top of the list in regard to the disappearance of Roseanne Dresden, speeding Beemer and lie-detector test notwithstanding.
With the matching prints, Raymond Holmes’s visits to Santa Fe Correctional, and Martin Hernandez’s assurance that he would testify against his son in exchange for his immediate freedom, Decker had no problem getting a warrant for Holmes’s arrest for Beth’s murder. It was signed and sealed by two in the afternoon, and at six in the evening, Decker, Oliver, and Marge were sitting in row 13, seats A, B, and C on a Southwest flight from Burbank a.k.a. Bob Hope Airport to San Jose International. Holmes would be brought in for voluntary questioning the next morning at San Jose PD and proper personnel at the police station had been informed of the mission, ready to assist the trio in whatever they needed.
To everyone’s relief, Holmes agreed to come in without the necessity of announcing the purpose of the visit. But this time, he was wary enough to ask for a lawyer. Three hours later Holmes and a gray-suited man named Taz Dudley waited for Decker in an interview room at San Jose PD in a western-area precinct.
The party was about to begin.
38
R EMEMBERING HOW MUCH Holmes sweated, Decker brought in a box of tissues and made sure that there was plenty of water available. Immediately, the big man poured himself a glass, drained it, and poured another one. The interview would probably be interrupted by frequent bathroom visits, which would affect the rhythm of the questioning but such is life. Holmes had dressed comfortably-sweatpants and a black T-shirt that tented over his belly like a parachute. He had socks and sneakers on his feet. His mouthpiece, Taz Dudley, was garbed in a navy shadow-stripe suit, cream-colored shirt, and a red tie.
Some minutes were taken up by introductions. Then Decker started the conversation.
“Are you comfortable, Mr. Holmes?”
“How comfortable can I be when I’m dragged away from my house and continue to be treated like a common criminal?”
Taz Dudley placed a manicured hand on his shoulder. “Let me talk, Ray. That’s why you’re paying me. You just settle down, okay?” The lawyer was an austere-looking man, with a portly build and a decent head of salt-and-pepper hair. He had deep brown eyes, a square chin, and a tan that either came from many Caribbean vacations or hours in a salon. “Do you want to tell us why you brought my client in for questioning?”
Decker’s words addressed the lawyer but he looked at Holmes. He threw out a false start. “Your client was having an affair with a woman who is now missing.”
“God, I don’t believe this!” Holmes shouted.
“Ray, please-”
“No, you let me handle this, Mr. Dudley. I want to have my say. Then you can take over.” He glared at Decker. “You asked me to take a polygraph test, I took a polygraph test without a lawyer. And I passed. Now here it is, what…like four weeks later, and you’re back again. This isn’t questioning, this is harassment. I cooperated. Yet you continue to prevent me from working, so I’m losing money there. Plus, you’re costing me money to retain a lawyer. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do if this continues, I’m going to sue San Jose, I’m going to sue LAPD, and I’m going to personally sue you!”
Holmes grabbed the glass of water, but knocked it down instead. Decker dabbed up the mess with some tissues and gave Holmes a wad to dab his face.
“This is just ridiculous!” The big man mopped up his wet face. “Look, I am truly sorry that the woman is missing-”
“Ray, you’ve said enough,” Dudley interrupted.
“Okay, okay.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Just get me out of here, okay?”
“Is it your intention to arrest my client?”
“It might be.”
“What the fuck do you want from me?” Holmes cried out.
“Ray-”