The Burnt House (23 page)

Decker was all smiles when he hung up. “What’s up?”

“Those are the notarized statements from our visit with Ivan Dresden,” Marge told him. “We’ve got appointments in the afternoon with Arielle Toombs and David Rottiger. They know we want to talk to them about Roseanne, but they don’t know it’s specifically about her cell phone.”

Oliver said, “We thought that was the most unbiased way to handle it. Not to tell them anything without the notary being there.”

Decker spoke as he sorted through the official paperwork. “I agree.” He handed the papers to Marge. “Good work, people. Let me know what you find out.”

“What’s going on with the X-rays?” Oliver asked.

“That’s all done. The Crypt has hard copy of the images. I’ve also put in a money request for the captain to get a duplicate set for our records. Best of all, Hollander’s found a machine. The prototyping is set up for this Sunday.”

Oliver said, “The guy pulled it off. Good for him.”

“This has been his baby. He really came through.”

Marge said, “Yeah, he certainly caught the homicide flu big-time.”

“I’ll get the paperwork from Strapp to let it rip,” Decker said. “Then, once we have a facsimile of the skull, the PD’s all set to take it to a judge to make sure he or she gives the okay for us to use it forensically. Hollander told me that there is legal precedence for using a prototype. So maybe we’ll all get lucky and it won’t get bogged down in the court system.”

Oliver said, “Once we get all our material together, we’ll apply for a search warrant. I think you should be with us when we present the case, Loo. Our grounds are a little shaky and I think your title will help.”

“What judge were you thinking about, Oliver?”

“I set up something with Carla Puhl. I’ve always gotten along with her.”

Decker smiled. “I’m sure you have.”

Oliver winked and left.

“What are we going to do with him?”

Marge laughed. “Scott’s okay. Behind that facade of a pig is a pig, but
more Vietnamese potbelly than wild boar. Oliver’s dirty and messy, but he’s also cute and potty trained.”

HER HONOR, JUDGE
Carla Puhl, appeared more interested in her long red hook nails than in Decker’s defense of their petition for a search warrant. With her robe hanging on a coatrack, Judge Puhl was dressed in a red tank top and a denim miniskirt. She held up a finger, cutting him off midsentence, and pointed to a chair.

“Sit down, Lieutenant.”

Decker complied. Marge and Oliver were trying to fade into the background, standing near the back wall of the wood-paneled chambers, electing to let the boss handle a dicey affair.

Judge Puhl sorted through the notarized statements and shook her head. “You’re telling me that the only thing you have on this poor schmuck is a pink cell phone?”

“Your Honor, his wife has been missing for over two months. She was about to divorce her husband and clean him out. The condo was in her name, the credit was in her name, she paid most of the bills. Plus, her husband has girlfriends including a lap dancer. He had run up over fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of lap-dancing fees, which he conveniently paid off by selling off his car and Roseanne’s jewelry after she disappeared. Ivan is currently driving Roseanne’s BMW.”

“So what does this have to do with a pink cell phone?”

“Dresden admitted that he and Roseanne had a big fight a day before she vanished. As Sergeant Dunn was questioning him about the fight, she dropped her pen and happened to find a pink cell phone—”

Again the judge cut him off with a wave of her hand. “What do you want to do with this cell phone, Lieutenant?”

“Ivan Dresden first claimed it was his phone. When it was clear it wasn’t his current phone, he said it was a phone that he’d lost a long time ago.”

“He owned a pink phone with daisies?”

“We felt that was dubious as well.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What do you want to do with it?”

“For one thing, I’d like to see if it was Roseanne’s most recent phone. We can do that really easily. Just charge it up and see the dates of her last outgoing call. It’s a very simple thing to do…to check whether or not the man is lying. And if it was Roseanne’s most recent phone, it puts her in the apartment on the morning of the accident.”

“It puts her phone there. Not Roseanne.”

Decker was silent.

Puhl said, “Even if Roseanne was there, it doesn’t mean that she still didn’t die in the crash. She could have gone home, lost the phone, and returned to the airport.”

“We timed the round trip, Your Honor,” Decker said. “Rushing and driving at fifty miles an hour, she could have made it with about five minutes to spare if there wasn’t traffic and if she only spent five minutes at home. But she would have been traveling between the hours of seven and eight in the morning. We all know what morning freeway traffic is like.”

“Hmm…” Judge Puhl tapped her fingernails on her desk. “Okay, Lieutenant, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you a warrant to seize the phone that Sergeant Dunn and Detective Oliver describe in these notarized papers. That way you can test your hypothesis on the spot. If it wasn’t her most recent phone—if it was an old phone—then the search ends there. If it was her most recent phone, then I’ll allow you to continue on with a search.”

“Your Honor, there is a very likely chance that Mr. Dresden may have destroyed or misplaced the evidence.”

“Then shame on him! He lives in the twenty-first century, he knows better than to tamper with something like that. If that’s the case, then I’ll also allow your team to search the condo, but I’m putting limits on it, Lieutenant. Don’t even bother with printing, fibers, hairs, or even minor blood seepage. The woman lived there; you’re going to find all of the above. What I’ll allow you to search for is evidence of blood loss and spatter patterns that is beyond and/or defies a reasonable amount of blood loss typical for a household injury. I have no problem with
your bringing out your blood-spatter experts. Just don’t make too big of a mess, all right?”

“We’ll do our best. Thank you, Your Honor.”

She spoke as she wrote out the warrant. “One word of caveat. If you or your experts find a large amount of blood loss on a cushion of a couch or a chair, or on the bed, without any concomitant spatter to go with it, please proceed with caution. Men tend to forget that we women sometimes leak during our periods. You don’t want to arrest the man because Roseanne wore a faulty Tampex.”

A
STRONG SERIES OF
raps on the front door produced the wanted voice on the other side. Decker said, “Police, Mr. Dresden, open up.” When no immediate response was forthcoming, he said, “We have a warrant, sir. Open the door now!”

A couple of seconds later Decker heard the dead bolt sliding, but the door remained shut.

The voice said, “I need to see the warrant!”

“I can show it to you as soon as you open the door.”

“And if I don’t, what are you going to do? Break down the door?”

“There’s no need for drama, Mr. Dresden. We have…” Decker rolled his eyes at Marge and Oliver. “We’re here to seize the phone that Detective Sergeant Marge Dunn found by accident a few days ago. That phone is described very specifically in the papers.”

The door flew open. Dresden caught it before the doorknob punched a hole in his interior wall. He narrowed his eyes when he saw Decker. “Who’re you?”

Out came the identification. Dresden studied the credentials as
Decker studied the stockbroker. Ivan was a good-looking man in that dark, brooding, Gothic fashion. He wore a muscle shirt and a pair of gym shorts and had a towel around his neck. His face was dry, without a hint of flushing: the workout had yet to occur, or it had occurred a long time ago, or it never occurred at all. He certainly spent more time than necessary on confirming that Decker was who he said he was.

“You have nothing better to do than harass me after I just got home from work?”

“Serving a warrant works out better when you’re home, Mr. Dresden.”

The stockbroker scowled. “Let me see that warrant.”

Handing him the paperwork, Decker was stone-faced as Dresden slowly made his way through the legalese. It wasn’t that complicated.

Dresden slapped the warrant into an open palm. “I told your two
lackeys
over there, it was an old phone. It’s gone. I threw it away. You wasted your time, but I suppose that being on the government dole, that doesn’t matter much to you.”

Decker’s face was flat. “The warrant states that we can look for it.”

“And mess up my apartment?” Dresden’s chuckle was sarcastic. “No thank you, I’ll pass.”

At this point, Decker had had enough. He bullied his way past Dresden, careful not to knock him on the shoulder. “You don’t have any choice, Mr. Dresden. We’re here to do a job and that’s what we’re going to do.” He stood in the center of the condo’s living room and began to glove up.

Marge and Oliver followed. She said, “If you have the phone, Ivan, make it easier on all of us and just fork it over.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just told you?” Dresden screamed out. “I threw the phone away!”

Decker spoke to his detectives. “Dunn, you take the kitchen; Oliver, you handle the bedrooms; and I’ll do the living room.” His eyes returned to Dresden. “We’re not going away. This warrant says that if we don’t find the phone, then we’re allowed to bring in our blood experts and start looking for evidence of a crime. And that’ll take up even more time. So make yourself comfortable and let us do our job.”

“This is totally absurd—”

“If you have the phone, now’s the time to make your move.”

“I don’t have the
fucking
phone!” Dresden growled. “I threw it away…what’s the fucking use! I’m calling my lawyer!”

“Whatever you need to do, sir.” Decker took out his cell and connected to the techs. “It’s Lieutenant Decker from West Valley, I’m looking for Mike Fagen…sure I’ll hold.”

“Who’s your captain?” Dresden shouted.

Decker said, “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I’m talking to—”

“Hold on a minute,” Decker said to Dresden. “Mike, it’s Lieutenant Decker. It looks like we’re going to need you because Mr. Dresden has admitted throwing the phone away. When do you think you’ll start spraying?”

“Spraying?” Dresden was aghast. “Spraying for what!”

“Hold on a sec, Mike, I can’t have two conversations at once and Dresden’s antsy.” Decker threw a hand over the mouthpiece of the mobile. “My superior is Captain Strapp. If we don’t find the phone, we’re going to spray for blood and blood spatter. Don’t worry about your carpet. It only glows bright blue if there’s blood protein. Otherwise nothing will show up.” He spoke into the mobile. “Sorry, Mike. When can you make it over here?”

“I don’t believe this!” Dresden ranted as he paced back and forth. “I’m still grieving for my wife and you have the nerve to barge in and accuse me of mur—”

Dresden stopped himself and turned away. His face hadn’t been flushed before, but it certainly was now—fire-engine red and bathed in sweat. He now looked as if he had completed that strenuous workout. Decker often wondered about the exact purpose of exercise. If it was just to elevate the heart rate, there were lots of other ways to do that without spending mind-numbing hours killing one’s feet on a treadmill: sex, stress, and caffeine instantly came to mind.

“If you break or ruin anything in my home, I’ll sue your ass off!” Dresden cried out. “You have no right to…what the fuck is that!”
Dresden was responding to noises emanating from one of the bedrooms. He stomped down the hallway and Decker could hear him venting his spleen at Oliver.

After completing his phone call to the tech, Decker took a few moments to get the layout of the room and decide how he wanted to organize the search. Dresden was probably telling the truth when he’d said he threw the phone away. If there was something incriminating on it, he’d dump it without thinking. Yet there were those occasional perpetrators of violent crime who retained damning evidence. Some of the criminals were too arrogant or too lazy to bother chucking the offending article, but others kept indicting evidence as a memento; something that allowed their warped minds to visit and revisit the crime over and over.

The component that occupied the most space in the living room was a stark white entertainment unit complete with drawers, cabinets, and shelving—almost a quaint nod to yesterday’s technology because nowadays so many families were buying flat-screens. It appeared that Ivan hadn’t moved up yet. Maybe that was the first thing on his agenda as soon as he got the insurance money.

Dresden’s white elephant unit contained a big bulky TV behind pocket doors and lots of shelves on either side of the screen. One side was taken up by DVDs, CDs, and stereo components; the other side held a row of books, another row of CDs, and a lone shelf devoted to curios and pictures: six silver-framed photographs, all of them showing Ivan in various poses of physical prowess. The only hint that a woman had once lived there were several scattered scented candles and a small collection of porcelain cats.

Decker started by carefully taking out the books, the CDs, and the DVDs and searching behind them. When nothing materialized, he checked behind the audio/video equipment. Satisfied that the phone wasn’t stashed anywhere in the entertainment unit, he began looking under couches and chairs. Since the condo’s living room, dining room, and kitchen were open space divided by a breakfast bar, he could hear Marge opening and closing doors in the kitchen.

“Any luck?” Decker asked her.

“Not so far. What about you?”

“Zilch.”

The three detectives searched through the late afternoon until the sunlight dimmed and early evening set in. They rooted through drawers and cupboards, peered under couches and chairs, snooped inside medicine cabinets, and turned over the master bedroom’s mattress to see if anything had been squirreled away. Ninety minutes had elapsed before the blood-spatter experts arrived. By that time, Ivan had all but barricaded himself inside his home office.

Once the techs arrived, it took another hour to focus in on the areas to test. They decided to concentrate on spraying the carpet under the couch where Marge had found the pen and felt something sticky. Then they moved on to the walls, the floorboards, and the baseboard molding in the kitchen. They also sprayed the walls in the living room, office, the guest bedroom, and the master bedroom. Last, they applied luminol to the marital mattress. By then night had fallen. They drew the drapes and turned off the lights, shrouding the condo in inky darkness.

To say there was no blood-protein luminescence at all would have been a lie. A very careful eye could pick up random specks of blue in the kitchen (accidental cuts made in food preparation), a decent amount of glow around both bathroom toilets (urine as well as blood glows blue under luminol), and as Judge Puhl had predicted, there were several splotches of blue on the master bedroom’s mattress (old menstrual leakage). But there was nothing indicating a bloodletting had taken place anywhere inside the condo.

The lights were turned back on. Decker then asked if the techs would luminol the corners of the dining-room and the coffee tables as well as the breakfast bar. His logic was that maybe a physical altercation had taken place and perhaps Ivan pushed Roseanne, causing the phone to fly from her hand and under the couch. Just maybe she fell and hit her head on the table, and the blow knocked her unconscious or dead.

The breakfast bar and the corners of the tables were tested and came up clean. The breakfast bar did glow slightly, but that could have
been caused by raw chicken or ground beef spilling juices. Luminol did not distinguish between animal or human sera. The techs took a slide scraping, hoping to have enough material to test for presence of human blood.

And that sticky area that Marge had felt under the couch—Decker had felt it as well—showed no luminescence. The matted carpet nap had probably come from some other source, most likely a food accident.

Four hours later, Decker was thanking Dresden for his time and for his cooperation. Dresden was magnanimous in his forgiveness, shaking Decker’s hand with a firm grip. “I hope that this finally puts to bed some very evil rumors about my love for my wife. It was hard enough grieving the first time, Lieutenant. By these hideous innuendos, I’ve felt like I’ve had to grieve all over again.”

Decker said, “We’re sorry for any inconvenience, Mr. Dresden, but your wife’s body hasn’t turned up. We’re doing our job and I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“I realize you’re public servants, but it’s still a terrible thing…to lose your wife and then be a suspect in her disappearance. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave. I could use a little privacy…not to mention the cleanup.”

“Of course.” Decker granted Dresden a slow smile. “By the way, I didn’t see your lawyer anywhere.”

“I decided not to call him. Why bother wasting bucks when all he’d do was twiddle his thumbs and watch you work. I knew I didn’t need him. I had nothing to hide.”

THEY PILED INTO
the unmarked, Oliver driving them back to the station house to pick up their respective cars, Marge sitting shotgun. Oliver said, “Could it be that the sleaze had nothing to do with his wife’s disappearance? Lots of guys cheat. Most of them don’t kill their wives.”

“Yeah, that part’s true. But of the guys who kill their wives, almost all of them have girlfriends.” No one spoke for a second. Marge looked
over her shoulder at Decker in the backseat. “What do you think, Loo?”

“I don’t know. He seems sleazy enough. Maybe Roseanne did die in the crash. Just as likely, she was murdered elsewhere.”

Marge said, “Even if she was murdered elsewhere, it doesn’t mean that Dresden didn’t do it.”

“Or he could be innocent,” Oliver insisted. “Maybe the phone we saw was Roseanne’s old, lost phone. Maybe she bought another one exactly like it.”

“Then why didn’t Ivan just tell us that?”

“Because he knew that our finding Roseanne’s phone would make him look bad.”

“Not as bad as throwing it away,” Marge said. “That’s an immediate sign of guilt.”

Decker said, “If Ivan did it and the condo wasn’t the murder scene, where else could he have done it?”

Marge shrugged. “Maybe he did it in his car. Maybe that’s why he sold it.”

“Who’d he sell it to?” When the question was met with silence, Decker said, “Maybe we should find out?”

IN THE HEART
of the north Valley sat the major parts manufacturing plant for Katumi Motors, the factory housed in a white, cinderblock rectangle, and fronted by a green lawn sporting a flower bed that spelled out
KATUMI
in white petunias. The commercial area held industries of all types, along with granite, brick, lumber, and marble yards. Decker often came here for wholesale prices whenever he embarked upon a home-improvement project, and each year it seemed to get uglier and uglier. Today the Sunday skies held rain clouds and the smoggy, foggy air was infused with gloom. The bad weather plus the lack of anything green made the vicinity feel like an old, depressed company town.

Once inside Katumi headquarters, he was led to the third floor and
introduced to Brian Alderweiss, a lab-coated, thirtysomething tech who was the undisputed leader of Katumi’s Rapid Prototyping. The monolithic machine took up a nice portion of its dedicated room with computers, monitors, and other unidentifiable equipment occupying most of the wall space. It took some time for Brian and his assistants to load the CT images and then to calibrate them to the laser arm of the apparatus. He spoke as he worked. “The most important transmitted data is for us to tell the beam what portion of the image to cut out. If you mess this up, you’re not going to get the model you want.”

“Take your time,” Decker said generously. Hours later the techs were still calibrating and Decker rued the casual comment he had made, even though there was damn little he could do about it. Besides, this entire day wasn’t about him. It was about trying to give an anonymous set of grieving parents a body to bury.

When the programming was finally put into action, a precision laser beam did as told, happily cut through paper-thin laminates of wood, one sheet stacked atop another.

Alderweiss said, “Our machines take our virtual designs off our computers and transform them into cross-sectional computer images. In our specific case, we use the technology in anything that involves innovative or major design reconfigurations that will affect hood mechanics—things like engine blocks and radiators. It helps to be holding a physical model to see if it actually does fit the space it was designed to fit.”