“You said the body was found above the foundation.”
“I don’t think I said yes or no. Why do you ask?”
“Back then, didn’t they build lots of Southern California buildings with crawl spaces between the subfloor and the foundation?”
“I would say yes. The earthquake codes were different. They don’t do that anymore. Usually the subfloor is attached to the foundation.”
“But in the older buildings, that’s where they put the plumbing, right?”
“Yeah, they’d put the sewer lines down there, especially if the building was multistoried.”
“You should find out if the building had a crawl space. It would be a perfect dump for a body since most of the tenants wouldn’t be aware of its existence. Or maybe the person who killed your Jane Doe could have been someone involved with constructing the building.”
“That’s exactly what we’re thinking. We’re looking up the builders as well as the tenants. And all the tradesmen. Plumbers, phone people…pest control.”
“But, Daddy, wouldn’t those people stick out? I mean, if you see a guy walking around your house or apartment, you’re going to ask who it is.”
“And…”
“All I’m saying is that a service guy might feel intimidated dumping a body in a building. He might be scared that someone would see him poking around. I’m thinking that anyone who would dump a body into the crawl space has to feel he wouldn’t attract attention.”
“That’s a very good point,” Decker told her. “So running with your idea, maybe we’re dealing with a janitor or super or maintenance guy who lived in the building. No one would think twice about seeing him getting dirty, hauling out trash, or poking around the insides of a building.”
“When in doubt, look at the maintenance man,” Cindy teased him. “I’ve watched enough of those crime-reconstruction shows to know it’s always the janitor.”
Decker smiled. “I’ll tell someone on the team to check it out. Good thinking, Detective.”
Cindy felt herself go hot and knew she was blushing. Whenever her father praised her, she felt an inordinate swell of pride. She looked down and pretended to be interested in the dishes. “Who’s primary on the assignment?”
“Either Scott or Marge. I don’t even know if they figured it out yet.”
“Sounds like you have your hands full, Dad. But look at it this way. You’re not pushing paper.”
“Yeah, be careful what you wish for.”
Cindy placed a Pyrex pan in the dishwasher. “Koby was offered a promotion.”
“That’s wonderful!” Decker told her. “When did this happen?”
“Couple of weeks ago.”
“And you’re first telling me now?”
“He doesn’t know if he wants it. It’s more money but more time on the job, more paperwork, and it takes him off the floor and primary patient care, which is what he really likes. He shouldn’t be killing himself for a few extra dollars. But he’s obsessed with saving money for the construction.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you with the remodeling.”
“I know and I really appreciate it. But even if we can do most of the framing ourselves, there are still skills that we’re not going to attempt like electrical and plumbing. Last thing I want is a broken sewer line or a fried husband or father.”
“I agree.”
“Whatever we decide, it’s going to take money. Mom’s offered to lend us some cash, but Koby has his reservations. That’s why he’s considering the promotion or options that will make him more money.”
“Money’s important, but he should be happy.”
“That’s what I tell him.” Cindy paused. “Alan offered to help out.”
“Uh…fine.”
Cindy gave her father a smile. “Did I detect a bit of hesitation on your part?”
“Not at all. Your stepfather keeps your mom happy and that makes everything easier.” Decker gave a tepid smile. “I just never knew he was handy.”
“He and Mom have been really into home improvement. I think they own stock in Lowe’s or something.”
“What are they doing?”
“Installing new appliances-new dishwasher, refrigerator, and microwave. Alan also built a bookcase and a table.”
“How’d his handiwork come out?”
“Not too bad, actually.”
“Good. We can use as much help as possible. Do you have an architect?”
“We have a neighbor who’s helping us out at a reduced fee. AIA certified. Nice woman who does good work. I lucked out: a neighbor architect, a handy father and husband, a somewhat handy stepfather…count my blessings.”
“We’ll have good old barn raising.”
“Thanks, Daddy, I really appreciate it.” Cindy offered him a luminous smile. “And I’d like to add that I’m very proud of you.”
“Me?”
“You’re talking to me like a colleague instead of a daughter. To wit, we’ve been together for almost an hour and you have yet to give me a word of advice except to tell me that I shouldn’t treat any police case as routine, and that’s just what my partner says, so I can’t even claim that was an overprotective daddism.”
Decker started to say something, but nodded instead.
“Is it hard for you not to give me advice?” Cindy asked. “Tell me the truth.”
“Well, put it this way.” Decker thought a moment. “My tongue is nearly severed from biting it so hard.”
12
A S A SATELLITE airport, Burbank usually had manageable crowds, which translated into shorter check-in and security lines, and officials who were friendlier and, in general, less bureaucratic. But even a small airport had post-9/11 concerns, and the head of security kept Marge Dunn parked on the wrong side of the metal detectors since she was lacking proper authorization. Because there wasn’t any hope of getting clearance from WestAir, Marge resorted to plan B, working her charm on the staff behind the check-in counter.
There was no scheduled WestAir flight in or out for the next two hours and the sole person manning the counter appeared lonely and bored. Marge put him in his late twenties, sporting a round face and a pinched mouth. She smoothed her navy skirt, rotating the waistband until the zipper sat against her left side. Why the contraption on this particular skirt moved to center when she walked was one of those unexplained mysteries of life. She sauntered up to the WestAir desk and flashed the man her cheeriest smile. He responded in kind and displayed his own white teeth.
“Can I help you?”
“I think you can. I’m from Acona Insurance Corporation, which is a subsidiary of Livalli Corp. We’re working on a specific claim in regard to flight 1324 and we need verification for the benefactor that the victim was on said flight-”
“I’m sorry,” the clerk said. “All questions regarding flight 1324 need to go through the WestAir task force. I can give you the task-force phone number, if you’d like.”
Marge leaned over and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Can I be frank, Mr…”
“Baine.”
“Mr. Baine, I’m Marge Dunn.” She held out her hand and a reluctant Mr. Baine shook it. “Your task force has a problem returning telephone calls. I don’t think they’re very anxious to settle their claims.” She watched Baine’s reaction. When he didn’t immediately defend the company, she depressed her brain’s ad-lib button. “We suspect the company is having severe cash-flow problems. We understand that they’ve even withheld some payrolls checks-”
“Only once,” Baine interrupted.
“I’m not here to knock the management, Mr. Baine, I just need information.” She brought her face closer to his. “I’m representing one of your own flight attendants-Roseanne Dresden. I just need to verify that she was on the flight and then I can give her poor husband a little solace as well as money.”
The clerk harrumphed.
“Do I detect a note of skepticism?” Marge inquired.
A shrug. “I didn’t know either of them very well.”