“I thought about that,” Marge said. “The flight attendants and pilots who worked the five A.M. WestAir flight also worked flight 1324. Ergo, those WestAir employees are no longer alive to identify her.”
“The passengers from the five o’clock flight made it out alive.” Decker wondered how they felt, dodging the speeding bullet. “Maybe we can hunt down a passenger list and see if any of them remembers Roseanne.”
Oliver said, “Even if no one remembers her, she still could have been on the five o’clock flight.”
“Of course.” Decker thought a moment. “If Ivan’s telling the truth about Roseanne’s last words, that she said she was coming home in the morning to talk about the fight, why didn’t she deplane from the five A.M. flight at Burbank and just go home?”
Marge said, “One: She never made it back to Burbank. Two: She made it back to Burbank, deplaned before Erika Lessing came into work, and that was the last anyone ever saw of her again. Three: She got a last-minute assignment shift and was on flight 1324. Recovery just hasn’t found her body.”
Oliver said, “Option one points to her being bumped off in San Jose, option two means she was bumped off in Burbank, option three, she died in the crash. Or, there is an option four-she’s alive and kicking under a new identity.”
Marge said, “Since the last phone call on her cell came from a tower in San Jose, we’re thinking we need to talk to Raymond Holmes.”
“When did you want to do this?” Decker asked.
“I’ve got a light schedule tomorrow,” Marge said.
“Can’t make it tomorrow,” Oliver said. “What about Thursday?”
“Thursday, I’m jammed,” Marge said. “I can do it myself, Scott.”
“Someone call up Raymond Holmes and make an appointment to interview him,” Decker told them. “If it’s tomorrow, I’ll go up with Marge. If it’s Thursday, I’ll go up with Scott. I want to talk to him personally. Roseanne’s parents have been calling me specifically, and I feel I owe them something.”
Marge said, “I’ll give Holmes a ring and let you know.”
“Great. By the way, before you two leave…” Decker handed them each a stapled packet of papers. “Here’s your homework: the complete list of the tenants from the destroyed Seacrest apartment house from 1974 to the present. I’ve taken 1974 to 1983. Scott, you take ’84 to ’94, and, Marge, you’ve got ’94 to the present.”
“What do you want us to do?” Oliver said, scanning the sheaves of paper.
“Go down the list and verify that all the names in your years are accounted for-either alive or dead with a death certificate. If you find a name that you can’t verify-there’s bound to be some of those-check them against our burned-up Jane Doe to see if any are potential candidates.”
“There’re a lot of people on my list,” Oliver said.
“There are a lot of people on my list as well,” Decker said.
“All that phone calling…” Oliver shook his head. “Carpal tunnel has wreaked serious havoc these days. It’s grounds for disability, you know.”
Decker reached inside a desk drawer and pulled out a bandage. “Here you go.”
“How’s that gonna help carpal tunnel?”
“It won’t. But if you put it across your mouth, it’ll stifle your bitchin’.”
FEELING HIS EYES close, Decker sensed the papers slipping from his fingers, and wondered if he should give into that blissful sensation of nothingness. The alternative-to snap open the lids in an attempt to squeeze out a little more work before nodding off-seemed like a colossal waste of time and energy.”
“Do you want me to save you the puzzle?” Rina said.
Decker opened his eyes and took in a deep breath. “You can do it if you want.”
Rina took the papers that had landed on his lap and chucked them onto the floor. “Turn off the light and let’s go to sleep.”
No sense arguing with logic. Decker reached over to his nightstand table lamp and turned it off. He slithered under the sheets and slapped his forearm over his brow. “What time is it?”
Rina plumped up her pillow before settling down into bed. “A little past eleven.”
“You’re married to an old man.”
“I know. I was dying to go clubbing and you spoiled everything.” She stroked his arm. “What fascinating tidbit of police-science reading had you so captivated?”
Decker smiled in the dark and took his arm off his eyes. “I was going over a list of tenants that had resided in the now-destroyed Seacrest apartment from 1974 to 1983.”
“You’re trying to find your Jane Doe among those names?”
“Exactly. I’ve verified about half the people on my roster. I was just going over the rest of the names to see if something jumped out at me.”
“Like what?”
“A familiar person from an old high-profile case of long ago.”
“Were you with LAPD as far back as ’74?”
“Yes I was, but not homicide. Juvenile and sex crimes.” Again, he smiled. “As you may recall.”
“Yes, I recall something about that.” She rolled next to him and snuggled against his arm. “Wow. It seems like ages ago that we met.”
He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close to his chest. “What a glorious day it was. I was doing my best Jack Webb and you didn’t appreciate it.”
“I did so. I thought you were very handsome and charming.”
“Really?” Decker shrugged. “I couldn’t tell.”
“You weren’t supposed to be able to tell. I would have died of embarrassment.”
“Then thank God I was dense.”
Rina said, “Did any names on the list ring a bell?”
“About a half-dozen names seemed vaguely familiar. I’ve checked those off and I’ll look them up in the police files first thing in the morning. Maybe I’ll get lucky, but I’m not harboring great hopes.”
“And you don’t have any other way of identifying the bones?”
“Did I tell you I spoke to Mike Hollander today?”
“No, you didn’t.” Rina propped herself up on her elbows. “How’s he doing?”
“Good, actually.” Decker sat up as well. “He looks the same only a bit grayer and older. I’m sure I looked the same way to him.”
“You haven’t aged at all,” Rina said.
“Spoken like a true wife.”
“Did you show him the plans?”
“Yeah, yeah, Mike was great. He told me he’ll make it a priority and get some numbers back to Cindy and Koby right away. But that’s not why I mentioned him. We got to talking about the Jane Doe and our inability to reconstruct a face directly on the bones because they’re too fragile. Anyway, he said that he saw something on a Cold Case File that he thought might work.”
“What?”
“Something about a computer-generated process that replicates a skull in wood or plastic. The upshot is that a forensic artist can create a face because the bony landmarks are visible in the model. I was a little confused about the process and so was he. The problem is that the tape of the episode is no longer for sale and we can’t seem to locate a copy.”
“Does Mike remember the case?”
“No, and that’s the problem. There was a little trailer for the episode, but it just hinted at the forensics and didn’t mention anything specific, except that the case took place in Wisconsin.”
“I’m sure the tape exists somewhere.”
“Hollander said the same thing. He’s trying to hunt it down. In the meantime, I have Wanda Bontemps looking up high-profile cases in Wisconsin.” Decker threw his head back and blew out air. “We’re not at desperation time yet, but we’re getting there.”
“It’ll work out.”
“Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t.”
“Maybe you should take a breather from trying to identify the victim and instead concentrate on the apartment house.”
Decker scratched his head. “Excuse me, I’m confused. There is no apartment house.”