Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 16

by The Burnt House

  He had just closed the door on his rental car when his cell went off. It was a restricted number, which meant it was probably Rina.

  “Yo,” Decker said. “I’m on my way home.”

  “Uh…I’m looking for Lieutenant Decker.”

  The voice was male and official. Decker switched gears. “This is Lieutenant Decker. Who am I talking to, please?”

  “This is Detective Newt Berry from San Jose Police Department.”

  That got his attention. “Yes, Detective Berry, what’s going on?”

  “About twenty minutes ago, I got a call from a woman named Lindie Holmes. She said she’d like to talk to us, that she has a lot to say about her husband, Raymond, who, as you well know, is still in our custody.”

  “Thanks for calling. I’d love to talk to her.”

  “Figured as much. I think it might be a good idea for you to fly up here and do just that.”

  Decker said, “I’m in New Mexico, but I’m on my way to the airport. I’ll see if they offer any flights into Oakland or San Francisco. Did she ask for me specifically?”

  “She asked for whoever was in charge of her husband’s investigation. She says she has a lot to say about that.”

  “Even if I can find an immediate flight up north, it’s going to take me at least three hours to get there and that’s with a one-hour time gain. Do you think she’d be willing to come in to the station house in the evening?”

  “Tell me your schedule once you know it, and I’ll call her back. Right now the woman seemed very eager to unload on her rotten husband. She kept on saying that she has information that would interest us.”

  “Sounds promising…if she tells the truth.”

  “Yeah, I thought about that. From speaking to her, I can’t tell you if she’s gonna lie to us because she’s mad at the bastard and wants revenge, or if she’s finally coming forward with the truth because she’s mad at the bastard and wants revenge. What I can you tell is that she’s pissed with a capital P.”

  42

  WITH A LITTLE shuffling around, Decker managed to secure a flight that put him into Oakland at six in the evening. Newt Berry was waiting for him at the baggage claim. The San Jose detective topped out at six feet, thin and bald, with a long equine face, brown eyes, and a ski-sloped nose. The two men shook hands and walked to the parking lot in silence. When they got into the car, Berry said, “You found a direct flight?”

  “Two stops. A little roundabout, but I’m here.”

  “What’s up in Santa Fe?”

  “My main witness against Raymond Holmes. I think he’s getting cold feet.” Decker brought Berry up-to-date. It took the entire ride over to police headquarters. “I’m wondering how much Lindie Holmes knew about Ray’s past.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll find out. The woman is on a mission.”

  “Seek and destroy?” Decker said.

  “Just destroy. She kept going on and on about how much she hated the son of a bitch. I didn’t ask anything too specific because I knew you were coming down.”

  “Smart. Where is she now?”

  “By now, she should be at the station. Over the phone, she asked if we could get her a decaf grande nonfat latte and vanilla syrup. She says she talks much better over a cup of coffee. I told her it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Not at all. If it’s only coffee and revenge she wants, we’ll get away cheap.”

  LINDIE HOLMES WAS crunchy granola: a petite woman in jeans, a T-shirt, athletic sneakers, and a hooded jacket. She had straight, shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair with bangs cut across her forehead, and a face free of any kind of makeup. Her skin was clear and held some wrinkles around her brown eyes. Her mouth was small and hard set, giving her an angry expression. Her right hand was clutched around a paper coffee cup; her left was clenched in fury, with a ring finger encircled by a light patch of skin that had once been covered with a wedding band. Decker didn’t need a prod to get her to talk. She was out of the gate before the gun went off.

  “The son-of-a-bitch bastard! He swore to me that there was no one and I believed him. How dumb is that!”

  How dumb, indeed. Her husband was going to go before a grand jury on charges of capital murder and she was irate about his mistress.

  “Jesus, I just want to ring his neck!”

  Decker nodded. “I need to ask you a few basic questions. Who are you referring to when you say ‘no one.’”

  Lindie rolled her eyes. “His little chippie. The missing flight attendant. Roseanne Dresser or something like that. From what I could get out of the blubbering idiot, he met her on a flight from San Jose to Burbank. The bastard told me he had a project in L.A. about a year ago. Turns out he was coming down south just to screw her. It would be one thing if he just screwed her and that was that. But the idiot gave her gifts! Over ten thousand dollars! I’ve been clipping coupons and he’s been spending money on a whore.”

  “How’d you find out about the money?”

  “I have an account with Smithson/Janey.”

  “The brokerage house.”

  Lindie nodded. “We have a few accounts with them, but I have a savings account that I keep in case of emergencies. I’ve been building it for years—a few dollars here and there. But it adds up. When Ray called and asked me to get bail and lawyer money, I immediately called up our broker to withdraw money from my account. I mean, if this didn’t qualify as an emergency, what would, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So I call up the broker and guess what?”

  “What?”

  “The account has a grand total of five thousand and seventy-one dollars. I tell him, ‘Excuse me? Last I heard I had almost twenty thousand dollars in there. Check again.’ And he does. Then he starts telling me about all these withdrawals that I made about a year ago. I say, ‘There must be some mistake. I never made any withdrawals from that account a year ago. I’ve never made any withdrawals from that account, period!’”

  She slapped her forehead.

  “And then it hits me like a rock! About a year ago, Ray suggested that he be a cosigner on the account in case something happens to me. Like if I get in a car accident and can’t withdraw the money, he can do it. I thought it was a little funny, but then he countered my suspicions by taking out a disability insurance policy on himself in case something happened to him. Then I would have money. He showed me the policy. I think to myself, ‘What a guy,’ and told him yeah, it would be a good idea. I mean who would think that the asshole would be stealing from me after twenty years of marriage.”

  “How did you come to the conclusion that he took out the money?”

  Lindie said, “When I received copies of the checks made out on that account, it became very clear where he was spending the money. Six made out to Benman’s Fine Jewelers. Occasionally, Ray bought me a necklace or a bracelet for special occasions—Mother’s Day, my birthday, Christmas—that kind of stuff. But six checks? Uh-uh, no way Ray wrote those checks. Then I noticed that they had invoice numbers on them. When I called up the store to ask about the invoices, I got the shock of my life. My first thought, naively, was that someone had gotten into the account. Logical, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Someone must have forged Ray’s signature. But then in talking to the owner of the shop actually, he remembered Ray because the bastard bought a fucking Chopard and had it inscribed on the back. ‘To Roseanne with my deepest love from Ray.’ I felt so sick I just wanted to throw up!”

  “Spending your money for his girlfriend,” Decker said.

  “Like they say in limbo, how low can you go.” A long sip of the latte. “Can you believe that?” She held up the paper cup. “Can I get another one of these?”

  “Sure.” He looked at the camera. “Another special-order latte for Mrs. Holmes, please?”

  Lindie was muttering. It took about ten minutes to get her designer coffee. Within a couple of sips, she became talkative again. “And then he has the nerve to ask me to post
bail? What a schmuck!”

  “It’s a lot of money…his bail.”

  “It’s over a quarter-million dollars. Even at ten percent, I would still have to take out a second on the house. Not to mention the lawyers’ fees. He can rot in prison, for all I care. I want to file charges. I want my money back! I’m going to need every penny. I have kids. Thank God he couldn’t touch the college fund.”

  She leaned over and looked at Decker intently.

  “How do I get my money back?”

  So that was her agenda. Maybe Decker could work with it. “Mrs. Holmes, what your husband did was despicable.”

  “You said it!”

  “It’s morally reprehensible.”

  “Damn right.”

  “Unfortunately, it isn’t a crime.”

  “What?” Lindie screamed. “The bastard stole money from me!”

  “Technically, he didn’t steal anything because his name was on the account.”

  “But only in emergencies and if I was incapacitated!”

  “I know what the intent was, Mrs. Holmes. And you’re right. He was clearly taking money from you and using it in an inappropriate way—”

  “He was spending my money on his mistress.”

  “I realize that. It’s terrible, it’s immoral, it’s just plain wrong.” Decker winced. “But it isn’t illegal.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Can’t I can file a police report for theft or something?”

  “I’m sure a savvy lawyer and you could come up with a plan…sue him for fraud in civil court. Maybe that would work.”

  “I can’t afford a lawyer right now.”

  “There are people who might take the case pro bono,” Decker lied. “Maybe you can tap into your husband’s life-insurance policy or something. I don’t think he has a lot of spare cash at the moment. Mr. Holmes is in pretty bad shape right now.”

  “Fuck the bastard!”

  Decker took a deep breath and let it out. “You’ve been through hell, Mrs. Holmes. My heart goes out to you. Surely, you don’t want to be dragged down by your husband any more than you already have been, right?”

  Her eyes got wary. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if you are aware of any other crimes that Mr. Holmes might have done, I’d be happy to listen.”

  For the first time, the woman was silent.

  Decker quickly added, “Of course you know that as Mr. Holmes’s wife, you’re not required to expose any crimes that your husband may have done and confided in you—”

  “I know, Lieutenant. That’s called the Fifth Amendment.”

  It was clear that she and Holmes had talked before. “Exactly,” Decker said. “But if you’re willing to talk…get it off your chest…I’ll be willing to listen.”

  Her eyes met Decker’s and she studied his face for a long time. “I take it that you think Ray had something to do with the missing flight attendant.”

  “What I think is that Ray is in a heap of trouble. He’s going before a grand jury on capital murder charges against his former sister-in-law, Isabela Devargas.”

  She shrugged, but her body had stiffened. Color had drained from her face.

  “You know that Ray was born Belize Hernandez. That his brother and sister-in-law went missing over thirty years ago. Ray was involved. You know that.”

  Another shrug. Decker regarded the woman. She was more than happy to level fraud charges against Holmes, but she balked at murder.

  Decker said, “It’s all going to come out. Now’s the time for you to tell me your side of the story.”

  “Nothing to tell,” Lindie said.

  “I’m not interested in giving you any more grief, Mrs. Holmes. I’m just interested in getting at the truth.”

  Again, Decker was met with silence. He said, “Would you like another latte?”

  “Yeah, actually, I would. Thank you.”

  “How about something to go along with it?”

  “Just the latte.”

  The request was entered. Again, another coffee was brought in to her. Decker neglected to tell the camera decaf and Lindie didn’t correct him. That was good. He wanted her awake and edgy. After a few sips, she started talking again.

  “I can’t believe he took my money.”

  “I can completely believe it,” Decker said. “Your husband has a past.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  The words twanged Decker’s antennae. He tried to be subtle, but he found himself studying her face. She was around Holmes’s age, and Decker could easily imagine her as a hippie in the seventies.

  “You were a member of the church, weren’t you?” Before she could answer, Decker said, “And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. We’ve already located two of the church’s former members—Alyssa Bright Mapplethorpe and Christian Woodhouse. They’ll have no trouble identifying you as one of their own. I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

  She took another sip of coffee and said, “I have no side of the story. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” Decker said. “You honestly expect me to believe that you, as a member of the Church of the Sunland, didn’t know about the disappearance of Beth and Manny. You expect me to believe that you didn’t know about the stolen money. You honestly expect me to believe that you didn’t know your husband was there when Beth Devargas was murdered. You know what, Mrs. Holmes? I don’t believe you. And if I don’t believe you, I think a grand jury won’t believe you, either. So either you tell me your side of the story or you’re on your own.”

  Not a word was spoken, but the tears streaming down the woman’s face spoke volumes. Finally she whispered, “I was twenty years old, Lieutenant.”

  “You were very young, and it was a long time ago,” he said gently. “So as best as you can, tell me what happened that night.”

  She was sobbing now. “I don’t know what happened because I wasn’t there.”

  “You were an innocent victim caught up in something that you didn’t do.”

  “Exactly!” More tears. “Oh God, that’s always been my problem. My stupid naïveté. My daughter’s the same way.”

  Decker reached over and patted her hand. She grabbed it and gave it a squeeze. “I was in love with him. That must make me the biggest sucker in the world.”

  “He’s a smooth-talking guy.” Decker removed his hand from hers, then went for the jugular. “Lindie, why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me the whole story? Get it off your chest once and for all.”

  And then she started talking.

  43

  OH GOD!” LINDIE Holmes sat back in the chair and looked at the ceiling. The tears were coming freely now, her brown eyes muddied with sadness. “I feel like I did back then…when everything came crashing down.”

  “I’m hear to listen, so why don’t you start from the beginning?” Decker had several notepads. Pen poised, he said, “Tell me about yourself, Lindie.”

  “Nothing to tell. I was a good kid from a nice family. It was the times.”

  “Crazy times. Lots of good kids got swept away. Where’d you go to college?”

  “Kentmore College in Pasadena. Do you know where that is?”

  “Absolutely,” Decker stated as he wrote. “It was started by the Reverend William Coolidge Jones. It was a bastion of conservatism during very turbulent times.”

  “Exactly. Most of us came from conservative homes. That’s where I met Christian Woodhouse. We started dating with the intention of getting married. I had the wedding planned out in my mind. Then one day at a party, he met Alyssa Bright, who later added the Mapplethorpe, the pretentious twit. After he met her, things radically changed.”

  “How so?”

  “Alyssa was a transplant to UCLA and Berkeley. She introduced Christian to a social conscience, but mostly she introduced Christian to sex and drugs.” She shrugged. “I was in love with Christian, so I went along for the ride. He didn’t have to pro
d me too much. It was a hell of a lot more fun than organic chemistry.”

  Decker nodded, his hand cramping as he wrote as fast as he could. He got a slight break as she finished up her third latte and asked for another.

  “All the drugs and partying took its toll. Technically, we dropped out of college, but if we hadn’t left, we would have flunked out. Both Christian and Alyssa came from more money than me, but I had some savings in the bank. We pooled our resources and rented some crash pad in the East Valley. Its biggest claim to fame was that it had a lot of bedrooms. To make ends meet, we took in boarders, dropout students like us. We weren’t picky about who they were as long as they could pay the rent. In the end, there were twelve of us in the one little house. Drugs flowed, sex flowed, life was one big party.” She stared at Decker. “You’re around that age. You must know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

  “See?” A smile through her tears. “Even cops have a past.”

  Not much of one. In the early seventies, Decker was a father, a husband, and, most important, a traumatized vet, working as a beat cop in Gainesville, Florida. Still, he gave her a smile. She perked up when her fourth latte appeared. It gave her fortification.

  She sipped and said, “After a while all the mindless stuff got boring, so we slipped into the next obvious stage. This was around ’73 or ’74, I guess. The Beatles and the Stones had discovered the Eastern religions. Now there was a purpose to being stoned. It led to spiritual enlightenment, but when we tried it out, something was lacking. Then Alyssa brought in Beth and Manny. Things changed. We found our real purpose.”

  “Let me back it up a moment,” Decker said. “How did Alyssa meet Beth?”

  “At the coffee shop where they both worked. Alyssa invited her to one of our meditation parties. Beth and Manny happened to be somewhat religious…Catholic by birth, but they also had included many Native American customs in their worship. It led to the perfect solution. We created a service that was familiar, but now we had the cachet of including Indian lore. We were entranced. Manny and Beth joined our group. We started our own spin on meditation. Hence the birth of the Church of the Sunland.”