The Burnt House

“Uh, yes, thanks,” Oliver said.

“Wait here. I’ll get the stickers.” Henson returned a few minutes later. “Did you get what you needed?”

“’Fraid not,” Marge said.

“All we got is the old bureaucratic runaround and a very polite but unhelpful ‘we’ll see what we can do.’” Oliver held up the papers Nancy had given them. “And a bunch of forms to fill out.”

“This way.” Henson led them back through the carpeted hallway into the lobby. Phones were still beeping but the exotic woman named Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. The young man dropped his voice. “Look … if you give me your card, I’ll see what I can do.”

Marge shook her head and whispered back, “Stay out of it. I don’t want you getting in trouble for doing anything illegal.”

Oliver’s card was already out of his pocket. “However, if you want to ask around, I won’t object.”

“Detective, if I ask around, I’ll bring attention to myself. Right now I’m the invisible whipping boy.”

“That’s a bummer,” Marge said.

“I don’t care. It’s decent pay for a summer job and I can ride my bike.”

“You go to college?” Marge asked.

“Cooper Union in New York.”

“Science or design?” Henson stared at her. Marge said, “My daughter’s at Caltech. She looked at Cooper Union, but wanted to live closer to home.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I can understand that. New York is a big city.” He pushed the elevator button. Still talking softly, he said, “I’m pretty good with a keyboard, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Marge said.

The elevator doors parted and the two detectives stepped inside. As the doors closed, Henson said, “I’ll get back to you within the hour.”

As they rode down, Marge said, “I sure hope we don’t get the kid into trouble.”

“C’mon, Margie, did you see the look in his eyes? With a single stroke, he’s morphed from a nerd to Tom Cruise in MissionImpossible.” Oliver smiled. “Good with a keyboard …” He laughed. “The kid’ll have our answer in ten minutes.”

On the way to the parking lot, Oliver dumped the request forms along with the SASE into the nearest trash can.

6 (#u4ed9c3e9-232c-5df1-b5ae-30f1b3495387)

THE COFFEE WAS strong and bad, unlike the news, which was just plain bad. Decker winced as he attempted to down the black mud. Then, placing the mug on his desk, he decided it wasn’t worth the rotgut just to get the caffeine jolt. A computer printout lay on his desk: a list of victims from flight 1324, and Roseanne Dresden’s name wasn’t on it.

Marge was seated, but Oliver was standing near the door. Both were waiting for his next set of instructions. Decker said, “So then tell me again. What exactly is this?”

As if his asking would change the picture. Marge said, “This is what we’re assuming is WestAir’s original list of the people aboard flight 1324. Oliver and I checked it against the original newspaper list from the Times. That one had Roseanne’s name on it.”

“And this came from Henson the Hacker?”

“Yes.”

“How reliable is this kid?”

“I don’t think he made this up, if that’s what you’re asking. I think he retrieved this little nugget somewhere within the bowels of WestAir’s microchips.”

“So it’s possible that he doesn’t have the entire picture,” Decker said.

“It’s probable that he doesn’t have the entire picture,” Oliver answered. “This was just the shit he was able to pull up within an hour or so before closing time. There’s probably a slew of material he can’t get access to.”

Marge said, “You also have to keep in mind that lists change … like when there’s a baby or a toddler that wasn’t ticketed. Roseanne wasn’t ticketed, so it could be something like that.”

Decker said, “So somewhere between the crash and the printing of the Times edition, Roseanne’s name was added. The question is: Who added the name?” Mutual shrugs answered his question. The crash was still using its long tentacles to give Decker a massive headache. “While Henson the Hacker was doing his mischief, did he happen to find any work order that nails Roseanne being on the flight?”

Marge shook her head no.

“Then the two of you are going to have to go back to WestAir and go through official channels. Find the official list and Roseanne’s work order. Without it, we have nothing.”

“With it, we’ll have nothing,” Oliver stated.

Decker became irritated. “Just go back to WestAir and find what we’re looking for, Scott. It seems to me that neither the Times nor WestAir would put her on the official victims list without being able to verify it. It would open them up to lawsuits.”

“Not if the husband, Ivan the Terrible, called up the airline and told them to do it,” Marge said. “Besides, he’s already suing the airline.”

Decker said, “This should be easy to settle once we have the work order. Oliver, did any one of Roseanne’s friends call you back?”

Oliver took a small notebook from his pants pocket. “Two: David Rottiger and Arielle Toombs.”

“Two out of eight?”

“Not a terrible batting average considering that all the names on the list work for WestAir, and the airline’s official policy is that anything to do with flight 1324 goes through the flight task force.”

Marge said, “After having visited the corporate offices, it was probably pretty brave of these two to call back. If management finds out they talked to us, it could be bad for them.”

“So set up interviews before they change their minds,” Decker said.

Oliver said, “I’ve already made an appointment with Rottiger. He lives in West Hollywood, and since I’m going into the city tonight, I asked if I could stop by around six. He agreed, but he sounded cautious.”

“And what about Toombs? Where does she live?”

“Studio City.”

“Do you have time to talk to Arielle Toombs tonight?” Decker asked Marge.

“If I do some rearranging. I was going to meet Vega at six.”

“The girl’s actually going out on a date—”

“Scott, you’re not being nice.” Marge looked at Decker for support. “A guy asked her to a party tonight. She wanted to meet me before the party, but I could meet her afterward.”

“No way, this is a big deal in Vega’s life and you’ve got to be there.”