The Burnt House

Marge’s ears perked up. “Car mats?”

“Yeah, the car mats that go on top of the carpet. New car mats with the BMW logo would cost Dresden money. I told him that I could probably steam-clean the old ones as good as new, but he insisted on ordering fresh. What the hell? Didn’t make any difference to me except that there was a six-week wait and it took a little extra time. Shipment got mixed up or something. Anyway, I asked Dresden what he wanted me to do with the old ones. He told me to chuck them.”

“Tell me you didn’t do it.”

“Why throw away perfectly good mats?”

“Tell me you have them.”

“No, I don’t. That’s why I said it might be your lucky day. I cleaned them up and sold them on e-Bay. I got a few bucks and the customer got a bargain.”

“Do you remember who you sold them to?”

“Got it all down in my computer. She may not be happy giving back the mats. She got a good deal.”

“Either she’ll get them back or we’ll get her new ones.” Marge was writing as fast as she could. “So let me get this straight. You offered to clean the old mats and put them back in the car, but Dresden told you to throw them away.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re positive that he told you to chuck them?”

“Are you asking if I’d swear to it in court? The answer is yes. Matter of fact, I asked him specifically if he wanted me to clean them so he could keep the mats for a backup set and he told me no. He said he wanted brand-new and that I should just chuck ’em in the garbage.”

“Those were his words? ‘Chuck ’em in the garbage’?”

“Yes. That’s when I thought if they’re going in the garbage, why not clean ’em and see how they turn out?”

“And you have the woman’s name and address?”

“I do.”

“What about her phone number?”

“No phone number, Sergeant. It was a business transaction, not a date.”

DECKER FELT A strange buzzing sensation in his chest. For a split second he wondered about his heart, but then he realized that he had placed his cell in his interior coat pocket and the ringer was on vibrate. He looked at the cell’s window: Marge. “Are we happy today?”

“We are very happy.” Marge explained the situation in detail. When she got to floor mats, Decker pumped his fist and shouted “yes.” “I put Oliver on contacting the woman from e-Bay. She was out and he left a message on the machine, but we both think we shouldn’t take any chances. We’d like to drive down tonight.”

“I agree. Take along a tech to luminol. I want this as professional as possible.” Decker paused. “I hope we get something. Usually some proteins remain in the bleed-out area, but in this case, the carpets were professionally cleaned. Even if we get a little fluorescence, defense could always say it was her car, maybe she scraped her ankle and bled into the carpet.”

“I thought about that,” Marge said. “But we can counter by saying it must have been quite a lot of blood to survive a professional cleaning. Also, Dresden’s cover story is fishy-that he left the top down in a rain. It had to have been quite a downpour because the interior was not only soaked beyond redemption but infested with mold.”

“When did he bring the car in to the shop?”

“About a month after the crash.”

“So check that date against the local weather reports. Let’s see if it was raining around that time. If it wasn’t, we’ve punched a hole in that alibi.”

“I’ve already put Oliver on that as well. The weather was L.A. consistent-partly cloudy with burn-off in the afternoons. No precipitation in the area other than morning dew. I also had Scott check farther up north and east in the mountains. There was some light rain in San Bernardino, but the system passed through pretty quickly. I’m no mycologist, but for it to smell that bad, it sounds like the interior was soaked. I think Dresden took a hose and drowned the interior, trying to wash away evidence.”

“Makes sense. Let’s see if we can get some bright blue splotches to back it up.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m back in my hotel room packing up. I’ve got a little spare time, so I’ll probably grab some lunch and then drive back to Albuquerque. I’ll make sure my cell is charged, but reception on the ride back isn’t always so great. If you don’t get me, just leave a message. Call as soon as you know anything.”

“I will. Have you decided on where to eat?”

“Anywhere I can walk. Any suggestions?”

“Pasquals on Water Street. It’s casual, it’s comfortable, and the food is terrific. Be sure to ask for both red and green chili on the side. Man, that’ll give your taste buds a workout.”

“I could use a good meal. Thanks for the tip.”

“I’ll give you another one. Instead of asking for red and green chili, just ask for Christmas chili. It’ll mark you as a local.”

DECKER HAD THE option of a private table with a thirty-minute wait or immediate seating at a round communal table. He was tired and starved, so he opted for the latter. His tablemates included a retired stockbroker with a passion for fly-fishing, a ceramic artist, a family of tourists with two young children, and a couple from Texas who owned a second home somewhere in the mountains. When the stockbroker asked about him and what he did for a living, Decker told the table that he was a lawyer and was in Santa Fe on business. The two sentences, stated separately, were the truth. It was only putting them together that turned his words into a little white lie.

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 go