42

W ITH 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?”