The Burnt House Read Online Free PDF Page A

The voice was surprised. “Finally! Now we’re getting somewhere! You know how many phone calls I’ve made over the last few days?”
    “How can I help you, sir?”
    “Farley Lodestone is the name and you certainly can help me, Lieutenant Deckman. My stepdaughter’s missing. Me and her mom haven’t heard from her in forty-six days. We thought about it and thought about it and came to the same conclusion. That sumbitch husband of hers finally went out and did it.”
    “Did it?”
    “You know what I mean, Deckman. The sumbitch finally killed her!”
    Decker looked at the phone monitor and took down the calling number. It appeared to be a cell phone and was from an out-of-the-city area code. “Mr. Lodestone, why don’t you come in to the station house and we can talk about this? Things that are this serious shouldn’t be discussed over the phone.”
    There was a long pause. “You think so?”
    “Yes, sir, I do. I could see you in about an hour. How does that sound?”
    “Too quick! It’ll take time for me and the missus to get over there.”
    “Where are you calling from, Mr. Lodestone?”
    “Fresno.”
    One hundred and eighty-six miles away as the crow flies. “And you’re calling this station house because your stepdaughter lives in this area?”
    “Two-three-one-one-six Octavia Avenue. That’s where you’ll find the sumbitch.”
    “And who is this sumbitch?”
    “Ivan Dresden. He’s a broker for Merrill Lynch in Porter Ranch. My stepdaughter’s name is Roseanne. Roseanne Dresden.”
    Decker tucked the receiver under his chin as he wrote it down. As he saw Roseanne’s name in print, he realized he wasn’t reading it for the first time. “Her name is familiar. Would there be any reason that I might know her?”
    “Well, you mighta probably read her name in the papers saying she was on that WestAir flight that crashed down on the apartment building.”
    That was it! Decker’s mind was racing, trying to understand the purpose of the call. “Mr. Lodestone, are you saying that your stepdaughter wasn’t on that WestAir flight?”
    “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
    “But the papers reported her as one of the victims.”
    “Young man, I’m sure someone somewhere musta told you that you should never believe what you read in the papers.”
     
    THEY MATERIALIZED AT the station house at ten minutes to five in the afternoon. Farley and Shareen Lodestone were dressed in their Sunday finest, the man in a decently fitting gray suit with a white shirt and a tie, and Shareen in a flowered dress and low heels. She had taken the time to put on rouge and lipstick. Blond and blue-eyed, with good skin, at one time the woman had been attractive, but grief had deepened her eyes and depressed their light, giving her face a beetle brow.
    Farley was thin and of average height with a mop of white hair. Yet Decker had seen enough of these guys to know that they were deceptively strong and wiry. He knew that beneath that jacket and shirt were some stringy arms with good grip strength. The man looked more mad than upset, but that was often a man’s way of coping with heartache.
    Decker got them both cups of coffee and settled them into two seats opposite his desk. After closing the door, he sat down and took out a notepad, although he suspected that what they were going to tell him was a case of extreme denial. He said, “Before we get started, Mr. andMrs. Lodestone, I want to express my condolences. I am very sorry for your loss.”
    “Yeah, I am, too,” Lodestone grunted out. “So if you want to help, you’ll put that sumbitch behind bars.”
    “I always had a queasy feeling about him,” Shareen added.
    “Him…meaning your son-in-law?”
    “That’s right,” Shareen said. “Ivan Dresden.”
    Decker wrote down the name. “And you suspect…what?”
    “That Ivan killed her.”
    “Didn’t I already tell you that?” Lodestone butted in.
    “Yes, you did.” Decker paused. “Before you came in, I