Random seemed about to answer, then thought better of it. He checked his watch, then stood as if lifting a great load.

“Let’s leave it at what I’ve said. This is an ongoing investigation.”

“Okay, but one more thing. Richie’s commander told me this was a personal beef between Juarez and one of the other officers, Fowler. Is that what it was?”

Random nodded at Vukovich, letting Vukovich answer.

“That’s right. It started a little over a year ago. Fowler and his trainee stopped a kid for a traffic violation. That was Jaime Juarez, Warren’s younger brother. Juarez grew belligerent. Fowler knew he was high, pulled him out of the car, and found a few crack rocks in his pants. Juarez, of course, claimed Fowler planted the stuff, but he still got hit for three years in the State. Second month in, a fight broke out between black and Latino prisoners, and Jaime was killed. Warren blamed Fowler. Went all over the Eastside saying he was going to do Fowler for killing the kid. He didn’t keep it a secret. We have a witness list two pages long of people who heard him making the threats.”

Holman took it in. He could absolutely see Juarez killing the man he blamed for his brother’s death, but that wasn’t what bothered him.

“Have you named any other suspects?”

“There are no other suspects. Juarez acted alone.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Juarez doing this by himself. How did he know they were down there? How’d he find them? How does one street dick take four armed police officers and none of them even get off a shot?”

Holman’s voice grew loud and he regretted it. Random seemed irritated. He pursed his lips, then checked his watch again as if someone or something was waiting for him. He made some kind of decision, then looked back at Holman.

“He approached them from the east using the bridge supports for cover. That’s how he got close. He was right at thirty feet away when he started shooting. He used a Benelli combat shotgun firing twelve-gauge buckshot. You know what buckshot is, Mr. Holman?”

Holman nodded. He felt sick.

“Two of the officers were shot in the back, indicating they never knew it was coming. The third officer was likely seated on the hood of his car. He jumped off, turned, and took his shot head-on. The fourth officer did manage to draw his sidearm, but he was dead before he could return fire. Don’t ask me which was your son, Mr. Holman. I won’t tell you.”

Holman felt cold. His breaths were short. Random checked his watch again.

“We know there was one shooter and only one because all the shell casings came from the same gun. It was Juarez. This video is just a half-assed attempt he made to cover his ass. As for you, we’re going to cut you free. That wasn’t a unanimous decision, but you’re free to go. We’ll arrange for a ride back to your car.”

Holman stood, but he still had questions and for the first time in his life he wasn’t in a hurry to leave a police station.

“Where are you in finding the sonofabitch? You guys have a line on him or what?”

Random glanced at Vukovich. Vukovich’s face was empty. Random looked back at Holman.

“We already have him. At six-twenty this evening Warren Alberto Juarez was found dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

Vukovich touched the underside of his chin.

“Same shotgun he used to murder your son. Straight up through here, took the top of his head off. Still had the gun in his hands.”

Random extended his hand once more. Holman felt numb with the news, but took the hand automatically.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Holman. I’m truly sorry that four officers were lost like this. It’s a goddamned shame.”

Holman didn’t respond. Here they were, keeping him here all evening, and Juarez was dead.

Holman said, “Then why in hell did you ask me if his wife knew where he was and what I would do?”

“To see if she lied to me. You know how it works.”

Holman felt himself growing angry but fought it down. Random opened the door.

“Let’s make sure we’re clear on this-don’t go back to Ms. Juarez. Her husband might be dead, but she is still the subject of an active investigation.”

“You think she was involved in the killings?”

“She helped him try to get away with it. Whether or not she knew before the fact is still to be determined. Don’t get involved in this again. We’re giving you a break because you lost your son, but that consideration ends now. If we bring you back to this room, Holman, I’ll charge you and see that you’re prosecuted. Do we understand each other?”

Holman nodded.

“Rest easy, Mr. Holman. We got the bastard.”

Random left without waiting for an answer. Vukovich peeled himself from the wall and gently slapped Holman on the back, like two guys who had been through the mill together.

“C’mon, bud. I’ll take you back to your car.”

Holman followed Vukovich out.

11

HOLMAN THOUGHT about Maria Juarez as they drove past her house on the way to his car. He looked for the remaining surveillance team but couldn’t find them.

Vukovich said, “Random means it about hassling that woman, Holman. Stay away from her.”

“You say they faked that tape I guess they faked it, but she seemed sincere to me.”

“Thank you for your expert opinion. Now tell me something-when you were waiting in line to rob those banks, did you look innocent or guilty?”

Holman let it go.

Vukovich said, “One point me, zero Holman.”

They stopped alongside the beater and Holman opened the door.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Maybe I should take you home instead of letting you drive. You don’t even have a license.”

“First thing I hear when I get my release is that Richie was killed. I had more on my mind than the DMV.”

“Get it done. I’m not just being an asshole. You get stopped, you’re just going to end up in trouble.”

“Tomorrow. First thing.”

Holman stood in the street as he watched Vukovich drive away. He looked at Maria Juarez’s house. The windows were lit and very likely the cousins were home. Holman wondered what they were talking about. He wondered whether the police had informed her that her husband was dead. Holman told himself he didn’t care, but knowing the little house was probably filled with pain bothered him. He climbed into his car and drove home.

Holman made it back to the motel without being stopped and left Perry’s car in the alley. Perry was up and waiting when Holman entered the lobby, leaning back behind his desk with his arms folded, his legs crossed, and his face pinched. He was pulled so tight he reminded Holman of a spider waiting to launch itself on the first bug that walked by.

Perry said, “You fucked me up good. You know how much I hadda pay in back fines?”

Holman wasn’t in the best of moods, either. He walked over and put himself right at the edge of Perry’s desk.

“Fuck you and your fines. You should’ve told me I was driving around in a wanted vehicle. You rented me a piece of shit that could’ve put me back in prison.”

“Fuck you, too! I didn’t know about those tickets! Guys like you get’m driving around and don’t even tell me. Now I’m fucking stuck with the bill-two thousand four hundred eighteen dollars!”

“You should’ve told them to keep it. It’s a piece of shit.”

“They were gonna boot it and hit me for the tow and the impound. I hadda go all the way downtown in rush hour to fork over that dough.”

Holman knew Perry was dying to hit him up for a reimbursement, but he also knew Perry was worried about the repercussions. If it got back to Gail Manelli she would know that Perry was illegally and knowingly renting his vehicle to unlicensed drivers. Then he would lose out on the tenants she fed him through the Bureau of Prisons.

Holman said, “Tough shit. I was downtown, too, thanks to your fucking car. Did you bring my television today?”