Pollard watched him approach, but didn’t say anything until he arrived, and then she gave him her expert opinion.

“You were right, Holman. They would have heard him coming just like I heard you. They knew the person who killed them.”

Holman glanced back at the ramp.

“Once you’re down here there’s no other way to see it. And at night it’s even more quiet than this.”

Pollard crossed her arms and felt sick. That was the problem-there was no other way to see it, but the police claimed they saw it another way.

25

POLLARD WAS still trying to decide what this meant when Holman interrupted her. He seemed nervous.

“Listen, we shouldn’t spend too much time down here. Those guys at the loading docks might call the police.”

“How’d you know I would be here?”

“Didn’t. I was up on the bridge when you came down the ramp. I saw you jump the fence.”

“You just happened to be up there?”

“I’ve come here a dozen times since it happened. C’mon, let’s go back up. I was going to call you-”

Pollard didn’t want to go back to the gate; she wanted to figure out why the police had overlooked such an obvious flaw in their case, and was thinking about something Holman had said.

“Waitaminute, Holman. Have you been here at night?”

Holman stopped in the edge of the bridge’s shadow, split in two by the light.

“Yeah. Two or three times.”

“How’s the light at that time of night?”

“They had a three-quarter moon with scattered clouds on the night they were killed. I checked the weather report. You could’ve read a newspaper down here.”

He turned back toward the gate again.

“We better leave. You could get arrested, being down here.”

“So could you.”

“I’ve been arrested before. You won’t like it.”

“Holman, if you want to wait up at the gate, go on. I’m trying to figure out what happened down here.”

Holman didn’t leave, but it was obvious he wasn’t happy about staying. Pollard circled the murder scene, trying to picture the cars and the officers on the night they were killed. She changed their positions like mannequins in a store window, turning each time to stare at the ramp. She rearranged the cars in her mind’s eye, thinking maybe she had missed some obvious explanation.

Holman said, “What are you trying to figure out?”

“I’m trying to see if there was some way they wouldn’t have seen him.”

“They saw him. You just told me they saw him.”

Pollard went to the edge of the channel and peered at the water. The channel was a rectangular trough about two feet deep with a sickly trickle along its bottom. The shooter could have hidden down here or maybe behind one of the columns, but only if he had known when and where to expect the four officers, and both possibilities were absurd. Pollard knew she was reaching. The primary rule of an investigation was that the simplest explanation was the most likely. It was no more likely the shooter had lain in wait than he had jumped down from the bridge like a ninja.

Holman said, “Did you hear me?”

“I’m thinking.”

“You need to listen. I went to see Liz this morning to get the reports, but the police got to her first. They cleaned out Richie’s desk. They took the reports.”

Pollard turned away from the channel, surprised.

“How did they know she had the reports?”

“I don’t know if they went for the reports, but they knew she’s been helping me. They made it sound like they had to search his things because I had been there-like they wanted to see what I was up to. Maybe that’s when they saw the reports.”

“Who?”

“That detective I told you about, Random.”

“Random’s the homicide detective running the task force?”

“That’s right. When I was leaving, Random and three other guys jumped me. They told me Maria Juarez split and they’re blaming me for it, but I don’t think that’s why they jumped me. They knew we went to see Mike Fowler’s wife and they didn’t like it. They didn’t mention you, but they knew about me.”

Pollard didn’t give a damn if they knew about her or not, but she wondered why a homicide detective had taken robbery reports about Marchenko and Parsons. The same reports April told her were no longer available from Robbery Special because they had been pulled upstairs.

Pollard figured she knew the answer but asked anyway.

“Did you have a chance to speak with Mellon’s and Ash’s families?”

“I called after I left Liz, but they wouldn’t speak to me. Random had already seen them. He told me not to bother Liz anymore. Richie’s wife, and he warned me to stay away from her.”

Pollard then circled the crime scene again, shaking her head, careful not to step on the clean places where the bodies had dropped. She was glad Holman hadn’t asked her about them.

She said, “I want to see what’s in those reports.”

“They took them.”

“That’s why I want to see what’s in them. What did she say about Thursday night?”

Pollard circled back to her starting point, and realized Holman hadn’t answered.

“Did you remember to ask her about Thursday?”

“The floorboard of his car was messy with dirt and grass, she said.”

“So Richard was out with Fowler.”

“I guess. You think they were down here?”

Pollard had already considered the river and discounted it.

“There’s no grass and damned little mud, Holman. Even if they jumped down in the water and waded around, they wouldn’t pick up mud and weeds like we saw on Fowler’s boots.”

Pollard stared at the ramp again, then Holman. Where he was standing, he was perfectly split by the bridge’s shadow, half in light, half in darkness.

“Holman, you and I aren’t Sherlock-fucking-Holmes. Here we are in the kill zone, and it’s obvious the shooter could not have approached without being seen. He wasn’t hiding down here and he did not lay in wait-he walked down that ramp, came over here, and shot them. This is freshman detective work. Fowler, your son, Mellon, and Ash-they let him get close.”

“I know.”

“That’s the point. You and I aren’t the only two people who would see this. The cops who came down here would have seen it, too. They would know Juarez could not have ambushed these guys, but all their statements in the press claimed that’s how it happened. So either they’re ignoring the obvious or they’re lying about it or there is some mitigating factor that explains it, but I don’t see what that might be.”

Holman stepped back into the shade and was no longer split by the light.

“I understand.”

Pollard wasn’t sure he did. If a mitigating factor didn’t exist, then the police had been lying about what happened down here. Pollard didn’t want to let herself believe it until she had seen the reports. She still held out hope that something in the papers would make it all right.

She said, “Okay, here’s where we are. I went through the witness list from the Marchenko case and checked the witnesses against the calls your son and Fowler made. Here’s the bad news-Fowler called Marchenko’s mother two times.”

“That means they were investigating the robberies.”

“It means they were investigating the robberies. It doesn’t tell us whether or not they were doing it in an official capacity or doing it for themselves. We should talk to this woman and find out what Fowler wanted.”

Holman seemed to think about it, then looked away.

“Maybe tomorrow. I can’t do it today.”

Pollard checked her watch and felt a tick of irritation. Here she was, humiliating herself with her mother to help out Holman, and he couldn’t put himself out.

She said, “You know, I don’t have all the time in the world for this, Holman. I’m set up to help you today, so today would be a good day to do this.”

Holman’s mouth tightened and he turned red. He started to say something, then glanced at the ramp before turning back to her again. She thought he looked embarrassed.