Mrs. Marchenko brightened.

“Would that help me sue them?”

“Yes, ma’am, I think it might.”

Mrs. Marchenko pushed up from her chair and waddled out of the room.

Holman leaned toward Pollard and lowered his voice.

“Who’s this fifth guy?”

“I don’t know.”

“The papers didn’t say anything about a girlfriend.”

“I don’t know. She wasn’t on the FBI witness list, either.”

Mrs. Marchenko interrupted them by returning with a cardboard box.

“The bills I put in here after I pay them. It’s all mixed up.”

Holman settled back and watched them go through the bills. Mrs. Marchenko didn’t make many calls and didn’t phone many different numbers-her landlord, her doctors, a couple of other older women who were friends, her younger brother in Cleveland, and her son. Whenever Pollard found a number Mrs. Marchenko couldn’t identify, Pollard called the number on her cell phone, but the first three she dialed were two repairmen and a Domino’s. Mrs. Marchenko remembered the repairmen, but frowned when Pollard reached the Domino’s.

“I never have the pizza. That must have been Anton.”

The Domino’s call had been placed five months ago. The following number on the list was also a number Mrs. Marchenko couldn’t identify, but then she nodded.

“That must be Allie. I remember the pizza now. I tell Anton it has a nasty taste. When the man brought it, Anton gave me the phone when he went to the door.”

Pollard smiled at Holman.

“Well, there we go. Let’s see who answers.”

Pollard dialed the number, and Holman watched as her smile faded. She closed her phone.

“It’s no longer in service.”

Mrs. Marchenko said, “Is this bad?”

“Maybe not. I’m pretty sure we can use this number to find her.”

Pollard copied the number into her notebook along with the time, date, and duration of the call, then searched through the remaining bills, but found the number only one other time on a call placed three weeks before the first.

Pollard glanced at Holman, then smiled at Mrs. Marchenko.

“I think we’ve taken enough of your time. Thank you very much.”

Mrs. Marchenko’s face folded in disappointment.

“Don’t you want to talk about the fan and how they lied?”

Pollard stood and Holman stood with her.

“I think we have enough. We’ll see what Allie has to say and we’ll get back to you. Come on, Holman.”

Mrs. Marchenko waddled after them to the door.

“They did not have to kill my boy. I don’t believe any of those things they said. Will you put that in your story?”

“Goodbye and thank you again.”

Pollard walked out to the car, but Holman hesitated. He felt awkward just leaving.

Mrs. Marchenko said, “Anton was trying to give up. Put in your story how they murdered my son.”

Pollard was waving for him to join her, but here was this old woman with her pleading eyes, thinking they were going to help her and they were going to leave her with nothing. Holman felt ashamed of himself. He looked at the broken fan.

“You couldn’t fix it?”

“How could I get it fixed? My Anton is dead. How could I get it fixed until I sue and get the money?”

Pollard beeped the horn. Holman glanced at her, then turned back to Mrs. Marchenko.

“Let me take a look.”

Holman went back into the house and examined the fan. The safety cage was supposed to be attached at the back of the motor by a little screw, but the screw was broken. It had probably snapped when the cops knocked over the fan. The head of the screw had popped off and the body of the screw was still in the hole. It would have to be drilled and rethreaded. It would be cheaper to buy a new fan.

“I can’t fix it, Mrs. Marchenko. I’m sorry.”

“This is outrageous, what they did to my son. I am going to sue them.”

The horn beeped.

Holman went back to the door and saw Pollard waving, but he still didn’t leave. Here was this woman with her son who had robbed thirteen banks, murdered three people, and wounded four others; her little boy who had modified semiautomatic rifles to fire like machine guns, dressed up like a lunatic, and shot it out with the police, but here she was, defending her son to the last.

Holman said, “Was he a good son?”

“He came and we watched the TV.”

“Then that’s all you need to know. You hang on to that.”

Holman left her then and went to join Pollard.

30

WHEN HOLMAN pulled the door closed, Pollard roared back toward Union station.

“What were you doing? Why’d you go back inside?”

“To see if I could fix her fan.”

“We have something important here and you’re wasting time with that?”

“The woman thinks we’re helping her. I didn’t feel right just leaving.”

Holman felt so bad he didn’t notice that Pollard had gone silent. When he finally glanced over, her mouth was a hard line and her brow was cut by a vertical line.

He said, “What?”

“It might not have dawned on you, but I did not enjoy that. I don’t like lying to some poor woman who lost her son and I don’t like sneaking around pretending to be something I’m not. This kind of thing was easier and simpler when I was on the Feeb, but I’m not, so this is what we have. I don’t need you making me feel even worse.”

Holman stared at her. He had spent much of the night regretting he had gotten her involved, and now he felt like a moron.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Forget it. I know you didn’t.”

She was clearly in a bad mood now, but Holman didn’t know what to say. The more he thought about everything she was doing for him, the more he felt like an idiot.

“I’m sorry.”

Her mouth tightened, so he decided not to apologize again. He decided to change the subject.

“Hey, I know this Allie thing is important. Can you find her with a disconnected number?”

“I’ll have a friend of mine at the Feeb do it. They can run the number through a database that will show prior subscribers even though it’s no longer in use.”

“How long will it take?”

“It’s computers. Milliseconds.”

“Why wasn’t she on the witness list?”

“Because they didn’t know about her, Holman. Duh.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s why this is important. They didn’t know about her, but Fowler did. That means he learned about her from some other source.”

“Fowler and the new guy.”

Pollard glanced over at him.

“Yeah, and the new guy. I’m looking forward to talking with this girl, Holman. I want to find out what she told them.”

Holman grew thoughtful. They were driving west on Main Street toward the river. He was thinking about what she might have told them, too.

“Maybe she told them to meet her under the bridge to cut up the money.”

Pollard didn’t look at him. She was silent for a moment and then she shrugged.

“We’ll see. I’ll go back through his phone bills to see if and when they made contact, and I’ll see if we can find her. I’ll call you later with whatever I find.”

Holman watched her drive, feeling even more guilty that she would be spending her afternoon with this.

“Listen, I want to thank you again for going to all this trouble. I didn’t mean to put my foot in it back there.”

“You’re welcome. Forget it.”

“I know you already said no, but I’d like to pay you something. At least gas money since you won’t let me drive.”

“If we have to get gas I’ll let you pay. Will that make you feel better?”

“I’m not trying to be a pain. I just feel bad with you putting in so much time.”

Pollard didn’t respond.

“Your husband doesn’t mind you spending all this time?”

“Let’s not talk about my husband.”

Holman sensed he had stepped over a line with her, so he backed off and fell silent. He had noticed she didn’t wear a ring the first time he saw her at Starbucks, but she had mentioned her kids so he didn’t know what to make of it. Now he regretted bringing it up.