“Leeds has been getting serious heat from the police is why. Parker Center has been calling and Leeds is going to meetings he won’t tell anyone about and he’s coming apart at the seams.”
“Has he said anything specifically about me?”
“As a matter of fact. He said if any of us were contacted by you we were to report that contact immediately. He also said if any of us were using government time and resources to aide a civilian endeavor-he looked at me when he said it-he would bring disciplinary charges and transfer our asses to Alaska.”
Pollard hesitated, debating how much she should say.
“Where are you?”
“The marina. Some homeless dude pulled a note job, then fell asleep in the park across the street.”
“Are you going to report this call?”
“Are you breaking the law?”
“For God’s sake, no, I am not breaking the law.”
“Then fuck Leeds. I just want to know what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell you, but let me ask first-have you been able to get a copy of the Juarez tape?”
Sanders didn’t immediately answer, but when she did her tone was guarded.
“They told me the tape had been erased. An unfortunate accident, they said.”
“Hang on-Juarez’s alibi tape was destroyed?”
“What they said.”
Pollard took a breath. First Maria Juarez had disappeared, and now her tape had been destroyed, the same tape Maria claimed as her husband’s alibi. Pollard found herself smiling, though without any humor. A hot breeze had picked up, but felt good on her face. She liked being on the summit.
Pollard said, “I’m going to tell you some things. I don’t know everything yet, so do not repeat this.”
“Please.”
“Who’s calling Leeds?”
“I don’t know. The calls come from Parker Center and Leeds doesn’t tell us a goddamned thing. He hasn’t even been in the office for two days.”
“All right. I think we’re looking at a criminal conspiracy among police officers growing out of the Marchenko and Parsons robberies. That conspiracy includes the murder of Holman’s son and the other three officers under the Fourth Street Bridge.”
“Are you shitting me?”
Pollard’s phone beeped with an incoming call.
Sanders said, “What’s that?”
“Incoming call.”
Pollard didn’t recognize the number so she let it go to her voice mail. She resumed her conversation with Sanders.
“We believe the four dead officers plus at least one additional officer were conducting an off-the-books investigation to find the missing sixteen million.”
“Did they find it?”
“I believe they did-or identified its location. My guess now is that once the money was found, at least one member of the conspiracy decided to keep everything for himself. I don’t know that yet, but I’m positive about the conspiracy. I believe this fifth person was connected with Alison Whitt.”
“How does Whitt fit into this?”
“Alison Whitt claimed she was a registered police informant. If that’s true, she might have told what she knew about Marchenko to her contact officer. That officer is potentially a party to the conspiracy.”
Sanders hesitated.
“You want me to identify her contact officer.”
“If she’s registered, she’ll be on an informant list and so will the name of the cop who signed her up.”
“This is going to be tough sledding. I told you how they’re coming down on us.”
“Parker Center is coming down on you. Whitt’s murder is being handled on the divisional level out of Hollywood Station. You might still be able to get some cooperation.”
“All right. Okay, yeah, I’ll see what I can do. You really think this is cop-on-cop murder?”
“That’s the way it’s shaping up.”
“You can’t sit on this, for Christ’s sake. You’re a civilian. You’re talking about murder.”
“When I have something that stands up I’ll give it to you. You can bring it forward through the FBI. Now one more thing-”
“Jesus, more?”
“I want this on record with you. Mike Fowler left a pair of dirty boots on the patio in his backyard. Soil and vegetation samples should be taken from his boots and compared with samples from the summit above the Hollywood Sign.”
“The Hollywood Sign? Why the friggin’ sign?”
“That’s where I am. Marchenko and Parsons hid something related to their robberies up here. I believe Fowler and Richard Holman came here searching for it, and I believe they found something. If you end up bringing this thing forward, you’ll want to see if the soil samples match.”
“Okay. I’m on it. You keep me advised, okay? Stay in touch.”
“Let me know when you get something on Whitt.”
Pollard ended the call, then retrieved the incoming message. It was Peter Williams’ assistant, calling from Pacific West Bank.
“Mr. Williams has arranged for you to access the files you requested. You’ll have to read them here on our premises during normal business hours. Please contact me or our chief security officer, Alma Wantanabe, to make the arrangements.”
Pollard put away her phone and felt like pumping her fist. Williams had delivered and now everything was coming together. Pollard sensed they were close to making a breakthrough and wanted to read the Pacific West files as quickly as possible.
She turned toward Holman and saw he was now squatting beside the hole. She hurried over.
She said, “What are you doing?”
“Putting the dirt back. Someone could break a leg.”
Holman was slowly pushing dirt back into the hole with measured mechanical motions.
“Well, stop playing in the dirt and let’s go. Pacific West has a copy of the police summaries. This is good, Holman. If we can match your cover sheets with the reports, we’ll know what Random took from your son’s desk.”
Holman stood as if he were made of lead and started back down the trail. Pollard related what she had learned about Maria Juarez’s videotape. She considered this development telling, and grew annoyed when Holman didn’t react.
She said, “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re getting close, Holman. We catch a break with these reports or with Whitt being an informant, and everything will come together. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Pollard got pissed off when he didn’t answer. She was about to say something when Holman finally spoke.
He said, “I guess they did it.”
Pollard realized what was bothering him, but she wasn’t sure what to say. Holman had probably been holding out hope his son wasn’t a bad cop but now that hope was gone.
“We still have to find out what happened.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry, Max.”
Holman kept walking.
When they reached the car, Holman got in without a word, but Pollard tried to be encouraging. She turned the car around and headed back down the canyon into Hollywood, telling him what she hoped to find when they reached Pacific West Bank.
He said, “Listen, I don’t want to go to Chinatown. I’d like you to bring me home.”
Pollard felt another flash of irritation. She felt bad for Holman with what he was going through, but here he was with the big shoulders filling the other side of her car like a giant depressed lump, not even looking at her. He reminded her of herself when she sat in the kitchen staring at the goddamned clock.
She said, “We won’t be at the bank that long.”
“I have something else to do. Just drop me home first.”
They were on Gower heading south to the freeway, stopped at a traffic light. Pollard planned to hop on the 101 for an easy slide into Chinatown.
“Holman, listen, we are close, okay? We are really close to making this case happen.”
He didn’t look at her.
“We can make it happen later.”
“Goddamn it, we’re halfway to Chinatown. If I have to bring you to Culver City it’s really out of the way.”
“Forget it. I’ll ride the fuckin’ bus.”
Holman suddenly pushed open the door and stepped out into traffic. Pollard was caught off guard, but she jammed on the brake.