44

HOLMAN LEFT the parking structure as if he was sneaking away from a bank he had just robbed. He still worried that someone had followed Pollard from the cemetery, so he studied the cars and pedestrians outside the building but found no one suspicious. He waited in his stolen car until Pollard pulled into traffic, then followed her to Mrs. Marchenko.

Holman felt better now that he had spoken with Pollard. He sensed they were close to finding out who murdered Richie, and why, and he suspected this was why Random had moved against him. Random had been a major player in the Marchenko case and now he controlled the investigation into the murder of the four officers. How convenient. Random would have known about the missing sixteen million and had probably put together a team to find it that included Fowler, Richie, and the others. Holman bitterly recalled how Random described them-problem officers; drunks and bums who would sell out for the pot of gold. Random wanted to pin the murders on Warren Juarez; Maria Juarez had proof her husband wasn’t the shooter, so the proof disappeared and so did Maria Juarez. Richie had been in possession of reports Random had written, and Random had made the reports disappear. Holman had asked too many questions, so first they cut him off from the other families, then tried to scare him off, and finally tried to make him disappear, too. This was the only explanation Holman could see that made everything fit together. He still didn’t understand how Chee was involved, but he felt sure they had enough. The noose was tightening, so Random was trying to tie off the loose ends and get rid of the hangman. When Holman realized he was the hangman, he smiled. It had to be Random-and he wanted to be Random’s hangman.

When they reached Mrs. Marchenko’s house, Holman parked across the street. Mrs. Marchenko opened her front door even as Holman joined Pollard on the sidewalk.

Pollard said, “I called her from the car.”

Mrs. Marchenko didn’t seem happy to see them. She looked even more suspicious than before.

“I been lookin’ for that article. I don’ see it.”

Pollard smiled brightly.

“Soon. We’re here to tack down a few last details. I have a picture I want to show you.”

Holman followed Pollard and Mrs. Marchenko into her living room. He noticed the broken fan was still broken.

Mrs. Marchenko dropped into her usual chair.

“What picture?”

“Remember the pictures we showed you last time? You were able to identify one of two officers who came to see you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to show you another picture. I want to know if he was the other man.”

Pollard took the clipping from her folder and held it out. Mrs. Marchenko studied it, then nodded.

“Oh, him I know, but that was before-”

Pollard nodded, encouraging.

“Right. He interviewed you after Anton was killed.”

“Right, yah-”

“Did he come back to see you with the other man?”

Mrs. Marchenko settled back in her chair.

“No. It wasn’t him.”

Holman felt a swirl of anger. They were close; they were at the very edge of breaking this thing open and now the old lady was being a roadblock.

“Why don’t you look again-”

“I don’t need to look again. Wasn’t him with that man. Him, I know from before. He was one of that bunch came broke my lamp.”

The old lady looked so smug and contrary that Holman was convinced she was jerking them around.

“For Christ’s sake, lady.”

Pollard held up a hand, warning him to stop.

“So think about that other man, Mrs. Marchenko. Try to remember what he looked like. He didn’t look like this man?”

“No.”

“Can you describe him?”

“He looked like a man. I don’t know. A dark suit, I think.”

Holman suddenly wondered if the fifth man might have been Vukovich.

“Did he have red hair?”

“He was wearing a hat. I don’t know. I told you, I not pay attention.”

Holman’s certainty at nailing Random fell apart like a dream shattered by an alarm clock. Holman was still on the run; Chee was still in jail; Maria Juarez was still a prisoner. Holman snatched the clipping from Pollard and stalked over to Mrs. Marchenko. She jerked backwards as if she thought he might hit her, but Holman didn’t care. He pointed at Random’s picture.

“Are you sure it wasn’t him?”

“Wasn’t him.”

“Max, stop it.”

“How about if I told you he was the sonofabitch who shot your son? Would it look like him then?”

Pollard pushed up from the couch, rigid and angry.

“That’s enough, Max. That’s it.”

Mrs. Marchenko’s bulldog face hardened.

“Was him? Was he the one killed Anton?”

Pollard took the clipping and pushed Holman toward the door.

“No, Mrs. Marchenko. I’m sorry. He didn’t have anything to do with Anton’s death.”

“Then why he say that? Why he say a thing like that?”

Holman stalked out of the house and didn’t stop until he reached the street. He felt like an asshole. He was angry and confused and ashamed of himself all over again, and when Pollard came out she looked furious.

Holman said, “I’m sorry. How could it not be Random? It had to be Random! He’s what ties this all together.”

“Shut up. Just stop. All right, so the fifth man wasn’t Random or Vukovich. We know he wasn’t your son or Mellon or Ash, but he had to be somebody.”

“Random had three or four other guys with him at that house. Maybe it was one of them. Maybe Random has the whole fucking police department working for him.”

“We still have Alison Whitt-”

She already had her cell phone out and was speed-dialing a number.

“If Random was her contact officer, we can still-”

She held up a hand, cutting him off as the person she called answered.

“Yeah, it’s me. What did you get on Alison Whitt?”

Holman waited, watching as Pollard stiffened. Holman knew it was bad even before Pollard lowered the phone. He could read it in the way her shoulders dipped. Pollard stared at him for a moment, then shook her head.

“Alison Whitt was not a registered informant with the Los Angeles Police Department.”

“So what do we do?”

Pollard didn’t answer right away. He knew she was thinking. He was thinking, too. He should have expected it. He knew better than to expect anything to work out.

Pollard finally answered.

“I have her arrest record at my house. I can see who the arresting officers were. Maybe we were wrong in thinking she was a registered informant. Maybe she was just feeding some guy on the sly and I’ll recognize a name.”

Holman smiled, and, again, it was more for himself than her. He took in the lines of her face and the way her hair fell, and remembered again the first time he saw her, pointing a gun at him in the bank.

“I’m sorry I got you into this.”

“We are not finished with this. We’re close, Max. Random is all over both sides of this crazy thing and all we need is the one missing piece to have it make sense.”

Holman nodded, but he felt only loss. He had tried to play this the right way, the way you’re supposed to play it when you live within the law, but the right way hadn’t worked out.

“You’re a special person, Agent Pollard.”

Her face tightened and she was that young agent again.

“My name is Katherine. Call me by my goddamn name.”

Holman wanted to hold her again. He wanted to hold her close and kiss her, but doing so could only be wrong.

“Don’t help me anymore, Katherine. You’ll only get hurt.”

Holman started toward his car, and now Pollard followed him.

“Waitaminute. What are you going to do?”

“Get new stuff and drop off the grid. They had me and they’re going to come for me again. I can’t let that happen.”

He got into his car, but she stood inside the door and wouldn’t let him close it. Holman tried to ignore her. He wedged his screwdriver into the busted ignition and twisted it to start the engine. Pollard still didn’t get out of the way.