"The Two Minute Rule" - читать интересную книгу автора (Crais Robert)

19

HOLMAN WAS ANGRY and unsettled when they left. He had wanted to find a grieving widow with straightforward answers to explain his son’s death, but now he pictured Mike Fowler having secretive phone calls with his hand cupped over his mouth. He saw Fowler slipping from his home too early for the neighbors to see, then returning under cover of darkness. What were you doing, honey? Nothing. Where did you go? Nowhere. Holman had spent most of his life doing crime. Whatever had happened in the Fowler house felt like a crime in progress.

Pollard gunned her Subaru up the freeway on-ramp into the thickening traffic. The drive back would be ugly, but when Holman glanced at her, she was glowing as if a light had been turned on inside her.

Holman said, “What do you think?”

“Talk to your daughter-in-law. Ask if Richard went out the Thursday before they were shot and if she knows anything about where they went or what they did. Ask about the Frogtown connection, too. Don’t forget that.”

Holman was thinking he wanted to drop the whole thing.

“I wasn’t asking about that. You said it wasn’t up to the police to look for missing money.”

She jacked the Subaru between two tractor-trailers, diving for the diamond lane.

“It’s up to them, but recovering loot isn’t a front-burner priority. No one has time for that, Holman-we’re too busy trying to stop new crimes from happening.”

“If someone found it, though-would they get a reward? A legal reward?”

“The banks award a recovery fee, yes, but policemen aren’t eligible.”

“Well, if they were doing it on their own time-”

She interrupted him.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Deal with what you know, and right now all we know is Fowler tracked dirt in the house on Thursday night and didn’t give a shit what his wife thought about it. That’s all we know.”

“But I checked the call dates when she showed us her phone bills. All of the calling started on the eighth day after Marchenko and Parsons died, just like on Richie’s bill. Fowler called Richie and Mellon and Ash, one right after another. Like he was saying, hey, let’s go find some money.”

She straightened behind the wheel, crisp and sharp.

“Holman, listen-we’ve had exactly one interview with a woman who had a bad marriage. We don’t know what they were doing or why.”

“It feels like they were up to something. This isn’t what I wanted in my head.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

Holman glanced at her and saw her frowning. She swerved out of the diamond lane to zoom around two women in a sedan, then cut them off when she dived back into the diamond lane ahead of them. Holman had never driven this fast unless he was high.

She said, “We don’t know enough for you to think any differently about your son, so stop it. You heard this depressed woman with her husband sneaking around and you know the money’s missing, so you’ve jumped to this conclusion. Maybe they just liked to hang out. Maybe this fascination with Marchenko and Parsons was just a hobby.”

Holman didn’t believe it and felt irritated that she was trying to cheer him up.

“That’s bullshit.”

“You’ve heard of the Black Dahlia? The unsolved homicide case?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“That case has become a hobby for a lot of detectives. So many LAPD dicks are into that case they got together and formed a club to talk over their theories.”

“I still think it’s bullshit.”

“Okay, forget it. But just because they were sneaking around doesn’t mean they were doing anything illegal. I can think of plenty of ways we might be able to tie what they were doing with Marchenko and Parsons and Juarez.”

Holman glanced at her, doubtful.

“How?”

“Did you read the obituaries for Fowler, Ash, and Mellon?”

“Just Richie’s.”

“If you had read Fowler’s, you’d know he spent two years on the CRASH unit-that’s Community Reaction Against Street Hoodlums, what the LAPD named their anti-gang unit. I’m going to call a friend of mine who used to run CRASH. I’ll ask him what kind of exposure Fowler had with Frogtown.”

“Fowler killed Juarez’s brother. Juarez and his brother were both in Frogtown.”

“Right, but maybe there’s a deeper connection. Remember when we talked about a possible insider connection to Marchenko and Parsons?”

“Yeah.”

“The real money is in the vault, but the amount of money in the vault varies during the week. People come in, cash their paychecks, and take the money away, right?”

“I know that. I used to rob banks, remember?”

“So once or twice a week, banks receive a shipment of new cash so they’ll have enough to meet the customer draw. You said you didn’t see how a couple of takeover hitters like Marchenko and Parsons could have an inside accomplice, but all it takes is someone who knows when the area branches are scheduled to receive their shipments-a secretary, somebody’s assistant, a Frogtown homegirl, say, and her boyfriend passes it along to Marchenko and Parsons to get cut in on the split.”

“But they hit different banks.”

“It only takes one inside job to have an insider, and then the Feeb and the cops are all over it. I’m just theorizing here, Holman, not jumping at conclusions. LAPD learns of a Frogtown connection, so they turn to the cops with Frogtown experience to develop or follow up leads-i.e., Fowler. That could explain how your son leaving his house to discuss Marchenko and Parsons with Fowler led to Warren Juarez.”

Holman felt a flicker of hope.

“You think?”

“No, I don’t think, but I want you to understand how little we know. When you’re asking your daughter-in-law about Thursday night, pick up the case reports your son had-the stuff he got from the Detective Bureau. You gave me the cover sheets, but I want to see what was in the reports. That should tell us what he was interested in.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll know more tomorrow when I start talking to people and read those reports. I could wrap this thing up with a couple more calls.”

Holman was surprised.

“You think that’s all it’ll take?”

“No, but it seemed like a good thing to say.”

Holman stared at her, then burst out laughing.

They came down through the Sepulveda Pass and into the darkening city. Holman watched Pollard maneuvering her car through the traffic.

He said, “Why do you drive so fast?”

“I have two little boys waiting for me at home. They’re with my mother, the poor kids.”

“What about your husband?”

“Let’s keep the personal stuff out of this, Max.”

Holman went back to watching the passing cars.

“One more thing-I know you said you didn’t want me to pay you, but my offer is still there. I never expected you to go to all this trouble.”

“If I asked you to pay, I’d be scared you would have to rob another bank.”

“I’d find another way. I’ll never rob another bank.”

Pollard glanced at him and Holman shrugged.

She said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“So long as it isn’t personal.”

Now Pollard laughed, but then her laugh faded.

“I put you away for ten years. How come you’re not pissed off at me?”

Holman thought about it.

“You gave me a chance to change.”

They rode in silence after that. The lights in the shadows were just beginning to twinkle.