Pollard reviewed her notes from the night before, then set about drawing up a work plan for the day. She was still working on it when her oldest son, David, pushed at her arm. David was seven and looked like a miniature version of Marty.

"Mom! We're gonna be late for camp!"

Pollard glanced at her watch. It was ten before eight. The camp bus arrived at eight. She hadn't even made coffee or felt the time pa.s.s, and she had been working for more than an hour.

"Is your brother dressed?"

"He won't come out of the bathroom."

"Lyle! Get him dressed, David."

She pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then slammed together two bologna sandwiches.

"David, is Lyle ready?"

"He won't get dressed!"

Lyle, who was six, shouted over his brother.

"I hate camp! They stick us with pins!"

Pollard heard the fax phone ring as she was packing the sandwiches into lunch-size paper bags. She ran back to the office bedroom to see the first page emerging. She smiled when she saw the FBI emblem cover page--April was delivering the goods.

Pollard ran back to the kitchen, topped off the sandwiches with two containers of fruit c.o.c.ktail, two bags of Cheetos, and a couple of boxes of juice.

David pounded breathlessly in from the living room.

"Mom! I can hear the bus! They're gonna leave us!"

Everything had to be a drama.

Pollard sent David out to stop the bus, then forced a T-shirt over Lyle's head. She had Lyle and the lunches through the front door just as the bus rumbled to a stop.

Lyle said, "I miss Daddy."

Pollard looked down at him, all hurt eyes and knotted frown, then squatted so they would be the same height. She touched his cheek, and thought it was as soft as when he was newborn. Where David looked like his father, Lyle looked like her.

"I know you do, baby."

"I dreamed he got eaten by a monster."

"That must have been very scary. You should have come into bed with me."

"You kick and toss."

The bus driver beeped his horn. He had a schedule to keep.

Pollard said, "I miss him, too, little man. What are we going to do about that?"

It was a script they had played before.

"Keep him in our hearts?"

Pollard smiled and touched her youngest son's chest.

"Yeah. He's right here in your heart. Now let's get you on the bus."

The pebbles and grit on the driveway hurt Pollard's bare feet as she walked Lyle to the bus. She kissed her boys, saw them away, then hurried back to the house. She went directly back to work and skimmed through the fax. April had sent sixteen pages, including a witness list, interview summaries, and a case summation. The witness list contained names, addresses, and phone numbers, which was what Pollard wanted. Pollard was going to compare the numbers against the calls that appeared on Richard Holman's and Mike Fowler's phone bills. If Holman or Fowler were running their own investigation into Marchenko and Parsons, they would have called the witnesses. If so, Pollard would ask the witness what they talked about, and then Pollard would know.

She called her mother and arranged for her to stay with the boys when they got home from camp.

Her mother said, "Why are you spending so much time in the city all of a sudden? Did you take a job?"

She had always resented her mother's questions. Thirty-six years old, and her mother still questioned her.

"I have things to do. I'm busy."

"Doing what? Are you seeing a man?"

"You'll be here at one, right? You'll stay with the boys?"

"I hope you're seeing a man. You have to think of those boys."

"Goodbye, Mom."

"Go easy on the desserts, Katherine. Your bottom isn't as small as it used to be."

Pollard hung up and went back to her desk. She still hadn't made coffee, but she didn't take the time to make it now. She didn't need the coffee.

She sat down with her case plan, then paged through all the doc.u.ments she had read and reread the night before. She studied the map of the crime scene that Holman had sketched, then compared it with the drawing that had appeared in the Times. The Feeb had taught her that all investigations begin at the crime scene, so she knew she would have to make the drive. She would have to see for herself. Alone there in her little house in the Simi Valley, Pollard broke into a smile.

She felt as if she was in the game again.

She was back in the hunt.

Chapter 22.

PERRY WASN'T at his desk when Holman came downstairs that morning. Holman was relieved. He wanted to pick up the reports from Liz before she left for cla.s.s and didn't want to get bogged down in another argument with Perry.

But when Holman stepped outside to go to his car, Perry was hosing off the sidewalk.

Perry said, "You got a call yesterday I forgot to tell you about. Guess it slipped my mind, having to fight off your thugs."

"What is it, Perry?"

"Tony Gilbert over at that sign company. Said he's your boss and wants you to call."

"Okay, thanks. When did he call?"

"During the day, I guess. Good thing it wasn't while those g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ging f.u.c.ks were putting the arm on me else I would've missed the message."

"Perry, look--I didn't tell those guys to do that. All they were supposed to do was bring back the car and give you the keys. That's it. I already apologized."

"Gilbert sounded p.i.s.sed off, you ask me. I'd call him. And since you have a job, you might consider fronting the cash for an answering machine. My memory isn't what it used to be."

Holman started to say something, then thought better of it and went around the side of the motel to his car. He didn't want to start his day with Gilbert, either, but he hadn't been to work in a week and didn't want to lose the job. Holman climbed into his Highlander to make the call and was pleased he could bring up Gilbert's number on his phone's memory without having to refer to the owner's manual. It felt like a step into real life.

As soon as Gilbert came on the line, Holman knew his patience was wearing thin.

He said, "Are you coming back to work or not? I need to know."

"I'm coming back. I've just had a lot to deal with."

"Max, I'm trying to be a good guy here, what with your son and all, but what in h.e.l.l are you doing? The police were here."

Holman was so surprised he didn't respond.

"Max?"

"I'm here. What did the police want?"

"You just got out, man. Are you going to wash ten years down the drain?"

"I'm not washing anything down the drain. Why were the police there?"

"They wanted to know if you'd been coming to work and what kind of people you've been a.s.sociating with, like that. They asked whether or not you've been using."

"I haven't been using. What are you talking about?"

"Well, they asked, and they asked if I knew how you were supporting yourself without working. What am I supposed to think? Hey, listen, my friend, I'm trying to run a business here and you disappeared. I told'm I gave you some time off for your son, but now I gotta wonder. It's been a week."

"Who was it asking about me?"

"Some detectives."

"Did Gail send them?"

"They weren't from the Bureau of Prisons. These were cops. Now listen, are you coming back to work or not?"

"I just need a few more days--"

"Ah, h.e.l.l."

Gilbert hung up.

Holman closed his phone, feeling a dull ache in his stomach. He had expected Gilbert to b.i.t.c.h him out for missing so much work, but he hadn't expected the police. He decided the cops were following up his visit to Maria Juarez, but he also worried that someone had put him together with Chee. He didn't want to bring any heat down on Chee, mostly because he wasn't sure Chee was completely straight.

Holman considered calling Gail Manelli about the police, but he was worried about missing Liz, so he put away his phone and headed for Westwood. As he turned out of the parking lot, he saw Perry still on the sidewalk, watching him. Perry waited until Holman had driven past, then flipped him off. Holman saw it in the mirror.

When Holman drew closer to Westwood, he called Liz to let her know he was coming.

When she answered, he said, "Hey, Liz, it's Max. I need to stop by to see you for a few minutes. Can I bring you a coffee?"

"I'm on my way out."

"This is kind of important. It's about Richie."

She hesitated, and when she spoke again her voice was cold.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what? I just need to--"

"I don't want to see you anymore. Please stop bothering me."

She hung up.

Holman was left sitting in traffic with his dead phone. He called back, but this time her message machine picked up.

"Liz? Maybe I should've called earlier, okay? I didn't mean to be rude. Liz? Can you hear me?"

If she was listening she didn't pick up, so Max ended the call. He was only five blocks from Veteran Avenue by then, so he continued on to Liz's apartment. He didn't take the time to find a parking spot, but left his car in a red zone by a fire hydrant. If he got a ticket he'd just pay Chee back with his own money.

The usual morning rush of students on their way to cla.s.s meant Holman didn't have long to wait before he could get inside the building. He took the stairs two at a time, but slowed when he reached her apartment, catching his breath before he knocked.

"Liz? Please tell me what's wrong."

He knocked softly again.

"Liz? This is important. Please, it's for Richie."

Holman waited.

"Liz? Can I come in, please?"

She finally opened the door. Her face was tight and pinched, and she was already dressed for the day. Her eyes were hard with a brittle tension.

Holman didn't move. He stood with his hands at his sides, confused by her hostility.

He said, "Did I do something?"

"Whatever you're doing, I want no part of it."