Holman kept his voice calm.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm not doing anything, Liz. I just want to know what happened to my son."

"The police were here. They cleaned out Richard's desk. They took all his things and they questioned me about you. They wanted to know what you were doing."

"Who did? Levy?"

"No, not Levy--Detective Random. He wanted to know what you were asking about and said I should be careful around you. They warned me not to let you in."

Holman wasn't sure how to respond. He took a step away from her and spoke carefully.

"I've been inside with you, Liz. Do you think I would hurt you? You're my son's wife."

Her eyes softened and she shook her head.

She said, "Why did they come here?"

"There was someone with Random?"

"I don't remember his name. Red hair."

Vukovich.

She said, "Why did they come?"

"I don't know. What did they tell you?"

"They didn't tell me anything. They said they were investigating you. They wanted to know--"

The apartment next door opened and two men came out. They were young, both wearing gla.s.ses and book bags over their shoulders. Holman and Liz stood quietly as they pa.s.sed.

When the two men were gone, Liz said, "I guess you can come in. This is silly."

Holman stepped inside and waited as she closed the door.

Holman said, "Are you all right?"

"They asked if you said anything to indicate you were involved in criminal activity. I didn't know what in h.e.l.l they were talking about. What would you say to me: Hey, you know any good banks to rob?"

Holman thought about describing his conversation with Tony Gilbert, but decided against it.

"You said they took things from his desk? Can I see?"

She brought him to their shared office, and Holman looked at Richie's desk. The newspaper clippings still hung from the corkboard, but Holman could tell the items on Richie's desk had been moved. Holman had been through everything himself and remembered how he had left it. The LAPD reports and doc.u.ments were gone.

She said, "I don't know what they took."

"Some reports, it looks like. Did they say why?"

"They just said it was important. They wanted to know if you had been in here. I told them the truth."

Holman wished she hadn't, but nodded.

"That's okay. It doesn't matter."

"Why would they go through his things?"

Holman wanted to change the subject. The reports were gone now, and he wished he had read them when he had the chance.

He said, "Did Richie go out with Fowler the Thursday before they were killed? It would have been at night, late."

Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember.

"I'm not sure...Thursday? I think Rich worked that night."

"Did he come home dirty? Fowler went out that night and came home with his boots caked with dirt and weeds. It would have been late."

She thought more, then slowly shook her head.

"No, I--wait, yes, it was Friday morning I took the car. There was gra.s.s and dirt on the driver's-side floor. Richie had the shift Thursday night. He said he had chased somebody."

Her eyes suddenly took on the hardness again.

"What were they doing?"

"I don't know. Didn't Richie tell you?"

"He was on duty."

"Did Richie ever say that Marchenko and Parsons were connected with any Latin gangs?"

"I don't think so. I don't remember."

"Frogtown? Juarez was a member of the Frogtown gang."

"What did Juarez have to do with Marchenko and Parsons?"

"I don't know, but I'm trying to find out."

"Waitaminute. I thought Juarez killed them because of Mike--because Mike killed his brother."

"That's what the police are saying."

She crossed her arms, and Holman thought she looked worried.

She said, "You don't believe it?"

"I gotta ask you something else. In all this time when he was telling you about Marchenko and Parsons, did he ever tell you exactly what he was doing?"

"Just...that he was working on the case."

"What case? They were dead."

A lost and hopeless cast came to her eyes, and Holman could see she didn't remember. She finally shook her head, holding her arms even tighter.

"An investigation. I don't know."

"Trying to find an accomplice, maybe?"

"I don't know."

"Did he mention missing money?"

"What money?"

Holman studied her, and part of him wanted to explain, thinking that maybe it would trigger some memory in her that would help him, but he knew he was done. He didn't want to bring this part of it to her. He didn't want to leave her thinking about the money and wondering whether her husband was working as a cop in an investigation or was trying to find the missing cash for himself.

"It's nothing. Listen, I don't know what Random was talking about, all that stuff about investigating me. I haven't done anything illegal and I'm not going to do anything, you understand? I wouldn't do that to you and to Richie. I couldn't."

She stared up at him for a moment, and then she nodded.

"I know. I know what you're doing."

"Then you know a h.e.l.luva lot more than me."

She raised on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"You're trying to take care of your little boy."

Richie's wife hugged him long and tight, and Holman was glad for it, but he cursed himself for being too late.

Chapter 23.

HOLMAN WAS FURIOUS as he crossed the street, heading back to his car. He was p.i.s.sed that Random had questioned Liz about him and implied he was involved in some kind of criminal activity. Holman now a.s.sumed Random was the cop who got him in trouble with Tony Gilbert, but he was even more furious that Random warned Liz not to trust him. Random had jeopardized his only remaining connection to Richie, and Holman didn't know why. He didn't believe Random was hara.s.sing him, which meant that Random suspected him of something. He wanted to drive to Parker Center to confront the sonofab.i.t.c.h, but by the time he reached the Highlander he knew this would be a bad idea. He needed a better idea of what Random was thinking before he called him on it.

After the lousy start to his morning, Holman expected to find a ticket waiting under the Highlander's windshield wiper, but the windshield was clean. He hoped he hadn't used up his good luck for the day by ducking a lousy parking ticket.

Holman got into his car, started the engine, and spent a few minutes thinking through the rest of his day. He had a lot to do and couldn't allow an a.s.shole like Random to move him off track. He wanted to call Pollard, but it was still on the early side and he didn't know what time she woke. She said something about having kids, so the mornings were probably rough--getting the kids up and fed, getting them dressed and ready for their day. All the stuff Holman had missed out on with Richie. It was an inevitable thread of regret that left Holman in a funk whenever he made the mistake of following it. He decided to call Chee about Perry. Chee probably thought he was doing Holman a favor, but Holman didn't need that kind of help. Now he would have to deal with Perry's resentment on top of everything else.

Holman found Chee's number in the memory, and was listening to Chee's line ring when a grey car slid up fast beside him, blocking him against the curb. Holman saw the doors open as Chee answered-- "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hang on--"

"Homes?"

Random and his driver stepped out of the gray car as Holman caught a flash of movement from the curb. Vukovich and another man were stepping off the sidewalk, one from the front and one from the back. They were holding pistols down along their legs. Chee's tinny voice squawked from the phone-- "Holman, is that you?"

"Don't hang up. The cops are coming--"

Holman let the phone slip to the seat and put both hands on the steering wheel, motionless and in plain sight. Chee's voice was an electronic squeak.

"Homes?"

Random pulled open the door, then stepped aside. His driver was shorter than Holman but as wide as a bed. He jerked Holman out from behind the wheel and shoved him face-first against the Highlander.

"Don't f.u.c.king move."

Holman didn't resist. The short guy patted him down while Random leaned into the car. Random turned off the ignition, then backed out of the car with Holman's phone. He held it to his ear, listened, then closed the phone and tossed it back into the car.

Random said, "Nice phone."

"What are you doing? Why are you doing this?"

"Nice car, too. Where'd you get a car like this? You steal it?"

"I rented it."

The short guy shoved Holman harder against the car.

"Keep your face planted."

"It's hot."

"Too f.u.c.king bad."

Random said, "Vuke, run the car. You can't rent a car without a driver's license and a credit card. I think he stole it."

Holman said, "I got a driver's license, G.o.dd.a.m.nit. It came yesterday. The rental papers are in the glove box."

Vukovich opened the far pa.s.senger door to check the glove box as the short guy pulled Holman's wallet.

Holman said, "This is bulls.h.i.t. Why are you doing this?"

Random pulled Holman around so they were facing each other while the short guy brought the wallet to his car and went to work on their computer. Three students stopped on the sidewalk, but Random didn't seem concerned. His eyes were dark knots focused on Holman.

"You don't think Jacki Fowler is suffering enough?"

"What are you talking about? So I went to see her? So what?"

"Here's a widow with four boys and a dead husband, but you had to invade her privacy. Why would you want to upset a woman like that, Holman? What do you expect to gain?"

"I'm trying to find out what happened to my son."