"Is this something I should know about?"

"If it turns out to be I'll let you know."

Sanders hesitated, and Pollard thought she might be peeking at the office again. Running a government database check couldn't be handled at her desk. Sanders returned to the line.

"I can't right now. Leeds is here but I can't see him. I don't want him to ask what I'm doing."

"So call me later."

"Out."

Pollard felt good about the progress she was making. The disconnection of Alison's phone number so close in time to Fowler's questioning of Mrs. Marchenko was too coincidental. Coincidences occurred, but, like all cops, Pollard had learned to be suspicious of them. She put down her phone, anxious to go through Fowler's phone records and hear back from Sanders. If Sanders struck out, Pollard knew she could try for contact information through the mailbox service. Learning anything from the mail service would be difficult without her creds, but it left her an avenue for investigation and she found herself smiling again.

Pollard knew she might not hear back from Sanders until the end of the day, so she had her car washed, then went to Ralphs. She stocked up on food and toilet paper and bought extra treats for the boys. They ate like starving wolves and seemed to eat more every day. She found herself wondering if Holman had once bought boxes of Jujubes for his little boy, and suspected that no, he hadn't. This left her feeling sad. Holman seemed like a pretty good guy now that she had gotten to know him, but she also knew he had been a criminal for much of his life. Every thug she ever arrested had a story--debt, drug addiction, abusive parents, no parents, learning disabilities, poverty, whatever. None of that mattered. All that mattered was whether or not you broke the law. If you did the crime, you did the time, and Holman had done the time. Pollard thought it was a shame he hadn't had a second chance with his son.

Once she had the groceries away, she straightened the house, then sat on her living room couch with Fowler's phone bills. She read through the outgoing numbers beginning with the date Fowler visited Mrs. Marchenko and found Alison Whitt's phone number only a few days later. Fowler had called her on the same Thursday he and Holman's son went out late and came home muddy. Fowler had called her, but Mrs. Marchenko claimed she did not give Fowler any information about Allie, which meant Fowler had gotten her number from another source. Pollard read through the rest of Fowler's bills, but the Thursday call was the only time he called her. Pollard searched through Richard Holman's bills next, but found nothing.

Pollard wondered how Fowler had learned about Alison Whitt. She reviewed the FBI's witness list. The summaries referenced Marchenko's landlord and neighbors, but did not include anyone named Alison Whitt. If one of the neighbors reported that Marchenko or Parsons had a girlfriend, the investigators would have followed the trail and named her in the witness list, but just the opposite had occurred--the neighbors uniformly stated that neither man had friends, girlfriends, or other visitors to their apartment. Yet somehow Fowler had learned of Whitt before he visited Mrs. Marchenko. Maybe the fifth man had known. Maybe the fifth man's phone number was somewhere in Fowler's bills.

Pollard was still thinking about it when her doorbell rang. She pushed the papers together, went to the door, and squinted through the peephole. It was still too early for her mother to bring the boys home.

Leeds and Bill Cecil were at the door, Leeds scowling at something down the street. He didn't look happy. He frowned at his watch, rubbed his chin, then rang her bell again.

Though Cecil had been to her home on several occasions when she and Marty entertained, Leeds had never been to her house. She had not seen him outside the office since she left the Feeb.

He was reaching to ring the bell again when Pollard opened the door.

"Chris, Bill, this is--what a surprise."

Leeds didn't look particularly happy to see her. His blue suit hung loose off his hunched frame and he towered over her like a spindly scarecrow who no longer liked his job. Cecil stood a halfstep behind him, expressionless.

Leeds said, "I would think so. May we come in?"

"Of course. Absolutely."

She stepped out of the way to let them in, but she didn't know what to do or say. Leeds entered first. As Cecil pa.s.sed, he raised his eyebrows, warning her Leeds was in a mood. Pollard moved to join Leeds in the living room.

"I'm stunned. Were you in the area?"

"No, I came up here to see you. This is very nice, Katherine. You have a lovely home. Are your boys here?"

"No. They're at camp."

"Too bad. I would have liked to meet them."

Pollard felt the creepy sensation of being a child again in the presence of her father. Leeds looked around as if he was inspecting her house, while Cecil stood just inside the door. Leeds finished his slow tour of the living room and settled on her like a sinking ship finding rest on the bottom.

He said, "Have you lost your mind?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why on earth would you get involved with a convicted criminal?"

Pollard felt the blood rush to her face as her stomach knotted. She started to open her mouth, but he shook his head, stopping her.

"I know you're helping Max Holman."

She had been about to deny it, but she lied.

"I wasn't going to deny it. Chris, he lost his son. He asked me to talk to the police about it--"

"I know about his son. Katherine, the man is a criminal. You should know better than this."

"Than what? I don't know why you're here, Chris."

"Because you were on my team for three years. I picked you and I was G.o.dd.a.m.ned p.i.s.sed off to lose you. I could never forgive myself if I let you do this to yourself without speaking up."

"Do what? Chris, I'm just trying to help the man get answers about his son."

Leeds shook his head as if she was the dumbest rookie alive and he could see right through her into the creases and folds of her innermost secrets.

He said, "Have you gone Indian?"

Pollard felt a fresh surge of blood brighten her face. It was an old expression. A cop went Indian when he turned crooked...or fell in love with a crook.

"No!"

"I hope to h.e.l.l not."

"This is really none of your business--"

"Your personal life is absolutely none of my business, yes, you're right--but I still give a d.a.m.n so here I am. Have you let him into your home? Have you exposed your children to him or given him money?"

"Chris? You know what? You should go--"

Cecil said, "Maybe we should leave now, Chris."

"When I'm finished."

Leeds didn't move. He stared at Pollard, and Pollard suddenly remembered the papers on her couch. She edged toward the door to draw his eye away.

"I'm not doing anything wrong. I haven't broken any laws or done anything my children would be ashamed of."

Leeds placed his palms together as if he was praying and tipped his fingers at her.

"Do you really know what this man wants?"

"He wants to know who killed his son."

"But is that really what he wants? I've spoken with the police--I know what he's told them and I'm sure he's told you the same thing, but can you be sure? You put him in prison for ten years. Why would he turn to you for help?"

"Maybe because I got his sentence reduced."

"And maybe he sought you out because he knew you were soft. Maybe he thought he could use you again."

Pollard felt a growing tickle of anger. Leeds had been furious when the Times dubbed Holman the Hero Bandit, and he had been livid at her for speaking in Holman's favor with the U.S. Attorney.

"He didn't use me. We didn't discuss it and he didn't ask me to intervene. He earned that reduction."

"He isn't telling you the truth, Katherine. You can't trust him."

"What isn't he telling me the truth about?"

"The police believe he's consorting with a convicted felon and active gang member named Gary Moreno, also known as Little Chee or L'Chee. Ring a bell?"

"No."

Pollard was growing scared. She sensed Leeds was directing the conversation. He was judging her reactions and trying to read her as if he suspected she was lying.

"Ask him. Moreno and Holman were known a.s.sociates throughout Holman's career. The police believe Moreno has funded Holman with cash, a vehicle, and other items for use in a criminal enterprise."

Pollard tried to keep her breath even. Here was Holman fresh out of prison with a brand-new car and cell phone. Holman had told her a friend loaned him the car.

"Why?"

"You know why. You can feel it. Here--"

Leeds touched his stomach, then gave her the answer.

"To recover the sixteen million dollars stolen by Marchenko and Parsons."

Pollard worked to show nothing. She didn't want to admit anything until she had time to think. If Leeds was right, she might need to talk with a lawyer.

"I don't believe it. He didn't even know about the money until--"

Pollard realized she was already saying too much when Leeds gave her a sad but knowing smile.

"You told him?"

She forced herself to take a slow breath, but Leeds seemed able to see her fears.

"It's difficult to think when your emotions are involved, but you need to rethink this, Katherine."

"My emotions aren't involved."

"You felt something for the man ten years ago and now you've let him back into your life. Don't lose yourself to this man, Katherine. You know better than that."

"I know I would like you to leave."

Pollard kept her face even, staring at him when the phone rang. Not her house phone, but the cell. The loud chirp broke the silence like a stranger entering the room.

Leeds said, "Answer it."

Pollard didn't move toward the phone. It sat on the couch near the file with Holman's papers, ringing.

"Please go. You've given me a lot to think about."

Cecil looked embarra.s.sed and went to the door. He opened it, trying to get Leeds out of her house.

"Come on, Chris. You've said what you wanted to say."

The phone rang. Leeds studied it as if he was thinking of answering it himself, but then he joined Cecil at the door. He looked back at her.

"Agent Sanders will no longer be helping you."

Leeds walked out, but Cecil hesitated, looking sad.

"I'm sorry about this, lady. The man--I don't know, he hasn't been himself. He meant well."

"Goodbye, Bill."

Pollard watched Cecil leave, then went to the door and locked it.

She walked back to the phone.

It was Holman.

Chapter 33.

HOLMAN DROPPED Chee a block from his shop, then turned toward Culver City. He played and replayed the news about Maria Juarez, trying to cast it in a light that made sense. He wanted to drive to her house to speak with her cousins, but now he was afraid the same cops would be watching. Why would they bag her, then claim she had split? Why would they issue a warrant for her arrest if they had already arrested her? News of her flight and the warrant had even been in the newspaper.

Holman didn't like any of it. The police who thought she fled had been lied to by the cops who knew different. The police who obtained the warrant didn't know that other cops already knew her whereabouts. Cops were keeping secrets from other cops, and that could only mean one thing: bad cops.

Holman drove a mile from Chee's shop, then turned into a parking lot. He speed-dialed Pollard's number and listened as it rang. The ringing seemed to go on forever, but finally she answered.

"Now isn't a good time."

Pollard didn't sound like Pollard. Her voice was remote and failing, and Holman thought he might have gotten the wrong number.

"Katherine? Is this Agent Pollard?"

"What?"