The Two Minute Rule

by Robert Crais

  He stared ahead.

  He drove.

  They hadn’t been able to put the pieces together, but that no longer seemed to matter. Holman was not going to let them get away with Richie’s murder.

  45

  POLLARD WAS FURIOUS. Marki had used all the right terms in relating what Whitt told her about being an informant—the registration, the cap, the approval; civilians didn’t know these things unless they knew them firsthand, so Pollard still believed Whitt had been telling the truth.

  Pollard one-handed a call back to Sanders as she blasted up the Hollywood Freeway. She hadn’t wanted to get into it in front of Holman, but now she wanted details.

  “Hey, it’s me. Can you still talk?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This girl was an informant. I want you to check again.”

  “Hey. Whoa. I’m doing you a favor, remember? Leeds would have my ass if he found out.”

  “I’m sure this girl wasn’t lying. I believe her.”

  “I know you believe her. I can hear your belief coming through the phone, but she wasn’t on the list. Look—maybe some cop was paying her out of his own pocket. That happens all the time.”

  “If somebody was using her off the books she wouldn’t have known about payouts being capped and having to be approved. Think about it, April—she was the real thing and she had a cop backing her.”

  “Listen to me: She was not on the list. I’m sorry.”

  “Maybe she’s under an alias. Check her arrest record for—”

  “Now you’re being stupid. Nobody gets paid under an alias.”

  Pollard drove in silence for a while, embarrassed by her desperation.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “You know I’m right. What’s going on with you, girl?”

  “I was sure.”

  “She was a whore. Whores lie. That’s what they do—you’re my best lover, you made me come so good. C’mon, Kat. She made it sound good for her friend because she can make anything sound good. That’s what they do.”

  Pollard felt ashamed of herself. Maybe it was Holman. Maybe she needed it to work out for him so badly she had lost her common sense.

  “I’m sorry I freaked out on you.”

  “Just bring me some more donuts. I’m starting to lose weight. You know I like to keep my weight up.”

  Pollard couldn’t even bring herself to smile. She closed her phone and brooded about it as she drove home, her thoughts swinging between her disappointment that Alison Whitt had lied about being an informant and her surprise that Mrs. Marchenko had not identified Random as the fifth man.

  It was as if she and Holman had uncovered two separate cases, with Random on both sides—Fowler’s search for the missing money and Warren Juarez’s alleged murder of the four officers. Random had been a principal in the Marchenko investigation and now he controlled the investigation into the murders. Random had immediately closed the murder investigation by naming Warren Juarez the assailant even though unanswered questions remained. He had denied that Fowler and the others were in any way connected to Marchenko and had actively suppressed further inquiry; so actively, it was clear he was hiding something.

  Only Fowler and his boys had been searching for the money, and they hadn’t been searching alone; at least one other person was involved—the fifth man. Someone had given them copies of Robbery Special reports they otherwise would not have been able to acquire, and two of those reports had been written by Random, who later confiscated those reports from Richard Holman’s apartment. Someone had also accompanied Fowler to see Mrs. Marchenko, and Pollard believed it likely this was the same person who provided Fowler with information learned from Alison Whitt. Pollard believed Alison Whitt was now the telling key and would still likely connect everything to Random.

  But Pollard still had a problem with Maria Juarez. When she disappeared, Random had issued a warrant for her arrest, yet Chee claimed the police had taken her from her cousins’ home. Now, Holman had seen her in Random’s custody. If Random was covering the true murderer of the four officers, why would he hold Maria Juarez captive and not simply kill her? Since her visit to the murder scene, Pollard believed the four officers had knowingly let their killer approach. If the killer was Juarez and if the officers were at the bridge that night on their search for the money, then Juarez must have had a connection with Marchenko. Maybe Maria Juarez knew what her husband had known, and Random needed her help to find the money. This would explain why she was still alive, but Pollard wasn’t happy with the explanation. She was guessing, and guesses were a sucker’s game in any investigation.

  Pollard was trying to reconcile why so much of what she had didn’t add up when she pulled into her drive. She hurried through the hellish heat and let herself into the house. She stepped through the front door, her irritation about Alison Whitt now being replaced by her dread at the inevitable phone call to her mother. She was lost in thought as she entered her house, thinking how absolutely nothing was going to work out, when a red-haired man waiting inside pushed the door out of her hands, slamming it shut.

  “Welcome home.”

  Pollard startled so badly she jerked backwards as another man stepped from the hall, this man holding a credential case with a badge.

  “John Random. We’re the police.”

  46

  POLLARD SPUN into Vukovich, driving her elbow hard into his ribs. Vukovich grunted and jerked to the side.

  “Hey—”

  Pollard spun in the opposite direction, thinking she had to get to the kitchen and then out the back door, but Random was already blocking her path.

  “Hold it!We’re not going to hurt you. Hold it!”

  Random had stopped between Pollard and the kitchen and had come no closer. He was holding up both hands with his badge dangling over his head and Vukovich had made no further move. Pollard edged sideways to see both of them at the same time.

  Random said, “Take it easy now. Just relax. If we wanted to hurt you would we be standing here like this?”

  Random lowered his hands, but made no move forward. It was a good sign, but Pollard still edged to the side, eyes going between them, kicking herself for leaving her service pistol in the box in her closet, thinking, how stupid could you be? Thinking she might be able to get one of the kitchen knives, but she’d hate to fight these bastards with a knife.

  “What do you want?”

  Random studied her for a moment longer, then put away his badge.

  “Your cooperation. You and Holman have been messing things up for us. Will you give me a chance to explain?”

  “Is that why you grabbed him, to explain?”

  “I wouldn’t be here now and telling you what I’m about to tell you if you hadn’t forced my hand.”

  Vukovich was leaning against the door, watching her, but his eyes were curious and his manner relaxed. Random seemed irritated, but his eyes were tired and his suit was rumpled. Nothing about their body language was threatening. Pollard felt herself begin to relax, but she was still wary.

  She said, “Question.”

  Random opened his hands, saying go ahead, ask.

  “Who murdered those men?”

  “Warren Juarez.”

  “Bullshit, Random. I don’t believe you and I don’t believe they just happened to be under that bridge. They were looking for Marchenko’s money.”

  Random opened his hands again and shrugged, the shrug saying he could take it or leave it whether she believed him.

  “Yes, they were looking for the money, but Juarez was the shooter. He was hired by someone to kill them. We’re trying to identify the person who hired him.”

  “Stop lying to me. Holman saw Maria Juarez with you at the house.”

  “Not lying. That house is a safe house. She was there voluntarily at our request.”

  “Why?”

  “Juarez didn’t commit suicide. The person who hired him murdered him. We believe he was hired because of his co
nnection with Fowler and that the person who hired him planned to kill him from the beginning. We grew worried that this person might also murder his wife. We brought Holman to the house so Maria could tell him herself. I didn’t expect him to believe me otherwise.”

  Pollard watched Random as he spoke and believed he was telling the truth. Everything he was saying made sense. She thought it through and finally nodded.

  “All right. Okay, I buy that, but why did you have Chee arrested? I don’t get that.”

  Random glanced at Vukovich before looking back at her. He shook his head.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Holman’s friend, Chee—Gary Moreno. He was raided this morning and taken into custody. We thought that was you.”

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “What are we talking about, Random? Am I supposed to believe it was a coincidence?”

  Random looked blank, but he glanced at Vukovich again.

  “Vuke, see what you can find out.”

  Vukovich took out a cell phone and drifted into the dining room toward the kitchen. Pollard could hear him mumbling as she continued with Random.

  “If you knew another person was involved with Juarez, why did you close the case?”

  “His killer set up the murder to look like a suicide. I wanted him to think we bought it. I wanted him to believe we didn’t know he existed so he would feel safe.”

  “Why?”

  “We believe this person is a high-level police officer.”

  Random said it matter-of-factly and without hesitation. This was exactly what Pollard and Holman had been thinking, only they had figured it was Random. Pollard suddenly realized how the disparities between the two Randoms made sense, and how all the inconsistencies about him could be consistent.

  “The fifth man.”

  “What’s the fifth man?”

  “We knew someone else was involved. We called him the fifth man. We thought it was you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You’ve been running an investigation within an investigation, one public, the other secret—a secret investigation.”

  “There was no other way to approach this. The only people who know what we’re doing are my team, the chief, and one assistant chief. This investigation began weeks before those guys were killed. I was informed a group of officers were making a play for the money. We identified most of them, but someone with an intimate knowledge of Marchenko and Parsons was feeding information to Fowler, and Fowler was protecting the sonofabitch like a pit bull. Fowler was the only one who knew this person, the only one who spoke or met with him, and that’s who we were trying to identify.”

  “And then the shooting started.”

  Random’s face tightened.

  “Yes. Then the shooting started, and you and Holman have been kicking so many rocks even divisional officers are beginning to notice. I need you to stop, Pollard. If this man starts feeling the heat we’ll lose him.”

  Now Pollard understood the calls Leeds had received from Parker Center. The A-Chief had been trying to find out what she was doing and reaming Leeds to make her stop.

  “How is it you know so much about what Fowler did and didn’t do? How do you know Fowler was the only one?”

  Random hesitated. It was the first time he had hesitated in answering her questions. Pollard felt a knot in her stomach because she suddenly knew the answer.

  She said, “You had someone inside.”

  “Richard Holman was working for me.”

  The icy air-conditioning grew warm. The house filled with silence, as if it was spreading from her kitchen like spilled syrup. Everything Holman had told her about his conversations with Random flickered in her head.

  “You sonofabitch. You should have told him.”

  “Telling him would have compromised this investigation.”

  “You let the man think his son was dirty. Do you have any idea how much this has been hurting him? Do you give a shit?”

  The soft flesh around Random’s eyes tightened. He wet his lips.

  “Rich Holman contacted me when Fowler tried to recruit him. Rich had refused, but I convinced him to call Fowler back. I put him in with them, Ms. Pollard, so yes, I give a shit.”

  Pollard went to her couch. She paid no attention to Random. She had nothing to say. She thought about Holman. She blinked hard when her eyes began to fill because she didn’t want Random to see her cry: Richie wasn’t a bad guy anymore; Richie was good. Holman wouldn’t have to apologize to Donna.

  Random said, “Do you see why it had to be this way?”

  “If you’re looking for absolution, forget it. Maybe it did have to be this way, Random, but you’re still an asshole. The man lost his son. All you had to do was talk to him like a human being instead of a dirtbag and none of this would be happening.”

  “Will you call him? I need to get you people on board with this before it’s too late.”

  Pollard laughed.

  “Well, I would, but I can’t. Your guys took his cell phone at the cemetery. I have no way to reach him.”

  Random clenched his jaw, but didn’t respond. Vukovich returned from the dining room saying someone would call him back, but Pollard paid no attention. She was wondering if everything she and Holman had done was pointless. The fifth man was probably already gone.

  “Well, did they find the money or not? I’m guessing they must have or this suspect you’re looking for wouldn’t have killed these people.”

  “We’re not sure. If the money was located, it was found after the murders.”

  “They must have found the money, Random. What did they find at the Hollywood Sign?”

  Random was clearly surprised.

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Kicking rocks, you asshole. They found something on the Thursday night, before they were murdered. Whatever they found was buried in a hole approximately twelve inches wide and eighteen inches deep. What was it?”

  “Keys. They found twenty-two keys in a blue metal thermos bottle.”

  “Just keys? What kind of keys?”

  “Rich didn’t see them. It was Fowler who opened the thermos. He told the others what they had, but kept them in his possession.”

  “There was nothing about how to find the locks?”

  “Just the keys. The next day, Fowler told the others that his partner thought maybe he could figure out what the keys opened. We believe that’s why the meeting was called on the night they were murdered. The last report I got from Rich, he said everyone thought they were going to learn about the money.”

  Pollard was thinking about the keys when she realized almost everything Random knew came from Rich Holman. If Fowler shared the wealth, then Rich passed it on to Random, but Fowler had protected his partner. He kept secrets. Pollard suddenly wondered if she didn’t know more about this case than Random.

  “Do you know why Marchenko hid those keys at the Hollywood Sign?”

  Pollard could see by his expression he didn’t have a clue. He shrugged, guessing at the reason.

  “Remote. Close to his apartment.”

  “Alison Whitt.”

  Random was lost.

  “Alison Whitt was a prostitute. Marchenko used to have sex with her up at the sign. You didn’t know this?”

  Vukovich shook his head.

  “That’s not possible. We interviewed everyone even remotely connected to Marchenko and Parsons. Everyone we talked to said these clowns were eunuchs. They didn’t even have male friends.”

  “Holman and I learned about her from Marchenko’s mother. Random, listen to this—approximately a week before the murders, Fowler and another man went to see Marchenko’s mother. They went specifically to ask about Alison Whitt. The man with Fowler that day wasn’t Rich or Mellon or Ash. He must have been Fowler’s partner. She didn’t have a name for him, but you could work her with an artist.”

  Random shot a glance at Vukovich.


  “Call Fuentes. Have someone go with an artist.”

  Vukovich turned away again with his cell phone as Random turned back to Pollard.

  “What’s the story on Whitt?”

  “Bad. She was murdered on the same night as the others. Whitt’s the connection here, Random. Holman and I learned about her from Mrs. Marchenko, but Fowler and his friend knew about Whitt before they saw Marchenko’s mother. Whitt claimed she was a registered informant, so I figured the fifth man might be her contact, but that didn’t pan out.”

  “Waitaminute—how did you find out all this if Whitt was already dead?”

  Pollard told him about Marki Collen and the Mayan Grille and Alison Whitt’s stories about Marchenko. Random took out a pad and made notes. When she finished, Random studied what he had written.

  “I’ll check her out.”

  “You won’t find anything. I had a friend at the Feeb run her name through the roster at Parker. She isn’t on your list.”

  Random made a dark smile.

  “Thank your friend, but I’ll check it myself.”

  Random took out his phone and went to the window as he made his call. While he was talking, Vukovich returned to Pollard.

  “Got word on your boy, Chee. It was a righteous bust. Bomb Squad got a tip from the Feeb and rolled in with Metro. They pulled six pounds of C-4 plastic explosive and some det cord out of his shop.”

  Pollard stared at Vukovich, then looked at Random, but Random was still talking on his phone.

  “The FBI put them onto this?”

  “What the man said. Part of a conspiracy investigation, he said, so they rolled over to check it out.”

  “When did the call go in?”

  “This morning. Early sometime. Is that important?”

  Pollard shook her head, feeling a numbness settle low in her legs.

  “You sure it was the Feeb?”

  “What the man said.”

  The numbness spread up into her body.

  Random finished his call, then took a business card from his wallet and brought it to Pollard.

  “Holman will want to talk to me. That’s okay. Once you reach him, call me, but you have to make him understand he has to back off. That’s imperative here. You can’t tell anyone what I’ve said, and Holman can’t tell his daughter-in-law. You see why we’re playing it like this, don’t you? I hope to Christ it’s not already too late.”