Holman felt relieved. He had been worried she might try to keep him away from the services. It also wasn’t lost on him that neither Levy nor Random had told him about the memorial.
“I would like that, Liz. Thank you.”
She stared up at him for a moment, then lifted on her toes to kiss Holman’s cheek.
“I wish it had been different.”
Holman had spent the past ten years wishing everything had been different.
He thanked her again when she let him out, then returned to his car. He wondered if Random would attend the memorial. Holman had questions. He expected Random to have answers.
13
THE MEMORIAL SERVICE was held in the auditorium at the Los Angeles Police Department’s Police Academy in Chavez Ravine, which was set between two hills outside the Stadium Way entrance to Dodger Stadium. Years earlier, the Dodgers erected their own version of the Hollywood Sign on the hill separating the academy from the stadium. It read THINK BLUE, the Dodger color being blue. When Holman saw the sign that morning it struck him as a fitting reminder of the four dead officers. Blue was also the LAPD color.
Liz had invited Holman to accompany her and her family to the service, but Holman had declined. Her parents and sister had flown down from the Bay area, but Holman felt uncomfortable with them. Liz’s father was a physician and her mother was a social worker; they were educated, affluent, and normal in a way Holman admired, but they reminded him of everything he was not. When Holman passed the gate to Dodger Stadium, he recalled how he and Chee had often cruised the parking lot for cars to steal during the middle innings. Liz’s father probably had memories of all-night study sessions, frat parties, and proms, but the best Holman could manage were memories of stealing and getting high.
Holman parked well off the academy grounds and walked up Academy Road, following directions Liz had provided. The academy’s parking lot was already full. Cars lined both sides of the street and people were streaming uphill into the academy. Holman glanced over their faces, hoping to spot Random or Vukovich. He had phoned Random three times to discuss what he learned from Liz, but Random had not returned his calls. Holman figured Random had dismissed him, but Holman wasn’t content with being dismissed. He still had questions and he still wanted answers.
Liz had told him to meet them in the rock garden outside the auditorium. The flow of foot traffic led him up through the center of the academy to the garden, where a large crowd of people stood in small groups. Camera crews taped the crowd while reporters interviewed local politicians and the LAPD’s top brass. Holman felt self- conscious. Liz had lent him one of Richie’s dark suits but the pants were too tight, so Holman wore them unfastened beneath his belt. He had sweat through the suit even before he reached the garden and now he felt like a wino in hand-me-down threads.
Holman found Liz and her family with Richie’s commander, Captain Levy. Levy shook Holman’s hand, then took them to meet the other families. Liz seemed to sense Holman’s discomfort and hung back as Levy led them through the crowd.
“You look good, Max. I’m glad you’re here.”
Holman managed a smile.
Levy introduced them to Mike Fowler’s widow and four sons, Mellon’s wife, and Ash’s parents. All of them seemed drained, and Holman thought Fowler’s wife was probably sedated. Everyone treated him politely and with respect, but Holman still felt conspicuous and out of place. He caught the others staring at him several times and- each time-he flushed, certain they were thinking, That’s Holman’s father, the criminal. He felt more embarrassed for Richie than for himself. He had managed to shame his son even in death.
Levy returned a few minutes later, touched Liz on the arm, then led them inside through open double doors. The floor of the auditorium was filled with chairs. A dais and podium had been erected on the stage. Large photographs of the four officers were draped with American flags. Holman hesitated at the doors, glanced back at the crowd, and saw Random with three other men at the edge of the crowd. Holman immediately reversed course. He was halfway to Random when Vukovich suddenly blocked his way. Vukovich was wearing a somber navy suit and sunglasses. It was impossible to see his eyes.
Vukovich said, “It’s a sad day, Mr. Holman. You’re not still driving without a license, are you?”
“I’ve called Random three times, but he hasn’t seen fit to return my calls. I have more questions about what happened that night.”
“We know what happened that night. We told you.”
Holman glanced past Vukovich at Random. Random was staring back, but then resumed his conversation. Holman looked back at Vukovich.
“What you told me doesn’t add up. Was Richie working on the Marchenko and Parsons investigation?”
Vukovich studied him for a moment, then turned away.
“Wait here, Mr. Holman. I’ll see if the boss has time to talk to you.”
Word was spreading that it was time to be seated. The people in the rock garden were making their way to the auditorium but Holman stayed where he was. Vukovich went over to Random and the three men. Holman guessed they were high-level brass, but didn’t know and didn’t care. When Vukovich reached them, Random and two of the men glanced back at Holman, then turned their backs and continued talking. After a moment, Random and Vukovich came over. Random didn’t look happy, but he offered his hand.
“Let’s step to the side, Mr. Holman. It’ll be easier to talk when we’re out of the way.”
Holman followed them to the edge of the garden, Random on one side of him and Vukovich on the other. Holman felt like they were shaking him down.
When they were away from the other people, Random crossed his arms.
“All right, I understand you have some questions?”
Holman described his conversation with Elizabeth and the enormous collection of material pertaining to Marchenko and Parsons he had found on Richie’s desk. He still didn’t buy the explanation the police put forth about Juarez. The bank robberies seemed a more likely connection if Richie was involved in the investigation. Holman floated his theory, but Random shook his head even before Holman finished.
“They weren’t investigating Marchenko and Parsons. Marchenko and Parsons are dead. That case was closed three months ago.”
“Richie told his wife he had an extra duty assignment. She thought Mike Fowler might have been involved in it, too.”
Random looked impatient. The auditorium was filling.
“If your son was looking into Marchenko and Parsons he was doing so as a hobby or maybe as an assignment for a class he was taking, but that’s all. He was a uniformed patrol officer. Patrol officers aren’t detectives.”
Vukovich nodded.
“What difference would it make one way or the other? That case was closed.”
“Richie was home that night. He was home all evening until he got a call and went to meet his friends at one in the morning. If I was him and my buddies called that time of night just to go drinking I would have blown them off-but if we’re doing police work, then maybe I would go. If they were under the bridge because of Marchenko and Parsons, it might be connected with their murder.”
Random shook his head.
“Now isn’t the time for this, Mr. Holman.”
“I’ve been calling, but you haven’t returned my calls. Now seems like a pretty damn good time to me.”
Random seemed to be studying him. Holman thought the man was trying to gauge his strength and weaknesses the same way he would gauge a suspect he was interrogating. He finally nodded, as if he had come to a decision he didn’t enjoy.
“Okay, look, you know what the bad news is? They went down there to drink. I’m going to tell you something now, but if you repeat it and it gets back to me I’ll deny I said it. Vuke?”
Vukovich nodded, agreeing that he would deny it, too.
Random pursed his lips like whatever he was about to say was going to taste bad and lowered his voice.
