“Ask him. Moreno and Holman were known associates 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 embarrassed 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.
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?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Now isn’t a good time.”
She sounded terrible, but Holman believed this was important.
“Maria Juarez didn’t run. The cops took her. That same cop with the red hair who bounced me-Vukovich. It isn’t like the police have been saying. Vukovich and another cop took her in the middle of the night.”
Holman waited, but heard only silence.
“Are you there?”
“How do you know this?”
“A friend knows some people who live on her street. They saw it. Just like they saw those guys get me.”
“What friend?”
Holman hesitated.
“Who?”
Holman still didn’t know what to say.
“Just…a friend.”
“Gary Moreno?”
Holman knew better than to ask how she knew. Asking would be defensive. Being defensive would imply guilt.
“Yeah, Gary Moreno. He’s a friend. Katherine, we were kids together-”
“So tight he gave you a car?”
“He runs a body shop. He has lots of cars-”
“And so much money you don’t have to work?”
“He knew my little boy-”
“A multiple felon and gang member and you didn’t think it worth mentioning?”
“Katherine-?”
“What are you doing, Holman?”
“Nothing-”
“Don’t call me again.”
The line was dead.
Holman hit the speed-dial, but her voice mail picked up. She had turned off the phone. He spoke as fast as he could.
“Katherine, listen, what should I have said? Chee’s my friend-that’s Gary’s nickname, Chee-and yes he’s a convicted felon, but so am I. I was a criminal all my life; the only people I know are criminals.”
Her voice mail beeped, cutting him off. Holman cursed and hit the speed-dial again.
“Now he’s straight just like I’m trying to be straight and he’s my friend so I went to him for help. I don’t know anyone else. I don’t have anyone else. Katherine, please call back. I need you. I need your help to get through this. Agent Pollard, please-”
Her voice mail beeped again, but this time Holman lowered his phone. He sat in the parking lot, waiting. He didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know where she lived or how to reach her except through her phone. She had kept it that way to protect herself. Holman sat in his car, feeling alone the way he had been alone on his first night in jail. He wanted to reach out to her, but Agent Pollard had turned off her phone.
34
