The Two Minute Rule

cover sheets was #318, followed in consecutive order by 319, 320, 321, 327, and 334. All of her witnesses had come late in the case.

Pollard began matching the numbers on her cover sheets to names, and immediately saw a pattern.

#318 was identified as Lawrence Trehorn, who managed the four-unit apartment building in Beachwood Canyon where Marchenko and Parsons lived.

The next three witnesses were their neighbors.

#327 was an attendant at the West Hollywood health club Marchenko visited.

And #334 was Anton Marchenko’s mother.

Pollard located the individual summaries, but did not immediately read them. She checked for the names of the detectives who conducted the interviews. Random had signed off on Trehorn and Mrs. Marchenko, and Vukovich had signed off on one of the neighbors. Vukovich had been one of the officers with Random who confronted Holman outside his daughter-in-law’s apartment-another detective investigating the murders who had also investigated Marchenko and Parsons.

Pollard thought about Fowler and the fifth man going to see Mrs. Marchenko. She wondered if Fowler had gone to see these other five people, also.

Pollard copied the names and contact information of the five new witnesses, then read through the summaries. She half suspected that at least one of the summaries would reference Alison Whitt, the Hollywood Sign, or the Mayan Grille, but the reports provided nothing except a list of people who were personally known to Marchenko and Parsons. Pollard decided this was the key. None of these summaries were specific to the actual robberies, but all were potentially relevant to establishing what Marchenko and Parsons had done with the money. This would have been why Richard Holman had them, but the questions remained: How had he gotten them and why had Random removed them from Richard’s apartment? It was as if Random didn’t want anyone to have proof that Fowler and his little group were trying to find the money.

When Pollard finished, she returned the summaries to the file in their proper order, then placed the files in their boxes. She kept thinking about Random taking the files. Pollard considered the possibility that Richard had gotten the files from Random, but something about this bothered her. Random knew what was in the summaries. If he was involved with Richard and Fowler, he could have told them what he knew-he didn’t have to give them the files.

Pollard left the boxes on the table, then thanked Alma Wantanabe, who walked her to the elevators. As Pollard rode down, she checked her messages, but Sanders hadn’t yet called. She felt a flash of frustration, then realized she had something almost as good with which to work-Mrs. Marchenko. If Random was the fifth man, Pollard did not need to see the informant list-Mrs. Marchenko would be able to identify him, which would put Random together with Fowler. Finding Alison Whitt’s contact officer would then be icing on the cake.

Pollard decided to call Holman. She wanted to tell him what she had found, then go to Mrs. Marchenko. She was dialing his number when the elevator opened.

Holman was in the lobby, filthy and streaked with dried blood.

43

HOLMAN REMEMBERED she was going to the Pacific West Building, but he didn’t know if she was still there or how to reach her and he had no money left to make a call. He didn’t want to go to the building. If someone had followed Pollard from the cemetery Holman would be giving himself back to them, but he didn’t know how else to reach her. Holman circled the building until he was scared he would miss her, then waited in the lobby like a nervous dog. He was about to leave when the elevator opened and Pollard stepped out. In that double-take moment when she saw him, her face went white.

“What happened to you? Look at you-what happened?”

Holman was still shaking. He led her away from the elevators. A lobby security guard had already questioned him twice and Holman wanted to leave.

“We gotta get out of here. Vukovich and those guys-they grabbed me again.”

Pollard saw the guard, too, and lowered her voice.

“You’re bleeding-”

“They might have followed you. I’ll tell you outside-”

Holman desperately wanted to leave.

“Who?”

“The cops. They jumped me at the cemetery after you left-”

The shaking grew worse. Holman tried to bring her toward the door, but she pulled him the other way.

“This way. Come with me-”

“We have to go. They’re looking for me.”

“You’re a mess, Max. You stand out. In here-”

Holman let her pull him into the women’s bathroom. She led him to the lavatories, then jerked paper towels from a dispenser and wet them in the sink. Holman wanted to run, but he couldn’t make himself move-the bathroom felt like a rat trap ready to spring.

“They brought me to a house. It was Vukovich and-Random was there. They didn’t arrest me. It wasn’t a goddamn arrest. They fuckin’ took me-”

“Shh. You’re shaking. Try to calm down.”

“We have to get out of here, Katherine.”

She wiped blood from his face and arms, but he couldn’t stop talking any more than he could stop the trembling in his voice. Then he remembered his phone was missing and the terrible helpless feeling he had when he couldn’t reach her.

“I need something to write with-a pen. You got a pen? I tried to call you, but I couldn’t remember your number. I couldn’t fuckin’ remember-”

The trembling grew worse until Holman felt he was shaking apart. He was losing control of himself, but he didn’t seem able to stop.

Pollard tossed the bloody towels, then gripped his arms.

“Max.”

Her eyes seemed to draw him. She stared into his eyes and Holman stared back. Her fingers dug into his arms, but her eyes were calm and her voice was soothing.

“Max, you’re here with me now-”

“I was scared. They had Maria Juarez-”

Holman couldn’t stop looking into her eyes as her fingers massaged his arms.

“You’re safe. You’re with me now, and you’re safe.”

“Jesus, I was so fuckin’ scared.”

Holman stayed with her eyes, but the corners of her lips held a gentle curl that slowed him like an anchor would slow a drifting boat.

His shaking eased.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m better.”

“Good. I want you okay.”

Pollard found a pen in her jacket, then took his arm. She wrote her cell number on the inside of his forearm, then looked up again with softer eyes.

“Now you have my number. You see, Max? Now you can’t lose it.”

Holman could feel that something was now different. She moved closer to him, then slipped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. Holman stood stiff as a mannequin. He was uncertain and didn’t want to offend her. She whispered into his chest.

“Just for a moment.”

Holman hesitantly touched her back. She didn’t run or jump away. He put his arms around her and laid his cheek on her head. Little by little, he let himself hold her and breathed her in and felt the badness drain away.