Robert Crais - The Two Minute Rule

Holman considered calling Gail Manelli about the police, but he was worried about missing Liz, so he put away his phone and headed for Westwood. As he turned out of the parking lot, he saw Perry still on the sidewalk, watching him. Perry waited until Holman had driven past, then flipped him off. Holman saw it in the mirror.

When Holman drew closer to Westwood, he called Liz to let her know he was coming.

When she answered, he said, “Hey, Liz, it’s Max. I need to stop by to see you for a few minutes. Can I bring you a coffee?”

“I’m on my way out.”

“This is kind of important. It’s about Richie.”

She hesitated, and when she spoke again her voice was cold.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? I just need to-”

“I don’t want to see you anymore. Please stop bothering me.”

She hung up.

Holman was left sitting in traffic with his dead phone. He called back, but this time her message machine picked up.

“Liz? Maybe I should’ve called earlier, okay? I didn’t mean to be rude. Liz? Can you hear me?”

If she was listening she didn’t pick up, so Max ended the call. He was only five blocks from Veteran Avenue by then, so he continued on to Liz’s apartment. He didn’t take the time to find a parking spot, but left his car in a red zone by a fire hydrant. If he got a ticket he’d just pay Chee back with his own money.

The usual morning rush of students on their way to class meant Holman didn’t have long to wait before he could get inside the building. He took the stairs two at a time, but slowed when he reached her apartment, catching his breath before he knocked.

“Liz? Please tell me what’s wrong.”

He knocked softly again.

“Liz? This is important. Please, it’s for Richie.”

Holman waited.

“Liz? Can I come in, please?”

She finally opened the door. Her face was tight and pinched, and she was already dressed for the day. Her eyes were hard with a brittle tension.

Holman didn’t move. He stood with his hands at his sides, confused by her hostility.

He said, “Did I do something?”

“Whatever you’re doing, I want no part of it.”

Holman kept his voice calm.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m not doing anything, Liz. I just want to know what happened to my son.”

“The police were here. They cleaned out Richard’s desk. They took all his things and they questioned me about you . They wanted to know what you were doing.”

“Who did? Levy?”

“No, not Levy-Detective Random. He wanted to know what you were asking about and said I should be careful around you. They warned me not to let you in.”

Holman wasn’t sure how to respond. He took a step away from her and spoke carefully.

“I’ve been inside with you, Liz. Do you think I would hurt you? You’re my son’s wife.”

Her eyes softened and she shook her head.

She said, “Why did they come here?”

“There was someone with Random?”

“I don’t remember his name. Red hair.”

Vukovich.

She said, “Why did they come?”

“I don’t know. What did they tell you?”

“They didn’t tell me anything. They said they were investigating you. They wanted to know-”

The apartment next door opened and two men came out. They were young, both wearing glasses and book bags over their shoulders. Holman and Liz stood quietly as they passed.

When the two men were gone, Liz said, “I guess you can come in. This is silly.”

Holman stepped inside and waited as she closed the door.

Holman said, “Are you all right?”

“They asked if you said anything to indicate you were involved in criminal activity. I didn’t know what in hell they were talking about. What would you say to me: Hey, you know any good banks to rob?”

Holman thought about describing his conversation with Tony Gilbert, but decided against it.

“You said they took things from his desk? Can I see?”

She brought him to their shared office, and Holman looked at Richie’s desk. The newspaper clippings still hung from the corkboard, but Holman could tell the items on Richie’s desk had been moved. Holman had been through everything himself and remembered how he had left it. The LAPD reports and documents were gone.

She said, “I don’t know what they took.”

“Some reports, it looks like. Did they say why?”

“They just said it was important. They wanted to know if you had been in here. I told them the truth.”

Holman wished she hadn’t, but nodded.

“That’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

“Why would they go through his things?”

Holman wanted to change the subject. The reports were gone now, and he wished he had read them when he had the chance.

He said, “Did Richie go out with Fowler the Thursday before they were killed? It would have been at night, late.”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember.

“I’m not sure…Thursday? I think Rich worked that night.”

“Did he come home dirty? Fowler went out that night and came home with his boots caked with dirt and weeds. It would have been late.”

She thought more, then slowly shook her head.

“No, I-wait, yes, it was Friday morning I took the car. There was grass and dirt on the driver’s-side floor. Richie had the shift Thursday night. He said he had chased somebody.”

Her eyes suddenly took on the hardness again.

“What were they doing?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t Richie tell you?”

“He was on duty.”

“Did Richie ever say that Marchenko and Parsons were connected with any Latin gangs?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t remember.”

“Frogtown? Juarez was a member of the Frogtown gang.”

“What did Juarez have to do with Marchenko and Parsons?”

“I don’t know, but I’m trying to find out.”

“Waitaminute. I thought Juarez killed them because of Mike-because Mike killed his brother.”

“That’s what the police are saying.”

She crossed her arms, and Holman thought she looked worried.

She said, “You don’t believe it?”

“I gotta ask you something else. In all this time when he was telling you about Marchenko and Parsons, did he ever tell you exactly what he was doing?”

“Just…that he was working on the case.”

“What case? They were dead.”

A lost and hopeless cast came to her eyes, and Holman could see she didn’t remember. She finally shook her head, holding her arms even tighter.

“An investigation. I don’t know.”

“Trying to find an accomplice, maybe?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he mention missing money?”

“What money?”

Holman studied her, and part of him wanted to explain, thinking that maybe it would trigger some memory in her that would help him, but he knew he was done. He didn’t want to bring this part of it to her. He didn’t want to leave her thinking about the money and wondering whether her husband was working as a cop in an investigation or was trying to find the missing cash for himself.

“It’s nothing. Listen, I don’t know what Random was talking about, all that stuff about investigating me. I haven’t done anything illegal and I’m not going to do anything, you understand? I wouldn’t do that to you and to Richie. I couldn’t.”

She stared up at him for a moment, and then she nodded.

“I know. I know what you’re doing.”

“Then you know a helluva lot more than me.”

She raised on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“You’re trying to take care of your little boy.”

Richie’s wife hugged him long and tight, and Holman was glad for it, but he cursed himself for being too late.