Robert Crais - The Two Minute Rule

“Yes, ma’am, thanks. Can you tell me where Donna is living now?”

Her eyes softened even more.

“You don’t know?”

“I haven’t seen Richie or Donna for a long time.”

Mrs. Bartello opened the screen wider, her eyes bunching with sorrow.

“I’m sorry. You don’t know. I’m sorry. Donna passed away.”

Holman felt himself slow as if he had been drugged; as if his heart and breath and the blood in his veins were winding down like a phonograph record when you pulled the plug. First Richie, now Donna. He didn’t say anything, and Mrs. Bartello’s sorrowful eyes grew knowing.

She wedged the screen open with her ample shoulders to cross her arms.

“You didn’t know. Oh, I’m sorry, you didn’t know. I’m sorry, Mr. Holman.”

Holman felt the slowness coalesce into a kind of distant calm.

“What happened?”

“It was those cars. They drive so fast on the freeways, that’s why I hate to go anywhere.”

“She was in an auto accident?”

“She was on her way home one night. You know she worked as a nurse, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“She was on her way home. That was almost two years ago now. The way it was explained to me someone lost control of their car, and then more cars lost control, and one of them was Donna. I’m so sorry to tell you. I felt so badly for her and poor Richard.”

Holman wanted to leave. He wanted to get away from Donna’s old apartment, the place she had been driving back to when she was killed.

He said, “I need to find Richie. You know where I can find him?”

“It’s so sweet you call him Richie. When I met him he was Richard. Donna always called him Richard. He’s a policeman, you know.”

“You have his phone number?”

“Well, no, I just saw him when he came to visit, you know. I don’t think I ever had his number.”

“So you don’t know where he lives?”

“Oh, no.”

“Maybe you have Richie’s address on her rental application.”

“I’m sorry. I threw those old papers out after-well, once I had new tenants there was no reason to keep all that.”

Holman suddenly wanted to tell her that Richie was dead, too; he thought it would be the kind thing to do, her saying such kind things about both Donna and Richie, but he didn’t have the strength. He felt depleted, like he had already given all of himself and didn’t have any more to give.

Holman was about to thank her for all of it when another thought occurred to him.

“Where was she buried?”

“That was over in Baldwin Hills. The Baldwin Haven Cemetery. That was the last time I saw Richard, you know. He didn’t wear his uniform. I thought he might because he was so proud and all, but he wore a nice dark suit.”

“Did many people attend?”

Mrs. Bartello made a sad shrug.

“No. No, not so many.”

Holman walked back to Perry’s beater in a dull funk, then drove west directly into the sun, trapped in lurching rush hour traffic. It took almost forty minutes to cover the few miles back to Culver City. Holman left Perry’s car in its spot behind the motel, then entered through the front door. Perry was still at his desk, the little radio tinny with the Dodgers play-by-play. Perry turned down the volume as Holman handed him the keys.

“How was your first day of freedom?”

“It was shit.”

Perry leaned back and turned up his radio.

“Then it can only get better.”

“Anyone call for me?”

“I don’t know. You got a message machine?”

“I gave some people your number.”

“Give them your own number, not mine. Do I look like a message service?”

“A police captain named Levy and a young woman. Either of them call?”

“Nope. Not that I answered and I been here all day.”

“You set up my TV?”

“I been here all day. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“You got a phone book or you gotta bring it tomorrow?”

Perry lifted a phone book from behind his desk.

Holman took the phone book upstairs and looked up the Baldwin Haven Cemetery. He copied the address, then lay on the bed in his clothes, thinking about Donna. After a while he held up his father’s watch. The hands were frozen just the way they had been frozen since his father died. He pulled the knob and spun the hands. He watched them race around the dial, but he knew he was kidding himself. The hands were frozen. Time moved only for other people. Holman was trapped by his past.

HOLMAN ROSE EARLY the next morning and went down to the convenience store before Perry was at his desk. He bought a pint of chocolate milk, a six-pack of miniature powdered donuts, and a Times, and brought them back to his room to eat while he read the paper. The investigation into the murders was still front-page news, though today it was below the fold. The chief of police had announced that unnamed witnesses had come forward and detectives were narrowing a field of suspects. No specifics were presented except for an announcement that the city was offering a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for the arrest and conviction of the shooter. Holman suspected the cops had nothing, but were floating bullshit witnesses to bait real witnesses into making a move on the reward.

Holman ate the donuts and wished he had a television to see the morning news coverage. A lot could have happened since the paper went to bed.

Holman finished his chocolate milk, showered, then dressed for work in his one set of fresh clothes. He needed to catch the 7:10 bus to arrive at his job by eight. One bus, no changes, one long ride to his job and back again that night. Holman just had to do it every day, a single ride at a time, and he could turn his life around.

When he was ready to leave he called the Chatsworth police station, identified himself, and asked for Captain Levy. He didn’t know if Levy would be at work so early and expected to leave a message, but Levy came on the line.

“Captain, it’s Max Holman.”

“Yes, sir. I don’t have anything new to report.”

“Okay, well, I have another number I’d like you to have. I don’t have an answering machine yet, so if something comes up during the day you can reach me at work.”

Holman read off the work number.

“One other thing. Did you have a chance to talk with Richie’s wife?”

“I spoke with her, Mr. Holman.”

“I’d appreciate it if you gave her this number, too. If she tries to call me here at the motel I’m not sure I’ll get the message.”

Levy answered slowly.

“I’ll give her your work number.”

“And please tell her again that I’d like to speak with her as soon as possible.”

Holman wondered why Levy hesitated, and was about to ask if there was a problem when Levy interrupted.

“Mr. Holman, I’ll pass along this message, but I’m going to be direct with you about this situation, and you won’t like what I’m about to say.”

Levy plowed on as if it was going to be just as difficult for him to say it as for Holman to hear it.

“I was Richard’s commanding officer. I want to respect his wishes and the wishes of his widow, but I’m also a father-it wouldn’t be right to leave you waiting for something that isn’t going to happen. Richard wanted nothing to do with you. His wife, well, her world has been turned upside down. I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for her to call. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“I don’t understand. You told me she’s the one who told you about me. That’s why you called the Bureau of Prisons.”

“She thought you should know, but that doesn’t change how Richard felt. I don’t like being in this position, but there it is. Whatever was between you and your son is none of my business, but I am going to respect his wishes and that means I’m going to respect whatever his widow wants to do. I’m not a family counselor in this matter. Are we clear on that?”