“I need to ask a few questions. May I come in?”

She moved back out of the door and Holman went in. A TV was showing Telemundo, but other than that the place was quiet. He listened to see if anyone was in the back of the house, but heard nothing. He could see through the dining room and the kitchen to a back door which was closed. The house smelled of chorizo and cilantro. A central hall opened off the living room and probably led to a bathroom and a couple of bedrooms. Holman wondered if anyone was in the bedrooms.

Holman said, “Is anyone else here?”

Her eyes flickered, and Holman knew he had made his first mistake. The question left her suspicious.

“My aunt. She is in the bed.”

He took her arm, bringing her toward the hall.

“Let’s take a look.”

“Who are you? Are you the police?”

Holman knew a lot of these homegirls would kill you as quick as any veterano and some would kill you faster, so he gripped her arm tight.

“I just want to see if Warren is here.”

“He is not here. You know he isn’t here. Who are you? You are not one of the detectives.”

Holman brought her back along the hall, glancing in the bathroom first, then the front bedroom. An old lady wrapped in shawls and blankets was sitting up in bed, as withered and tiny as a raisin. She said something in Spanish that Holman didn’t understand. He gave her an apologetic smile, then pulled Maria out to the second bedroom, closing the old lady’s door behind them.

Maria said, “Don’t go in there.”

“Warren isn’t in here, is he?”

“My baby. She is sleeping.”

Holman held Juarez’s wife in front of him and cracked open the door. The room was dim. He made out a small figure napping in an adult’s bed, a little girl who was maybe three or four. Holman stood listening again, knowing that Juarez might be hiding under the bed or in the closet, but not wanting to wake the little girl. He heard the buzz of a child’s gentle snore. Something in the child’s innocent pose made Holman think of Richie at that age. Holman tried to remember if he had ever seen Richie asleep, but couldn’t. The memories didn’t come because they didn’t exist. He was never around long enough to see his baby sleeping.

Holman closed the door and brought Maria into the living room.

She said, “You weren’t here with the policemen-I want to know who you are.”

“My name is Holman. You know that name?”

“Get out of this house. I don’t know where he is. I already tol’ them. Who are you? You don’t show me your badge.”

Holman forced her down onto the couch. He leaned over her, nose to nose, and pointed at his face.

“Look at this face. Did you see this face on the news?”

She was crying. She didn’t understand what he was saying, and she was scared. Holman realized this but was unable to stop himself. His voice never rose above a whisper. Just like when he was robbing the banks.

“My name is Holman. One of the officers, his name was Holman, too. Your fucking husband murdered my son. Do you understand that?”

“No!”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he go to Mexico? I heard he went under the fence.”

“He did not do this. I showed them. He was with us.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me who’s hiding him.”

“I don’t know. I told them. I showed them. He was with us.”

Holman hadn’t thought through his actions and now he felt trapped. The prison counselors had harped on that-criminals were people who were unable or unwilling to anticipate the consequences of their actions. No impulse control, they called it. Holman suddenly grabbed her throat. His hand encircled her from ear to ear as if acting with a will of its own. He grabbed her with no sense of what he was doing or why-

– but then she made a choking gurgle and Holman saw himself in the moment. He released her and stepped back, his face burning with shame.

The little girl said, “Mommy?”

She stood in the hall outside the old lady’s room, so small she looked like a miniature person. Holman wanted to run, sick with himself and humiliated that the child might have seen him.

Maria said, “It’s okay, my love. Go back to bed. I’ll be in with you soon. Go on, now.”

The little girl returned to her room.

Richie, turning away as Donna cursed him for being a loser.

Holman said, “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

Maria stared at him, soundless. She touched her throat where he had gripped her. She touched a curl gelled to her cheek.

Holman said, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m upset. He killed my son.”

She gathered herself and shook her head.

“It was her birthday, the day before yesterday. He was with us for her birthday. He wasn’t killing no policemen.”

“Her birthday? The little girl?”

“I can prove it. I showed them the tape. Warren was with us.”

Holman shook his head, fighting away the depressing memories of loss as he tried to understand what she was saying.

“I don’t know what you’re telling me. You had a party for the little girl? You had guests?”

Holman wouldn’t believe any witness she could produce and neither would the cops, but she waved toward the television.

“Warren brought us one of these video cameras. It’s at my house. We took videos of her blowing out the candles and playing with us, the day before yesterday.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You don’t understand. That show was on, that one with the comedian? Warren put her on his back so she could ride him like a donkey and he was going around the living room in front of the TV. You could see the show when Warren was here. That proves he was with us.”

Holman had no idea what show she was talking about.

“Those officers were murdered at one-thirty in the morning.”

“Yes! The show starts at one. It was on the TV when Warren was giving her rides. You can see on the tape.”

“You were having a party for your kid in the middle of the night? C’mon.”

“He has the warrants, you know? He has to be careful when he comes by. My father, he saw the tape I took. He told me the show proved Warren was home with us.”

She seemed to believe what she was saying, and it would be easy enough to check. If her videotape showed a television show on the tube, all you had to do was call the TV station and ask what time the show had aired.

“Okay. Lemme see it. Show me.”

“The police took it. They said it was evidence.”

Holman worked through what she was telling him. The police took the tape, but clearly hadn’t believed it cleared Warren of the crime-they had issued the warrant. Still, Holman thought she was being sincere, so he figured she was probably telling the truth about not knowing her husband’s whereabouts.

The little girl said, “Mama.”

The little girl was back in the hall.

Holman said, “How old are you?”

The little girl stared at the floor.

Maria said, “Answer him, Alicia. Where are your manners?”

The little girl held up a hand, showing three fingers.

Maria said, “I’m sorry your son was killed, but it was not Warren. I know what is in your heart now. If you kill him, that will be in your heart, too.”

Holman pulled his eyes from the little girl.

“I’m sorry about what I did.”

He went out the front door. The sun was blinding after being in the dim house. He walked back to Perry’s car, feeling like a boat without a rudder, trapped in a current. He had no place to go and no idea what to do. He thought he should probably just go back to work and start earning money. He couldn’t think of anything else to do.

Holman was still trying to decide when he reached Perry’s car. He put the key in the lock, then was suddenly hit from behind so hard that he lost his breath. He smashed into the side of the car as his feet were kicked from beneath him, and they rode him down hard onto the street, proning him out with the grace of true professionals.