Free the Two Minute Rule (2006) by Crais Robert

into squiggly sideburns.
    She said, "Is he all right?"
    She thought he was a cop.
    Holman said, "Maria Juarez?"
    "Tell me he is all right. Did you find him? Tell me he is not dead."
    She had just told Holman everything he needed to know. Juarez wasn't here. The police had been here earlier, and she had been cooperative with them. Holman gave her an easy smile.
    "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