Part 25 (1/2)
”And who is Allie?”
”Anton's lady friend.”
Holman was surprised and he could tell Pollard was surprised, too. The papers had described Marchenko and Parsons as a couple of friendless loners and had hinted at a h.o.m.os.e.xual relations.h.i.+p. Pollard stared down at the folder for a moment before continuing.
”Anton had a girlfriend?”
The old woman's face grew rigid and she tipped forward.
”I am not making this up! My Anton was not a sissy boy like those horrible people said. Many young men have roommates to share in the cost. Many!”
”I'm sure of it, Mrs. Marchenko, a handsome young man like him. What did the officers want to know about her?”
”Just questions, they ask--did Anton see her a lot, where she lives, like that, but I am not going to help these people who murdered my son. I made like I don't know her.”
”So you didn't tell them about her?”
”I say I don't know any girl named Allie. I am not going to help these murderers.”
”We'd like to speak with her for the article, Mrs. Marchenko. Could you give me her phone number?”
”I don't know the number.”
”That's okay. We can look it up. How about her last name?”
”I am not making this up. He would call her when he was here watching the television. She was so nice, a nice girl, she was laughing when he gave me the phone.”
Mrs. Marchenko had once more flushed, and Holman saw how desperately she needed them to believe her. She had been trapped in her tiny house by the death of her son, and no one was listening and no one had listened for three months and she was alone. Holman felt so bad he wanted to jump up and run, but instead he smiled and made his voice gentle.
”We believe you. We just want to talk to the girl. When was this you spoke to her?”
”Since before they murdered my Anton. It was a long time. Anton would come and we would watch the TV. Sometimes he would call her and put me on the phone, here, Mama, talk to my girl.”
Pollard pouched out her lips, thinking, then glanced at the phone at the end of Mrs. Marchenko's couch.
”Maybe if you showed us your old phone bills we could figure out which number belongs to Allie. Then we could see if Detective Fowler treated her as badly as he treated you.”
Mrs. Marchenko brightened.
”Would that help me sue them?”
”Yes, ma'am, I think it might.”
Mrs. Marchenko pushed up from her chair and waddled out of the room.
Holman leaned toward Pollard and lowered his voice.
”Who's this fifth guy?”
”I don't know.”
”The papers didn't say anything about a girlfriend.”
”I don't know. She wasn't on the FBI witness list, either.”
Mrs. Marchenko interrupted them by returning with a cardboard box.
”The bills I put in here after I pay them. It's all mixed up.”
Holman settled back and watched them go through the bills. Mrs. Marchenko didn't make many calls and didn't phone many different numbers--her landlord, her doctors, a couple of other older women who were friends, her younger brother in Cleveland, and her son. Whenever Pollard found a number Mrs. Marchenko couldn't identify, Pollard called the number on her cell phone, but the first three she dialed were two repairmen and a Domino's. Mrs. Marchenko remembered the repairmen, but frowned when Pollard reached the Domino's.
”I never have the pizza. That must have been Anton.”
The Domino's call had been placed five months ago. The following number on the list was also a number Mrs. Marchenko couldn't identify, but then she nodded.
”That must be Allie. I remember the pizza now. I tell Anton it has a nasty taste. When the man brought it, Anton gave me the phone when he went to the door.”
Pollard smiled at Holman.
”Well, there we go. Let's see who answers.”
Pollard dialed the number, and Holman watched as her smile faded. She closed her phone.
”It's no longer in service.”
Mrs. Marchenko said, ”Is this bad?”
”Maybe not. I'm pretty sure we can use this number to find her.”
Pollard copied the number into her notebook along with the time, date, and duration of the call, then searched through the remaining bills, but found the number only one other time on a call placed three weeks before the first.
Pollard glanced at Holman, then smiled at Mrs. Marchenko.
”I think we've taken enough of your time. Thank you very much.”
Mrs. Marchenko's face folded in disappointment.
”Don't you want to talk about the fan and how they lied?”
Pollard stood and Holman stood with her.
”I think we have enough. We'll see what Allie has to say and we'll get back to you. Come on, Holman.”
Mrs. Marchenko waddled after them to the door.
”They did not have to kill my boy. I don't believe any of those things they said. Will you put that in your story?”