Page 95 of Six of Hearts
"I didn't do anything illegal," he said, but his voice wavered.
"You tracked down a federal witness in protective custody," Gabriel said. "You obtained sealed crime scene photos and used them to harass an innocent woman. You've been surveilling private citizens. That's multiple felonies, Detective."
"Former detective," Holloway corrected bitterly. He was quiet for a moment, then the chain rattled and the door opened fully. "Fine. Come in."
The room was a disaster. Empty bottles, fast food containers, and papers everywhere. On the wall above the bed, he'd taped photos—crime scene images of Eva, surveillance photos of Ronan, and recent pictures of Aria.
My blood ran cold. He'd been watching her. Photographing her.
"Jesus Christ," Gabriel muttered.
Holloway followed our gaze. "I'm not crazy. I know what I saw. Adam Rowland murdered his wife, and he got away with it because the FBI needed him more than they needed justice."
"The evidence cleared him," I said. "Multiple investigations—"
"The evidence was wrong!" Holloway's voice rose. "I was there. I saw the scene. I interviewed the neighbours. That wasn't suicide."
"Then why did the medical examiner rule it as such?" I kept my tone calm, cross-examining. "Why did the toxicology show lethal levels of pills in her system? Why were there no signs of struggle?"
"Because he's smart. Because he knew how to make it look right." Holloway grabbed a folder from the bed and thrust it at me. "Look at this. The angle of the body. The placement of the pill bottle. It's too perfect. Too staged."
I took the folder but didn't open it. "So you decided to take justice into your own hands. You tracked him down, found out about his new life, and tried to destroy it."
"I tried to warn that girl!" Holloway said. "She deserves to know what kind of man she's involved with. What he's capable of."
"You terrorised her," Gabriel said, his voice hard. "You made her think the man she loves is a murderer. You violated her privacy, her safety, her peace of mind. For what? Your own vendetta?"
"It's not a vendetta, it's the truth!"
"It's your version of the truth," I corrected. "And you don't get to force it on other people through harassment and intimidation."
Holloway's shoulders sagged. He suddenly looked old, defeated. "I gave thirty years to the job. Thirty years of catching bad guys, putting them away. And the one time it really mattered, the one time I knew—I knew—someone was guilty... they took it away from me. Made me look like a fool. Forced me out."
I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"I understand you believe you're right," I said. "But belief isn't evidence. And even if you were right—which you're not—this isn't how justice works. You know that."
"Justice," Holloway laughed bitterly. "There's no justice. Not for Eva. Not for me."
"There's justice for Aria," Gabriel said. "The woman you've been stalking. She gets justice. And that means you face consequences."
Headlights swept across the window. Car doors slammed.
"That'll be the FBI," I said. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to cooperate fully. You're going to turn over every photo, every file, every piece of information you have on Adam Rowland and his current life. You're going to sign a statement admitting what you've done. And in exchange, I'll recommend a plea deal that keeps you out of federal prison."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you go to trial, and I will personally ensure you spend the rest of your life behind bars." I leaned forward. "I'm very good at my job, Detective. You don't want me as an enemy."
A knock at the door. "FBI. Open up."
Holloway looked between us, then at the photos on his wall, then back at us. The fight went out of him.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay."
Three hours later, Gabriel and I sat in my car outside the motel, watching as FBI agents loaded boxes of evidence into their vehicles. Holloway was already gone, taken into custody, his obsession finally ended.
"Think he'll take the plea?" Gabriel asked.
