“FBI,” he said, his tone dropping into wariness.“I got your message.Right.You’re here about those neglectors who got murdered.”
“They were still people, in our view, Mr.Holloway,” Marcus said, offering his hand.“We appreciate you seeing us.”
Holloway kept his hand in his pocket.“I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”
A slightly quarrelsome beginning, Kate noted.Defensive.Irritated.Natural, given the circumstances.
“May we talk in your office?”she asked.
He grunted something like agreement and stepped aside.
The office was cluttered in a way that suggested a man too focused on other people’s pain to remember his own paperwork.Bookshelves sagged under the weight of social work textbooks, legal guides, theology volumes, and—Kate noticed—half a dozen well-thumbed poetry collections.A jar of peppermints sat on the desk.A pair of reading glasses perched lopsided on top of a stack of case notes.
Holloway lowered himself into his chair.It complained under the weight.
“All right,” he said.“Ask.”
Kate didn’t start with the CCTV.She didn’t start with the gait.
“Mr.Holloway,” she said gently, “Your name crops up a lot in the context of elder welfare disputes, specifically in the Boston area, where…”
He cut her short.“Where it seems you’ve got someone offing prominent neglectors.”
“A detail that hasn’t been reported,” Kate replied, abandoning the careful tone.
“But a detailIknow because of the kind of work I do," Holloway retorted sharply."I know who Garrett and Hayes were, what they did.I advocate for people who suffer at the hands of people like them."
Marcus studied him.“How far does your definition of advocacy go, Mr.Holloway?”
Holloway bristled.It was subtle, but Kate saw it: shoulders tightening, chin lifting, hurt blooming behind irritation.
“Let me be clear,” he said, voice suddenly stern.“I care about the elderly.I care about justice for people who can’t advocate for themselves.But I don’t hurt people.I don’t threaten people…”
“Then why have you received repeated official warnings about stalking and threatening behavior?”Marcus interrupted.
“Because some people don’t like me pointing out their failings,” Holloway replied.“I never harassed anyone.And I don’t condone violence in any form.If someone out there is doing…that—” he gestured vaguely at the idea of murder, “—in the name of honoring their parents, or the commandments, or whatever twisted script they’re reading from, believe me, I want them caught as much as you do.”
“Why do you mention commandments?”Kate asked sharply.
“Because I’ve caught stuff online: people saying those last two murders are part of something bigger, going on since last year.Multiple East Coast locations.Some screwball working his way through the Decalogue.Are you guys investigating that, or are you just focussed on what’s happening in Boston?”
“Why do you need to know?”Kate asked.
“Natural curiosity,” Holloway replied.
Kate watched him carefully.His eyes didn’t flick to the left.His breathing didn’t shift.
If he was lying, he was the most gifted liar she’d met all year.
She softened her tone.“We’ve seen footage of the suspect.He’s a large man.Similar build to yours.That’s why we’re talking to you.”
“That and the nature of my work,” Holloway corrected her.
“Correct.”
Holloway rubbed the bridge of his nose."Okay.Look.I'm sorry if I sound… abrasive.I've had a long week.One of my clients is dying.Another can't get her daughter to answer the phone."His voice broke, slightly, before he steadied it."This work is hard.But it's important.And if someone is twisting 'honor' into a weapon, then that is the opposite, theexactopposite of why I get out of bed in the morning.”
Marcus leaned forward slightly.“Where were you on Monday and Tuesday nights?Between eight and midnight?”
