Holloway exhaled.“Home.Alone.”
“No one can confirm that?”
“Correct.I live with two Scottish Fold cats called Axel and Slash, who don’t say much as long as I feed them.My neighbours don’t spy on me, although I guess their doorbell cameras might.And I wasn’t at a conference or a bar or committing homicide.”His jaw tightened.“If you’re asking whether I have an alibi, the answer is no.But that’s because I was dozing in front of Netflix, not because I was murdering executives.”
Kate met his gaze.“We have to check.You understand that.”
“I do,” he said.“But it doesn’t make it any less troubling to be asked.”
A silence settled.Heavy, but not hostile.
Then something shifted.
Holloway’s expression softened, the irritation draining away, replaced by something rueful.Almost embarrassed.
He leaned back.“You’re good at this,” he said to Kate.“Both of you.Thorough.Respectful.I appreciate that.”He hesitated.“I know I come off… gruff.People assume things because of my size.A colleague once said I walked like a linebacker with a grudge.”A self-deprecating huff.“But I counsel families.I sit with dying men.I spend my days convincing tense adults to call their mothers.I really don’t beat people to death with Bibles.”
Kate felt something loosen inside her.An internal knot untying.
Her intuition—the quiet part of her that saw straight through people—whispered with unexpected clarity:
He means what he says.
He’s not our killer.
Marcus shot her a glance, reading her silence but not yet agreeing with it.
“All right,” he said, closing his notebook.“For now, Mr.Holloway, you remain a person of interest.”
Holloway nodded once.Slow.Accepting.Hurt flickering beneath the surface.
“Do what you need to do,” he said.“Just—catch the person doing this.Please.”
Kate stood.So did Marcus.Holloway rose last, his bulk filling the room, but his manner unthreatening now—almost gentle.
As they stepped into the hallway, Holloway paused.
“Agent Valentine?”
She turned.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "the people doing this… whatever they say, or quote, they're not fighting for honor.They're fighting for themselves.That's the difference."He tapped his chest."Real advocacy doesn't start here," he pointed outward, "—it starts here."
She nodded.“We’ll be in touch.”
The receptionist flashed them the peace sign as they exited.The center door clicked softly behind them.
Outside, Worcester’s afternoon light felt colder.
Marcus shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.“Well,” he said, “that sucked.”
Kate snorted.“Which part?”
“The part where he seems like a surprisingly decent human being,” Marcus said.“Big, hulking, perfect-on-paper suspect—except he’s… not.”
Kate glanced back at the building.
“No,” she agreed quietly.“He’s not.”
