Three letters were visible.
HOF.
A number.
Mara looked at Caleb.
“Holloway Outreach Foundation.”
Caleb whispered, “You’re sure?”
“No.”
But she was.
Grant Holloway was not in a cell.
He was in Chief Owen Barrett’s office drinking bottled water.
That told Mara almost everything she needed to know.
Barrett closed the office door when she entered.
Grant sat comfortably in the visitor chair.
His polo had dried except for a brown stain near the collar.
“What is this?” Mara asked.
Barrett lowered his voice.
“Mr. Holloway is concerned this situation is getting out of hand.”
Mara looked at Grant.
“You mean investigated?”
Grant smiled.
“I mean distorted.”
Barrett said, “We have twenty witnesses saying Rowan assaulted him.”
“And Mrs. Holloway has injuries.”
Grant sighed.
“My wife has a medical condition. She bruises easily.”
Mara turned.
“I didn’t tell you where the injuries were.”
Grant stopped.
Barrett’s eyes shifted between them.
Mara continued.
“You said she bruises easily. I never told you I saw bruising.”
Grant recovered quickly.
“She told me you asked about her wrist.”
“No, she didn’t.”
Barrett stood.
“Mara.”
She ignored him.
“Why did you think I meant her wrist?”
Grant stared at her.
Barrett said, “Enough.”
Mara turned.
“Chief, I need a warrant request initiated for Holloway Outreach financial records.”
The room changed.
Barrett’s face hardened.
“Based on what?”
“A victim statement indicating potential connections between foundation accounts and missing persons.”
Grant stood.
“My wife is emotionally unstable.”
Mara looked at him.
“That was fast.”
“What?”
“Ten minutes ago she was perfectly fine.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
Barrett moved beside Mara.
“Step outside.”
“No.”
“That’s an order.”
“Then put it in writing.”
Barrett’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re dangerously close to insubordination.”
“And you’re sitting privately with the subject of an investigation.”
Grant gave a quiet laugh.
Barrett turned.
“Grant, give us a moment.”
“No problem.”
Grant walked toward the door.
As he passed Mara, he paused.
Very softly, so Barrett almost did not hear, Grant said, “You have no idea what she is.”
Mara replied, “I know what you’re afraid she’ll say.”
Grant’s smile returned.
But his eyes were empty.
He left.
Barrett closed the door.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“My job.”
“He donated half the money for our community programs.”
“Then perhaps we should have declined it.”
“You have a biker who assaulted him in public.”
“And a wife with injuries.”
“Which she refuses to formally attribute to him.”
“Because she believes he’ll kill her.”
Barrett stared at Mara.
“Did she say that?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Mara expected concern.
Instead Barrett rubbed his forehead.
That reaction frightened her more than anger.
“You need to release Grant.”
“No.”
“Mara.”
“Why?”
Barrett looked toward the blinds.
“He has attorneys coming.”
“That isn’t a reason.”
“Because this is bigger than you understand.”
Mara stepped closer.
“Then explain it.”
Barrett’s face aged in front of her.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
He whispered, “You should have left the diner with Rowan in cuffs and nothing else.”
Mara understood.
“You knew.”
Barrett said nothing.
“You knew something about Holloway.”
“No.”
“You’re warning me.”
“I’m telling you to be careful.”
“With Grant?”
“With Anna.”
That stopped her.
Barrett lowered his voice.
“Nothing about that woman is what you think.”
Anna sat inside the station’s victim interview room staring at a paper cup of water.
She had refused three requests to call anyone.
No family.
No attorney.
No friend.
Mara entered and closed the door.
Anna looked up.
“Is Grant still here?”
“Nearby.”
Anna’s face drained.
“I need to leave.”
“We can arrange somewhere safe.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because your safe places are the first places he’ll look.”
Mara sat.
“Anna, do you know a man named Caleb Rowan?”
The cup slipped from Anna’s fingers.
Water spilled across the table.
There was no need for an answer.
Mara’s pulse accelerated.
“You know him.”
Anna’s breathing changed.
“No.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Anna.”
“Don’t call me that.”
The words came suddenly.
Both women froze.
Mara whispered, “What should I call you?”
Anna covered her face.
For several seconds, she made no sound.
Then her shoulders began shaking.
Mara waited.
Finally the woman lowered her hands.
“My name was Evelyn.”
Mara felt every hair on her arms rise.
“Evelyn Rowan?”
Tears filled the woman’s eyes.
“Yes.”
Caleb was standing when Mara opened the interview room door.
He read the answer in her face.
His knees nearly failed.
“No.”
Mara closed the door.
“Caleb.”
“No.”
“She says her name was Evelyn Rowan.”
He stepped backward until the wall stopped him.
Mara had expected tears.
He did not cry.
He stared at her with the expression of a man whose entire life had just been handed back to him in a form too heavy to hold.
“She knows me?”
“She knows your name.”
“Does she remember?”
“Some.”
“Can I see her?”
“Not yet.”
His face twisted.
“Sixteen years.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Mara let him have that.
Caleb pressed both palms against his eyes.
“She was right there.”
“I know.”
“I threw coffee at the man sitting across from my sister.”
“Yes.”
A laugh escaped him.
Broken and disbelieving.
“She hated coffee.”
Mara frowned.
“What?”
“She always hated the smell.”
Then Caleb began to cry.
Quietly.
No dramatic collapse.
No shouting.
Just sixteen years of grief finding one crack.
Mara stepped toward the door.