Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO STOPPED PROTECTING HIMPatricia Holloway talked for six hours.
Once she started, it seemed as though thirty years of silence came pouring out at once.
Her late husband, Raymond Holloway, had begun as a contractor in the 1980s.
At first, there was nothing unusual about him.
He poured concrete.
Built decks.
Renovated homes.
Then he discovered that certain people paid better for favors than construction.
A business owner needed a permit expedited.
A developer needed a competitor frightened.
Someone needed a witness convinced not to appear in court.
Raymond knew police officers.
Politicians.
Attorneys.
Union officials.
He became useful.
And useful became powerful.
“Travis grew up watching his father solve problems through intimidation,” Patricia said.
We were sitting around Rebecca’s kitchen table shortly after sunrise.
“He worshipped Raymond.”
“Did Raymond hit you?” Lena asked.
Patricia's eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
I saw my daughter react.
Not sympathy exactly.
Recognition.
“Did Travis see it?”
“All the time.”
“And you let him become the same man.”
Patricia nodded.
“I did.”
No excuses.
No dramatic explanation.
Just ownership.
It seemed to matter to Lena.
Not enough for forgiveness.
But enough to keep listening.
“When Raymond died,” Patricia continued, “Travis found his files.”
“What files?” Nora asked.
“Names. Debts. favors.”
“So Travis continued the operation.”
“At first he told me he was cleaning it up.”
Caleb gave a bitter laugh.
Patricia didn't argue.
“I wanted to believe him.”
Lena looked away.
Again, recognition.
The same phrase she had used.
I wanted to believe him.
Maybe that was the weapon men like Travis depended on most.
Not fear.
Hope.
The hope that the person you love isn't really the person standing in front of you.
Patricia gave investigators names.
Most were people she had heard Raymond mention years earlier.
Some were dead.
Some retired.
Some had never held public office.
Nora repeatedly reminded everyone that being named by Patricia did not establish criminal conduct.
Evidence would decide that.
Still, investigators now had places to look.
The two men detained outside Rebecca’s home were identified as Nolan Price and Evan Kirk.
Both worked for Travis.
Price had a previous assault conviction.
Kirk had no record.
The burner phone in Price’s car contained one recent message.
BRING HER BACK. NO POLICE.
The sender was saved only as T.
Investigators would need to prove who used the number.
But the timing mattered.
So did the photograph of Lena.
By noon, arrest warrants were issued for Travis on new charges related to witness intimidation and conspiracy.
There was one problem.
Nobody could find him.
His SUV had been abandoned behind a shopping center.
His primary phone sat in the glove compartment.
Security cameras showed him entering a gray sedan at 5:38 p.m. the previous evening.
The car had stolen plates.
“He planned this,” I said.
Caleb nodded.
“Probably from the moment he made bond.”
The news broke by lunchtime.
Local stations reported allegations connecting Travis Holloway’s company to an expanding state investigation.
By 2:00 p.m., reporters were parked outside my house.
By 3:00, they were outside Holloway Outdoor Design.
And by 4:00, Councilman Peter Gaines held a press conference denying any improper relationship with Travis.
“He contacted me once regarding routine landscaping services,” Gaines said. “Any suggestion of criminal involvement is false.”
Nora watched the broadcast without expression.
“Routine landscaping,” I said.
She closed the laptop.
“We follow records, not press conferences.”
That evening Lena sat on Rebecca’s porch beneath a blanket.
I joined her.
For several minutes, we listened to insects moving through the grass.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you angry with me?”
The question stunned me.
“Why would I be angry with you?”
“For staying.”
“No.”
“For lying.”
“No.”
“For defending him when you tried to warn me.”
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
“I called you controlling.”
“I remember.”
“I told you to stay out of my marriage.”
“I remember that too.”
“I stopped coming around.”
“Yes.”
She stared into the darkness.
“I thought if I admitted you were right, then I had to admit everything.”
I reached over and took her hand.
“I would rather be wrong about Travis and have you safe than be right and watch you suffer.”
“I wasted two years.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“He did.”
That distinction mattered.
Those years belonged on his account, not hers.
“He took them,” I said. “You survived them.”
She leaned against my shoulder.
For the first time since the hospital, she seemed peaceful.
Then her phone buzzed.
We both stiffened.
It was a message from an unfamiliar number.
Lena opened it.
One photograph.
A picture of us sitting on Rebecca’s porch.
Taken less than a minute earlier.
My heart stopped.
Underneath were six words.
I CAN SEE YOU, LENA.
I stood so quickly the chair tipped over.
“Caleb!”
He ran outside.
I handed him the phone.
His eyes moved toward the tree line.
“Inside.”
We rushed Lena through the door.
State police were contacted.
Officers swept the property.
Nothing.
No person.
No car.
No obvious camera.
Then Marcus noticed something across the road.
A small trail camera strapped to an oak tree.
It had cellular capability.
Someone could access it remotely.
The camera had been installed recently.
Footprints around the tree led toward a dirt access road.
Investigators followed them.
Two hundred yards away, they found tire tracks.
But no vehicle.
“He knows we're here,” I said.
Caleb looked furious.
“He knew.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means this location is burned. We move.”
Rebecca protested.
“This is my home.”
“And nobody is asking you to leave permanently,” Caleb said. “But tonight, everyone relocates.”
We packed quickly.
State police arranged separate vehicles.
Patricia would enter protective custody.
Rebecca would stay with her sister under police watch.
Lena and I were moved to a secure state facility.
Before we left, Lena asked to speak to Patricia privately.
I watched from across the room.
Patricia handed her something.
A necklace.
Lena shook her head.
Patricia pressed it into her hand anyway.
Later, in the car, I asked what it was.
“Her wedding necklace.”
“Why did she give it to you?”
Lena opened her palm.
A small silver locket rested there.
“She said Raymond gave it to her the first time he apologized for hitting her.”
I didn't know what to say.
“She wore it for thirty years,” Lena continued.
“What are you going to do with it?”
She looked at the necklace for several seconds.
Then rolled down the window.
But she didn't throw it.
Instead, she closed her hand.
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m keeping it.”
“Why?”
“Not because it means what Raymond wanted it to mean.”
She looked at me.
“I want to remember what apologies without change are worth.”
The next morning, police received a tip.
A gray sedan matching the vehicle that had picked Travis up was seen outside a motel near the state line.
A tactical team surrounded the building.
Room 118 was empty.
But the bed was still warm.
Coffee sat on the table.
And beside it was a newspaper containing Lena’s photograph.
Across her face, someone had drawn a red circle.
On the wall behind it, Travis had written a message.
Not to Lena.
To me.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED OUT OF MY FAMILY.
Caleb stared at the words.
Then he noticed something beneath the desk.
A crumpled receipt.
Gas station.
Time stamped forty-two minutes earlier.
And printed at the bottom was the location.
May you like
Travis had made a mistake.
For the first time, we knew exactly which direction he was running.
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